A Fistful of Lightening – Part One
Planet Rainless occupies a rather empty corner of the galaxy, and what with it being a small, arid lump of rock, receives few willing visitors; it is known as the lonely planet.
As well as being visually and spiritually unappealing (mostly deserts with the odd squat mountain here and there, and no night life worth speaking of) it had also suffered the tragedy of a terrible plague outbreak seven years ago, wiping out a large number of the population. The disaster had led to long-lasting civil unrest – riots and increased lawlessness and a severe drop in manners, that sort of thing.
In other words, you wouldn't visit Rainless unless you had no choice but to travel there. Or if you had crash landed there.
It was 9 pm – sun-set time- and the residents of Barren Town, like the rest of the planet's population, was feeling their energy levels steadily dropping, along with the sun, for the Rainless natives gain most of their energy from the sunlight. And after the sun has fully set, many of them become lethargic and apathetic, choosing to recline in their chairs by the fire or to collapse on their beds. As mentioned above, there's practically no night-life. It was a good time for bandits.
Boff and Wench were two such criminals. They had spent the day lying on rocks, absorbing as much sunlight as their scales would allow, and now they had ridden into town, fully charged, with devilry in their minds.
They secured their horses just outside of town and slipped, unnoticed, through the gates. It was so much easier now than it had been a few years ago; now there was fewer capable people left alive to try and stop them. The houses now, with their sleepy, unsuspecting owners, made easy pickings, and Boff and Wench took their leisurely time, fully enjoying the experience. Barren Town was far from being the first town they had targeted and, they thought, that it would not be the last.
Erring on the side of caution, they stopped at the fifth house and made their way back to the town gates, with their sacks full of food and stolen items slung over their shoulders.
They were most incensed to find someone sitting on Boff's horse.
"Hey!" Boff yelled, dropping his sack. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
This was brave of him for the someone was taller than most Rainless. He appeared to be far too big for Boff's horse, although the creature was bearing up well under the strain with great dignity.
"Me?" the stranger asked innocently. "Just thought I'd try out this magnificent animal. I've never ridden a mighty two-headed horse before."
Boff's horse tossed his heads proudly, recognising admiration when he heard it in a rider's voice.
"I like you too," the stranger said, warmly, patting the horse's necks, making sure to pat both necks an equal number of times. "I have the Allspeak," he said, by way of explanation to the two bandits. "It covers horses."
At this point Wench backed a few paces away. The stranger's appearance was well covered, hidden beneath a red and yellow poncho and a dun coloured Stetson, pulled down low; but, Wench didn't need to see his face or the texture of his skin to know that the stranger was an alien who probably meant them harm.
Boff was less astute.
"You're a bloody thief!" he snarled, pointing his gun at the stranger's chest. "That's against the law, you know!"
This seemed to annoy the stranger. He jumped down and stood unflinching in front of the two bandits.
"It's getting late and I have somewhere to be, so could we move this along, please? You fire your silly, little guns at me, then I capture you, take you to Doc Sheriff, and collect the bounty on your heads. Everybody's happy. I have my bounty, the townspeople have their stuff returned, and you two will have a good story to tell in prison."
"Or I could shoot you in the head and have a good story to tell in front of the campfire, as well as owning a sack full of swag. Yeah, that sounds better."
Boff fired once. The bullet hit it's mark, square in the middle of the stranger's forehead. Usually, at this point the target crumples to the ground, blood pouring out of the neat little bullet wound, and very much dead. But, there was nothing usual about the stranger.
The bullet hit his skull, but instead of smashing through the bone, ricocheted off it at an angle, knocking his hat off in the process. The stranger took one step back, a hand to his forehead.
"Ow, now that was rude."
Boff, considerably pale now and scales raised, fired again and again and again, aiming not just for the head, but just the stranger in general. Like the first, they had no impact, other than to make a few holes in his poncho and cause him to stumble back a little.
Wench had seen enough. He dropped his sack of stolen goods and made a break for it, running as fast as his wobbly legs would carry him. He would not get very far.
Boff tried his gun again, only to hear the feeble clicking of an empty barrel.
The stranger shook his head. "Like I said, I capture you. Both of you."
He threw back his poncho over his shoulder to reveal two clenched fists cracking with electricity.
Boff whimpered.
Doc Sheriff (so called because he happened to be both the town's doctor and sheriff) was happy enough to be woken from his deep sleep in order to throw the thieves into the tiny cell, but not so happy to pay up the bounty there and then.
"Can't it wait till dawn?" Doc Sheriff yawned.
"I'd rather have the cash now."
"You'd be wise to keep a lower profile," the Sheriff warned, clumsily counting the notes out. "The other bounty hunters won't take to someone muscling in on their patch. And folks round here are suspicious of strangers. Especially ones like you and -"
"You haven't said anything, have you?" the stranger interrupted, suddenly anxious.
"Course not. I'm here to heal the sick and keep the peace. But, you'd better work faster to get out outta here. I'll drop by tomorrow, alright?"
The stranger smiled broadly and handed a note back to the sheriff. "Thanks, Doc."
"Loki, I'm back!" Thor shouted, as he kicked the door closed behind himself. By now he was well assured that no matter how much noise he made, the barkeeper, who lived below in the rooms behind the saloon bar, could not be disturbed after sun-set.
"I caught a couple of thieves – that was fun. Too bad you chose to miss out, brother. At least it means we have enough to stay for another couple of days."
He went directly to the back bedroom, and as he did every time, paused in the doorway to give himself a moment to psyche up to the sight of his very ill brother.
It didn't matter how many times he walked into the bedroom and saw Loki lying shivering on top of the covers, hearing him pant for breath and muttering nonsense, it still unsettled him. Scared him, even after three days of being exposed to the sight.
But, as always, after a moment's pause, Thor swallowed back his fear and strode in, acting like nothing was wrong. He strode in and walked around the bed, crouching down so that he was level with Loki's pain-lined face.
"Still not talking to me, huh?" Thor asked, carefully brushing away the sweat-soaked strands of hair that had been sticking to his brother's forehead. "Trust you to drag this out, Loki."
Loki's whole body shook as a chill swept over him. His hands clenched the sheets even more tightly, so much so that they shook uncontrollably.
"Tha-Tha..." he babbled, the syllables making no sense to Thor whatsoever. "Ik...cha...ra..."
"Shhh," Thor soothed, holding his hands over Loki's. "It's alright."
He stepped back just in time as the wave of ice spread over the bed, down its legs and over the floor, reaching as far as the door, but thankfully no further. The freezing of the room had become a daily occurrence, but if it cooled Loki down then Thor was not going to resent it, even if he worried about the negative attention it might draw if one of the Rainless found out about it.
The ice crunched beneath Thor's knees as once again he knelt by the bed. Loki's skin and hair, even his eyelashes, were coated in a thin layer of frost. He was still shivering terribly, but the frost would help with the fever. Thor supposed that it was Loki's subconscious trying to fight the illness. What was less helpful was when Loki reached out a trembling hand and a bright flame erupted around his fingers. Another daily occurrence, but a much less welcome one.
"Flame off, flame off!" Thor hissed, waggling Loki's limp wrist back and forth until the flame died out. Then sighing, he ran a hand through his short hair. "I wish you'd tell me what's wrong with you. Not plague, I know that much." He tapped his brother's cheek. "Come on, Ki. Time to wake up now."
The only reply he received was a low moan of pain as Loki continued to shiver and burn, the frost quickly melting and running off his skin.
I can explain everything...well, almost everything...
AN: Thank you for reading :D It's quite fun writing a Western-pardoy, Cowboy-Thor, sick-Loki story.