When the drink first made its burning journey down his throat, Loki didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. Something tasted a bit off, sure, but it was just another alien cocktail on another backwater planet—one he simply wasn't used to yet. Certainly nothing special.
Besides, how was he supposed to concentrate on the contents of the drink when he had the Valkyrie whining in his ear?
"Honestly, if my brother says we have to stop one more time, I'm going to hijack the Commodore and leave without you all!" Or… Perhaps he was doing most of the whining. "This is our, what, third detour? Really, how many more things is he going to forget?"
Downing her third—fifth? Loki had stopped counting after her second—drink, the Valkyrie slammed the glass on the table, her eyes dancing with irritation.
"Aaand there's another unit in the 'Loki claims he's going to steal the Commodore and leave' jar. Say it again and I'll be a millionaire."
"Oh please, I haven't said it that many times."
"Of course,you would think that."
"And what's that supposed to mean?"
"Take it to mean whatever you want." With a mere flick of her hand, she ordered another drink. "You're good at that."
He could risk repeating himself, or take a gulp of his own liquor. Faced with the two rather unappealing options, Loki chose the latter.
This time, the alcohol didn't just burn his throat on its slow trek toward his stomach, it twisted his insides and tugged at his brain.
What in Helheim…?
"Had one too many, Lackey?" Only when Val made her predicitible quip did Loki realize he was slouched over the bar, clutching at his forehead. "I thought the Odinsons were famous for being able to hold their liquor." She sniffed, a smirk dancing across her lips. "Guess not."
"Not all of us are seasoned drunkards," he bit back, though each word he spoke seemed to grow a bit more wobbly than the last.
A look he couldn't place flashed clouded her face, but only for a moment. "Well, I'd rather be that than falling off my barstool after—how many did you even have?"
"How long have we been here waiting for my brother? Ten, fifteen…" He ticked off the minutes on his fingers—his fingers… Why were there so many of them? "Two."
"Only two?"
"Yes, two. What? Do you want me to end up like you?"
"You know, half the stuff you say, I pretend I never heard."
"Ah, I always knew the feeling was mutual."
"Just shut up and finish your drink," she sighed, and with the air of a weary traveler, she downed her newest glass and glanced around the bar room.
The lights were dim and the atmosphere stuffy. Beings ranging from tipsy to absolutely wasted crowded in on all sides. Honestly, it was all a bit overwhelming, especially when the ground refused to stop shifting like that. Side to side, back and forth, up and down…
Loki held onto the edge of the counter as if for dear life.
This feeling… It was familiar, somehow, though his mind buzzed too loudly for him to figure it out.
Swaying. He wasn't swaying, was he?
His vision blurred and that's when all the memories came rushing back to him. All those foggy, loopy memories. Endless parties. Late nights. Too many drinks. Spiked cocktails.
"What's in this one?"
"That's the fun part: the not knowing—the mystery, don't you think?"
Fun…
Too many people. Loud music and wasted, weeping women who couldn't remember where they were.
"Fear not, for you are found."
Tilted floors and drooping ceilings.
"You are home… and there is no going back."
Suffocating rooms and bright lights.
"Where once you were nothing, now you are something."
Not knowing what you were doing. Not caring.
"You are the property of the Grandmaster."
Swimming. Swimming through a blurry sea of faces.
"Congratulations!"
Sakaar.
"Prepare yourself…"
Hours. Minutes. Seconds.
You have just under four minutes.
Darkness. Beings dropping left and right onto fluffy couches.
"Prepare yourself…"
Lights.
Out.
Four minutes, came the old, familiar scream of his heavy brain. You now have less than four minutes until you pass out.
Loki blinked hard.
Right.
Inhale, exhale.
A clearer mind would've wondered why someone spiked his drink in the first place, or perhaps it would've prompted him to consider getting out of there before he fell over.
But all Loki could concentrate on in that moment was keeping himself upright—keeping himself aware.
"Well,"—Valkyrie's voice cut through the haze as she patted the counter—"I'd better go check on your brother. Either he should've been back by now, or our contact should've shown his ugly face."
Contact… Medicine… Thor…
Right.
"Honestly, what's it gonna take to get the tonics and get out of here?"
As she turned to make her way through the crowd, Loki felt his fingers wrap around her wrist.
"Stop," was all he could manage; his brain was still trying to catch up with his body.
Annoyance flashed across her eyes. "Come on, Lackey. Someone has to wait here for the contact. Why should it have to be both of us?"
"Val…" He couldn't even remember the rest of her name. Was that even her name…? "Wait, just—"
Blinking accomplished nothing, but he did it anyway. Hoping—praying—it would clear his mind.
"Look, I'll be right back, okay? I'm just going to see what's taking so long."
When she tried to pull away, his grip tightened.
"Loki, what the he—"
"Stay," he ground out. "Please, don't… Don't leave me here. Alone. Don't… I can't—Don't leave—" A hiss escaped his lips as darkness began to line the very edges of his vision.
That's when her face finally sobered, realization dawning clear and fast. Immediately, she grabbed his unfinished drink and sniffed it.
"Ugh! How green are you? You didn't smell that? Or is that how you think Arcadian cocktails are supposed to smell?"
"They all…" Why were words so hard? He was Loki, for crying out loud. Words should never be hard. He shook his head, hoping again in vain to clear it. "No, they just… they all just run together now."
"What do you mean, they all?"
"Not important. I'm going… I'm go'n t'pass out in one—two…?—minutes… You have'to… Val, get me out of here before… But don't leave me alone… Please, don't…"
She was already nodding, slipping a steadying arm underneath his shoulders. "Two minutes, right?"
Loki nodded, a motion that sent the room swirling in a wild spin-cycle of color. "More or less."
"Great. Come on, let's get out of this dump."
With every step, his feet grew heavier; his legs wobblier. His eyelids lower…
Awake! Stay awake!
Stay…
"You're not staying?"
"I'm only going to get another drink…"
"And I'm not asking."
"Now, that's better…"
Better…
"Lackey, you still with me?"
He was dragging her down—he knew that—but he couldn't get his legs to work properly. Falling. He was falling.
He was drowning.
"'M here," he mumbled, forcing his feet to keep moving.
"Come on," she grunted as she hauled him upright again. "We're almost there."
Almost where?
The Commodore.
No.
He'd heard about that ship… Some part of him remembered that ship. He hated that ship.
And yet, for some reason, he was heading straight toward it. Why?
No… Stop…
Please.
"It's all right," a voice soothed. "We're almost there."
"St'p… Don't…" Thin trails of tears dripped down his face, but he couldn't bring himself to care.
No, he couldn't even wrap his mind around them.
Because he couldn't… He didn't want to…
Norns! Why was his head so fuzzy?
Please…
"Hang in there, Lackey."
Lackey. He knew that name. That was his name, wasn't it? But the Grandmaster didn't call him that… No…
Val. Val called him that. Val was here. He was fine.
He was going to be fine…
"Lackey?"
He couldn't think.
"Loki!"
Darkness choked him on all sides.
He was going to die.
"Don't worry, Loki, I'm still here…"
For the dozenth time since landing on Sakaar, he was going to die.
"… Don't worry. You're not alone."