Game On
Brunch was cut shortly after the paparazzi invasion where Tony Stark invited everyone back to his flat to discuss in private what was to come. Annie hesitantly rose from her seat, uncertain how she felt taking Jess along. She turned to suggest to her sister to go hang out with Serah when Annie noticed Jess was already out the restaurant door, animatedly waving her arms as she walked and talked with Jane and Darcy.
"It seems your fair sister has quite the steely resolve," Fandral grinned, stepping beside her.
Annie glanced up at him, taken slightly aback by the charming smile gracing his features. Were all Asgardians ridiculously handsome? Even the unattractive ones probably still looked like runway models, Annie begrudgingly thought to herself.
"Yeah," she muttered in reply, folding her arms across her chest. "I hate that."
Fandral's grin widened.
Annie narrowed her gaze, eyeing him suspiciously. "What?"
Fandral shrugged his shoulders, following after the others. "It seems a trait that runs in your family."
Annie stood speechless, watching Fandral walk away. She felt herself blush as she realized she had been staring at his David the Statue buttocks. Clearing her throat, Annie darted her gaze, adjusting the top of her shirt and hastily running her fingers through the knots in her hair, joining the others outside.
It was a warm summer afternoon with a light breeze. It would have been a perfect day if Annie wasn't parading around with aliens and Iron Man. Tugging her hair into a ponytail, combing it to the side so it wasn't on her neck, Annie heavily sighed, wishing she could sit outside and soak up the sun in her backyard. A tall, frothy glass of beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, both things Annie felt a sudden desperation for.
Instead she was being led toward a parked limo outside of the restaurant. A tall, slightly pudgy man, wearing a suit that had to have cost more than Annie's rent for an entire year, greeted the group with an eager smile, nodding to Tony as he opened the door. Tony slid inside, gesturing for the rest of them to follow. Darcy and Jess went in next, squealing and gasping as they entered. Everyone else piled in after with the man who had greeted Tony closing the door behind him.
Annie had been in a limo once before. She was fifteen, a sophomore, and the cutest senior in school had asked her to prom. It was also where she lost her virginity. And, she never did go to prom. Nothing inside Tony Stark's limo resembled the one she had been in. Though, the lack of Alex Dennis and his overpowering cologne added a lot to the appeal the second time around.
Everyone sat comfortably in a circle with a small bar hidden underneath the seats. Ice buckets with expensive wines that had names Annie couldn't pronounce were built in between the cushions. Tony held a filled glass in one hand, waving to the others to help themselves.
"Ooh, what's this do?" asked Jess pointing at a blue button glowing with LED lights on the top of the roof. Before Tony could answer, Jess reached up, jamming her finger on the button.
"You are unauthorized to access this control," announced a computerized voice.
Jess jumped, snapping her hand into her lap like a dog caught trying to sneak food off the dinner table. Annie glanced around, feeling as though she had been sent to the future.
"Why must you all insist on pushing every button you see?" the voice audibly sighed.
"That's Jarvis," explained Tony, taking a hearty swig from his wine glass. "He's sarcastic because he's British."
"Or, he's sarcastic because you created him," disclosed Jane, rising her brows high.
"Ooh. What's this one do?" interrupted Jess, pressing a yellow button on a small panel behind Darcy.
"I wouldn't press—" a shiny metal pole protruded from the floor, ejecting like a lightsaber to the ceiling of the car—"that," Tony lamely finished.
Everyone sat in silence, their eyes pinned to the middle of the limo. It was Darcy and Jess who broke the awkward tension first. Darcy snorted loudly and Jess broke into a fit of giggles followed closely by Jane cupping her hands over her mouth.
"Who on earth would even try to use that in here?" asked Darcy in between her laughing fits.
Fandral leaned in toward Thor, his brows furrowed tightly together. "I do not understand this joke."
It was Annie's turn to snort. Tony rolled his eyes, emptying the last of his wine in one gulp. He turned to the ice bucket next to him and filled his glass to the brim. He started to explain the paradise of places where men could go with promises to take Thor and Fandral one night when Annie instantly tuned him out.
She remained silent the entire drive, observing how everyone interacted with one another. They were all so comfortable, at complete ease despite the chaos around them. No one was nervous, or even a little frightened at the idea of alien gods walking amongst them, some of which were planning to take over Earth, where as others had tried and fallen. They weren't random people thrown together before a cataclysmic downfall, but actual friends.
The crew of misfits arrived at Tony Stark's apartment—which was less apartment complex and more Beverly Hills mansion. Annie dawdled through the brilliantly lit foyer, her eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. She glanced behind her shoulder realizing her reaction mirrored Fandral's, a man who wasn't even from Earth. Even so, it felt as if she had stepped into a completely other world.
"Can you believe this place?" gasped Jess, slowing her pace until she walked side by side with Annie. Her mouth agape with eyes larger than Annie's devouring everything around her. "It's like something from a movie."
"It is," grinned Tony. He tossed his jacket on a bust that looked like exactly like him, continuing as he walked through the never-ending labyrinth with everyone clamoring behind him, "or, it was. Have you seen A Game of Thrust?"
"I thought this place looked familiar!" Darcy exclaimed. "Yeah, look over there is where Bonerys and Bhall Drogo—"
"Moving on to more pressing matters," interrupted Coulson, carrying an arm full of files marked confidential into a large room with one long glass table surrounded by plush, gray chair.
Tony winked, taking a seat at the head of the table and kicked his feet up onto the glass surface. "Now you're just quoting it."
