+ 8 Have Disturbed You
His shoulder faced them in a gesture of apparent disinterest. More faces, more acquaintances. He was certain that Midgard was exclusive among its eight counterparts, in that it singularly boasted a menagerie of races and a conglomeration of tumultuous dimensions, their separate spheres haphazardly colliding and creating delightful chaos; thrusting a second, third, continuous amount of himself upon a world that was certain to not be able to contain such happenings for much further period.
Menace rounded, leather slapping against lithesome legs at the action, emerald staring outward with intent scrutinization. He was tightened in suspicion, strung by instinct prompted safeguards - fight, flight - but even amidst he held a steady fixture upon his place, eyes narrowing as he detected at least two visages that mirrored his own. Displeasure and increasing apprehension stiffened his spine and darkened the green of irises staring fixedly demanding of each being their idenity. "I am Loki, god of mischief." Slender fingers flicked at his side. "Introduce yourself or begone, for I lack patience."
