Mischief on Midgard

The key word

It was strangely appropriate for it to start raining after Loki's talk with Phineas. He'd paused briefly in front of the hotel and then kept walking. He didn't feel like returning just yet, and Nebula knew to keep to herself. Loki let out a sigh. Trying to figure out what to do right now was difficult, but he had to think of something.

As he'd walked away from the hotel, dusk fell swiftly. The deep oranges and reds blended into the darker purples and blues of the night sky. Sadly, dark clouds rolled in like a wave, blocking out the stars and opening up to drench the city and those still outside. Most ducked into various establishments to evade the downpour and the growing cold. Although a cloud of mist escaped Loki's mouth with every breath, Loki kept walking. Loki didn't care about the rain or the cold.

The cold never bothered him anyway. Not even when he was a child. During winter, Thor would often complain that the halls of the castle were far too cold. And Loki? Loki usually had no idea what he meant. It wasn't cold. It was comfortable. On the other end of the spectrum, Loki despised the heat. Hot, summer days were horrid. His mind would slow to a halt, and he would feel drowsy. Lethargic even. While everyone else rejoiced the sun and summer games that came with it, Loki fell into a lazy slump, doing his best to find ways to stay cool.

Loki slipped inside one of the many, twenty-four-hour coffee shops to get his favorite drink before slipping back outside. He got several incredulous looks as he took a seat out in the open, allowing himself to become further soaked, but ignored them as he sipped at his coffee. What was he supposed to do now? His plans had fallen apart, and he hated it. He always had a plan. Always found ways around his problems. So why couldn't he do anything now?

It took him several minutes, but he slowly began to realize a rather humbling truth. His gift, his cleverness, his Silver-tongued ways...? He used them on other people. Without others around him... well. What use was a Silver-tongue when one had no one to entice with one's words?

Loki had used the Toomes crew as his starting point when he arrived on Earth. They had helped him build a solid foundation for a life on Earth. He had then used Bucky, saving the man's mind and restoring his independence to gain access to the Avengers. Then he had used the Avengers to find the Mind Stone, back when it was still a ruddy staff, only to be captured by Thanos' children once more. From there? He had used Nebula herself to gain his freedom.

He chuckled bitterly to himself and took another sip of his drink. It was strange, thinking back. It felt like it had been an eternity since he had decided to betray and manipulate Asgard. And when he had done so? He'd used the Jotunn to do so. He'd then attempted to use Thor's own foolish, eager nature against him. While that hadn't worked out for him, it had still set him on his current course. Later, when he had attacked New York, the only time he had the upper hand against the Avengers was when he had set them against themselves. A few words here and there had made them doubt and act to sabotage themselves. He'd thought he was so clever.

He snorted into his drink and shook his head. Honestly, the biggest mistake he'd made back then was killing Coulson. The man's death, his martyr hood, had united the Avengers against him. That was when he'd lost, really. Having set aside their doubts, their worries, their anger, they had united to create a force that meant his downfall. Loki let out a sigh and leaned back against the cold metal of his chosen chair. He let his head fall back and allowed the rain to pour over his face.

What could he do? The people he had thought to depend on for his plans were scattered to on the wind. Impossible to find. He was... alone. Even though he had Nebula to assist him, she wouldn't be able to help much. Her information would only be useful once if they had a group to advise. An informant could do nothing if they had no one to report to.