*sweats nervously*
Yyyyyyeeeeeaaaah, it took me even longer. In my defence, though, December is not the best time to get anything substantial done besides Christmas cleaning. Or you know, scratch that, Christmas cleaning included.
The fact that my computer went out of commission for a few days also did not help, especially that it was during the final stretch of writing this chapter.
But hey, at least something actually starts happening in this chapter. The plot maybe doesn't thicken, but starts taking shape. And I'm really, really sorry for the long wait (again, darnit). I hope it was at least worth it? A bit? Maybe?
Also, since 2018 is still pretty new, Happy New Year, everyone! :D
(On a side note, to the nice person who asked if I ship Valki... Sorry to disappoint... but no, not really. Shipping is just not my division in general. I may one day write something with some minor romancey interactions in the background going on, but I don't think it's this day or story. Sorry about that!)
Loki didn't sleep well.
In his dreams, Hela shattered Mjolnir and pushed him off a cliff into a dark abyss. Thanos and his minions were waiting at the bottom, and they tore him to pieces—and yet he was still whole as he felt he was falling again. Then, somehow, he found himself in front of a gate and he could see them behind it, Thor, Frigga and Odin, sitting at a table laden with food and drink. They were feasting and laughing and singing, while he stood at the gate, calling out to them and sensing something prowl in the darkness surrounding him. They did not even spare him a glance.
The moment the shadows lunged at him, Loki's eyes shot open.
Relief came first. Then confusion. Then he remembered where he was and why and didn't know how to feel about it.
Subdued light was pouring into his room through the window. The street outside was noisy with life, particularly one loud and obnoxious song somebody apparently decided worthy of sharing with the whole neighborhood. Or maybe they just really hated other people.
In any case, more sleep in such conditions was unlikely. Maybe it was actually a good thing, considering what Loki had dreamed of.
He stayed in bed, though. Taking a deep breath, he examined his magic and was relieved to see that the damage done by the Void was almost done healing. If he didn't overexert himself, he should be completely fine by the next time he went to sleep—assuming that a day on Sakaar was more or less like a day on most of the Nine Realms. And assuming it wasn't terribly late already.
Loki got up, stretching. He found twelve lilac towels in the nearest box, picked two, and went to the bathroom. A quick shower washed off all of the remaining fatigue and when he returned to his room, rubbing his hair with one towel to get rid of the water still clinging to his hair, he felt almost enthusiastic to go out and explore. Still, he had to make some preparation first.
He decided to check what was left in his hold, and it dampened his mood a little. Normally, he had a variety of armors, weapons, books, and various paraphernalia, magical or not, at his disposal, ready to be summoned with a flick of his hand. But of course he'd thought it was high time to empty it, stuffing everything into his old chambers—which no one but him visited anymore, making it the safest place for that—and see what he could ditch and what was worth keeping merely a day before Thor came back—
Loki pushed the thought of Thor and no longer home away, concentrating on the contents of his hold. He hadn't finished putting things back here, mistakenly thinking he had lots of time to take care of it, not that he needed them at that moment. As a result, apart from the blaster he'd obtained yesterday, all he had left now were two daggers, two spare sets of clothes, neither of them any good for serious combat, one of his horned helmets—more of a headdress, as it left most of his head uncovered and wasn't probably very practical—a book on dwarven methods of enchanting, a bottle of three-hundred-years old liqueur from Alfheim, and, for some reason, a hairbrush. Not the best equipment to start a new life with. The overwhelming sense of loss hit him again.
Look at the bright side: less burden, he tried to convince himself, with meager results.
The hairbrush did come in handy, however, as he decided to make himself slightly more presentable. He then reapplied the returning charms to his daggers—the old ones were quite worn out at this point—and put new ones on everything else. He had too little to afford losing anything now, hairbrush included.
Loki also counted his money. Chimei indeed had not taken much; he could afford two more nights here and still have something left, but sooner or later he'd need more, be it for a better place to stay, a passage off-world, or whatever else he might need.
There was just so much to be done he wasn't sure where to begin.
Breakfast. Breakfast sounded like a good start.
He walked down the stairs and entered the kitchen. Jolmendarianskeezzaflothpole was chopping some vegetables at a table and humming to himself, but he stopped when he saw Loki. He didn't seem any friendlier than the last time.