Ignoring Tony, Coulson turned to Fandral, "Thor said the giant you guys gave Grasscutter died four years ago."
Fandral blinked, puckering his lips together. He drummed his fingers against his chin, brushing the blond hairs on his goatee as he dramatically hmm'd. "I cannot say that sounds familiar."
"Surely you remember," Thor encouraged sitting between Jane and Darcy. "You spent three days recovering from the funeral." He turned to Jane, grinning, "Fandral was so drunk that night he met this maiden named Hildegard and they—"
"Tut-tut-tut," hissed Fandral, hitching his thumbs into the loop of his belt. Through a clenched smile he nervously laughed. "It all is coming back to me now, my friend. No need to divulge in such tales."
"Exactly," agreed Coulson, taking a seat at a large, oval, obsidian desk. "We really should discuss—"
"What happened?" interrupted Jess.
Annie gave her a sharp look.
"What?" Jess squawked, plopping down into one of the office chairs. "You can't say you're not interested."
"I am," piqued Daisy raising her hand like a student in class.
"See, I'm not the only one who wants to know."
Annie ignored her sister, taking a seat next to Jess. She placed her purse into her lap when Fandral sat beside her. Thor joined him next to Jane who sat across from Darcy and Agent Coulson. Daisy sat at the head of the desk, flipping through her folders while Tony mixed a drink at a small bar tucked away in the corner of the contemporary room.
He turned around, pointing his finger at Jess. "Sorry kid, maybe next year."
"Wha—" the doors opened by themselves, and Tony nodded toward it. "No way, I want to know what's going on."
"Jessica," warned Annie, earning a glare that burned right through her.
Jess loudly groaned, standing to her feet. She plodded out of the room, making as much noise as she could before the doors closer behind her.
"Sorry about that," muttered Annie, sinking into her seat.
"Getting to the subject at hand," interrupted Daisy, pursing her lips tightly together when she glanced to Coulson.
Annie's gaze followed her and it was then she noticed his left hand was a prosthetic.
"We know Mikaboshi has sent his army to search for the Grasscutter," continued Coulson, giving Daisy a wry smile—Annie wasn't for certain but she swore his finger adjusted to give Daisy the bird against the table surface but his hand moved to his lap before she could tell for sure. "For whatever reason, Mikaboshi believes Grasscutter to be here on Earth."
Daisy clicked a few buttons on her computer and a projection shot out across the room and onto the wall.
Annie swiveled in her chair to look at a blurry photo of a shadow-like creature that appeared to be oozing a sort of black goo from its mouth and eyes. She crinkled her nose, wondering if it was just an artist depiction or what Mikaboshi actually looked like. Whatever it was, she knew she didn't want to encounter one—and for the first time since Fandral's arrival, she felt at ease knowing she had Asgardian warriors at her side.
"Mikaboshi is the God of Chaos and Evil so we should tread lightly here," Daisy warned, flipping through a few other slides of paintings showing Japanese villages in flames.
"That is where Thor and your companions come in," interjected Agent Coulson, nodding toward Fandral. "We've already taken the vial to be analyzed and started working on a cure for anyone that has been touched by these shadows, as you've called them. We need you to get rid of them before they continue to infect the population. We can't have an outbreak cause panic."
Daisy nodded. "You can only blame Ebola so many times before people start to get suspicious."
Thor concurred; his expression somber. "We've dealt with the shadows once before. We can rid Midgard of them as well, though, I will have to return to Asgard and recruit help where it is needed. As Dasiy said, we cannot tread lightly here, my friends."
Dasiy nodded, changing the image on her projection with the click of a button. A photo of a black handprint on a human arm flashed in front of everyone. The handprint looked ashy as if all someone had to do was brush it off with his or her fingers to clean it off.
"This is the print of someone who has been marked by the Kami," Daisy explained, flipping through several images of different handprints placed on various body parts, typically the chest or the arm. "Unfortunately my knowledge of Japanese Gods is sparse and this was all I was able to find about the markings in such short notice. A friend of mine, who's a mythology expert, said she'll dig up what she can for us but in the meantime I was able to find a few conspiracy forums popping up since the meteors fell claiming the handprint is a sign from God that they were chosen."
"Chosen for what?" piqued Darcy crunching on candy she pulled out of her purse. "What?" She asked when everyone's eyes fell onto her. Rolling her eyes she groaned and held out the yellow box. "Sorry I didn't offer the class any," she sarcastically apologized. "I figured you'd all still be full from brunch."
"Darcy," hissed Jane, "put your candy away."
"I need them. I'm diabetic."
"You don't have diabetes."
"What a mean thing to say to someone," she pouted, popping another candy in between her teeth, crunching loudly. "I'd never say that to you."
"Chosen to become a copy," supplied Thor, plucking a round candy out of Darcy's box and tossed it inside his mouth, rolling the hard treat between his teeth with a grin much to Jane's vexation.
"But we already knew that," frowned Jane, no longer concerned with Darcy's snacking. She leaned forward placing her hands on the table and folded her fingers together, eyeing the image on the wall. "What's the purpose of being chosen?"
"Crunch. If S.H.I.E.L.D. is working on a cure to get rid of these shadow viruses—crunch—and Thor is going to bring down an army of muscle-y dudes from Asgard to fight them—crunch—then what are we mere humans doing playing Nancy Drew for?"
"I don't know about you," started Tony, twisting in his chair to face Darcy, "but I like to be kept in the loop. There's something about knowing what's going on while knowing nothing at all that can be a real pain in the ass, you know?" Tony reached across the table, holding out his palm for Darcy to pour a handful of her candy into his hand. "Thanks," he winked, leaning his head back proceeding to dump the pieces into his mouth like it was a garbage chute.
