She'd had a name once. But that didn't matter. Names were what mortals needed to differentiate themselves and make them feel special. Humans, scrapping for every ounce of individuality and transcendence that such a short lifespan could give them.
Legends didn't need true names. The names of the gods transmuted over time. Þórr, Thor, God of Thunder, it was all the same.
The Valkyries had been legends once too, maybe were legends still, though not legends often told around the fires of men. Forgotten by time, their stories were buried by the man they'd sworn to protect: Odin. And now that the Valkyries were all dead, what did she need individuality for?
She was simply Valkyrie.
Empty bottles littered the ground beside her. She tipped the last of an IPA-humans were always inventing new ways to get trashed, new ways for forget-upside down, letting the remaining droplets trickle down her throat. The bottle broke with a crash where she threw against at the wall. Forgetting. Let her forget.
But she couldn't.
"You know you'd probably be making more money if you weren't wasted all the time." Her latest capture for the grandmaster wry, ruthless, and a pain in the ass.
"I make enough," she said, picking another beer from the case she'd picked up on earth and opening it. The hiss of escaping air was like a whispered promise.
"Clearly." The redhead was looking around at her ship, a look of judgement painted on her face. Valkyrie looked at it too. She hadn't thought about it for a while, but it really was a bit of a dump: broken glass everywhere, control panels sticky with old food and drink, and the humid smell of sweat lingering in the air. She made a mental note to hire a cleaner after she'd dropped off her latest contender and went back to sipping her beer.
But the redhead wasn't finished. "Look, why don't you let me go, take me back to earth, and I can make this worth your while."
"I don't need your money," Valkyrie said, gruffly. She didn't know why she was engaging. She should really just press that little button on her incapacitator and put her to sleep, but the human reminded her of someone. Those same full lips and slightly husky voice... no.
"Then why are you doing this? You're clearly not an idiot. I mean, not to pat myself on the back too much, but typically when I end up in situations like these, it's not on accident."
"Then why'd you let yourself get caught, human?" She deflected.
"Natasha," the prisoner said. "Natasha Romanov."
"I didn't ask for your name."
"I didn't ask to be taken prisoner."
Valkyrie laughed, this girl was smart. She'd been tough to catch, particularly for a human with no superpowers, but that only meant good things for the price she was going to get from her. Lately humans had been of particular interest to the Grandmaster-gods knew why. At least this one had fight in her. She liked that. She opened up another beer and walked it over to the human… Natasha.
"Thanks," Natasha said, taking it from her as best she could with the manacles trapping her wrists together. Something about the woman made her want to take them off, to apologize, to hold her face in her hands and… Valkyrie fought down the urge, turned away.
"So you never answered why." Natasha said.
Valkyrie sighed heavily. There was no reason to tell this woman anything. Prisoners didn't deserve answers. And still she wondered what harm it would do. What harm, just this once, to say something to let it out. The woman would be out of her hands soon enough.
"It's an old story, a cliche really at this point. It's not interesting."
"It's a long ride to wherever the hell we're going, right? And I'm a captive audience." Natasha smiled, chuckling at her own joke. A shiver ran through Valkyries spine; she used to laugh at herself like that. Smart-ass woman.
"I had a friend who used to smile like you do," she admitted. "In the… military. That's what you humans have, right?"
"Sure," Natasha said.
"We were sworn to protect the crown, and we were fucking great at it. Just, incredible. You should have seen us flying in, swords high, blood in the clouds. We were righteous," she said. She smiled at her own memories remembering those days, her comrades by her side. Her commander ahead of her, gorgeous and powerful in her white and gold armor. "Then things just fucked up. We were sent on a mission that we were never supposed to win. I'm the only one that's left."
"You were unmade," Natasha says, almost under her breath.
"What?"
"Nothing."
Valkyrie stands. She's had enough of this, not sure what she thought would come out of it in the first place, cursing herself for imagining… what?