Loki found out that night what the Grandmaster meant by a "good view," and it had nothing to do with windows.
The intimidating female guard that accompanied the Grandmaster everywhere had cornered him just as he was about to leave. "I'm showing you to your quarters," she stated. It wasn't a question or an offer. More like an and-you-get-no-choice-in-the-matter sort of statement.
"Fantastic," he said, hoping the sarcasm was evident. "I should like to say goodnight to our gracious host first."
"Sure. If you want. But he won't remember any of it tomorrow." She jabbed her thumb behind her at the corner where the band was playing. The Grandmaster sat in a hover chair, which was upside-down, and was reaching above his head to play the keyboard with one hand while attempting to drink a right-side-up cocktail with the other.
"Yeah alright," he muttered.
She took him through a maze of corridors until he was sufficiently confused and disoriented, and then pointed at the very last door at the end of a short hallway. "You," she said, opening the door.
"Thanks, but-"
"I'm watching you." She narrowed her eyes and stared at him for a few seconds, then walked away.
"Marvelous."
He turned around and entered the room and immediately noticed that he was not alone. "Who are you?" he demanded, dagger raised. It took a few seconds for him to register what he was seeing.
Three females stood naked around the bed. Only one of them was humanoid. The others were... not.
They did not appear to be remotely fazed by his threat. "Grandmaster said you like variety," one of them giggled.
"Hrrggh" was all he could get out.
When they started to approach him in what they probably thought was a seductive manner (but was honestly quite terrifying) he managed to find his voice. "Thank you, but I'll pass."
They looked confused. "Are you sure?"
Prostitution was not illegal or unusual on Asgard, but it was considered distasteful. Sex was seen in a more poetic light, like the art of good conversation. Those who had to pay for it clearly did not have the talent required to procure pleasure by other means. Loki personally had no interest in prostitutes. He considered himself more of a romantic.
Also he wasn't really into tentacles.
"I'm sure." He stood aside so that they could leave. "Tell your boss we had a wonderful time," he added when they started to look suspicious. "I will assure that you are paid for your services."
That seemed to appease them, and they left. He stood there for a second in silence. There were no guards chasing him, no attacking corridors, no scavengers with chains. He was safe and alone.
He collapsed onto the bed.
The stress-free moment lasted about 0.05 seconds before his mind switched to autopilot and the horrid memories of the day invaded him. Despite being extremely unpleasant, the adventure he'd had on Sakaar was useful for one thing: keeping him distracted. Now, alone in silence, he had time to reflect on that one incomprehensible idea he still could not fully grasp:
Father was dead.
Dead. Gone. No longer existing.
And still, even at the end, Loki was his son. Despite all he had done to betray and anger Odin, the man never once stopped seeing him as a son.
It was annoyingly out of character for the Odin Loki had pictured in his head the last several years - the version that had lied to him his whole life and abandoned him and never really loved him in the first place.
He stared at the ceiling, eyes burning.
More distractions. That was what he needed.
He got up and wandered around the room. There was a bar that took up the entire eastern wall, filled with bottles of liquids that did not look safe to drink in any way, shape, or form. He opened one at random and sniffed the contents. It smelled like rocket fuel mixed with cherries.
Whoever designed the place was either color blind or intoxicated at the time. There were about a dozen chairs, chaises, and sofas of different colors and patterns. The windows were tinted pink, which made the hellish landscape outside look like a hellish landscape, only pink. A panel on the wall had the options "off," "lights," and "disco."
There was a white door in the corner which was most likely the bathroom. He opened it, hoping to find a shower so that he could finally wash off the bile and blood that were, by now, caked onto his skin.
"What the-"
He really, at this point, should not have been at all surprised by the fact that there was a giant statue of the Grandmaster in his washroom (this one completely naked), or by the over-sized hot tub in the corner that was filled with yet another set of prostitutes of a variety of genders and species. There were what appeared to be servants in the room as well, and before he could react they were all over him, attempting to remove his armor.
He stifled the automatic attack response he'd had upon their approach. The last thing he needed was a pile of dead servants. Besides, the prospect of a warm bath was far too tempting at that point.
"I will not require your services tonight," he told the party occupying the hot tub. "You can leave." The authority in his voice must have been convincing because they left without question.
