I guess the first time I met Loki is a good place to start. I mean, we could go all through my life and everything, but I'll skip to the part that led to me living as a prisoner in Asgard.

I now know his name is Thor but at the time I referred to him as AssWithMuscles.

"Come brother – this will calm you!" he insisted, clapping his opposite on the back warmly. While AssWithMuscles was tall, broad, golden of hair and ruggedly handsome, his apparent brother was tall yes, but more slight if not still lean, dark haired and pale of skin.

"How am I to be calm when all of my power has been –" he growled his words petulantly, and they were at the bar now so out of habit I interrupted,

"What can I get you?"

"Two americanos, please."

I raised an eyebrow. Yes, we served coffee, but we were a drinking establishment and I couldn't fathom why anyone would walk in here and chance one of our coffees.

"Six-eighty." I replied, having made the drinks and set them before the siblings.

"Excellent!" he boomed, slapping notes onto the counter. I jumped a little but they were carrying the mugs away already. Guess I could keep the change then. And that's about as significant as our first encounter got. It may not seem like much but hey, start from the beginning and all that.

The second time I met Loki was a surprise; he spent his first visit to the bar looking wholly unimpressed by his drink and his company, not to mention the disdain he held for everyone around him. I can't say I expected his return at all.

He took his drink and looked to the tables. He looked lost so I suggested he could remain at the bar if he liked. He did so, but he did it as though I hadn't spoke and he'd made that decision all on his own. I dubbed him AssWithRubberEars.

Then there was the first time he actively spoke to me without it being, 'I will have another drink.'

"What happened to your face?" he asked. There was one other girl on the bar with me and one other patron at the bar drinking. Their eyes darted to AssWithRubberEars in shock before they shuffled away, out of sight and ear-shot. A laugh-like snort escaped me and I told him,

"I got beat up."

His face twisted, "Do not be so patronising. Who did this to you?"

"Why do you care?" I retorted. He didn't look or sound like he cared; in fact he seemed more to be scolding me for having a swollen face. I didn't like him. He'd spent days in the bar with his face tripping him and his ears deaf to anything but the next drink.

"I don't care." He insisted, "However I am interested."

"Well I'm not interested in having this conversation with you." I hissed calmly before grabbing a couple of empties from the bar and taking them to the kitchen.

"Are you alright Syd'?" Allan asked as I stormed past him. Allan is a sweet homosexual with a sandy fringe over his grey eyes and jeans so tight I can't fathom how he manages to walk. I gave him a half-smile (as is my natural smile) and reassured him,

"I hate the general public."

That was enough explanation for Allan, and he rested his hand on my shoulder and carried on with his job.

That night AssWithRubberEars wouldn't leave as I called out last orders and the punters started filling out.

"Look pal, I'm getting that you think this world and its inhabitants owe you something," I noted a smirk from him, "but no one is sticking around here, now scram."

"I have decided I am walking you home." He informed me, rising to his full height above me, "I shall not leave until you do."

I folded my arms, "Listen, I didn't get jumped on the street, but thanks for your concern. Go home."

"I can't." He said solemnly, and the weight of those two words pressed on my shoulders in search of somewhere to rest. I shrugged them off,

"I'm not interested in your sad story."

"As I am not interested in seeing you leave alone this night."

Our staring match was intense. Allan interrupted,

"Syd', let the guy take you home."

I bug-eyed him. I may have commented in the back that our newest ass-hole was nice to look at and that I wouldn't kick him out of bed. I knew what Allan was up to.

"I'll cover for you; go on." He added, grinning. I hung my head in defeat before turning away, grabbing my bag from Allan as he passed it over the bar and made my way to the exit. As I walked I called over my shoulder to AssWithRubberEars,

"Are you walking me home or not?"

I heard his footsteps, shortly followed by Allan calling, "Play safe."

If I was within his line of vision I'd have made an appropriately derogatory gesture in his direction.