Crunch.
Annie abruptly stood up, her knees slammed hard against the seat of her chair. It scooted across the floor, scrapping against the clean marble that it echoed through the room. Everyone turned to look her growing red face as she muttered an excuse about needing to use the bathroom before fleeing out of the room. She clutched her purse close to her chest, sliding out of sight until she rounded the corner spotting Jess staring hard at an abstract painting hanging in an empty hallway. Annie grabbed onto Jessica's wrist and pulled her along, ignoring the shrieks her sister emitted as they fled out of the billionaire's home.
"What is going on?" cried Jessica the moment they stepped outside. She ripped her wrist free from Annie's clammy hold. "You look like you're going to be sick."
Annie felt sick, that was certain. She couldn't do this. She thought she could, for Jessica's sake, but this was all too much. Aliens, and Asgard, and shadows infecting people…it was all too much. Annie was perfectly fine being in a life blissfully unaware of the monsters creeping in the night. She was perfectly fine bartending in that blissfully unaware life if it meant not having to go back in that house to discuss the evil lurking around them. It was just…Annie shook her head staring down the deserted driveway winding down to a gate she was certain only opened and closed with certain voice recognitions. Climbing it would be impossible. She hesitated, looking behind her at the vast apartment complex that seemed to house only one person instead of a community, debating whether or not she should go back inside when Fandral stepped outside.
He offered her what looked like a sincere smile, bowing his head towards Jess in greeting. She hid a giggle in the palm of her hand, quickly looking away from him as he passed her. He walked to where Annie helplessly stood placing his hands on his waist and stared at the closed gate, saying nothing. She waited for him to speak, to ask why she had run off, and if she was planning to escape. Annie could feel the hot air well up inside her chest, pounding inside her lungs to be free as she anticipated his questions, for him to say anything, really. But, Fandral remained silent.
"Helloooo," echoed Jess from behind them, grunting impatiently. "I'm going back inside."
Annie didn't stop her. She folded her arms across her chest, keeping her gaze on the closed gates, daring to inhale slowly, afraid to breathe in any faster or else she would lose it all and collapse into a puddle of tears. This wasn't what she was expecting the night she offered pizza to a stranger in a bar.
"Are you going back to Asgard with Thor?" she heard herself ask. It was for the best. It'd make running easier.
"Alas, I am not able to return," he solemnly spoke, his voice timid and Annie had to look at him to make sure she had heard him right. "I've been cursed to Midgardian soils and until Thor can find the witch who cast the spell, I am rooted here."
Cursed. Witches. Of course. Annie started to laugh. It was a small thing at first, faint, almost a cry if she didn't know any better. As it continued to grow, Annie's shoulders shook until her entire body was riveted with laughter.
Fandral titled his head to the side, smiling warily as he asked her, "was it something that I said?"
Her laughter increased, shaking her from the core. When she finally caught her breathe and was able to contain the crazed moment long enough to speak, she blurted, "I just can't believe that this is my life now." Annie swiped the back of her hand against her cheek drying the tears that had spilled. "Witches and curses and men from alien planets aren't exactly things I thought I'd be waking up to only a few days ago." No, her concerns rested more on whether or not she would be able to make the rent in time, not if she would be possessed by an alien's shadow.
Fandral joined her in her laughter. "Believe me, my fair maiden, for I too as well never thought the day would come when television and coffee became part of mine."
"No," Annie thoughtfully considered, "I suppose you didn't."
"Worry not, Annie. This may not make you feel any better, but this isn't the first time that Midgard has had alien attacks, and it won't be the last. Asgardian's clean up the messes they start," he smugly smirked, nudging her in the side with his elbow. "Keep your chin up, darling. You could be in far worse company."
Thin strips of light faded in and out of his vision, burning his eyes with each blink of his damp lashes clinging together, intertwined as if holding hands. A sharp pain filled the back of Lucky's head, reverberating against the front of his skull. He propped himself up with his elbows, digging the bone into the soft mattress top, the smooth satin against his ashy skin alerted him to the crumpled sheets and blankets lying twisted at the bottom of his bed.
Staring at his long, hairy toes through blurry eyes, Lucky wiggled each one before plopping them onto the floor. Stretching his arms behind his back, a dull pain threaded through the muscles in his shoulders. Craning his neck, Lucky brought one of his hands to the aching spot just above his spine, digging his skinny knuckles into the tissue as deep as he could. He felt as if a train had hit him promptly followed by recovering on a mattress made of bricks.
The bed squeaked under his weight as he pushed himself off of it, grabbed for his glasses off the nearby night stand, and stumbled into the bathroom. Lucky didn't think he drank that much last night, but everything was such a blur he wasn't so sure. Slipping on his glasses, he blinked. He didn't feel hung-over, just disoriented, like he had woken from a bad drug trip instead.
Lazily, Lucky smacked his lips together, swallowing the desert that had grown in his mouth overnight. Rolling his head around to try and crack his neck, Lucky's eyes fell downward onto the stream of yellow piss leading up to the red stains on his fingers. Furrowing his brows together, he brought one of his hands up to his face to investigate what it was. It was probably food coloring, he thought, there was just something about red-velvet cake when he was drunk that he had never been able to resist since coming to America.