Then he turned to the servants. "I can handle it from here, ladies."
"You are still clothed," one of them said, looking confused.
"Thank you, but I can undress myself, I think. Do visitors normally receive such lavish treatment?"
"Of course!" said another one. "Guests of the Grandmaster are given the highest regard."
"Exactly how many guests has the Grandmaster invited to the... the-"
"The Contest of Champions?"
"Yes, that."
"Oh, thousands of celebrities and officials attend from all over the Galaxy. Shall we have new clothes brought up?" she added, pointing to the blood on his chest that was apparently noticeable to everyone in the universe.
"That would be wonderful, thank you."
They left and he was finally, mercifully, alone.
The bath was glorious, even with a naked stone Grandmaster staring at him from the corner of the room like something out of a nightmare. Bizarre as they were, the accommodations were more than sufficient. They were not up to Asgardian standards, of course, but given that he was rolling around in refuse only hours ago, he was not going to complain.
Like most beings in the universe, Loki had his best ideas in the bath. As he dumped an array of fragrant oils into the water for the hell of it, he considered his options, hoping the answer would come to him in a stroke of genius, as most things did.
Odin was dead. Thor was most likely dead too, if Hela managed to overpower him. And if she had made it to Asgard, she would be unstoppable.
Even if he wanted to return home, he couldn't. He was stuck on an alien planet (again) with no means of transport. He didn't even know what galaxy he was in.
No matter what he decided to do, it was important that he did not, under any circumstances, reveal his true identity. He did not want to risk word getting around that he had any connection to Asgard, nor did he want Asgard catching wind of him being here. Who knew whether Hela would try to find him in the future?
He tried to tell himself that he wasn't intimidated by her, but he was. She was terrifying. Absolutely, horribly terrifying. He had never seen power like that and it made him feel jealous and fearful at the same time. He decided he would be safest on Sakaar for the time being.
Perhaps finding a way into the Grandmaster's entourage was a worthwhile endeavor. Befriend him, gain his trust, learn his secrets so that he could be blackmailed later if necessary... As long as he kept his head down and did not draw attention to himself, he would be fine.
A few hours later Loki headed down to the lobby. He figured it was a good idea to get to know the place he might call home and to pinpoint all of its weaknesses for future reference. And he had unfinished business with a certain corridor.
After an inappropriate amount of snooping around he had mapped out most of the first floor and found a wall panel that provided access to the mainframe. The security system was far more advanced than he expected, but he had no need to infiltrate it. Not yet, anyway. He did manage to disable the protocol that controlled the internal laser grid, allowing access to every part of the palace.
On his way back through the lobby he caught sight of a group of people in fine dress: a large man adorned in gold-colored robes was surrounded by several regal-looking women. They appeared to be arguing with the guards. Loki did not pay much attention to them until part of the conversation drifted over to him.
"No, there must be some sort of mistake. I'm an ambassador! The Grandmaster is expecting me."
"Uh-huh," said a guard.
"This is ridiculous! I am the representative of Contraxia, you stupid peasant. I'm here to see the games!"
This was bound to happen. He should have been prepared for it.
"We'll see about that. You're coming with us." The guards poked their spears at the ambassador and his attendants and forced them toward the lift.
Loki had a sudden idea. And it was a very Loki sort of idea, too.
"Ah! There you are! I've been looking for you." He sauntered over to the group. "You must be the Contraxan ambassador! Excellent. The Grandmaster is waiting for you."
"I thought you were the ambassador," said a guard.
"What? No no no. I've been sent by the Grandmaster to welcome the ambassador." He gave the Contraxan a warm smile. "Right this way."
The guards did not move. He put his face right up to the tallest one and sneered. "Do you really want to embarrass the Grandmaster this way? I'm sure he'll want to hear how his guests were treated upon their arrival."
They backed off. Loki put an arm around the ambassador and led him down a corridor, out of sight of the guards and everyone else in the lobby.
"Thank you," the man said. "I have never been treated so rudely."
"I apologize, Your Excellency. I assure you this was a simple misunderstanding." That was true, actually.
"I hope so. I would hate for trade relations with Sakaar to be threatened by such an unfortunate incident."
