The Fall

Earth’s not what Loki expected.

It had never seemed so… big, in the grand scheme of things. Compared to Asgard its size was nothing, and the buildings that stretched towards the sky were little competition for the spiralling gold of home.

Home.

Well, he supposed Jotunheim was a more accurate size to place next to earth, and certainly a more suitable naming for his home, though despite the frost giants looming size their halls were dwarfed by that of the Asgardians - stoney cold arches and topless towers crumbling under the winds caress. It was always a dismal place - wrapped up in it’s own ice and frozen in its isolation. Asgard merely felt more like home in the way a warm hearth was more endearing than a thunderous storm.

Though the thought may not be shared by his brother, Loki hated storms.

He pulled his jacket, an easy steal from a midgardian salesman who was preoccupied with the attentions of a young female, closer to his body and looked upwards to where the rooftops broke off to reveal a clouded sky. Where ever he thought home to be, Asgard or Jotunheim, it was out there - beyond a choking atmosphere - and not close enough to even glance.

Loki ignored the dull ache the thought of never been able to return brought to his chest, and looked back down to the alley floor. He was a God. An immortal. A higher being.

Surely the Earth and all its hopeless inhabitants wouldn’t pose too much of a challenge?