Stains from food coloring were usually patchy and faded. A good scrub or two would get most of it off. The dried stains on his hands were not the same consistency food coloring would leave. They were dark and crusted into the creases of his palm. Lucky used his thumb nail to flick off the dry pieces, using his other hand to shake himself dry. Adjusting his boxers, he stumbled over to the bathroom sink, twisting both knobs like he would a woman's nipples, and then thrusting his hands under the rushing water, Lucky began to scrub.
The water slipping through his fingers turned a dark, rusted color. Lucky frowned. Definitely not food coloring. Slowly, he raised his eyes to the mirror, gasping in shock at what stared back at him.
Leaning forward, Lucky brought a dripping finger to his face, touching the gaunt complexion in horror. He looked sick. There was no way he could go to the bar later that night looking like death had given him a second chance. His competition, that prancing fool with the weird mustache, had a smooth complexion with color that seemed to glow. Lucky hadn't pegged Annie for the type of girl to like the California Boys with their surfer tans. It was no wonder why she wasn't giving Lucky the time of day.
"Just look at you," he muttered to himself, shaking his head at his pale complexion.
Lucky walked back to his bedroom, deciding to stop at a tanning salon after work as he tore his blankets off of the bed. A red, paint-like liquid smeared across the sunken pillow-top mattress, sloshing onto the floor spattered across his bare feet. Stunned, Lucky stared wide-eyed at the blood on his bed, dragging his gaze to the crumpled blankets without moving a muscle. His throat constricted, making it hard to breath, and he had to inhale through his mouth to keep himself from growing light-headed and passing out.
With trembling fingers still stained a faint red, Lucky reached out to untangle the blankets, tearing through them with a desperate fervor in hope there wasn't anything hiding inside the folds. He fell to his knees, unable to stand any longer. The sheets were wet and sticky with what had to have been more than one person's blood. There was just so much of it, drying onto the quilt his babushka had made for him when he left Russia, spilling into his hands and into his lap.
"Oh god," he moaned, falling back onto his behind, resting his shaking arms on his bloody knees, staring helplessly at his hands.
What happened? Whose blood was it? Did he do this? He didn't remember anything.
Lucky closed his eyes, dropping his chin onto his chest. "What the fuck happened…?" he groaned, pushing himself into a standing position. Stumbling to the kitchen, using the walls for support to keep from falling over, Lucky dug through the drawers in search for a trash bag to throw away his bedding.
BZZZ! BZZZ! BZZZZZZZ!
Lucky froze where he stood.
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
"Lucky, come on dude, I know you're in there." It was Winston. "I've been trying to call you all morning since I got your weird message you left last night. Open up."
Weird message? What weird message? Lucky tried to think about what Winston was talking about but his mind kept drawing a blank. He glanced over at the blinking clock on the microwave: 6:05. Lucky shook his head, that couldn't be right. There was no way he slept all day.
"Lucas, if you don't open up I'll just go home and get my spare key," threatened Winston.
Lucky felt his heartbeat quicken. His eyes shifted to the bloody footprints on the cream carpet and the smeared handprints along the walls. Winston couldn't come in. He couldn't see all the blood. He'd ask questions to answers Lucky didn't have and even though Winston was Lucky's only friend in the states, he couldn't trust him. Not with something that he didn't understand himself.
"Everything's fine, Winston," Lucky called out, pulling his hands out of the drawer with a garbage bag clamped firmly in his grasp. "I'll call you tomorrow, man."
"Come on, Lucas, just open the door," Winston persisted.
"I said I'm fine," growled Lucky, baring his teeth at the door. He wanted Winston to leave him alone until he figured out what was going on. But, first, all he wanted was to clean up the blood and shower. It was making him sick to his stomach. "I'm sort of busy. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
There was a slight pause, and for a moment Lucky thought Winston had given up and left. "Lucky…is everything—"
Flaring his nostrils, Lucky stormed to the front door, tearing the chain out of its lock and pulled the door open to see Winston awkwardly standing in front of him with his pudgy hands squeezed into the small pockets of his skinny jeans. His bug-eyes bulged as he took in Lucky, the color in his red cheeks drained.
"What's wrong with your eyes?" Winston asked, taking a step back into the hallway.
Lucky reached out, and with strength that surprised even him, pulled Winston into his apartment, slamming the door behind him.
Her keys felt heavy in her hand while she fumbled to get the door unlocked. Annie's head was little fuzzy, but she knew she didn't drink enough to get drunk. After the bar had closed, a few staff members straggled behind and had a few drinks of their own. It wasn't an uncommon thing for them to do, and sometimes Rosie would even join them, despite her numerous warnings they had to stop. Not once since working there had Annie stayed behind. She didn't trust herself when she was intoxicated and she had no interest in falling back on old habits.
It was why she had agreed to a couple of drinks—and nothing more—when Max asked if she would be staying to have a beer. Martie had rolled her eyes, saying it was pointless to ask—"all she ever says is no, Max,"—and to everyone's surprise, Annie decided it couldn't hurt to have one or two. All she wanted was to clear her mind from the chaos of her new life, even if it was for one second.
It had been decided Fandral would remain at Annie's house while Thor returned to Asgard to gather more warriors—and, Annie assumed to find the witch that cursed Fandral to Earth. Daisy and Agent Coulson returned to S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters as were directed by their superior, Agent Angry, or something like that. Jane and Darcy accompanied the agents to do more lab work on the black liquid Tony had found. It seemed like everyone had a task they had to accomplish in order to try and save the world while Annie was left to return to her life and make sure she remained as normal as possible, according to Jane's advice, while playing host to a ragtag superhero group.
