Brent didn't often find himself in the company of high-class society. He'd grown up in Appalachia, in a house which still used a latrine until he'd been able to send enough money to pay for a single indoor toilet be installed. His mother bragged proudly for weeks to their neighbors.
Moving to Atlanta happened after a year of scholarship applications and an acceptance letter to Georgia Tech that resulted in a congratulatory party where his mother burst into tears while his father read through the full text of the letter to the family. Brent would be the first on either side of the family to attend college.
He'd carried a lot of dreams with him, and little else. By the time he found an apartment he could afford, he'd eaten through the graduation cards and figured out how far a single pack of ramen noodles could last. He lived frugally because he couldn't afford more, and resented wealthier students who complained about their parents limiting them to a single credit card. He'd eaten off food stamps when students were still eligible for them, and figured out a side gig when that had fallen through. Two bandmates later, and they had a bonafide local band under their belts. Troy played drums, Brent was vocals and electric, and Drew played everything else.
Music came naturally, but didn't pay as well as he'd hoped. He needed a front man who drew larger crowds, and after talking it out with the band, placed a want ad for a lead singer. When Lynn auditioned, she played on a dinged up old guitar and never closed her eyes. She didn't lose herself to the music; she watched her audience, drinking in the attention and hitting the notes as an afterthought. Brent talked it over with the guys; they voted her in and shared handshakes and beer. Brent brought up a name change for the band, a total rebranding to start hitting a new crowd. Lynn suggested Planets On Display, and here they were.
Practice was once a week, schedule permitting. At first they were lucky to have a single show a month, but Lynn played up her looks and started wearing streaks of bright colors in her hair. The word about the new lead singer spread, and the crowds grew.
Lynn was a girl, which drew some of the crowds for sure - but she was a crowd-pleaser, the kind of singer who swooped across the stage during the performance, speaking directly to the audience. She made their shows fun, took requests on certain nights, encouraged cover songs and theme nights. They watched their shows per month rise steadily, until a small bar offered a regular gig for a set price plus commission. The band talked it over, Lynn oddly silent during most of the discussion. Brent pushed for her opinion, and she laughed.
"It's not my band," she'd said. A healthy mouthful of beer followed that statement, and Brent realized that Lynn really was in this for the ride. She didn't care if they were successful, but she also didn't stand in their way.
They'd taken the deal, and focused on growing their crowd sizes until the split from that night paid off Troy's car repairs. The band was content with where they were now, filled with members who had split focus between band life and everything else. Lynn never seemed concerned about money; Troy bragged about his newfound freedom to spend, Drew saved quietly to move from his dingy apartment into a better location, and Brent sent money home to his parents.
He tried sussing out Lynn's situation a few times, and she just shrugged and shook her head. She'd make noise about her mentor being eccentric, or vaguely imply that if any of them needed money, she'd be happy to oblige.
He hadn't believed her, not really. She didn't dress like a trust fund baby, and she didn't carry herself like a wealthy snob. It wasn't until Tony Stark himself showed up at his front door that he realized two things: Lynn wasn't lying about being able to help them financially, and she'd understated how eccentric her mentor really was.
When he opened the door, it wasn't just to Tony Stark. Another man, dressed in black and sporting a quiver of honest to goodness arrows had stepped in behind the inventor, and Brent couldn't help the sudden excitement he felt seeing the bow. He asked a single educated question about the tension in the limbs, and found himself sharing a common interest. Clint, he discovered, used the bow as a weapon in his missions, and shared basic information about the types of arrows which were fitted to work with his model.
Brent asked if Lynn was in trouble, if they'd heard from her. She hadn't responded to text messages or phone calls the entire day, which was strange for her. Tony assured him she was fine without making eye contact; Brent met Clint's eyes and clenched his jaw.
"Look, if there's anything -"
"There's not." Tony's eyes snapped to his. The inventor sighed, rolled his eyes, and offered a card. "Call if you hear anything."