"Good day," Loki said apprehensively, trying to ease the sudden tension.
Jolmendarianskeezzaflothpole grunted. "Get out. You're a disruptive presence."
Somewhat not really surprised, Loki left the kitchen without a word and walked into the bar. The first thing he noticed was Bruca, still sitting at the exactly the same spot as before and drinking a milkshake. Loki wondered if they'd perhaps stayed like that all night.
Apart from Bruca and him, Chimei was the only one present, standing behind the counter, again focused on her piece of paper.
"Good day, Chimei," Loki greeted her, walking over to the nearest barstool.
Chimei's eyes snapped up. "Oh, hi there! How was your night?"
"Quite pleasant, thank you." Apart from the nightmare she didn't have to know about. He should probably do something so it wouldn't occur again.
"Glad to hear that. By the way, what do you think about this—Spirits Shack!" She winced as she said that. "Wait, no, that sounds haunted. And it's not really a shack. Dang!" She crumpled the paper and threw it somewhere behind her. "One day I'll nail it. Anyway, I guess you'd like to eat something?"
He turned on the menu, ordered the least-footnoted breakfast option—scrambled eggs of something whose name had too many consonants and too little vowels—and, with Chimei's recommendation, decided to try some local tea that was apparently only toxic to reptilian species.
"Not sure what else I could recommend you," she said as she brought him breakfast just a few minutes later. "It could help if you told me what you are. It's kinda hard to tell when you look like some one-fifth of sapient species out here."
Loki hesitated, taking a sip of the hot, slightly spicy drink. It was tempting to tell her anything but the truth—to burn that part of the past and simply claim his Asgardian heritage as his only one. He'd spent most of his life in Asgardian skin anyway, eaten what they had, drunk what they had, breathed the same air as they had. He had adapted so much that at this point he likely had more in common with them than with the Jotuns.
But a few differences remained, ones that had only started to make sense once he learned the truth about himself. Like how he could manage in the cold better than others, while he fared worse in the hottest days of summer, and how his skin always took more time to heal when burned. There could be more that he was not yet aware of and which could come to light on this new, alien planet, full of things Loki never had to deal with before. It would be nice to have some warnings if he could get them.
Besides, if he'd already made the decision to reclaim his name, he could as well reclaim that too. This wasn't Asgard anymore, this wasn't even a part of the Nine Realms. Even the Asgardians themselves had not seemed to be too appalled by his origins, at least since the Dark Elf invasion. It had actually been one member of the Asgardian theatrical troupe to suggest that addition to The Tragedy of Loki of Asgard, much to Loki's surprise—he had suspected many people had already known of that little detail about his life even before they saw the play, at least since he'd returned from his ill-fated adventure on Earth, but certainly had not expected anyone to take that detail and put it in a play without presenting it as something abominable or, at the very least, troubling.
Apparently people can forgive a lot if only you die a heroic death, Loki thought.
He suppressed a shudder. He was dangerously close to starting reminiscing again and he needed to cut that short.
I'll tell her. If the Asgardians, of all people, could be fine with it, so can they.
"You could say… I am kind of a hybrid," he said in the end. Technically, it wasn't that much of a lie. Maybe it wasn't even a lie at all, considering he still had no idea who actually had given birth to him—but he wasn't going to ponder over that now.
To his slight surprise, Chimei smiled at that. "Just like most of the people around here. Me, for example. I'm not even sure which genes exactly I've got here. Mommy kept bragging she was part Sovereign, though, said it was where the metallic skin came from. Dad was mostly Ruul, but I'm pretty sure he had some Froma blood in him, he could still do that levitation thing sometimes. Pity I didn't inherit it from him, could be useful—right, we were talking about you. So, what are you?"
"Asgardian," Loki said with a certainty that sounded too bold even to him, only to add slightly more warily, "and also… part Jotun." He forced himself not to grimace; the word still left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth.
When Chimei suddenly frowned and drew her lips into a tight line, Loki thought briefly that he was too optimistic, but then she brightened and punched the air triumphantly.
