#gcdofmischief

                                      “-if it’s a fight you’re after, LOKI,                                        i’m not in the mood. ”                 the valkyrie had stationed herself near one of the massive bay                 windows of the transport, arms crossed, an unmarked bottle of                 some dark liquid sloshing nearly empty in an unsteady hand. the                warrior took another swig, grimacing against the burn as it slid                 down the back of her throat. there was no alcohol aboard the                transport; there was barely any food and what she held now were                the last sad remnants of the flask she’d had on her when they’d                escaped from asgard. she didn’t feel at home here, among these                people who’d only just gotten a taste of the asgard of her memory,                the empire that had lain her sisters low. she cut her eyes at the               god of mischief; bleary and slow as they were, she still managed               a proper scowl. 

     The appearance of the barely an inch taller man didn’t phase him, he did admit he seemed weird, and without a doubt understood he never met the man. Though that information never did prevent him from giving the words. No, nobody mattered. If this man may be the president, hell that might just MAKE him kill him himself. Such an ‘important’ person, taken down so easily if he ever bothered to do so.