Of Booze and Gods
Twenty-Four Hours Earlier
"Yo, Annie! I need four long island iced teas."
Annie Watts scrunched up her face at the sound of one of the bar regulars everyone called, Lucky. For the four years Annie had been a bartender at Sal's Bar & Grill, she never knew why they called him that. She suspected Lucky's real name was hard to pronounce, judging from the thick Russian accent he sported, so it was easier for everyone to use a nickname. Either that or it was used out of irony, like when someone called a large person, 'tiny'.
She gave the scrawny, strawberry-blond a tired smile, and started to fill a tumbler with broken ice. Lucky slid over to where she mixed the ingredients, topping it off with a hint of lemon juice. His bright blue eyes watched her shake the tumbler back and forth, stirring the blend of beverages together.
Annie's brows curled together and she asked, "uh, what's up, Lucky?"
He flashed her a half-smile, "I just wanted to say you look very beautiful tonight."
Annie doubted it. Her stark black hair wasn't even washed since she overslept and ran out of time to shower before work. She threw it up in a ridiculously high bun and called it good. What little makeup she was wearing had been put on during a bumpy bus ride, fumbling with a stubby pencil the size of her pinky. Annie swore she stabbed herself in the eye at least ten times.
But she could have walked into work wearing a plastic bag and Lucky would still find a way to hit on her. She fluttered her thick, long lashes and forced a smile. "Lucky, you know I don't date customers."
He threw up his hands defensively. "Hey now," he smirked, "all I am doing is paying a pretty girl a compliment."
Annie eyed him suspiciously, pouring the concoction into a pitcher. She finished it off with a soda and then filled four tall glasses with the long island iced tea. Gingerly, she placed a slice of cut lemon on the rim of each glass then put the four glasses on a drink tray.
"That's twenty-seven, fifty-two," she added in her head, entering the amount into the register.
Lucky pulled out a fifty. He slid it across the damp bar. Annie plucked it up, and put it in the till, pulling out his change. He put his hand on Annie's arm.
"No, no," he shook his head, "keep the change."
Annie gave him an exasperated look then sighed, "Lucky, that tip is almost as much as your drinks were."
He shrugged taking the server's tray with a grin. "Don't worry about it," he winked, "you deserve even more."
Annie resisted all urges to keep from rolling her eyes. She flashed a small smile and politely thanked him, shutting the register harder than it needed. Without looking to see if Lucky was still watching her, she walked across the other side of the bar.
She made a note to avoid Lucky the rest of the night. He had been growing a little more persistent, as of late, she noticed. Annie wasn't exactly sure how to keep politely denying him without resorting to punching him in the face. She needed her job too much to lose it over an asshole like Lucky.
Okay, so he wasn't always a jerk. He usually was rather timid and would occasionally slip in a compliment or two through their chitchat about the weather. Overall, Lucky wasn't much of a bother until recently over the past few months Annie had noticed the change in his demeanor from the way he approached women in general to the way he even dressed.
When she first met Lucky, he had square-framed glasses and wore khaki slacks. Annie was vaguely reminded of a bookkeeper or a librarian. He now dressed like the typical American white knight, one step away from donning a bowler hat and calling it a fedora. His jeans were a size too tight, and his tank-tops hung low. He styled his strawberry-blond hair into a failed pompadour that laid a little flat to the right, and his glasses were thick-framed and an obnoxious firetruck red. Annie guessed his time in New York must have infected him at a molecular level.
To get him off her skirt, Annie simply told him she didn't date customers. It wasn't exactly true. The handbook at Sal's Bar & Grill said it was discouraged, but nothing kept Annie from bringing home a tall, dark, and handsome stranger now and then. Well, nothing, except for Jessica.
Jessica was Annie's younger seventeen-year-old sister. She was put under Annie's guardianship four years ago after their parents died in the New York attacks. It was hard at first, especially because Annie was too preoccupied with getting fucked up than taking care of a then thirteen-year-old sister. Annie's wakeup call came to her when Jess had run away and even her best friend, Serah Trislow, had no idea where she went.