Once they were alone and in the right place Loki stopped them. "So tell me, Ambassador. What exactly does Contraxia make? What is your commodity?"
The man looked confused. "Make? We don't 'make' anything. We trade in pleasure." He gestured toward his servants. "I thought everyone knew that. Anyway," he snapped his fingers at one of the women and she stepped forward. "This should be sufficient enough to repay you for your assistance. Now show me to the Grandmaster."
Loki smiled. "Ah, yes. About that." He drew his dagger and seconds later the ambassador fell to the floor with a thud, throat slit cleanly from side to side. It was an unceremonious death, hastily executed but executed nonetheless. He wiped his hands off on the man's robes and turned to the females. "Will you be joining him?"
They did not appear to care either way. One of them prodded the ambassador's body with her foot. Another shrugged. They seemed to have no love for their master.
"Off you go then," he whispered.
They ambled off toward the lobby. Loki slammed a button on the wall and a trash chute opened. He stuffed the ambassador's body inside and closed the hatch.
Problem solved.
His spirits somewhat elevated, he headed back to his room, where he decided to brave some of the beverages stashed in his personal bar. He was starting to miss the comforts of home and wanted to enjoy the fruits of his labor (if you counted killing a guy you were impersonating as 'labor' - which, of course, he did).
He bounded into the room, checked for stray prostitutes, then chose a blue bottle from the bar and hoped for the best.
Asgardians could hold their drink better than anyone - even Loki had developed this basic skill, though he wasn't Asgardian per se. But whatever it was that he tried was definitely not a normal liquor. It stung like needles and made him gag. Thank the gods Thor had not been there to see that, or he would never hear the end of it.
The red and purple bottles were not much better. But he kept going because every second spent drinking was one less second he had to think about his father or his brother or anything else that plagued his conscience.
After an indeterminate amount of time during which he became astoundingly drunk, there was a knock at the door. He ignored it at first because he wasn't entirely sure whether it was real or a hallucination, but then the door opened on its own and there stood the Grandmaster's personal bodyguard, her lip curled in a snarl.
"The Grandmaster demands your presence."
"Fantastic. Another party?"
"No."
He reached for his glass but she pulled it away from him.
"You know," *hic* "you are very rude."
"Thank you."
She stood there looking at him until he finally got up and followed her to the lift. They rode up together, the woman staring at him the whole time with a nasty grin that made him nervous, even in his inebriated state.
"So what's your name?" he said to kill the awkward silence.
"Why the hell would I tell you that?"
"I'm an ambassador. If I want to know the name of the person assigned to protect me, I should have it."
"I am not assigned to protect you. I do the Grandmaster's bidding, not yours. And right now, the Grandmaster demands your presence."
"Right. Don't you get tired of calling him that? Does he have an actual name?"
She rolled her eyes. "The Grandmaster is the Grandmaster. That's all you need to know."
When the doors opened she pushed him roughly out of the lift and into a room he had not seen before. It was mostly empty except for a large number of soldiers lining the walls. The Grandmaster sat right in the middle, flanked by two beautiful women carrying massive guns.
"Topaz! Finally."
"'Topaz?'" Loki chuckled under his breath. She gave him another push. "Ow."
Something was off here. He could feel it.
"Grandmaster!" he exclaimed. "How nice to see you again!"
"You're late, but that's okay. We can ignore that - this time. Ahaha." He followed this with an extraordinarily awkward silence, then finally stood up and took what Loki concluded must be his proclamation stance. "Did you like your room?"
"It was perfect."
He narrowed his eyes. "Really? 'Cause someone told me you shooed away the escorts I so graciously provided for you."
Loki knew there was a chance they would become suspicious of him at some point, but he was ready for it. "Yes, the trip from Contraxia is so very exhausting. I just felt like a good rest. Surely you understand?"
"Yeah. Sure, sure. Well, no. Contraxia is only like two star systems away. It can't take that long to get here, I imagine?" He looked at Topaz for confirmation. She nodded in agreement.
He could feel his smile faltering. "The accommodations are lovely," he said, hoping to change the subject. "I must thank you for your gracious hospi-"
Four guards walked in carrying a large bag between them. They marched across the room and set the bag down at the Grandmaster's feet.
"-tality."
