(AN) This is mostly a really short thing I wrote to prepare for a play-by-post RPG; not too serious or anything. Loki is the trickster god from Norse Mythology.

It was unfair. It was so unfair that he had spent the entirety of the morning blasting various objects into cinders. As an armchair erupted into glowing tatters of fabric and scattered coal fragments, scorching a nearby table, Loki felt a momentary spark of happiness at the destruction, but this quickly sunk back down into the seething frustration bubbling inside him.

It wasn't as if everything he'd ever said was a lie. There was that one time when he'd had that fantastic idea to dress up Thor as a bride in order to recover Mjolnir from that giant. That had worked absolutely perfectly, and had been amusing- to such a degree that it became a bit of a fashion afterwards amongst the Aesir to reference satin whenever Thor was in the room. And certainly the Aesir knew that Midgard was changing- far too fast for them to keep up with, sometimes. Cro-Magnons would be fooling about with domesticating wolves one moment, you'd blink, and the next thing you knew, they would have nuclear technology or some other such nonsense. They were dangerous, and you'd have to be a fool to not recognize it.

Then Odin was a fool. They were all fools. Loki thrust out his hand, there was a blaze of heat, and his brand-new Cyberdisc game system erupted into shards of hot plastic. The horrible scent of melting plastic filled the air, making the angry fog in Loki's head clear. He stared in horror at the remains of the Cyberdisc, realizing what he'd done. Turning to flop into his favourite chair, he was greeted with the sight of a charred circle on the ground where it had been previously.

"Ah, hell," he muttered. The apartment was quite ruined now. It would take more than a glamour to cover this damage. He might even have to hire some brownies to clean up. Last time, they'd made off with part of his best suit of armour, the armour made for him two thousand years previously by a band of grey dwarves, and he'd had to go out and slaughter a couple of them to teach them not to take his belongings any more.

The smell of burning plastic was getting very strong now; waving his hand in a sharp motion through the air, the windows burst open and a sharp gust of snow-laden wind rushed into the room, ruffling Loki's black hair and scattering the fragments of various blasted objects. It blew out the small fire that had been smoldering on the wallpaper; it knocked over a colourful row of Loki's collectible action figures; it ripped an original Star Wars poster from the wall and sent it into the center of the small whirlwind that was now twisting in the middle of the room, full of detritus and fluttering bits of paper and sweet wrappers. He splayed out his fingers and made another sharp motion; the whirlwind shot out through the window and out over the grey, mist-frosted rooftops of London, the various small objects within it pinging down to the busy street like hailstones.

"Well," said Loki to the empty room, "That's good enough for now."

Then he looked around and realized that there was no one there to hear him, no one to listen, and no one to care. He let out a sigh and went to find his mobile phone amongst all the wreckage. Sometimes, human conveniences were, in fact, convenient, and besides, vaporizing half one's furniture made one tired of flinging around power. Dialing the number for the brownie cleaning services, Loki mused that he'd have to find someone to torment- ahem, befriend soon, or he might start blasting things a lot bigger than a few armchairs.