Loki's Story

"Will that be all, sir?" The tentative voice of the bellhop almost echoes in the lofty hotel penthouse, while his gleaming black shoes squeak across the marble floor as he follows after the man he's just shown to The Heritage's most expensive suite.

"Whiskey!" The voice is softly accented, European perhaps, though the bellhop is unable to place exactly where. There's enough of an American drawl that the man could easily pass as American should he alter his inflections slightly, drag out particular vowels and cut short several consonants. In fact this particular man has been doing just that for the past few centuries on and off, passing himself as an American, born and bred. And why not? He arrived in America before many of the country's founding families called it home. He's seen wars ravage lands, cities founded and lost, heroes born and sacrificed, and he's even helped shape the chaotic outcome of some events. What's not to love about this great country? The decadence, the greed, the constant need of her citizens to prove their worth? It's everything and more that Loki Lauseyson could ever have dreamed of, though he tries not to dwell too long on the better aspects of the country. Who needs altruism when you thrive on blinding chaos?

"I beg your pard-..."

"I'm expecting company." Loki turns on his heel, coming to a stop in the expansive lounge with such little warning that the bellhop almost skids into him. Loki bends slightly at the waist, and the bellhop is offered another close view of those startling pale blue eyes which almost seem to glow with mischievous delight. A single look from those eyes is enough to have anyone double checking that their wallet is still in their pocket, only to be utterly distracted moments later by the seemingly warm smile that spreads across the Norseman's face.

"Get me your most expensive bottle of whiskey." The bellhop nods, confirming that he has understood the instructions and begins to back out of the room. "Oh, and make it Irish!" Loki adds, a devilish smile on his face appearing at his private joke. The bellhop bows, almost unconsciously, as he leaves, only to question why he showed such diffidence to the intriguing man when he's out of sight.

Loki Laufeyson, or Lukas Skøyer as his identification documents claim him to be, meanders out of the lounge and onto the spacious balcony attached to the suite. Up here the blustering wind brings the temperature down by a few degrees, though it is nothing to the frozen winters of his childhood, and the mild chill is worth it for any slight advantage. The height of the balcony offers Loki an unparalleled view of the surrounding streets. As he leans against the railings and glances down at the street, he's able to track pedestrians and vehicles as they go about their daily business. His ever-present smirk widens as he watches a fight break out across the road between a taxi driver and his disgruntled customer, his eyes gleam as a thief snatches a purse from a careless woman, and he outright laughs as a small dog runs across the busy road, causing cars to swerve to avoid colliding with the four-legged pet. Although Loki's worshippers have all but vanished from today's world, there is enough chaos in these sprawling cities to sustain him until a better source of power can be obtained.

Turning away from the view, Loki leans his back against the railing as his sharp eyes turn to rove across the view of the penthouse suite. This had been a particularly rewarding ruse, securing the expensive set of rooms as a temporary base of operations. It was a trick he had employed across the country, a sort of verbal sleight-of-hand that usually ended in being put up in the grand suite with a bill that would be charged to the hotel. Loki doubted the hotel staff would discover the scam until well after he and his friends departed, if they even discovered the truth, which Loki highly doubted in the first place. He'd even given them his current alias, a sure sign of his arrogance.

Using his Alias will also allow any of his arriving guests to be brought directly to his room. With the number of rooms in the suite he could easily house a small army of defector gods, though the particular goddess he's waiting for is worth an army all by herself. The way Morrigan carves her way through any situation is most invigorating, and though the two have never seen eye to eye, Loki is pleased to have her on his side.

A knock on the door pulls his attention from his thoughts and towards the bellhop, who is peeping his head out onto the balcony. The young boy scuffles forward, grasping a large glass bottle of Irish Whiskey in his hands.

"Mr Skoyer, shall I put the alcohol by the bar?" The bellhop asks, glancing back inside at the bar sitting adjacent to the lounge. Loki pushes himself off the railing, setting his feet towards the mortal as he shakes his head,

"No, I'll take that off your hands." Loki replies, picking the bottle of spirits from the bellhop. Loki flashes a grin at the human, one of boundless humour and concerning deceit. "You've done an excellent job, go put up your feet and grab a drink yourself. On me." Loki continues, pulling a note from his pocket and appearing to tuck it into the bellhop's coat pocket. Then, with a swift hand, Loki turns the hotel staff member on his heel and pushes him towards the exit. As the bellhop exits the suite Loki saunters inside towards the bar, a smirk on his face as he returns the green bill to his wallet. Taking a seat on the bar stool Loki pours himself a glass of the liquor, more than a little pleased with himself as he waits for his godly companions to arrive.