"Ah, yes! Now I remember! I mean, a bit vaguely, but hey, I do. We've had two or three Asgardian patrons before, and that one Jotun lady who accidentally broke our ceiling lamp. They could eat pretty much everything, save from some very race-specific food. You know, like the stuff the Flb'Dbi eat. Yuck. Anyway, if anyone similar to you and me can eat that, you probably can as well. At worst, you won't like it. But if you want to be extra sure, stick to Xandarian options. That what most of the similar-looking races eat. Should be safe for you."
And that was it. No uneasy questions, no accusations, no change in the way she looked at him, no condemning comments. That definitely counted as good news, in more ways than one. Loki felt as if a great weight was just taken off his shoulders. "Thank you for your help, Chimei."
"Nah, don't mention it. I'd be a lousy barkeep if I let a patron of mine get food poisoning."
Another customer came in and Chimei left Loki to collect the order. Loki, meanwhile, went back to planning, although that was probably saying a bit much. He still didn't have a starting point besides stepping outside the door. He didn't even really have any particular direction to go in.
His thoughts went back to the tower. He certainly had to investigate that sooner or later. Everything about it, from its central location to its size, screamed wealth and power, automatically making it a point of interest for him. Perhaps even a possible place of residence—
He stopped with the fork halfway to his mouth. Was he actually considering staying on Sakaar already, without looking for other options first?
But then… why not? As wretched as Sakaar might have seemed at first glance, once he secured a comfortable enough position for himself—which meant as close to the top of the local social ladder as possible—he could make it work. If, judging by Chimei's reaction—or rather the lack of it—even Jotuns were welcome in this society, integration wouldn't be an issue. And if he ever wanted to leave, there were countless ways he could choose. It could even prove useful if Thanos did come for him eventually—he would have plenty of possible escape routes available. He just needed to learn more about which portal led where. And about Sakaar in general.
In the end, he decided to start small—take a walk, see things, not look for anything in particular, let whatever would catch his attention lead him. Not the tower, not yet; that was an endeavor he'd save for later, when he was more prepared.
He finished his breakfast and got up, just in time for Chimei to get back to the counter. "Leaving already?" she asked.
"Yes, I thought I might do some sightseeing," Loki answered.
"Have fun, then. Stay out of trouble, don't buy anything from Thrik, and watch out for the quartzbeetles in the fish market. Want me to keep the room for you?" She sounded hopeful. "Not that it's likely there'll be anyone to take your place, but who knows."
"Please do," Loki said after only a second of hesitation. Chimei had been so friendly and helpful so far that it would probably be good to stick around for a bit longer. Perhaps when he got back he could talk with her about what he saw and ask for any details he wasn't able to figure out by himself.
She looked genuinely pleased by his answer and even if it was in part because of the fact he was paying her, it warmed his heart a little—it had been some time since someone actually seemed to enjoy his company.
"You got it, Loki. I'll see if I find some time to dust the room a bit. Oh, and by the way, would you like to go see tonight's fight with me? I could use some company."
The question took Loki aback a little, but then he remembered about the arena and put two plus two together. He wasn't sure what surprised him more: that Chimei apparently was into blood sports or that she wanted him to tag along.
"You… did not strike me as a fan," he said.
"Hey, let me have some excitement in my life, okay?" Chimei grinned. "Anyway, it's Newbies Night and Jo doesn't like those, and Bruca already got some plans, and I just like having some company. I don't know, it's more fun this way."
Not wanting to get on Chimei's bad side, Loki chose not to voice his opinion on such a form of entertainment, and instead answered, "I shall see if I can make it."
He had absolutely no intention to. Loki was in no way squeamish, but he had seen enough real-life battles for the staged ones to have little appeal for him. At best, it was boring, and at worst, it was a waste of good soldier material.
"Great!" Chimei's grin widened. "If you won't pop in here by then, just meet me at entrance 15-Theta. The event starts at 18."
"Duly noted." He made a mental note to find himself a timepiece, even if it wouldn't be useful for this particular purpose. "See you in the evening, Chimei."
Loki left the hopefully-soon-to-be-named bar and just went straight ahead. He was in no hurry, so he would just take it slow, following nothing else but his intuition and curiosity—and, as Chimei had advised, he'd do his best to stay out of trouble. Surely that was something he could manage.
That was indeed something Loki could manage. For the most part.