Hours later, Annie found Jess at their parent's grave, heavily sedated. In the end, nothing serious happened. Jess explained she couldn't sleep and in the middle of the night took off, ending up at their parent's headstones. After that, Annie sobered up quick, which meant no more random guys and no more drinking or drugs—except for the occasional hidden cigarette. Jess was all she had left. She didn't need the company of random strangers in her bed anymore.
Though, with Jess almost eighteen in a few months and graduating from High School in less than a week, Annie worried. She knew Jess was a lot smarter than she was when it came to peer-pressure, but that still didn't keep her from fretting over what Jess was doing every time she went out with friends from school or Annie had to work. When Annie wasn't pouring drinks, or avoiding some drunk's flirtatious advances, she was thinking of Jess. Her rebellion phase was nothing like Annie's—thank God!—but she liked to break curfew and recently went from telling Annie she was going out rather than asking. It was hard for Annie to know where to draw the parent and the sister line, which was why Annie was left to only worry.
They were complete opposites that if it wasn't for the dark hair and abnormally large brown eyes, hardly anyone would guess they were related. Where Annie was short at a measly 5'3, her younger sister towered her at almost 5'9—without heels. Jess kept her hair short, styled in layers at her shoulder and dyed a bright coral pink at the bottom compared to Annie's plain black hair piled in waves down her back.
Still, despite their differences, Annie would do anything for her sister. Including—but not limited to—getting rid of her old life, which Annie was fine with. It kept her from letting guys like Lucky into her bed out of guilt.
The night came to an end, the last of the completely wasted were sent home via taxi. Annie set to cleaning behind the bar with another one of the bartenders, Max. She and Max didn't talk much, and when they did he always replied in short—usually yes or no—answers. Sometimes it bothered her but after the bar doors closed that night, she was grateful for the silence between them.
It had been a rather busy night and Annie was ready to get off her throbbing feet. Max gathered the tips, quietly count out loud to himself. He split the money into six sections, smiling after he recounted each pile. He then handed the paper clipped piles of bills to everyone that worked that night.
"Wow," gasped Martie, one of the waitresses with an over-the-top upbeat 24/7. It didn't surprise Annie to find out that Martie was a cheerleader at the local university. "This is the most I think I've made in one night that wasn't the night before a holiday!"
Next Max handed the split tips to Marcus, the cook, then Sophie, one of the line cooks, and Christine, the other waitress working that night. Each one eagerly grabbed their share with wide smiles. Finally, Max plopped a heavier than usual stack of money into Annie's hand. The paperclip was cool against her palm as she shifted the bills in her grasp. Quietly, Annie counted to herself, pleased with the total, despite the fact a small chunk of it came from Lucky.
Pocketing her money into the black smock she wore, Annie pulled out her cellphone to let Jess know she was headed home. Her fingers slid back and forth on the small screen, sighing in frustration as she corrected 'we'll' to the original word she intended to use: well. Her thumb hit the send button and she slipped the phone into her small apron, set to finishing the few final tasks before anyone could leave her with extra side-work.
"Hey, Annie, you live near the Rayza Garden Plaze, right?" asked Martie, tossing a dingy rag into a bucket of murky, light brown water.
Straightening her back, Annie frowned, glancing at Martie's tables noticing the chairs were already stacked upside down on each one, despite the salt and pepper shakers being uneven levels and the menus faced the wrong way. "Uh," she hesitated, shifting in her spot. "Why?"
"I'm meeting Quinn at the bar a couple streets down," she explained, reaching behind her thin waist to untie the apron behind her back. "If you wanted, I could give you a ride."
"Oh," Annie mouthed. She did live a few blocks away from the garden plaza and a ride from Martie would be cheaper than taking the bus. "I still have a lot to do around here," she lied, gesturing toward her last table covered in dirty dishes stacked preciously high. "You look ready to go. I don't want to keep you."