At work, all anyone wanted to do was talk about the falling meteors. It made clearing her mind and trying to keep "normal" life a difficult task. It felt like every five seconds someone was asking for Annie's opinion on the situation. It was a hot topic among the drunken patrons that didn't stop after the doors had been locked and the typical crew of Max, Martie, Sophie, Rori, Marcus, and Christine lingered behind discussing what they thought the falling meteors were.
"It's just motha' nature," grunted Marcus, the burly cook, scratching the side of his bushy beard as he added, "Natural disasters are happenin' all tha time, all around tha world. Don't mean tha world is ending. Shit. Just 'cause it's New York everyone starts acting like it's tha rapture. If this happened in some Podunk town in Kansas no one would be battin' un eye."
"I heard it wasn't even really meteors but, like, missiles in disguise," claimed Martie, leaning against the bar with her elbows propped behind her. "Like, don't you think it's weird they fell near the Stark Tower two years after the attacks in Manhattan?"
"You sound like a conspiracist," chuckled Christine, taking a hearty swig from her drink. "Next you're going to tell us 9/11 was an inside job, aren't you?"
Martie's blue-eyed stare slit into daggers at the short, round waitress. "It's not crazy to think the same tower being struck on the day of its anniversary—"
"They're probably aliens," input Max at an over-the-top voice, wiping down the countertops with a damp rag. Clearing his throat, he set the rag down to pluck up his drink from a nearby table and sat on one of the stools, hitching up his pants before taking an enthusiastic swill from the neck of his beer. "I mean, the government covered up those attacks like it was Roswell."
Annie rolled her eyes. She wasn't sure how much longer she could take all of their incessant talking. Even if they were able to guess what was going on, no one would ever believe it. Annie had spent the past two days walking around with Asgardians and secret government agents, and she could hardly believe it herself.
"What do you think, Annie?" asked Rori, pulling her dark hair out of her ponytail. It tumbled down her pale shoulders in waves releasing a faint smell of coconuts. "You were there when the second wave hit."
Annie felt the color in her face drain. Images flashed of Rori's car flying off of the crumbling bridge while Fandral dangled the both of them above the water like some modern-day Tarzan. She swallowed hard, tasting the dirty river in the back of her throat.
"Did they look like disguised missiles?" Max taunted.
Martie blinked, taking a long sip from her fuzzy navel, oblivious to Max teasing her theory. Though, it wasn't like his was any better, thought Annie, even if it was technically correct.
"Or, did they look like alien ships?" Christine sniggered.
Annie shook her head. "You're all being absurd," she said, distracting herself with the neck of the empty beer bottle in her hand.
Max handed her another bottle, twisting off the lid with the palm of his meaty hands.
Annie gave him half a smile, taking the frothy drink and put it to her lips. The fresh hops danced along her tongue, filling her mouth before she smacked her lips loudly together and finished, "they were meteors."
"Oh no," whined Martie, rapidly moving her fingers along the screen of her phone. "My roommate's dog just threw up in my Gucci heels," she frowned, rushing into the kitchen to make a phone call. "I swear I'm going to skin it and, like, turn it into hat," she declared, her voice muffled as the swinging door swung fiercely back and forth behind her.
Annie left shortly after that.
On the bumpy way home riding the bus, she played different scenarios in her mind about what she might find when she opened the front door. The most reasonable, and likely of things to happen, was Annie would walk in and Fandral would be sleeping on the couch. It was almost four in the morning. Logic didn't stop her mind from wandering, though. There were several scenes played out in her head, dealing with Fandral in her living room—shirtless—doing some form of warrior-training-dance like he had done with the stick in her yard. Annie found she wouldn't be too disappointed to walk in on that scene; especially whenever she imagined Fandral's sweaty, muscular abs glinting in the harsh light of her living room as he spun around shocked to see her enter through the front door.
Annie didn't expect to walk in hearing Fandral seethe, "you foul, despicable creature. It was Lady Luck that allowed you to defeat me and I shall take no pity on you the next time we meet."
At the sound of the door opening, Fandral spun around with his eyes wide and the corners of his mouth twisted. He quickly stood to his feet, a gaming controller dangled from his hand as he bowed in Annie's direction, the twisted corners of his mouth disentangled into a wide grin. She felt her brows pull together reminding herself Fandral was literally from another world.
"I hope you don't mind," he said in an apologetic tone, waving the hand with the controller toward the TV. "Lady Jessica and Lady Serah insisted this station of play would increase my skills as a warrior."
"How's that working for you?" asked Annie, closing the door with the heel of her foot.
"Let it never be said that Fandral the Dashing was not a man of truth and it is with deep regret that I must admit it is going quite terribly. If there were a silver-lining, I have gotten quite good, if I do say so myself." He grinned, pointing at the screen. "I even beat your tallest score."
"High score," Annie grumbled tossing her purse onto the floor by the door. She pulled her hair free from the ponytail, brushing out the dull ache at the back of her head with her fingers. "And it's just a stupid game."
Except it took her several months to get that high score so she could unlock a silver achievement.
Fandral grimaced, sitting back down on the curb-couch, patting the cushion next to him. "Let's duel to the death." He then quickly added with a solemn shake of his head, "Not actual death, of course."
Annie couldn't help but grin. She rolled her eyes, but sat beside him anyway, picking up the second controller off of the coffee table.
"Care to make it interesting?" Fandral asked in a challenging tone, stroking his beard with the tip of his fingers.
"Always," smiled Annie, kicking her feet onto the table. "What did you have in mind?"
"Ladies first," he winked.
