Breaking free of the crowd in the bar, the cool evening air was a shock to Darcy's dulled senses. She could feel the liquor moving through her system, warming some parts and fuzzing others. She pulled her scarf and jacket closer to her and set off in the direction of home.
The bar was a couple of blocks from the offices in the opposite direction from her apartment, putting her about 30 to 45 minutes walking distance from her front door. Not that she minded. Darcy found fall evenings in the city rather pleasing. After spending most of her adult life in New Mexico, the East Coast's change of seasons was novel. It was on nights like these that she could almost feel herself breaking through the membrane of the haze that had surrounded her.
She could process things more clearly on nights like these, walking home alone, through the busy yet quiet city. Most of the tourists and business people were gone by this time of night, leaving only residents of the island of Manhattan behind. Passing through the dimly illuminated streets, she reflected upon all of the activity around her in her current life. Seeing everyone else's success and happiness, she likened herself to a bit of wood jammed between two rocks in a river after an intense storm; the rest of the world rushed around her, never actually heeding her obstructive presence, but bearing down upon her and forcing her out of the flow nonetheless. Eventually, she would break free of her anchor and be swept away in the current of everything else around her.
Looking up, Darcy realized that she'd strayed from her planned route home, the buildings around her looming dark and unfamiliar. She stopped and pulled out her phone to try and get her bearings.
"God damnit" she muttered, angling her phone, trying to combat the screen's dimness and the surrounding gloom. "I would get lost on the one street in this freaking city that has, like, eight lights out."
The map of the city finally loaded, the screen brightening as it did.
"Jesus, how drunk am I?" she asked aloud, realizing that she was at least 12 blocks east in the wrong direction. Shoving her phone back under the flap of her messenger bag, she trudged forward, once more with the destination of her bathtub in mind.
Something metallic rang out as it clattered down the sidewalk, falling into the gutter. Gripping her bag closer to her, Darcy picked up her pace slightly, her hand quietly moving into her bag, rummaging for her taser. Another block passed as she hurried along, trying her best to appear casual.
Despite the possible impending danger, everything happening was still filtered through Darcy's growing disgust with the world and her place in it. A chill ran along her spine and she stopped, turning to look behind her.
A gloved hand reached out and grabbed her lapel, roughly shoving her back against the edge of a building. Darcy grunted as the wind was knocked from her lungs. She pressed both hands against the building to steady herself, a combination of alcohol and brunt force disorienting her.
Loki sat by as the human police force arrived and made attempts to subdue the crowds. The entire protest encampment had succumbed to his magic's urging. The carnage had stayed fairly contained to the small park, with few other citizens passing the area. Eventually, more forces had joined, faces masked and armor covering their forms.
This final wave of human enforcement had brought with them a small contingent of the Avengers squad; an armored man capable of flight and one wrapped in the human's nationalist colors. Assessing the situation, the armored humans worked to corral the dissidents, pushing the masses back with shields and gasses. The armored Avenger shot netting and other small non-invasive measures in an effort to control the mass.
Seeing that his brother had not deigned to grace them with his presence, Loki grew bored. With a thought, he called back the magics he had sent out and filled the mortals with. A rush of green poured from the mouths of those infected and flowed over the ground back to Loki. He smiled and winked at the two Avengers, as recently freed bodies collapsed in heaps. The flying one made a gesture as if preparing to engage Loki. Pulling the last of his power in, Loki made himself invisible and teleported several streets over, leaving the aftermath of his evening's entertainment behind him.
Hands pushed into the pockets of his pea coat, Loki leisurely strolled away from the riotous mess he'd created. The exercise had been quite invigorating and its results gloriously bloody.
Smiling to himself, he walked through the streets, a spring in his step. Thor had no idea what was in store for him and everything he held dear.
Loki admired the towering masses of metal and glass stretching upward into the night sky. He laid a hand against a building and leaned in close, the cool material against his cheek.
"Oh my lovely city. Enjoy this respite. Soon, all of this shall be mine. These are truly your last days," he whispered as he thought of his coming reign. Pushing away, a grunt echoed down the pathway between the buildings, catching his attention.
He stepped away from the corner, entering the alley, watching the scuffle occurring at the opposite end. A scraggly man had shoved a young woman against the building and appeared to be in the process of robbing her. Something about the humans involved piqued his interest, and Loki watched quietly as the scene played out before him.
The woman was standing straighter now, with an unimpressed expression. Obviously angered by her unwillingness to show fear, the man lashed out, a small knife in his hand. The woman cried out as the weapon just barely made contact, slicing the skin along her cheekbone. Slouching down against the wall, a hand covering her face, Loki heard not whimpers or sobs, but angry expletives issuing forth from her.
A spark of amusement flared to life as Loki recognized one of the women from the encounter between Thor and the Destroyer. Smiling slightly, he reveled in his incredible fortune stumbling upon someone so close to his brother. He inferred that she must have traveled from the desert here to the city with his brother and the woman. Seeing a brilliant opportunity to further weaken his brother, Loki decided to intercede, saving the woman and, in theory, ingratiating himself with her, opening even more avenues to his brother.
Moving closer, Loki altered his appearance, causing him to appear slightly winded and flushed, as if he'd run some distance to aid her. He neared the two as the man reached in once more to grab her.
"Fucking fuck, fuck, fuck..." Pain shot through Darcy's head as she pressed her hand to the cut. It didn't feel big, but it hurt like a motherfucker. The street swam in front of her as she opened her eyes.
She glared up at the man, taking in his ratty coat and unwashed appearance.