Martie nodded, slipping the collar of the apron around her neck, bunching it up into a lumpy ball in her hands. "Okay," she grinned, waving goodbye to everyone as she left, "if you ever need a ride, let me know. Quinn lives around there, too, so it gives me an excuse to see her."
Annie smirked, promising she would—even though she knew she'd never take the girl up on her offer. As much as she hated riding the bus, she couldn't stand Martie more. The young girl was nice enough, sure, but she was mind-numbingly stupid. There were some people Annie could only take in small doses, and Martie was one of them. She couldn't imagine what the girl would be like outside of work.
One time she had asked Annie if the President was related to Osama. When Annie asked her to clarify, she blinked her pretty honey-glazed eyes and frowned. "You know," she sighed, taking a drag from her cigarette, leaving a beige lip print behind, "'cause they have the same last name."
There was only so much stupidity Annie could take. That had been where she had drawn line. Ever since then she tried to talk to Martie as little as possible.
So, Annie took the bus. It wasn't too bad. Sometimes it smelled like someone took their shoes off, but overall it was always quiet on her way home. Once in a while, she would encounter the late-night weirdoes. Despite their tweaking out, or drunken ramblings, they didn't bother Annie much and kept mostly to themselves or the people they were with.
A half hour after her shift ended, Annie arrived at the small four-plex she rented when she was living with her then-boyfriend, Gerard. In the end, he took everything from her broken heart to the jewelry her mother had given to her in her will, leaving Annie with the one-year lease and back rent to deal with for the tiny two bedroom apartment.
It was a typical apartment complex with a laundromat occupying the floor underneath Annie's. People used to do laundry at the strangest hours, waking Annie over wet clothes tumbling in the dryer. It got to the point where she put up a fake notice informing the remaining three households not to do laundry after eleven. A few years later, the sign was still tacked up allowing her to sleep. Then Annie got the job at the bar and it didn't matter anyways.
Yawning, Annie tossed her fake leather purse onto the breakfast counter and sorted through the mail. Bills. Bills. Junk mail. Bills. Too tired to care, she set the stack of envelopes to the side and turned off the kitchen light. Adjusting to the sudden darkness, Annie blinked a few times until familiar vague shapes, like the couch she found on the curb with her then-boyfriend, Jax, and the floor lamp next to it came into view. With her hand on the wall, she guided herself down the narrow hallway to her bedroom.
Again Annie yawned, peeling off her faux leather jacket and tossing it to the floor. She kicked off her boots, letting them land in front of her door and slipped out of her skinny jeans. They pooled around her ankles and she pulled them off at the bottom, plopping onto the worn-out queen-sized mattress. Without changing from her plain white tank top, Annie crawled under the blankets, sighing in comfort.
One eye popped open. Of course I have to pee, she grumbled to herself tossing the blankets over her legs and slamming her feet onto the floor. On her way to the bathroom she saw a faint sliver of light coming from underneath Jess's door. Intrigued, Annie twisted the knob and slowly stuck her head inside Jess's room.
Her white walls were covered from floor to ceiling in band memorabilia and magazine clippings of famous actors. With what little room there was, a pale pink dresser was pushed against the wall to the right of the one-pane window, covered in makeup products and unorganized cds and books. A pressed cherry wood bookshelf nuzzled against the dresser filled with candles and various scented soaps Jess had acquired over the years. A few books stacked neatly on the bottom shelf, worn out from too much handling, remained covered in dust—books from their mother's collection.
Pushed against the other side of the room was Jess's bed. Bundled underneath the heavy zebra-printed comforter sat Jess, texting on her phone. Annie leaned against the doorway while her sister continued to text, not even bothering to look up. Clearing her throat, Annie knocked on the fake wooden frame.
"Dude, it's almost four in the morning," she pointed out, stifling a yawn. "What are you doing awake?"
Jess shrugged her shoulders, her glazed-over stare fixated on the screen in front of her. Twitching her thin nose, she set the phone down. "I just can't sleep. It's not a big deal."
Annie frowned knowing it was a bigger deal than Jess was leading on. "Do you want to try and switch medications? I think Dr. Peneski left—"
"No, I don't want to see Dr. Peneski," Jess interrupted. She rubbed her long fingers over her face. "I didn't even take my pills."