This was going in a bad direction. And the look on Topaz's face was most unnerving. She handed her master some sort of opalescent staff, which he wielded with entirely too much excitement.
"I don't like being lied to. I really don't. It's one of my things."
"I assure you, Grandmaster, I have no idea what you're talking about."
Topaz gave the object between them a rough kick and The Contraxan ambassador's body rolled out of the bag and onto the floor.
"Yes well... I may have embellished a bit." He flashed an innocent smile. "I'm not actually the ambassador."
The Grandmaster rolled his eyes. "Well that was obvious."
Loki's mind went into overdrive. He was now, as the humans say, royally screwed. He started searching for exits and counting hostiles while running through a list of plausible excuses. This was made difficult by his being slightly more than a little tipsy. "It was a mistake, I assure you."
"Mm. Disappointing. So you're just nobody then? And what am I supposed to do about this?" He nudged the ambassador's body with his foot.
"I am not nobody. I am a king." It rolled right off of his tongue, out of his mouth, and into the open before he could stop himself.
The Grandmaster blinked slowly a few times. Finally he said, "well that's uh... less obvious. King? Really?"
Say no. Just say no. Say you were joking. "Yes."
More staring. An eyebrow went up. "Of what, exactly?"
"A tiny little planet on the other side of the galaxy. You will not have heard of it."
The Grandmaster made a face as if he was trying to comprehend the impossible idea that there was something in the universe he didn't know and was horribly offended that such a notion would even exist.
"What's it called?" he asked.
Loki considered making up a planet, but he was too drunk to think of a decent name. Maybe a minor Xandarian colony. That would be acceptable. Or a Cotati moon. There were hundreds of those. He just had to name a random one-
"Terra."
Shit. What in the Nine God-Awful Realms would make him say that? Everyone knows Terra.
The lunatic tilted his head slightly, then glanced at Topaz, who shrugged. "Never heard of it," he mumbled.
Thank the universe. "Yes I am the king there. And even in such a remote part of the Galaxy we heard tell of the Contest of Champions. I did not want to miss such a-"
"More lies. I don't like it." He stood up and raised his staff. Loki had the feeling he had slightly underestimated the this man and was about to pay the price. "Ambassador, or whoever you are, you are accused of really annoying me. I hereby sentence you to-"
"Loki! My name is Loki, alright? I arrived here accidentally. I snuck into the palace and you mistook me for the ambassador."
The Grandmaster paused, the end of his staff inches from Loki's chest. "Finally, some answers," he said.
Loki's ego assured him that had he not been so inebriated, he would not have given up so easily. He bowed his head. "Forgive me, Grandmaster. I have wronged you." He thought he might be laying it on a little thick, but the lunatic seemed receptive, so he continued. "I only wanted to fulfill my greatest wish - to see the Contest of Champions in person and to experience Sakaar in all its... splendor. Please let me know how I can mend the rift between us."
The Grandmaster looked him up and down in an appraising sort of way. He felt suddenly like one of the prostitutes he had dismissed earlier. It was that sort of look. "This 'Terra...' What's the deal? What's your thing? What do you do? Do you have any - you know - sway? Are you good for the Units?"
"I'm not sure what you mean, Sir," Loki muttered.
Topaz rolled her eyes again. "He's asking if you're rich."
"Yeah." The Grandmaster pointed at Topaz and nodded.
"Oh. Yes, very rich. And we have an incredibly advanced-"
"Great!" The Grandmaster stood up and handed his staff back to Topaz, who had a look of utter disappointment on her face. "We can forgo the execution for now."
"Thank you, Grandmaster. Wait. 'For now?'"
"Well I don't know how they do things on Terra, but here on Sakaar it's illegal to murder diplomats. Most of the time, anyway. I mean, I can't just let you go."
Loki had a sudden urge to kill the idiot then and there. He fought it. Hard. "What are you going to do with me?"
The Grandmaster put an arm around him and steered him across the room. "Let's not worry about that," he said. "Let's think about what you can do for me. Do you have any skills? Other than being a king and killing people, I mean."
He hesitated. That was pretty much his entire M.O. "I think you will find that I am extremely versatile," he lied. "I can be of great use to you."
"That's what I like to hear."
