The hot anger churning and boiling in his stomach was just waiting to crest and spill out onto some unsuspecting individual who would likely have done nothing to deserve his wrath. But Loki was in too foul a mood now to care. He was a beast made of rage and was storming through the corridor with only one thing on his mind: leave as quickly as possible, get home, finish drinking himself into a complete stupor, and pass out until he could forget all of this. That was the goal.
He did not anticipate running clear into someone else that had been in his path to get as far away from the feast as possible as quickly as possible. Loki wasn't so far gone that he didn't have enough presence to stop himself from falling or to allow whomever he'd run into from falling. His hands reached out and and grabbed them, even though he'd clearly smacked into them rather roughly. “Sorry,” he grumbled rather gruffly under his breath.