Annie's eyebrows furrowed together. "How long has this been going on?" she demanded, placing her hands promptly on her hips.
"I haven't been taking them for almost a month," replied Jess with another shrug.
That was news to Annie. She hadn't seen Jess taking her pills, but she figured her sister was responsible enough to keep up on them. "Why haven't you been taking them?" she asked in a timid tone, attempting to keep her voice level. No wonder why Jess wasn't sleeping.
Jess hesitated. A purple light from her phone blinked. She picked it up, the screen glowing on her face. "I just don't want to. I don't like they way they make me feel vacant—like I'm numb."
Annie sighed but decided not to push it. She was tired and could deal with it when she didn't feel like shoving Jess's pills down her throat. "Well, try to get some sort of sleep. You have school in a few hours."
Jess grunted, but said nothing. Annie grimaced, closing the door behind her. She tried not to let Jessica's attitude bother her. After all, Jess was a teenager going through something Annie never had to deal with, and she definitely didn't treat Annie the way Annie used to treat their parents at her age. So, there was that.
Yawning, Annie headed toward the bathroom, stepping on the cold black and white tile. Just as she flicked on the switch, she remembered what the day was. It explained why Jess couldn't sleep and why she would rather not dream that night—why she already felt numb. It was the anniversary of their parent's death.
Fandral the Dashing. Swashbuckling hero with a penchant for romance. Brave, strong and not to mention, handsome. What more could any woman ever want?
Fandral winked at his reflection in the handheld mirror. He smoothed out his pointed goatee with two fingers, smiling brilliantly when he was finished. It was no wonder why women were always falling at his feet. Look at that devilishly handsome man!
"Someone please take that mirror away before Fandral begins to kiss his reflection," groaned Sif, waving her hand as if it would make the mirror vanish.
Fandral set the handheld vanity flat on the table in front of him. He flashed the beautiful Asgardian warrior his most practiced smile. "Come now fair Lady Sif, there is no need to be coy about your jealousy."
Sif scoffed, her long brown hair trickled down her narrow, but well-defined shoulders. "Fandral, the only thing I am jealous of is your ability to keep your hair from falling into your eyes during a battle."
Volstagg grunted. After all the years Fandral had known the portly red-bearded Asgardian, he was never certain if Volstagg was laughing or not when he made that pig-like sound. Fandral turned from his long-time friend and ally with a crooked smile beneath his finely curled mustache.
He started to speak when Thor, the God of Thunder and King of Asgard, filled the banquet room. Dressed casually in a dark gray robe with his long ashen blond hair tied into a lose ponytail, Thor carried the air of a king. Holding out his massive arms with a smile almost as wide, Thor closed the door behind him, rushing to the table where everyone casually lingered.
"My friends," he beamed, slapping Hogun on the back of his shoulder.
Their silent friend pursed his lips tightly together, nodding to Thor in return.
The giant god barked a laugh, turning to where Fandral and Sif stood. "My Lady, look at how beautiful you grow in my absence," he smiled fondly, then to Lady Sif, "and Sif, you look well."
The empty dining hall filled with laughter. Sif rolled her eyes, failing at hiding a tightlipped smile as she turned her grin away from Thor. Chuckling, he moved to greet Volstagg with a hearty handshake, cupping his hand over the Asgardian warrior's meaty claw.
Thor rarely left home for very long. A few years after losing the throne to the maddening witch, Karnilla, Thor took additional precautions when leaving Asgard to visit Jane Foster in Midgard. Fandral had only met the Midgardian beauty a few times, but each visit she was more radiant than the last. He could see why Thor was so taken with her—and far be it for just her beauty. She was quick to think and act, always ready for a battle of the mind, and dare he say it, far smarter than some Asgardian's he knew.
Fandral mused at the idea. Perhaps he, too, should find a Midgardian of his own. It had been a long time since he had last fallen for a mortal's charms, and while he had loved his maiden fiercely, there was a new allure to these modern Midgardians they didn't carry in the medieval ages.