He spent most of the day according to his plan, just walking around, exploring, and listening to people. He learned where to get the best food, where not to linger after sunset, where to acquire the most reliable weapons, where to sell things that most people would deem useless, where to find the most skilled mechanics in the city, and much, much more information that could be useful or not. At some point, Loki purchased a notebook and a pen to write things down and revise them later; while he had an excellent memory, the sheer foreignness of new names and concepts was making it difficult to remember them all.
Loki also learned—or rather found nothing to undermine his first impression—that Sakaar was indeed lawless. In a few hours, he witnessed at least eight more brawls, and while he started to notice small groups of people who appeared to be armored guards, they did nothing to stop anything, even joining the cheering crowds sometimes. He also saw a robbery, but the angry lizardman who lost his bag managed to catch the thief himself and beat him to a pulp, again to no reaction from anyone except a group of bystanders who proceeded to place bets and then started their own brawl when the losers decided they wouldn't pay up after all. Loki didn't stay to see the result.
The violence in the streets was not everything. When Loki found the local equivalent of a herbalist and asked for some dream suppressants, he was also offered a wide range of drugs, and while he had never seen most of them before, the majority of the ones he did know were illegal in most parts of the civilized universe. He kindly refused to try any, bought only what he came for, and left the store.
Weapons seemed to be slightly more regulated. While quite a lot of people around were armed, it was usually with blades, guns or blasters, with nothing heavier than that in sight. He only managed to catch a bit of a hushed conversation between a group of rather shadowy individuals discussing rocket launchers and plasma bombs, who suddenly switched subjects to horticulture once they noticed they might've been overheard.
Which meant there was some law on this planet. Not that Loki would bother abiding by it, but it still wouldn't hurt to know it, even if only to make sure no one would notice when he decided to break it.
There was also much talk about tonight's event. People speculated about new contestants, forwarding rumors and pure guesses, or discussed previous Newbies Nights, trying to draw some conclusions that might help them place their bets, even though they didn't know the full roster yet. Some were also talking about earlier contests, exchanging opinions or outright arguing about the superiority of their favorites. Loki noticed, though, that there was a certain consensus: the current Grand Champion, someone called the Green Scar, was the best gladiator to grace the arena with his presence in a long time, and everyone could not wait for his next fight.
In one of these discussions, Loki heard about the Grandmaster for the first time.
He did not inquire directly, but the pieces of information were enough to paint a clear enough picture. That Grandmaster person was apparently the one overseeing the Contest of Champions—as the locals referred to the fights in the arena—the actual owner of most of the contestants, always present at every single event, more or less the absolute ruler of the whole planet, and, if Loki was to believe one semi-drunk braggart talking to a group of jealous listeners, a host of many a great party, which were not that easy to get into.
Loki didn't have to ask to guess where the man dwelled.
The tower—the palace, as people actually referred to it—kept catching his eye through the day, and even though he purposely chose to go anywhere but there, he couldn't help but notice he was getting closer to it, as if fate itself was pushing him this way. Eventually it pushed him close enough to see a guarded entrance to the palace, where quite a crowd had gathered.
Considering where fate had pushed him before, maybe it wasn't a good sign. But then, he would never know if he turned back. And if he was so close now… well, maybe he shouldn't force himself to avoid it anymore.
At first, Loki watched the entrance from afar. The gate was open and the guards were actually letting people in after a quick check. Most of those entering were carrying goods—he could see baskets of food, bundles of expensive-looking clothes, and boxes of parts among other things. Some people came empty-handed and some of them were actually let through, while others were sent away. A side-entrance for servants, traders, and the like, then. Perhaps it was actually for the better. As nice as it would be to go straight for the top, sometimes one could find more interesting things at the bottom—things like secrets. A potentially valuable asset in dealing with an absolute ruler.
The thought made Loki pause for a moment. In the morning he'd been barely thinking about settling down making himself comfortable, and now he was… maybe not exactly planning a coup yet, but definitely on a path that could lead there.
That escalated rather quickly.
Loki shrugged it off. Right now, his objective was quick infiltration, nothing more. He'd decide what to do with what he found out later. He probably wouldn't be overthrowing anyone too soon.
