Loki groaned in pain as he dragged his eyes open to find himself thrown face down into the dirt. Ridiculous, that he had let go only to end up on this planet, the one that lay between Valhalla and Hel and had no concept of the other realms between which it resided. What in the nine realms was he meant to do on this mundane plain? It was not as though he could conjure himself a steed or a form of transport – no, the moronic race that called this place their home would overreact and claim him to be the "devil" incarnate (preposterous, he was nothing like Mephisto – he'd met and spoken with him a great number of times – and, being a god by right, wasn't all too keen on the idea of being mistaken for someone of such a... crimson, complexion).
Realisation washing over his consciousness, the fallen god pressed a filthy hand to his forehead, fingers raking through his messy black fringe in a frantic search for the thoughts he was craving. Where did he send her? Or rather, where did she go after he cast her down to Midgard?
What if she's dead? A small, fragile, whimper of a voice sounded from the back of his consciousness, forcing a near silent, agonising cry to escape from Loki's barely parted lips. Despite the absence of her in his life since casting her to Midgard's soils, a sudden racket echoed through him at the mere thought of losing her forever. The only one to have accepted him completely.
Pained, Loki dragged himself desperately to a stand. Looking for her would be the only option now, whether through sorcery or through physically trailing through every single kingdom, city, town and village on this pitiful planet until he found her. Servant girl or a noble, it mattered little to him, especially since discovering his true heritage, he found himself caring for the strong willed Asgardian more than he would most likely permit himself to admit.
Drawing attention to his surroundings was the strange ground beneath his feet. The alien earth that he had scuffed his shoes on in the fall was hot and dry, the dust rising about his ankles as he turned on the spot to take in his surroundings. Dusty landscape stretching far, the trickster's mouth opened a little more as he realised it was exactly (or hopefully exactly) where he sent Jóhanna. He couldn't be too far from her, surely. Surely he was close to her... A dirt road extended across the flats, reaching the vague outline of a city, and so Loki, taking a long, deep sigh, stepped onto the road in order to walk to the first in a long list of cities he would most likely need to scour before finding the Asgardian he desired.
Hours he walked, hot dirt kicked up around his lower legs, the once distant city now mere moments away. Loki's lips turned up into an ever so slight smile as he realised that he was closer to his goal of finding the servant girl, whose thoughts were no doubt drifting to Asgard and her place there, of those of the servants she cared for, of those she would most likely never see again.
Before continuing down into the city, the lonely god first deciding that he must don a more acceptable, mortal look of a suit and scarf; one he wore when visiting his brother when he was stripped of his godly name and powers. Slicking a hand through his filthy hair, Loki's smile widened, feeling how clean the hair was left in the wake of his palm and splayed fingers – magic paid off for some things; even if he would have to suffer on this earth for another century in search for Jóhanna, he would not grow old; he would not die of a mortal cause; he would not suffer as the humans did on this earth, always so ungrateful for something they each had as though a basic right.
Emerald gaze shifting to the towering buildings, the skyscrapers that hummed with the dull life that they each held, Loki felt his skin pull his expression into a dissatisfied, near disgusted state. The grimy streets, lined with filthy building walls that were wet with what was decidedly either mucky water or diluted blood. It was a back-street that Loki found himself in, a vile alleyway with a few darkly dressed, hooded figures clustered by what appeared to be a dumpster.
"Hey, pretty boy, what're you doing down our neck of the words?"
Loki twitched, such a rude young man should be taught a lesson, but he cared not for the mortal while he searched for his girl, and so hissed back before continuing on his walk; "I ought to remove your tongue for such a comment."
"Oh yeah?" A metallic flash caught the corner of Loki's eye as the human threatened him, "Want to come and try it, pretty boy? You don't look like you can take me if you try, never mind the lot of us. We's not had much fun lately, could use a laugh."
"You don't seem to have had much of an education either, from that tongue of yours." A sigh and the chaotic prince took two steps towards the man, who drove the knife that he held through the trickster's skin, tearing at the tissue and ripping at his stomach as the blade was twisted and removed. Loki crumpled under the weapon, clutching his stomach and hiding his face from the disgusting human's view, almost protecting himself from further harm...
The hooded man stumbled backwards as the Norse god straightened his figure and smoothed down his unbroken skin where the knife had 'penetrated' his flesh, "You have such poor practice with a weapon, child. I'm tempted to demonstrate how I throw my own knives... But I will spare you that, and instead punish you with this..." As he spoke, the hoodie's almost hidden face bore a look of terror at the thought of what would happen to him. Lips open and ready to scream in agony of some form, the human found himself obeying his superior and closing his mouth with no more than a look from Loki. Once done, a tingling sensation overcame his face and his hands shot to his features, only to find a paper thin stretch of skin replacing what was once a gaping hole in his face – his mouth.
"That should," Loki smiled, "teach you not to threaten or act so rudely towards others... Now, as for you other mortals, I require information, and I feel as though you might know something vaguely useful..."