"So it's a head?" Gwen asked, drinking in her surroundings and trying to forget their quite frankly terrifying journey there. "Like, a really massive head?"
"Or what's left of it," Loki replied. He was wearing a glamour that everyone could see but her, and had a hood pulled up over his head as well. She herself was wearing her long leather coat and boots that would be good for kicking, although the diversity of the crowd meant that she did not need to worry about sticking out like a sore thumb in her earthly clothes. Here, looking weird seemed to help you blend in. A bright green man with six eyes walked past her, and she lifted the watch from his wrist as he did. "I saw that."
"Old habits," she said vaguely, examining the watch. "Halfway across the galaxy, and they still measure time in units of twelve. Sucks that they don't speak English, either."
"I'm sure you shall get your point across somehow."
Knowhere seemed to be in a perpetual state of night, lit by luminous artificial streetlamps and far-off galaxies that she could see through the gaping holes of what could either be referred to as the ceiling or the cranium, and the buildings were mostly small and ramshackle, built out of salvaged materials of which she only recognised some. The ground was littered with large pools filled with suspicious yellow liquid, many of which had illegal-looking wells set up around them. The streets were lined with vendor stalls selling things that she didn't even want to imagine, and the air smelled, as it always did in places like these regardless of space and time, of greasy takeaway food. Above her head, spindly towers turned to parabolic bridges and bridges turned to hanging platforms as they followed the shell of the head, as though gravity was nothing more than a matter of perspective.
"Just to double check," she said, "Ratatosk –" she pointed at herself "- and Lejemand." She poked Loki in the chest.
"Ratatosk and Lejemand," he repeated, nodding. She knew he liked that name. It was an old Norse epithet for him, its origin from the earthly legends rather than Asgard itself, meaning nobody would recognise it; the playing man. It suited him well. Far better than Odinson or Laufeyson, at any rate.
"Where's this museum, then?"
Loki would never do anything as obvious as point; instead, she followed his gaze to the massive yet somehow squat building that overlooked its surroundings, covered with higgledy-piggledy extensions and with a glowing glass ceiling. "Don't trust Tivan."
"Who?"
"The Collector. You'll know when you see him."
Gwen shivered. "When you say 'Collector'," she said, "you don't mean stamps, do you?"
"No."
"Thought not."
"There's a bar outside. I'll meet you there in an hour," Loki said, "I am going to win no small amount of money off of people too drunk to know better than to challenge me."
"Have fun," said Gwen.
"Oh, I shall." She watched him as he disappeared through the crowd, not a worry about her as he presumably thought she could look after herself.
He feels guilty, she thought, one hand resting on her lower stomach. Which is understandable, I suppose. That must be why he brought me here – some convoluted way of apologising for… for this. Oh, lover. She looked down at the space where her unborn child should have been. You're almost as much of a hot mess as I am.
Still. There was a space library waiting for her. That kind of thing didn't happen every day. She put on a brave face and made her way through the crowd.
%
The museum was almost empty save for its exhibits, a maze of high glass boxes containing things both living and dead, many of which watched her mournfully through the foggy glass as she passed. Gwen was reminded of butterfly cases, each specimen pinned in place and collected, not for want of public display, but for personal satisfaction. She had never liked them much. There were strange things, impossible and fantastical yet undeniably real, but the display that unsettled her most was the inarguable human space suit up on the gallery above her, its bubble helmet reflecting her tiny figure.
She moved on pretty quickly.
Most of the exhibits were unlabelled, and there seemed to be no logic to the way everything was laid out. She slipped between a case containing a massive scarlet plant that waved and shivered despite the stillness of the air and what she was fairly certain was one of those Chitauri things that had invaded New York a while back, and spotted a large crater in the middle of the floor that had been cleared of debris and now had fencing running around the edge of it to stop anyone falling in.
"Ah," said an oily voice behind her, "that would be where the infamous Guardians of the Galaxy paid us a visit, hm hm. Infinity Stones can be quite an inconvenience, if used… incorrectly."