Although he had to admit that being an absolute ruler had a nice ring to it. And he was pretty sure he wouldn't make a bad ruler either. He'd done quite a decent job on Asgard after all.
He flexed his fingers, checking his magic. Almost whole. Good enough for what he had in mind.
Loki walked a bit closer, not too worried about looking suspicious—there were many others gazing at the palace, some of them pointing at it and talking about its features, mostly the giant faces adorning the sides of the building. Loki had noticed some of them back on his way to the city, but from where he stood now, they were hardly recognizable. Loki looked up at them as well, but with little care. He reached out with his magic towards the gate, feeling for any kind of resistance or interference, and when he was sure there was nothing, he backtracked into a nearby side alley.
When stepped out of the shadows, he was wearing an illusion of a tall, dark-skinned lady, wearing an elaborate dress and hairstyle, carrying his spare outfits in his arms—also laced with illusions, to make them look more colorful and shiny. Looking at all the other people who brought clothes into the palace, Loki thought he did a rather good job at trying to pass as one of them.
"Greetings," he said as he approached the guards at the gate, altering his voice to sound more feminine, and bowed his head slightly. "I am Shalya Nel, seamstress. I was told I could try selling my wares in the palace."
"Then get an appointment with Arga first and come next week," one of the guards replied, checking something in his data pad. "Because I don't see you on the list."
"What?" Loki put a worried note in his voice, glancing at the screen . "It's impossible, I made an appointment a few days ago—"
"According to this, you didn't."
"No, it must be a mistake!" Loki insisted, waving his hand in what he meant to be perceived as a nervous gesture, a small spell leaving his fingers. "Look again. My name has to be here."
"I'm telling you, you're not—"
"Look again." He shot the guard a murderous look.
"Fine, fine," the guard grumbled, "here I am, looking, and as I said, you—" He paused abruptly. "Huh. Okay. Weird."
Loki smirked triumphantly. It worked. "Yes? What is so weird? Perhaps you found my name after all?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I did." The guard sounded both confused and embarrassed. "My bad, I guess?" He stepped to the side. "Please, come in. Take one of the elevators on the right, floor forty-two. "
Loki snorted with contempt. "If it happens again, I am making an official complaint to your superiors," he hissed and moved on, masking his quickening pace as a result of Shalya Nel's anger. The illusion he'd placed on the data pad wouldn't last long, and while hopefully the guard wouldn't bother to check it again, Loki preferred to be out of sight by then.
He found himself in a tall, long corridor, filled with light even though he could see no windows. On both sides, there were doors and elevators, and people moved around in various stages of hurry, either eager to deliver their goods, or already leaving. There were several guards around, but most of them seemed quite relaxed, talking among themselves, or even with some of the visitors.
Loki looked around and walked over to the nearest elevator that no one else seemed interested in. Not waiting for anyone to join him, he quickly hopped in and closed the door before choosing the lowest floor, marked as 'minus seven.'
Making sure there were no surveillance devices in the elevator, he dissolved the illusion and stored his clothes back in his hold, instead turning himself invisible. He had considered doing that earlier, but trying to move through a crowd of people while cloaked was usually even more of a problem than going in simply disguised, for a number of reasons, getting accidentally crushed being just one of them, getting noticed and exposed because someone realized that the force pushing at them was suspiciously too tangible to be just thin air was another. It was much more useful when there was more space than people.
The elevator arrived at floor minus seven and Loki stepped out into a much smaller, much darker corridor than the one few floors above. And the moment he did, he almost gasped out loud, feeling a sudden shift in the energies in the air—no, not quite a shift. The energies seemed to intensify here.
There were only four guards in the corridor, standing at the other end; they seemed to have been talking about something, only for their heads to snap towards the elevator as soon as they noticed its door open.
They rushed in to investigate. Loki passed by them, unnoticed, as they wondered if the elevator was perhaps broken and if it had something to do with a certain incident involving a mechanical flying dog and high-octane Kree fuel from a week ago. Either way, they decided to report it, but not before examining it.
Meanwhile, Loki walked towards the other end. He noticed a couple of doors and something that looked like a hole in the floor at the end of the corridor, leading down. Whatever was causing this change in intensity, was below him and it had to be incredibly powerful.
