He lay upon the sheets, shivering and uncomfortable. Alone, in a run-of-the-mill hotel room that stank of cheap sex and stale alcohol. He would have chosen to sleep on the couch, yet the surface was no cleaner that that of the stained sheets of the bed. He would have chosen to leave the place as soon as he had entered, yet exhaustion soon crept in, and he could not even the muster the energy to abandon the rented room and teleport somewhere else.
He had no where to go regardless. This was his reality now - to be demeaned so low from his royal heritage and sleep amongst the dogs. And although he would bitterly fight against it, his loneliness crippled him worse than the bindings upon his arms. He was tired and desolated, yet no sleep came, no revisited relaxation technique or breathing pattern aided him to fall into a deep rest.
He resented the place as much as he resented everything on this realm.
Every passing day he begrudgingly wished to be anywhere else but here, yet the stark reality of his situation continuously reminded him that he had nowhere to go. He had been exiled, and he was incapable of teleporting off-world whilst his magic had been limited by the markings on his arms.
Loki groaned inwardly at the thought and tossed on the bed restlessly, hoping that soon, sleep would befall him soon so he could forget his troubles for a little while longer. Yet with each minute that passed in the fog of disconcerting thoughts, that desire grew bleaker.
He would be granted no such rest tonight.
