The stench of buttered popcorn blended with the toxic scent of bad breath and body odor as the lights gradually brightened in the room. All the while, "dramatic music" from the end of the film muffled the numbing sound of dull voices expressing their dull thoughts. And all the while, a lone figure remained seated, starring wide-eyed at the screen, with his jaw locked, his eyebrows furrowed, and a single thought running through his mind.
What the hell had he just watched?
Of course, he wasn't vacant of brain function. No- it simply appeared that this movie- if it could even be graced with the title- had disgusted him into shock. It was like his mind was trying to be so traumatized so that he could forget the dreadful experience. But alas- amnesia evaded him.
Thor: The Dark World it was called. However, it should have been called an Inaccurate Representation of Character: A Sequel to Every Story to Ever Exist. As usual, they had presented Thor as this sickeningly heroic, honorable, perfect savoir, who risked himself for love and righteousness. In the mean while, they had shown Loki as a pathetic, selfish, hateful bastard, whom could barely be stood.
The only redeeming feature that the film had was how it ended: with Loki, on the throne, having gloriously pulled the wool of the fools' eyes.
Though, to be fair, they did get a few other things correct. Loki's appearance, for instance: the raven hair that was soothed back to the nape of his neck; the snowy skin that was as hard and cold as ice yet creamy and smooth as marble; the deep green eyes like emerald pines. He and the actor could have been siblings!
But he didn't look like a thirty-something-year-old man. Goodness no! How could they even think that he would look that old? Didn't they realize that old people weren't suited for fun. The real Loki appeared to be a teenager, sixteen at the youngest, twenty or even twenty-one at the most. Now those, those were the prime years for mischief.
And one of the most disappointing parts were people's expectations nowadays. From him, the God of Mischief, they would probably predict pranks like "whoopee cushions" or "rudder vomit." But no, oh no. He always had much bigger plans. Much funner, and more destructive plans.
As he thought of his plot, that dark little creation that warmed his heart like a bed of embers in his chest, he smiled.
He frowned when he saw the wretched soul, a pubescent boy with bushy hair and a red, blotchy face, enter the room. He would have much preferred to have remained alone for a while, so that he would be allowed to turn his plan- his sweet, beautiful, revengeful plan- over in his head, like a grenade in his hand, in silent serenity.
But, no. This boy had to come in and do his mediocre job so that he could receive his mediocre salary.
Groaning, he removed his feet from where they were rested on the seat in front of him, and stood up, sliding his jacket over his shoulders before he glided his way out.
The mortal, only just noticing him, turned to say whatever pointless thing to him before immediately freezing. Speechless. Whether it was out of awe, surprise, or fear, he wasn't sure, nor was the human. It was a natural reaction for them. Even though they weren't positive as to what it was, they could always sense something about his people. It didn't matter if they were frost giants, or elves, or dwarves, or gods- long as they weren't human, they were able to since it, in the unused corners of their futile minds.
Loki liked to look at as a perk. As it tended to render them speechless, he didn't have to deal with their babbling. He regularly suffered from migraines just from overhearing their conversations and their thoughts.
He hummed to himself as he turned up his collar. He swaggered out of the theater, sliding through people, not only so that he could avoid them, but so they could avoid him and his chill. It was almost always a cause for startle when someone touched him by accident. More than once someone has described it him as feeling like a cut of frozen meat.
And if he lost control and touched someone for too long well... that was no laughing matter, even to him.
When he reached the outside, he breathed in the air with relief. So cold, so clean, with the promise of snow in the future. But for now, he was happy with the rain, grinning as he felt droplets kissing his skin, drenching his hair, catching in his eyelashes. Just was quickly as they fell, however, they froze to him, frosting his locks and creating beads on his flesh. He didn't care. He was used to it.
Elder Oaks, however, was another story. It was a rural town in with a moderate, but unimpressive population. The center of village, which he was in right now, was a small area with small business, with small people inside, all encircling a single, antique fountain. The sidewalks were lined with small, bare birch trees, which decorated with golden bulbs of light, due to the holiday season. How festive.
But, he wasn't here for festive. He smirked at the thought and began to walk towards the outskirts, going over his plan, all while humming and ancient hymn to himself.
Beware of the man with snowy skin and fiery eyes.
Avoid the angel with prayerful lips, fore his tongue speaks only lies.
You must avert this demon, this trickster, whatever you do;
Because his words taste of nectar, yet they are baneful vows untrue.
And if he comes for you at last, and gets you in his grasp,
Prepare yourself, you poor soul, because your destruction is nearing fast.