He walked up to the hole and realized it was in fact a spiral staircase, going an awful long way down with no railing at all.
It looked very inviting.
But he didn't go straight there, not just yet. He glanced at the guards and, just to make sure they would be occupied for a while longer, with a quick move of his hand made the elevator lights flicker wildly. While the guards started shouting in confusion, Loki cast a quick illusion on the spot he was standing at and anchored it. He then went through one of the door and locked it with a spell for good measure.
Finding himself in an even darker room, filled with some mechanical devices the use of he couldn't even guess, he sat on the floor and removed the invisibility spell. He should not be here. Which was good, in a way, because that meant he definitely was on the trail of something interesting, but going further, either in disguise or invisible, could be dangerous in the long run. He didn't know how what or who awaited him down there and he'd rather not risk getting apprehended or otherwise incapacitated. Hiding in a safe spot and phantomwalking seemed like a better option.
Phantomwalking, however, had its own disadvantages—like how the illusion he'd imbue with his consciousness had to be a splitting image of his physical self, with no alterations at all, which meant that while he wouldn't get caught in the act, they could still see his face if he didn't manage to hide.
It was a good thing, then, that he had an idea how to deal with that. Although he didn't like it.
He had never done it willingly, but he more or less knew how—he remembered how it had felt each time and he could recreate the process from that. And since it would actually change him physically, his illusion would take this exact shape as well. Admittedly not too different from what he looked like now, but different enough not to be anyone's first guess once he changed back.
Loki closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Magic flowed through his body, but this time it didn't shroud him in a false image. Instead, it seemed to scrape at his skin, bringing forth a wave of familiar cold washing all over him. At it settled in, his body seemed to welcome it—but his mind still found it wrong, even though he knew it should not longer matter, especially not here.
He opened his eyes and looked down at his hands, wincing at his success. His skin was blue, covered with the raised lines of Jotun markings.
Even though he had just shapeshifted, he couldn't wait to change back. It seemed it would still take him some time to accept his other skin—his true skin.
Loki pushed back the discomfort and focused back on his task. He closed his eyes again, concentrating on his newly changed body and creating a template with his magic—and then he pushed it outside.
A mere second later he was seeing through his illusionary double's eyes, looking down at his real self sitting on the floor. He almost winced again, seeing his Jotun form in full, and quickly turned towards the door. Judging by the sounds, the guards mostly went from shouting to making angry noises or begging the elevator to stop going crazy on their watch.
Loki phased through the door. He couldn't do that indefinitely, though; every time the illusion passed through a solid object, it would lose some substance and eventually become too flimsy to maintain the connection. He glanced at the guards; only one was actually facing him, but still didn't see him thanks to the illusion Loki had put there earlier. For the next few minutes, all they would see was just the empty end of the corridor, even if Loki kept standing there for the whole time.
Which he didn't. He went down the stairs slowly and carefully. He couldn't feel it, his body being somewhere else, but he could bet the anomalous energy spike only grew stronger the lower he descended. At first, he could hear the guards above resume their idle talk, but eventually their voices died down and there was complete silence. One of the perks of phantomwalking was that he would make absolutely no sound unless he wanted to, and so he could only focus on not being seen. Not that there appeared to be anyone to hide from at the moment.
After what seemed like half an hour, he finally reached the bottom, finding himself in yet another corridor. This one seemed to be vaguely circular in shape and when he walked along it a bit, he stumbled upon another staircase, and another, and another…
He passed by six of them before he finally found a door leading to the round chamber surrounded by the corridor—a heavy, metal door with multiple locks and two control panels on each side of it.
The source of that mysterious power was right behind it, Loki could feel it. That it was guarded with such an impressive and probably nigh-impenetrable door did not surprise him in the slightest. But the fact that it was ajar did.
Almost at the same moment, Loki heard a deep voice coming from the other side.
"So there. Now you know why it's not going to be that easy."
Carefully, Loki peeked through the gap. He managed to catch a tall silhouette, armored like the rest of the guards, but not wearing a helmet, standing in front of a forcefield.
And behind the forcefield was the object Loki knew was what he was looking for.
He didn't exactly know what exactly it was, however. From what he could see, it looked like a large golden orb suspended in mid-air with three branches bent upwards, flattened at the end. Over each branch floated a smaller orb, roughly the size of a grown man's head, pulsing slowly with violet light.
