In Exile

Chapter Three

It didn't take Loki long to find a bookshop, he had barely been walking for five minutes when he stumbled across one tucked away in a shopping center corner.

In its position it was easy to miss and gloss over, it seemed that that particular end of the shopping centre was quieter compared to the other sides he had just been to.

Which was better for him, it meant less people around to irritate him.

Stepping into the shop, he scanned the area to get a general idea of the layout and where he should browse first.

From the corner of his eye he noticed some movement and turned his head a little.

Stood in the corner was who he assumed to be an employee, seeing as it only appeared to be him and this girl who was stood on near tiptoes to reach the top shelf who were in the shop.

The girl offered him a welcoming smile, one he wasn't particularly feeling in the mood to return.

Loki turned away and made his way to the furthest corner of the shop which was marked up with History and Science to his left and Travel and Reference to his right, in the middle stood a table of what he guessed were the popular books from the sections and four burgundy chairs.

The shop was much smaller than he first anticipated, the window display made the place seem much bigger on initial viewing than the inside actually was.

The enclosed space made him wish for his library back in Asgard, which then turned into thoughts of who was making sure that nothing happened in there in his absence.

"Probably Mother," he murmured to himself, stepping up to the first bay in the History section and scanning the books in hopes that something would catch his eye.

Time seemed to pass slowly as he made his way through the sections that interested him the most, the worker moving around him to restock the shelves as he looked while being sure to stay out of his way.

This was something that he was alright with, he didn't particularly care for Midgardians and was more than willing to not interact with one unless entirely necessary.

Especially not when he was still stuck with Stark for the time being.

He spent about an hour and a half looking around the small shop, piling up books that he wasn't entirely sure how he was going to get home, but he wanted them and that was that.

"Would you like a basket?"

Loki half turned and looked at the girl staring up at him.

Though your face seemed flustered and your hair was mussed from all the rushing about, your smile still seemed easy and friendly enough.

"I mean, your pile there goes up to your shin," you continued as if taking his silence as an unspoken cue, "it may be easier for you."

"No," he finally answered, dropping the book he was holding on top of the aforementioned pile then picking it up. "I'm ready to go."

"Oh, of course," you nodded and walked over to the wooden counter in preparation of ringing him up.

You leaned against the counter with crossed arms as you waited for him to walk over, which he did slowly.

There was something odd about the way he moved, it was oddly reminiscent of a predator stalking its prey, though you put that down to the additional look in his eye that in itself was predatory enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You couldn't deny that he gave off a dangerous vibe.

Handsome, well spoken and dangerous in appearance, this certainly spiked your attention higher than it should for a one-off customer.

Though there was also no denying that he seemed kind of haughty and up himself, which was a bit of a turn off in the grand scheme of things.

He finally reached the front of the desk and set the books on top, reaching into the pocket of his jacket to fish for his wallet.

And so, like with many other customers over the years, you put his books through, bagged them and put the money into the till drawer in relative silence, the only questions being the occasional one that involved the transaction.

You wished him a cheery goodbye as he picked up his bag and left without a word.

You turned to watch him leave with a smile before rolling your eyes once he was out of sight.

"Guess I'll go screw myself then," you murmured.