After their brief greeting with one another, Thor called for wine to flow. Drinks rained and music trickled throughout the room. They regaled in tales of old, laughing at things that had not been funny given the circumstances at the time. Fandral found his mind begin to wander as the spiced rum clouded his head. Thor appeared happier being with Jane. Fandral wondered if he would find a sense of solitude...
"Care for some grapes, my Lord?"
Fandral blinked from his thoughts and turned to the tender voice beside him. A smile slowly slid onto his face at the sight before him. Dark skin, with wide golden eyes pooling underneath untrimmed bangs of silky, ebony curls. She was divine.
He leaned in close. She smelled of jasmine. He loved jasmine. "Why thank you, stunning goddess."
A scarlet flush swept over her cheeks. "I am no goddess, my name is Keidi," she curtsied slightly.
"Have you ever seen the moon dance before, Keidi?"
The beautiful woman before him shook her head, her eyes opened as far as they could go.
"Come with me," he offered, taking her small hand in his.
Keidi dotingly followed after, setting the platter of grapes down, clenching the bottom of her white gown with her free hand. She moved gracefully, like a siren seducing its prey. He smiled over his shoulder at her, looking away when she flashed a shy grin his way. The coy ones were his favorite. There was so much fire inside them yearning to be ignited.
They walked hand-in-hand to the gardens where Lady Frigg, Thor's mother and queen regent, was often seen tending to the flowers. The stars burned brightly, glowing against the black blanket draped across the sky. The moons shined high, illuminating the path in front of them like a spotlight guiding the way. A warm breeze scattered through the petals, rifling the leaves together as if distant music were playing their arrival.
Keidi sped up, bumping into him. She giggled an apology. Fandral tugged her forward, slipping his arm around her slender waist. His fingers rested against her hip bone, pressing firmly against the thin fabric. He could feel Keidi's breathing grow shorter, heavier. A smile played at the corner of his mouth. She was delectable, far more delicious than the wine being spilled into empty glasses back at the small affair inside the dining hall.
Fandral led the enticing beauty to the gurgling fountain in the middle of the garden. Water spouted from the mouth of marble cherubs playing in the middle of the pooling liquid. Keidi frowned, eyeing Fandral with a quizzical expression.
"I have seen this fountain a million times. If not more," she pouted, returning her gaze to the clear, blue water.
Fandral held up a finger to his lips then pointed to the sky. He pulled Keidi in front of him, wrapping his arms around her waist. She titled her head upward, nuzzling under his chin, watching the vast night. A sigh passed through her lips and he felt her wiggle under his grasp.
He leaned forward, brushing his lips against her ear. "Just be patient," he whispered, "it is worth the wait."
As he brought his gaze to the sky, water shot high into the night. It cascaded in heavy drops, splashing into the pool below. Through the mist reflected the moons. The brilliant purple and pink hues spilled into the fountain, the faded replicas waved back and forth.
Keidi spun around in his hold, beaming up at him. "It truly is dancing!" she exclaimed, facing the water again. "It is beautiful."
Fandral slid his hands up to her stomach, resting his palm against her abdomen. She inhaled sharply, tilting her neck with the nudge of his nose. His lips firmly planted on her neck feeling the warm skin tingle his lips.
"I do hope you are told how beautiful you are every day," he breathed in between kisses.
Keidi chewed on her bottom lip, moaning quietly.
"You should be crowned among the stars, for all to see."
Keidi twisted around, a sly smile fixed on her plump, berry-purple lips. She leaned her agile body against his. Fandral stared into her illuminating, lurid gaze. Tonight would be a night for the bards to sing ballads of. Fandral the Dashing and his Divine Conquests. It even had a memorable title.
Yes, thought Fandral as he led Keidi from the gardens, it would be an entertaining night indeed.
