There were not even birds squawking outside yet. So what was that noise banging around in his head? Or, was it not in his head but in his kitchen? His kitchen? For that matter, who was in his house? Everything was pounding. Loki didn't even dare to open his eyes. That was a punishment crueler than death that he did not wish upon himself. He certainly couldn't have been in bed long at this point. He hadn't even managed to get his pants all the way off before he collapsed into it, which he only knew because as he tried to roll over to bury his face into the pillow to drown out the noise, his ankles were bound by the twisted fabric.
More banging. “Go away,” he muttered into the pillow, but knew he was going to have to see who was messing with his stuff. Though, it was likely one of three people: Odin, Hoenir or Thor. Given the hour, Loki would lay odds on the latter. Loki was hungover. He wasn't even sure why he was hungover, but he knew that he was.
Rolling over in an attempt to get out of bed, he fell to the floor with a loud thunk, grumbled and groaned as he tugged his pants back into proper place -along with his nuts since he'd nearly landed on those falling out of bed with his pants twisted around his ankles.
Loki shuffled, in bare feet, in to the kitchen with a scowl on his face and eyes squinted just as another loud bang rang. “Fuck, cock, shit, ass, fuck, ass, head and hole. Must you make such a racket at this hour?” He cursed and closed his eyes.