"Hmm," she considered watching his fingers twirl at the pointed blond hairs on his chin. "You have to shave this," she laughed, gripping onto his jaw.
Fandral's eyes popped. "A man's beard is no game, milady."
Annie shrugged, feeling suddenly giddy and light-headed. Okay, so maybe she was a little tipsy. "I mean, if you don't think you'll win, I can see why you'd hesitate."
Fandral narrowed his steely, blue-eyed stare. "You make a tough deal," he said, gently plucking her fingers off of his face. His hand was warm and rough—the calluses on his palm rubbed against the top of Annie's hand. "I commend," he sighed, slyly smiling, "And when I do win, I request a kiss."
"A kiss?"
Fandral nodded. "It is tradition for the hero to receive one at the end of his win."
Annie swallowed, her gaze slowly dropped to the curves of his smile. She thought back to the night before—was it really only last night? It felt like so long ago—seconds prior to the meteor falling, their lips had almost touched. One kiss couldn't hurt. It was just a silly bet.
"Okay, fine," Annie relented. "If you win, you can have one kiss."
Fandral smiled as if he had already won. Annie's eyes floated back down to his mouth. Tiny dark blond hairs twisted around his lips and she knew she couldn't let him shave his silly beard. But she couldn't exactly lose on purpose, that was just against her code of ethics.
"May the best—"
Annie tossed the controller aside and firmly planted her mouth onto Fandral's. She pulled him into her by the collar of his t-shirt, gripping tightly onto the soft cloth. Fandral sat frozen, unresponsive, until Annie started to pull away from the rising embarrassment. Both of Fandral's hands pushed against the back of her head, tangling his fingers in her hair as he slipped his cool tongue in between her lips.
Dropping the controller in his hand, he slipped his free hold beneath the fabric of her shirt, pressing fingers against the small of her back. With ease, Fandral leaned her backwards, using his hand caught in her hair as a cushion against the couch's arm. His lips expertly moved, consuming her with a fire sparking with each kiss. She arched her back into him, twisting her face away to moan at the hot trail his mouth left along her jaw line.
He instantly pulled away at her quite cry, pulling his brows together.
Annie began to breathe heavily, her chest heaved up and down, and her eyes shifted back and forth trying to read Fandral's face. "What's the matter?" she asked, "Isn't this what you wanted?"
"Are you drunk?"
Annie lay back down, releasing her tight grip on the collar of Fandral's shirt. "No," she nearly hissed, annoyed at his accusations. "I mean," rolling her eyes to the ceiling, she explained, "I had a few beers at work, but I'm not drunk." I don't get drunk anymore, she firmly planted to herself. "I'm topsy if anything."
"Topsy?"
Annie heard the word come from his mouth. Topsy? Is that what she had said? "Tipsy," she corrected, sliding off the couch. She stood in front of Fandral placing both of her hands on her hips. "Even if I was drunk, would it matter? I want this, drunk or not."
Her fingers slid up the top of her shirt, slowly unbuttoning each one. Fandral's eyes began to grow wide with each piece of new skin Annie revealed. She hid a smile, pleased when Fandral shifted in his seat, dropping and closing his mouth in failed attempts to stop her.
"Oh, by the gods," he breathed, running his hands up and down his thighs. "Annie—"
"Fandral," she cooed, opening the front of her shirt completely, "we've been dancing around our undeniable attraction towards each other since we practically met, it's been long enough, don't you think?"
"I-I-um," his gaze firmly locked onto the cotton, black, lace material fully cupping her chest.
Annie slid off her shirt, letting it flutter to the floor at her feet. She stepped over it, enclosing the space between them.
"Annie, I—"
She leaned forward, resting her hands on his thighs. Spreading her fingers, Annie dug into the jean fabric, feeling the material start to tighten.
"I cannot take advantage of you!"
Fandral jumped up, out of Annie's reach. She fell slightly backwards, plopping onto the coffee table. Instantly she stood with her hands curled into little fists at her side and her face red with embarrassment. No one had ever turned her down before. It was even more of a blow coming from a guy who probably fucked almost anything that walked.
Annie had seen the way Fandral eyed the women walking by the yard while he exercised yesterday morning and she had seen the way he looked at the sales girls at that cheesy clothing store. But he didn't want her?
"Advantage?" she cried, gesturing toward the top of her half-naked body. "I am giving you the advantage, Fandral, take it. It's all yours."
He pressed himself against the wall, shaking his head—despite his gaze lingering several inches below her own. "Annie, you're ravishing, I promise you when I tell you I have never seen such radiance in a Midgardian woman before but..." he reached out toward her hair, curling his fingers just before he was close enough to touch the straggled strands hanging down her sagging shoulders.
Annie couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Is it because I'm not an Asgardian? Because I saw the way you and that awful woman who makes her dog wear matching sweaters looked at each other and I know that—" she couldn't even bring herself to say it.
Fandral brought his sullen gaze back to her livid one. "It wouldn't be fair, Annie, to either one of us if I were to take advantage of this situation. I don't want your choices to be made because of an inebriating beverage."
"I told you, I'm not drunk."
Fandral looked away. Annie inhaled sharply, grabbed her shirt off the floor and stormed into her room. She slammed the door with much more vigor than was intended, rattling the windows. Plopping onto her bed, she balled the shirt into a pillow and dropped her face into the cheap silk fabric.
It wasn't often she cried. Annie had prided herself in not letting her emotions get the best of her. She might have had a lot of screwed up thoughts and she may have made a lot of bad choices, but she always kept her emotions in check. Or, so she figured but it was her emotions that were the most messed up of all.
