Re: Western Manhattan/Perimeter
[Loki had not been entirely expecting a hoisted escort from his brother, and he may have made a somewhat undignified sound when Thor picked him up and carried him off like a ragdoll. Once airborne, however, he flipped a knife up into his hand, firing it with precision at one of the alien skiffs that skipped past them. The thing was moving at a blistering pace in the opposite direction, but he merely ducked under the sweep of a blade and dropped his knife into the whirring, exposed engine. He didn't even need to look behind him - the shriek of crunching metal and warbling, alien screams told it all, even before the muffled blast as it hit the ground. The rain slicked his dark hair to the back of the neck, making the green blood spattered on his collarbone earlier run in thin rivulets. The wind whipped at them both, but he grinned into the maelstrom. Oh, this was the most fun he'd had in months.
The game of kicking Marauders loose from the rooftops was undeniably enjoyable. He tended to aim for the face. Picking them off was almost too easy. Then they were hurtling groundward. Thor had never been the king of delicate landings, so he turned his body pulled from his grip at the right moment to spin and catch the ground with both feet, sliding a foot or two against his left, braced perpendicular to the ground.
The archer. He caught Clint Barton's eye, offering him nothing but a look out of his brother's line of sight. He was doing very well with his little subterfuge, better than he could have anticipated, and it did not go unnoticed. Loyalty was so hard to steal, these days.
He dropped from the rooftop alongside his brother with the fearlessness that had put the terror of the gods in people thousands of years before, and landed feet first on the shoulders of a pirate below. His eyes were wild, acid green, and his left hand crackled.]
Are you always so overwhelmed by conflict Mr. Barton?