If asked, Loki Laufeyson will tell you freely with a flickering grin growing across his face, that he prefers his women confident, fierce, and not afraid of pushing the limits of decency. Though fair warning, his answer might just as easily be that his favoured women are proper, submissive, and gentle, depending on his mood. There's no questioning which answer he would offer now, should they chose to ask. His attention shifts from the war goddess' request for coffee as black as her heart, 'We had best make it the colour of blood then.' Loki thinks, to the sweet sound of the Hindu Goddess. If it isn't the way she gently hooks her hand between those same legs, rubbing his crotch with intent, then it's that enticing gleam in her eyes, that look of concentrated mischief that has Loki adamant that his preferred type of woman would align very easily with the Goddess of Desire.

"Absolutely, dearest." Loki replies, his smirk only growing with the promise of what might occur after this meeting has adjourned. Allowing himself to be ushered from the bar, the God grabs his glass and the bottle of whiskey before snaking his way around the bench. Taking a seat on the end stool, Loki pours himself an adequate portion of whiskey into the crystal glass. Letting the bottle of amber liquid rest on the bar counter he gives his attention once more to the two goddesses in his company, swirling his liquor in the glass as his amusement grows.

Rait Maa has a talent for making any act, no matter how apparently mundane, into a sensual affair. Pouring coffee for the War Goddess is no exception. Loki licks his lips as his sharp blue eyes watch with barely concealed interest, his absorption with the scene unfolding before him sparked both by the idea of the two goddesses getting intimate - he would have to watch that should it happen - and the way Morrigan tenses with every touch from the Indian Goddess. The levity in his expression is clear as he observes Rati brushing those nimble fingers against the back of Morrigan's hand, only growing when the sound of shattering fills the immediate area and the mug of coffee once held in Morrigan's hand is reduced to a pile of coffee coated fragments littering the bar top and floor.

The goddess' seething anger is evident in the way she spits her warning at Rati, yet it only produces another full-lipped smirk on the God of Chaos' face, his eyes sparkling as they follow Morrigan while she clears up her mess. "Darling, do try to control yourself." Loki remarks with a teasing grin, "I don't think my budget allows for sexually frustrated destruction of property." Of course, the hotel room isn't being charged to his budget at all, rather every expense is being paid for from the expensive hotel's own wallet. Though the hotel isn't aware of its kind charity, any deity who knows Loki well enough should be aware of the scam, or at least possess some idea that the Norseman would never willingly part with this amount of money without some promise that he will get it back. "Property broken during fits of passionate intercourse however,-..." Loki adds as his gaze shifts to fall on the honey-skinned goddess, "...-is perfectly acceptable."

As Loki takes a leisurely sip of the dark golden bliss sitting in his glass, he turns his attention to the question posed by Rati. He gifts her a smile, pleased with how eager she is to follow whatever devilish plans he might have up his sleeves. "I'm hoping our little chickies-..." Loki begins, rolling Rati's term for the sleeping gods around on his tongue with amusement, "...-arrive as soon as possible. I already have Tore scouting the city. He may be rather simple, but Tore does seem to know a startlingly large number of deities." The God chuckles as he thinks on the African God, shaking his head ever so slightly as he remembers how easy it was to convince the naive god to defect to Loki's cause. The promise of retribution against the humans for destruction of his precious trees was more than enough to have Tore pledging his support. "He's promised to call if he sights anyone who he believes to be a god, sleeping or otherwise." The question of whether or not there are gods in this city is one he shouldn't have to answer, not when the two goddesses before him can sense their presence as easily as he can.

"Once we've settled in here we can go join him. I have a few ideas of where we might start our search. And, if we're lucky, we might run into that adorable little gathering of girl scouts." Loki lets his grin grow at the thought of such an interaction. He holds no fear for the potential threat that group may offer, rather he views them with the type of condescending amusement one might show to a small child who attempts to push an adult one way or another, or a baby bird attempting to defend itself from a stalking feline. Tilting his glass forward in imitation of a toast, Loki grins at the two goddesses, "A toast, to success." He purrs, before tipping his glass back so that the smooth liquid may delight his taste buds once more.