There were bigger things to worry about than whether or not she was going to hook up with Fandral. God, what a stupid idea it already was. Annie exhaled loudly, rolled onto her side and began to let the tears silently trickle down her chin. Fat drops dripped onto her hand propped underneath her cheek, running in between her fingers and soaked up by the cotton pillowcase. She let them fall, one by one; telling herself each tear was a promise not to let her emotions get the best of her like that again.
Even though she was only a little tipsy, it was honorable of Fandral for not wanting to take advantage of her. Not many guys would have done the same thing. In fact, none of the men in Annie's life ever turned her down just because she was drunk. But even if Fandral had turned her down for other reasons besides honorable ones, it didn't mean she should cry about it. Who did she think she was? The Queen of Sheba?
So, Fandral was attractive. It wasn't as if it was a crime to admit what was plain obvious to see. And, yes, Annie admitted she was a teensy, little bit attracted to him. So, sue me, she thought, sniffing loudly. There was nothing wrong with it; after all, no one could control their feelings. If they could then Annie knew she would have avoided a lot of mistakes in the past. Starting with the most recent one: kissing Fandral.
But what a kiss it was, she swooned, feeling her heart pound once against her chest. The kiss was so intense and then suddenly it was gone. Annie brought her fingers to the bottom of her lip and traced along the curves of her mouth. It had to have been an alien trick, some Asgardian thing that not only made them unrealistically gorgeous, but irresistible to Midgardians.
Annie snorted at the thought.
All I need is a good night's rest, and it's also been a really long day, she told herself, as if it excused her earlier behavior. Tossing the shirt she had used as a pillow to cry in onto the floor then pulling the blanket over her body up to her neck, Annie rolled onto her back and promptly closed her eyes. Tomorrow will be better, she hoped, fluttering her lashes open to stare through the window at the washed-out late night sky, searching for a passing blue light.
"Amaterasu, my trusted general, tell me what have you found?"
"Thor knows of our presence on Midgard, master. He knows we search for Grasscutter. He has returned to Asgard to recruit an army."
A hiss like an angry beetle sounded in the darkness.
"The Grasscutter belongs to you, massster," spoke Amaterasu in an even voice, "we will find it."
"No. Not you."
"Massster?"
"You will bring me Thor's head the moment he returns from Asgard, and in the meantime, you will bring me the heads of anyone else aiding him in his task to keep Grasscutter from coming home."
A slick smile spread onto the pale face of Amaterasu's mortal shell. "I already know where to begin."
His knuckles brushed against the wood encasing the flimsy door leading to Annie's small chambers. He could hear her sniffling inside and his chest ached at the thought of being the cause of a maiden's tears. There was nothing in the nine realms Fandral found more devastating than the tears of women he had once made smile.
And what a smile Annie had, he wistfully thought to himself, dragging his knuckle along the door frame, debating on whether or not he should knock. Fandral pined to go after her, to soothe her sorrows, and to hold her to him while she shed the last of her remaining tears. Alas, Fandral stayed outside the chambers, listening to the tears turn to light breathing within moments of his standing there.
It was for the best, he decided, returning to the sofa he had made for his bed. The thing was far too uncomfortable. The cushions sagged in all the wrong places and his feet dangled over the arm rest. If it wasn't for the hardness of the floor, he might have opted for it instead. Though, Fandral was never one to complain at what was given to him—not until he was far, far away from anyone so much as even hearing a thought that was—and he wasn't about to start complaining any time soon.
Annie did not have the luxuries he had. Sure, she had her Midgardian technology, but that was nothing compared to a bed made out of the finest griffin feathers with sheets spun from silkworms the size of a dog. A woman like Annie deserved to be bedded right. Sunken mattresses and beds that squeaked when you moved were not what Annie's hair should be sprawled across.
Fandral plopped onto the couch, leaning back until his feet hung off the edge. He wrapped himself in the thick, warm blanket, thinking of how hard it had been to turn down Annie's generous offer. She had been so inviting, it had almost been rude of him to tell her no. Despite the guilt—and the dull throb between his legs—not allowing the small kiss to go any further had been the right thing to do.
Even if Annie's mouth had not been laced with alcohol, he would still have had to say no. A rendezvous with Annie would have led to complications he didn't have the liberty to spare. Fandral had a mission—aside from returning to Asgard—and that mission was to protect Annie and her sister, Jessica, from any harm that could befall upon them while Mikaboshi's army infected Midgard. Until Thor returned with help—and the witch that had cursed him to Midgard's soils—then Fandral had to uphold his duty. Unfortunately for Annie, his honor came first. He was a warrior foremost, after all, and an impeccable lover second.
The more Fandral kept telling himself he had done the right thing, the more the images of Annie's half-naked body flooded his thoughts. The curves of her perky breast burned in his mind. The black, lacy piece of fabric taunted him, pushing up her chest like helping hands, generous enough to cover her nipples. Annie's dark hair spilled over her tan shoulders, brushing against her arms as if daring him to reach out and grab the strands. She was radiant beneath the pale-yellow light glowing off of her supple skin as if she were an Amazonian warrior ready for battle.
What a battle it would have been, Fandral sadly thought to himself, lingering his gaze at the corner turning toward Annie's door. The inner battle he fought with himself became too much and Fandral tossed the blanket off and decided to step outside to clear his mind. Some fresh air always did a warrior's soul good.