Annie woke feeling lightheaded and heavy. She lied in bed, pulling the flowery comforter that had once belonged to her parents over her nose. Inhaling deeply, she closed her eyes, wishing she could smell the faint vanilla scent that had always accompanied her mother. Instead, all she breathed in was faded laundry detergent from the dollar store and stale cigarette smoke. Frowning, Annie pulled the blanket over her head, curling into the fetal position with her eyes pinched shut.
She tried to not think of her parents often. They died when Annie wasn't exactly on good terms with them and she never got to say goodbye. The reason they were in New York was because of her. They rarely left Rhode Island, except to visit her during staged drop-bys. No one drove to New York just because they wanted to see the trees in the fall.
Annie uncurled her legs. If she hadn't been so stubborn, they would have stayed on the other side of New York, far from the attacks, with her at one of the stupid parks. And after, they could have gone to the movies, or caught a play. She knew her mother had rambled on for a few days about how she had wanted to see Lost in You, a new musical Annie had had no interest in seeing. She was avoiding their calls so she could go out with her then-boyfriend—and last of the parade of men that filed through Annie's life—Alec, to a party that ended up being canceled because of the "terrorist" attacks.
When Annie received the call her parents had gone missing, she threw herself into an unavoidable spiral. Her mind swirled with narcotics, blurring out the constant stream of news reports and phone calls. Alec had been the one to answer the door to the police. She remembered thinking they were there to take her in for some reason or other so she had panicked and fled out the fire escape without hearing what they were there for.
While Annie was out, high on whatever she had at the moment and a bottle of goldschlager dangling from her finger tips, she found herself standing on a bridge over a gushing creek. There wasn't much she recalled from that night, everything molded together like drying clay, crumbling apart every time someone tried to pick at it before it had completely set. The cool metal of the railing pressed against her bare legs, and the summer breeze blew the cigarette smoke away from her face. She vaguely remembered watching the cherry extinguish as it hit the rushing water.
Annie stood on the ledge of the bridge. Setting the alcohol next to her, she stripped off her leather jacket and had let it flutter to the ground. She wobbly gripped onto the railing for support, digging the heel of her boots deep into the grooves. When she had a steady grasp, her eyes fell onto the dark water gurgling beneath her.
Inhaling deeply, Annie closed her eyes. On nights when she particularly missed her parents, she would close her eyes and still feel the wind that had tugged her hair, pulling it free from the curves of her neck as she stood on the ledge. Her cellphone pierced the air, the lyrical genius of some rapper she had once been into named Biggie Jay spat off into the night. She let it go to voicemail. It rang again.
Annie pulled her phone from the pocket of her torn shorts, squinting at the caller ID. Through slit eyelids, she glared at the bright screen. Her heart slowed, and she had carefully sat down on the ledge of the bridge, dangling her long legs over. Annie rested her head against the cool, rusted metal of a support beam and slid the phone up to her ear.
"Anita," choked the voice on the other end. It was small and hard to hear, but even without caller ID Annie had recognized the voice as Jess's. "You need to come home. It's all over the news."
Snapping her eyes open, Annie shoved the blankets off of her face. She inhaled deeply and looked up at the ceiling fan above her. There was no point in wallowing in the past. What was done was done, and she had too much to do that day to let her thoughts get the best of her. Such as making sure Jess hadn't tried to skip school again.
Rolling out of bed, she padded through the small apartment to the kitchen. The clock on the microwave blinked 3:33. Annie groaned. She hadn't meant to sleep her entire day away. If Jess skipped, then she skipped. There wasn't anything Annie could do considering her sister would be home within the next hour.
Yawning, Annie scratched the top of her head and pulled the fridge open. The light blinked a few times, revealing the sparse contents inside. Several containers of tupperware stacked against one another, some of them from last month she noted, and most of them would have to be tossed. She scrunched her nose, pushing them aside to see expired milk and a can of—what is this?—she brought the can to her nose and sniffed—oh god!
Gagging, Annie tossed the putrid can of spoiled mush into the garbage can underneath the sink. According to the label they were once beans, but from the blotchy green and black hair growing along the side Annie wouldn't have been surprised if it started to demand food. Her stomach rumbled. She made a face and closed the refrigerator door, grabbing the magnetic notepad off the front. Scribbling a few needed necessities down, Annie decided it was probably time to go grocery shopping. No wonder Jess was always at Serah's, Annie sullenly thought to herself.