'Of course. I'm being mugged at grime-infested knifepoint. I'm probably going to get blood poisoning from this fucking cut.' Darcy's thoughts were racing as she processed the situation. She shoved her hand into her bag once more as she cowered against the wall, hoping that her attacker interpreted her actions as digging for a wallet or valuables. Wrapping her fingers around the smooth plastic box conveniently wedged in the absolute bottom of her bag, she felt a rush of relief. There was no fucking way she was letting this go down without a fight.
Before she had a chance to launch herself at the man, he'd reached out and grabbed her arm again. For someone who looked as if he'd been on a yearlong bender, her mugger was surprisingly strong. He dragged her upright against the wall once more, leaning in closer, his face almost touching hers. Gagging slightly as she got a lungful of fetid breath, she gently slid her hand out of her messenger bag. He was fairly focused on pinning her one arm while threatening her with his knife in the other hand, leaving her right arm, for the most part, free.
Darcy held back a wave of nausea as the mugger ground his body against hers, sniggering as he did. She knew that there would only be one opportunity for her to extricate herself from this with as little damage as possible and she was ready. He pulled back from her a fraction, enough to get a good leer in and Darcy struck.
Shoving her right arm through the gap between them, she pressed the button on her taser, activating it moments before she drove it up and against the man's throat and jaw. A strangled scream tore from his throat as the current passed through him. His eyes rolled back into his head as his form went slack, falling over onto Darcy. She shoved at the body as she extricated herself from beneath the unconscious and convulsing weight.
Surveying the damage she'd wrought, the taser fell from her hand, fingers gone limp. Nausea swept through her and she hit her knees, dirty puddle water soaking through her tights. Unable to control her body's response, Darcy fell forward onto her hands, retching. Footsteps sounded to her right and she tensed, still powerless against her body's heaves.
"Excuse me, but are you alright? Can I do anything?" A soft masculine voice made its way through the fog settling over Darcy's mind. An accent.
Coughing and wiping her mouth on the sleeve of her jacket, she rocked back onto her heels and looked over at the voice. A tall thin man stepped forward slowly; hands splayed and extended in front of him. He had dark hair and sharp features, which were currently softened by furrows of concern. Not trusting her voice just yet, she nodded and hunched over in exhaustion.
The man came forward, squatting down beside her, a tentative hand resting on her shoulders.
"I'm sorry I couldn't have made it down here any faster. I heard you from the opposite end there and ran." He smiled apologetically, puffing from exertion, his pale face flushed.
Taking a few deep shuddering breaths, Darcy made to stand up. The man held out a hand to help, his other still resting on her shoulder, steadying her. He bent and retrieved both her fallen taser and her bag, wordlessly offering them to her.
"You'll have to excuse me, I, uh, I've never been around something like this before." His voice was light and once again apologetic, his subtle accent softening his words. His presence was somehow soothing.
"Well, I can see that you've had a bit of a fright here, so I won't worry about introductions too much. Can I see you to where you were going? Or at very least accompany you to a shop or police station?" As he spoke, he had taken Darcy's arm and gingerly guided her around her unconscious attacker, toward the street. He stopped as they stepped out of the alley and into the now lit sidewalk.
Darcy stared at him, exhausted, the adrenaline surge from before dissipating. His dark hair was slicked back, a few errant strands falling into his face, presumably from his run. He smiled awkwardly as she continued to stare at him, processing everything.
"Yeah," she croaked out, "that would be nice actually. I was heading home and got lost." She shouldered her bag and slipped the taser back into its depths.
"Oh, myself as well. I've only just moved here and wanted to look about the neighborhood a bit." His tone brightening as they walked along.
Darcy turned to look at him under the streetlight as they waited for the crosswalk. He smiled softly again. She liked the way his eyebrows perked when he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, giving him a mischievous air.
The light changed and Darcy turned her head toward him, indicating their crossing.
Gently reaching out as they stepped onto the curb once more, he turned her chin with a thin pale finger.
"Your, uh, your cheek..." he trailed off as he looked down, searching his pockets for something. Darcy stood silently, watching as he fumbled through his jacket. Finally, his head shot up once more, smiling. He reached up and dabbed at the cut on her cheekbone with a white handkerchief.
Hissing at the contact, Darcy involuntarily pulled back, "Yeah, I dunno how I forgot that. Hurts like a bitch."
She gave him a half-hearted smirk as she took the fabric from him, holding it to her wound.
They walked on for a while in silence, Darcy somehow finding her way back to familiar surroundings. Despite a mugging and minor assault, she didn't feel terrible. Tired, yes, but also almost weightless at the same time. She followed the streets and landmarks a while longer until they had arrived at her building's door.
Stopping within sight of the doorman, she turned to him, handing his handkerchief back.
"Thanks, for you know, watching me puke and walking me home. Really not my finest hour, but you've been really sweet about it."
Shaking his head, he smiled, "Oh, no, no, you keep that. I have countless others. I'll write it off as a sacrifice to the god of being lost."
Chuckling softly, Darcy nodded her thanks and turned to walk into the building. She hesitated as she pulled the door open, propping it against her hip and looking back onto the sidewalk.
"Hey, um thanks again, really." She ducked her head and turned once more to enter the building, realizing that she hadn't even given her name. 'Shit. Real smooth Darc...'
Leaving the entryway once more, she pushed outside and jogged the few feet to catch up to his retreating form. Reaching out, she lightly touched his shoulder and moved to face him, "So this didn't come up, what with me completely lacking social graces, but my name's Darcy. Maybe I'll see you around the city sometime."
"Darcy. A lovely name." She shuddered at the way he said her name, like a whisper, "I'm Lucien." He took her hand in his, his mouth quirking as he smiled over her knuckles, "I shall look for you the next time I find myself lost in the night, dear Darcy." He placed a light kiss on her hand and turned to watch her enter her building.