Birds chirped happily outside as Fandral descended down the stairs and out into the green yard. Golden hues spilled out from behind the large buildings surrounding Annie's home, casting a halo of light around the silver city. A light breeze blew, but it was stuffy, and Fandral could smell the faint scent of cooked meat lingering on its trail as it passed by.
The door swung closed behind Fandral and he stepped out into the early morning light, wiggling his toes in between the damp blades of grass. Closing his eyes, he turned his face to the sky, arching his neck to catch what light sunlight he could, feeling the warmth radiate across his cheeks. He knew he should have been tired. He hadn't had much sleep since coming to Midgard and his days had been filled with a constant stream of chaos. Thor had left and the others dispersed just as quickly, leaving Fandral to return to Annie's abode with Jessica animatedly talking about Tony Stark's garage.
She had been in the middle of explaining why Tony's cars were "cooler" than the average ones—like what he had ridden in with Annie before it had been tossed off a bridge—when the phone rang and she fled to her bedroom. Two hours had gone by with Jessica closed off in her chambers, leaving Fandral with nothing to do but stare out the window, helpless. He had an important charge, sure, but he felt useless standing around Midgard while Thor headed to Asgard to prepare for war against the Kami.
When Jessica returned she had her friend, Serah, at her side.
"Where did she come from?" he asked, aghast. Fandral hadn't seen or heard her enter. How was he supposed to keep Annie and her sister safe when mortal teenage girls were able to sneak in underneath his very nose undetected? Was she a wizard of sorts?
"How cool would it be to be a wizard though?" grinned Serah, plopping down onto the couch. Kicking her dirty sneakers onto the coffee table, she continued, "I mean like Hogwarts style, not Merlin or anything."
"Have you seen Merlin? That shit is pretty crazy," pointed out Jessica, joining her friend on the sunken sofa.
Fandral titled his head. "How do you know Merlin?" he had asked. It wasn't often the great wizard revealed himself to mortals.
Jessica and Serah regarded Fandral with similar expressions of one brow arched high and both eyes wide.
"I'm talking about from T.V. and books and—wait!" Jessica cried, her round face had lit up and it was in her bright brown eyes the color of the Asgardian Mountains at sunset that Fandral saw the resemblance to Annie. "Merlin the Wizard actually exists?"
"You're talking to a guy from another planet with Norse gods and you're questioning if Merlin is real?" teased Serah, flicking her bangs out of her large, blue eyes.
"I already asked Thor if Harry Potter was real and he told me there were no magic wizard schools on Midgard," defended Jessica, grabbing the remote in front of her and turning on the TV. "It's totally possible Merlin might not be real, too."
"If Harry Potter were real, I'd beg him for Malfoy's number," said Serah matter-of-factly.
"Yeah, but they're married now and, like, forty," interjected Jess with a scrunched face. "But, the new generation would be about our age."
The rest of the evening went on with choppy conversations neither of the young women were able to hold onto for very long. Their interests of topic changed faster than Volstaag could eat. It was tiring, and Fandral found he could barely keep up to their modern-Midgardian vernacular, and any time he had tried he felt the start of a headache throb at the back of his head.
By the time they had decided to call it a night, Fandral was restless and sleep would not come to him. It was Jessica who had suggested Fandral test his skills as a warrior on the station of play, though it proved much more difficult than he had thought the virtual challenge would be. Sleep had become an elusive idea with each task he completed becoming nothing more than a vacant concern when the words "Game Over" scrawled menacingly across the screen. Fandral refused to let the virtual beast slay him and hadn't realized it was so late—or rather early in the morning—when Annie returned home.
Something wet pushed itself against Fandral's bare feet, distracting him from reliving the thoughts of Annie's bosom. Opening his eyes, he glanced down to see a small puff of fur wearing a fashionable, knitted sweater with a cold snout sniffing at his toes. He nudged the giant rat away with the top of his foot, pushing it a few inches from him, only for the little dog to bounce back with its nose pressed firmly against him.
Bending down, Fandral reached for the dog to see if he could find its owner when the damned thing bared its teeth and dug them into the soft flesh between his forefinger and thumb. Fandral had dealt with far worse dog bites in his life. He once had his shoulder ripped open by a wolf. The puffball in front of him was nothing but fodder for the beasts on Asgard, but that didn't stop the skin from breaking.
"Oh goodness!" cried a familiar woman's accent from across the yard. The little dog's ears perked up and ran toward the voice, jumping into the arms of the blonde woman with the robust chest whose name had escaped Fandral as she briskly walked to where he stood holding his bleeding hand. "I am so sorry," she sincerely apologized, tucking the rat underneath one arm and reached out with the other to grab at his wrist. "He has never done that before, I don't know what came over him."
"I have had far worse," Fandral assured her, his eyes glazing over the skin pushed out of the low-cut v of her plain white top.
"Still," she insisted, grazing her teeth across the bottom of her thick lower lip, "we should get it cleaned up to make sure you won't need stitches. I just live over there," she pointed at the white house across the street with the red door, "and I have a first-aid kit."
Fandral glanced at the glass doors leading to Annie's apartment behind him. He could clean himself there—as he was positive he wouldn't need any stitches. Ready to decline the woman's offer, Fandral returned his gaze to her pouty lips, bringing them up slowly to her small, almond-shaped eyes. It would be rude to turn the woman down, he thought to himself, considering he had already refused one offer earlier.
When Fandral didn't respond, she nodded toward the house with and walked away, her round buttocks swayed with each step she took. Fandral glanced over his shoulder at the glass doors one last time then with a longing sigh, he followed the slender hips of the robust blonde, shutting the red door behind him.