"Right." Brent showed them out and worried. He called the next day to ask for an update and was forwarded to someone named Happy, of all things. Two days later the same thing happened, and he was tempted to call the police on the fifth day with no word.
By the time Lynn called, she sounded different. Exhausted, in a full body sort of way. Brent asked where she'd been, and she apologized for disappearing.
"It shouldn't happen again," she said. "I'm really sorry."
"We missed a few shows," Brent said. "I think we'll manage, though. Troy missed you."
"I bet he did." In the past she'd have laughed it off, made a joke. This time, she stayed quiet, and Brent felt awkward over the phone. He pressed as little as he could stand.
"I want to hang out," he said, careful and slow. Easing them both into the idea. "I was really worried. We can send a pic to the guys."
"Come on over," she said. She gave the address, and offered to pay for his ride over. He said no on principle.
Walking into Lynn's apartment was an experience he'd dreamed about for several months beforehand. He'd never imagined the place as sprawling though, large enough to have a living room and a dining room plus a separate bedroom. He lived in an efficiency with a single doorway which led to both the closet and the bathroom. He'd had the band over several times, and Lynn had never commented. Now his cheeks burned in retroactive shame. Someone who lived like this would never darken his doorstep. He set aside those dreams and made a decision. While Lynn bustled around her kitchen, cooking a meal he hadn't asked for, he leaned against the counter opposite from her.
"We should hang out more," he said. Lynn sighed and turned the meat sizzling in the pan.
"I can't, Brent," she said. "I'm always busy, and my life is...complicated."
"Who's isn't?" He grinned at her exasperated huff and sidelong glare. "C'mon. I don't mean like that. Boys and girls can be just friends, too."
She scratched her cheek. "Can they?"
"Yeah, of course." He grabbed a knife and began chopping the potatoes she'd washed. "Look at us, being friends right now."
He quartered the potatoes, sprinkled them with salt, pepper and olive oil, and offered her a baking pan lined with foil and covered in potatoes just in time for the oven timer to ping. She took the pan.
"Thanks." She'd raised her eyebrows but seemed genuinely pleased at the help. "I'd like that."
"Just tell your mentor not to harass me," he said, and Lynn snapped to attention.
"Did Tony say something?" Her tone was ominous. Brent raised his hands.
"Nothing bad," he said. "Just came by with another guy, Clint. A few weeks ago."
"While I was gone," she said. She looked both sad and distant. He didn't like it.
"Yeah, look, I'm sorry."
"For what?" Lynn turned the meat again. The oven timer showed fifteen minutes left for the potatoes.
"I got a little panicky. Called the number Tony gave me a lot. The guy didn't sound too happy about it."
Lynn laughed a bit at the pun, and Brent grinned again.
Their friendship continued, comfortable and pleasant, through the next year and into the Earl, where they scored a regular gig in the larger venue. Now the band had two new members: Jenna, a pianist; and Donny, who seemed able to figure out any instrument they gave him.
Brent fell into a rhythm with his bandmates, and while he and Lynn were the closest of the group, they all enjoyed each other's company. When he told Lynn about his feelings for Jenna, she encouraged him to talk to her.
"The worst that can happen is she says no," Lynn had said. "Just don't be a creep."
He was into his second week of dating Jenna when he caught Lynn pressed against the wall across from the stage door, arms wrapped around a much taller man. He'd thought hard about how much Lynn had to drink before, during and after the show, and tapped the man's shoulder to get his attention.
"Look," he said to the murderous glare which turned his way. "She's had enough to have three hangovers for the price of one tomorrow. Can we not?"
The man had actually looked torn and ready to argue, but relented with a sigh when Lynn laid her head against his chest.
"Very well," he'd said. "I will take her home."
"I'll go with you," Brent said. He grinned at the scowl that earned him, but he wasn't about to let some guy take Lynn wherever he wanted. "Jenna will too. Actually, we have a car. It'll be easier."