"Not to mention you will need some container," the deep-voiced armored man continued. "It's not something you can just put in your bag."
"I'm working on it, you know," a new, slightly nervous voice replied, somewhere to the right of the armored man. Loki couldn't see who was talking, but the other man surely sounded less imposing than his companion. "But yes, this kind of forcefield can be… a problem."
"Everything about this is a problem. And since you came aboard, they seem to multiply instead of lessening."
"They don't multiply, Angmo, you just didn't see them before. For example, you barely even considered the logistics of such a task—"
"Spare me the lecture. Logistics is yours to take care of."
"Yeah, of course, just tell me to do everything and then complain about problems you don't have to solve!" Someone rather short quickly moved from right to left, waving his arms in frustration and disappearing from Loki's line of sight before he could see the man's face. When he next spoke, however, he seemed to be standing much closer. "Damn, I wish I could fire you, I really do."
The man called Angmo turned and Loki stepped away from the door. He decided to stick to listening for now, ready to dispel the illusion in case they saw him.
"Keep dreaming. You will not find anyone else both willing to work with you and having access to the Tri-Sphere."
There was a pause, and then the other man said, "Unless I pull some strings and inform the Grandmaster that your loyalty is… questionable."
"He trusts me," Angmo growled.
"Well, he trusts me too. And out of us two, who hangs around him more often? Who he considers his friend, hm? I'm sure he wouldn't ignore my opinion, and then who knows, he might think someone else would guard his precious trinket better—"
"You dare?!" Angmo shouted and there was a sound of metal hitting something hard. "I could kill you for that right now, you pesky little—"
"B-but you won't." The other man clearly tried to sound confident, but only partially succeeded. "You won't, and you won't sell me out to the Grandmaster either, because you'd lose your only ally out here. And who knows if you would ever manage to find anyone else? Just how long did you wait before I came, huh?"
A moment of tense silence followed, suddenly broken by Angmo's frustrated roar—and as the door swung wide open, an angry red-skinned man clad in armor, wielding a sword that seemed too large to be practical, left the central room.
Startled, Loki dispelled the illusion a second too late—enough for Angmo's eyes to fall on him, his eyebrows rising in shock.
Oh. Oh shit.
The next moment, Loki was back in the room upstairs. He slumped against the wall, breathing deeply, hear hammering in his chest, and then changed back into his Asgardian skin, the cold blue giving to pale pink as his body temperature rose. Now that felt right, and even helped to alleviate the sensation of failure a little.
But was it really a failure? Sure, one of them had seen him, but only for a split second, and if anything, they would look for some elusive blue-skinned man, while he continued to walk around in his Asgardian form—and it would lead them nowhere. It was a pretty low price to pay for learning of their little secret—that this Angmo and his partner in crime were both clearly involved in something the Grandmaster wouldn't approve of.
Loki smirked. He had his valuable asset now. And he could think of several ways of using it to his advantage. But to choose one, he still needed to know more.
He glanced at the wrist-worn timepiece he'd acquired earlier that day. Ten minutes to seventeen.
Maybe he would join Chimei this evening after all.
Some fun facts ahead!
FF#1: the "hold" thing is a concept - or rather the name of a concept - I came up in another fic (not to be found here or anywhere; long story). I've seen it being referred to as "pocket dimension" or "negative space" or something like that, but for some reason I wanted to go with something shorter, probably because I figured it was something natural and ordinary not just for Loki but many other Asgardians as well, and they'd have a simplier name for that. Not that I think the names I mentioned are bad! Just taking a slightly different approach here.
FF#2: The Green Scar is a thing I lifted from the comics - long story short, it's one of the different versions of the Hulk, one that emerged on Sakaar. While it actually came with some different characterization than the "usual" Hulk, I'm using it mostly as a nickname here - basically so that I can refer to the Hulk without actually naming him. For obvious reasons.
FF#3: Angmo is not quite an original character. But he also has very little in common with his comic book counterpart here.
FF#4: Why yes, the Tri-Sphere is a comic thing too. And I shall be slightly altering things about it as well.
FF#5: I... haven't actually read those comics. But hey, I still did some research!
