<div class="floatleft">(http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mcs3w6RBZl1rk6on4o1_500.jpg)</div><hr/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;"><strong>Name: </strong> Loki<br/>  <strong>Title: </strong>God of Mischief<br/>  <strong>Affiliation: </strong>Resistance<br/>  <strong>Location: </strong>Cairo<br/>  <strong>Tags: </strong>Nightcrawler, Open<br/></span></span><hr/><br/>There was a distinct air of preparation around the ancient stone structures. Loki kept to the heights, dipping in and out of the grey smog cloud, not daring to draw attention by swooping too close to the center of activity. As luck would have it, his observations were obscured by gathering numbers of vultures and fellow birds of prey intent on a free meal. Mounds of human corpses were rising in open lots and intersections around the city as the enemy's troops systematically gathered families together to examine and slaughter them.<br/><br/>Waste. Such waste.  He harbored no affection for Midgardians in general; they were as unruly children who needed a firm hand to guide them. Yet their mass destruction was ugly to him. Ugly and unnecessary. Moreover, it lacked elegance. Surely there were easier ways to eliminate a species. Instead the enemy sifted them first, as if looking for wheat amongst the chaff. What were they after?<br/><br/>He circled back towards the heart of Cairo, marking the patrols in the streets. There were far more of them now and they moved in groups of four rather than the pairs he'd met initially. Four would be complicated. Without his magic there was no certainty of triumph. If he were captured, what then? What would the enemy do when they found neither grain nor chaff but a god in their midst? A crippled god. The wind hissed bitterly over his wings as he swooped towards a broken mosque. Even this basic trick of shape shifting would drain him for hours. Make him weak and practically... mortal.<br/><br/>Loki's eagle eyes caught a sudden, strange movement  nearby. A puff of smoke with no source burst into existence and faded. Another followed. He sped after the series of tiny clouds, intrigued, until a figure appeared as if by magic on a lamppost. Narrowly avoiding collision with a wall, he flapped awkwardly to perch on a bent antennae and stared, beak agape, at the blue skinned stranger.<br/>