It hadn't been easier, since between the three band members there were several instruments, a microphone with stand, and only one sober driver. Brent situated the girls in the back seat, surrounded by equipment, and watched them in the rear view mirror until they fell asleep on each other's shoulders. The guy sat next to him, and for the life of himself Brent could not remember agreeing to let this guy join the car ride.
"What's your name?" He kept his tone casual, flipped on the radio. Jenna kept the car on a hip hop station; Brent tuned into a local music station. Acoustic strums gently lulled the girls deeper into sleep.
"It is Loki," the man said. Brent scoured his memory for where he'd heard that name, and grinned.
"Asatrur parents, huh?" Loki raised his eyebrows and Brent shrugged. "College is full of all kinds of people I never knew existed. We're big on the J back home. Jesus loves you so long as you're not…"
Brent glanced into the mirror, where Lynn and Jenna nearly blended together in the dark. He'd argued with himself endlessly on how to introduce Jenna to his parents without starting a war, getting disowned, losing his family. It'd only been a few weeks, anyway. He pushed the future aside and cleared his throat.
"You know," he finished lamely. "So what do you do, Loki?"
"He lies," Lynn slurred from the back. She hadn't opened her eyes, but apparently she wasn't as asleep as she seemed. "Loki Liesmith."
"Yeah, there's been a lot of people getting caught up on Norse stuff," Brent said. "Thor shows up and suddenly Vikings are cool again. Lynn knows a lot about it, you should ask her sometime."
"I had to learn," Lynn said. "Self-preservation."
"I never did ask if you know Thor, Lynn," Brent said. "You know Tony Stark and Clint...last name. Have you met all of them?"
"Yeah," she muttered. She was fading. Brent sighed and glanced at Loki. Traffic lights flashed through the car.
"She's normally pretty locked down. Ask a question, get a brick wall sort of thing. It's ok, everyone has stuff they want off the books. Never thought to just get her drunk before asking."
"Does she often drink heavily?" Loki asked. Brent thought of all the different ways he could answer that question and settled for a shrug.
"It's a bar," he said. "Who doesn't?"
He dropped Lynn off, Loki trailing close behind. Despite his best intentions, Brent found himself leaving Lynn in her apartment with Loki to watch over her, and couldn't remember agreeing to this arrangement. The next thing he knew, he was home - not back in the car, not driving, but home, tucked into his bed with Jenna snoring lightly beside him.
In the morning, he made himself toast, fixed Jenna an aspirin and some water, and sat in a chair next to his bed.
"You think Lynn's been acting weird lately, babe?" He watched Jenna down the aspirin with a flinching sigh.
"Weird like what?" she asked. She sat up and held her head in her hands. "Ugh, that seventh shot was a mistake."
"Fireballs will get ya like that," Brent said. He kept his voice low; he'd already drawn the curtains, and was ready to get more water and aspirin as needed. "Like - making out with strange guys weird. That seem like Lynn to you?"
"Not really." Jenna rubbed her eyes wearily. "She's not the type."
Brent paid closer attention after that. Suddenly Lynn was full of idiosyncrasies which hadn't been there before. The way she tilted her head, the way she tapped her bottom lip. Sometimes she seemed too far away to reach, and he had to snap a few times to get her focus back. Jenna noticed too, since he'd involved her, and pointed out that their conversations tended toward odd topics these days. History and politics replaced medical advancements and movies. Music still brought them together, but Lynn's performance was more wooden, less heartfelt. Brent wasn't sure if the audience noticed, but he and Jenna sure as hell did. Even Troy brought it up to him in private, asking if something was wrong with Lynn.
Brent toyed with the idea of calling Tony Stark and letting him know about what the band was seeing. Small changes. It could be nothing. Brent thought of an aunt on his father's side who started acting strange. Small changes that grew into strange behavior. Distant looks, struggles to focus. They found opioid pills on nearly every surface of her bedroom when they found her body.
Brent swallowed his nervousness and made the call.