She quickly showered and dressed, turning on the TV as she blow-dried her hair. Flipping through the channels, Annie stopped when she saw an explosion on the news. She hit the back button, watching the attractive news reporter explain something big had fallen from the sky. At first, Annie thought it was a memorial piece they played every year on the day of the New York terrorist attacks. That was until they showed a shaky recording that had been taken off of YouTube where people were shouting in French. She had instantly assumed it was France until the scrolling words below said the attacks had taken place in Quebec. That was merely a few hours away from where Annie sat now.
She turned off her blow dryer and reached for the remote, jamming the volume button with her thumb several times. Speculations said it was a meteor, but Annie felt her throat tighten. What if it was another attack? Perhaps not of a terroristic nature…she wasn't sure if she believed the internet hype that it was aliens, but it was oddly suspicious a meteor would unexpectedly crash on the same day New York had been attacked. Tugging on her bottom lip, Annie scrapped her teeth at the cracked skin, watching a woman with a thick Russian accent and obvious red-contacts explain the Avengers had everything under control and not to panic. Dropping the remote into her lap, Annie turned off the screen knowing exactly what happened to people where the Avengers were concerned; not everyone made it without some scars.
The pale light of the morning soaked the marble floors and spread to the satin sheets Fandral was tangled in. He rolled from the sun, tossing the blankets over his head. It was far too early to wake for the day. His head still buzzed from the after effects of the alcohol he had needlessly consumed. Tiny daggers probed at his eyelids, sewing them shut.
The threads untangled as he forcefully blinked his long lashes at the overwhelming scent of lavender nearby nearly suffocating him. Freeing his face from the blankets, Fandral glanced to his left. Long, sable locks spilled across his sheets, draped over slender, naked shoulders. A faint smile danced onto Fandral's lips at the memory of last night's exposé.
He reached forward, gently placing a kiss to the castor skin of the woman's neck. She shifted against his touch, muttering lightly in pleasure. Fandral dug into his mind, trying to recall her name when she rolled over to stare at him, her large ochre eyes blinked up at him through thick lashes. My, she was breathtaking, he thought, cocking a smile to the side of his face.
"Good morning, my fair lady," he murmured, his voice laced with sleep.
The woman smiled, stretching her long arms above her head. "Good morning," she yawned, propping her head up with her hand. "Fandral the Dashing," she coyly teased, plopping back onto the pillow, "I can see why they call you such a thing."
"It is much easier to say than Fandral the Handsome and Brave Swashbuckling Rogue," he grinned—an old joke he had used for centuries that still made woman laugh. On cue, the Asgardian woman chuckled, murmuring in agreement.
"I should probably get to my duties," she slowly spoke, her eyes staring up at the arched ceiling. "Will I see you again soon?"
The inevitable question every woman asked. Even after all the centuries Fandral had bedded gorgeous damsels, he never knew how to answer it. There were no guarantees in the nine realms, who was he to promise such things?
As was long rehearsed, he offered her a gentle smile. His hands brushed against her soft cheek, his lips pressed at the corner of her mouth. "A man succumbed to your beauty, as I am now, can never say no," he perfected, "only a fool would do such a thing."
Just as he expected, a crimson blush poured across the bridge of her nose. She kissed him firmly, her tongue tasting of stale ale. After she dressed and left for the day, Fandral lounged in bed, until one of the servants entered to clean. Shirtless, he gave the young pale-faced beauty an exaggerated wink and walked out onto the balcony so she could make the bed.
The three suns were hitting high above the city skyline, casting a dark pink glow against the horizon. His hands wrapped around the golden rail of the balcony, already warm from the morning light. It was a wonderful start to the day. Fandral doubted anything could ruin it. With a smile planted on his face, he entered inside his chambers asking the curly blonde if she had ever seen a rose face the sun.