Gwen did not turn around. Instead, she continued to examine the hole as though she knew someone had been there the whole time. "You should sue them for damages," she said, and the unctuous voice laughed.
"One of them was half-Terran, you know. Peter Quill. You might be related, hm?"
Now Gwen allowed herself to twist round, and saw the man clad in a great deal of red velvet watching her with eyes that glittered like geodes. "I don't think so," she said.
"I am lacking a Terran specimen," the man continued, stepping towards her with a calculating look in his eye. "You are a long way from home, my lady."
"And yet I do not feel out of depth, Mr Tivan," she said, and he smiled so suddenly it was like someone had hit a switch.
"Please," he said, folding into a gracious and overcomplicated bow, "call me Taneleer. And you are…?"
"Ratatosk," Gwen replied.
"Ra-ta-ta-ta-tosk! A Terran with an Aesir name. How delightfully unusual, although… perhaps less so, as of late. I have had Aesir visitors recently too, you know. A large man and a fair lady, who seemed to have no respect for the finer things." He looked up at her, and then abandoned his bow without his eyes ever leaving her face. "And what did you do to gain this name, Ratatosk?"
"Travel," she said simply. "I'm just a tourist, me."
"Hm, but you do not hold yourself as a tourist would. You walk as though this humble colony belongs to you," he said, and Gwen tilted her head to one side.
"Maybe it does," she said.
"You have sad eyes, Ratatosk. You are grieving." It was a weird accent, ethereal and looping, dragging out the Rs and Os. "You have lost something, very recently I surmise. Oh, how the living mourn."
Gwen folded her arms, her flinty expression remaining the same. "How big is your collection, Taneleer?"
"The largest in the galaxy, my lady," he said, sweeping off and beckoning for her to follow him. "Oh, the specimens I have acquired! Viscardi, Alpha Centaurians, Shi'ar, even a Jotunn – and my, those frost giants are slippery things!"
Loki, she thought, he's got one of Loki's race stuck in here. Jesus, this isn't a museum. This is a freak show. It seemed that, much like on Earth, space had its own sick bastards as well. The worst part was that the Collector didn't even talking about his exhibits like inanimate things - oh, no. He knew their names. He spoke of them like dear friends. And yet he still kept them entombed in these space-age glass jars, and did not seem to feel the slightest guilt about it. Gwen would be the first to admit she wasn't a saint, but at least she had some standards.
I don't think he's gonna let me leave with just a souvenir and an offer of a membership card. There's too many vacant cases here for my liking. Maybe I'm just paranoid, but…
"And here we have a Vorm!" said the Collector, clasping his hands to his breast. "You will notice that I have had the glass for this one specially reinforced with – Miss Ratatosk! Where are you hiding?"
Don't move, she told herself. Don't even breathe.
Tivan spun slowly on his heel, grin still fixed in place. It was the sort of grin lizards gave insects, before they became dinner. "I still have so much to show you, Miss Ratatosk!"
Just Ratatosk, you son of a bitch, she thought. I know you want a human more than you're letting on. Why else would you have bothered to learn English?
"There's no need to be afraid, my lady. Knowhere is a haven for people who have run away from their native lands, run away from their grief. Why an Asgardian name? Who do you know? Who took you here?!"
Unable to stay still any longer, Gwen leapt from the lid of the case she was hiding on top of and soared over Tivan's head, landing on the next one across with a thud that rattled her shinbones and taking off at a run across the museum. She could move in a straight line whereas Tivan had to go around all his precious exhibits, and he was big and well-fed and heavy. Gwen was small, and needed to be fast. She jumped again, grabbed hold of the bottom of a levitating case above her, swung herself and dropped down and forwards.
"Watch where you place your feet, Miss Ratatosk!"
Gwen's boots landed on empty air where there should have been glass and she fell, catching the edge of the open-topped case at the last minute before she fell onto the floor inside. Something with more eyes than she had had hot dinners blinked and winked up at her, and with a grunt Gwen hauled herself out of it, balanced on the edge and jumped upwards, reaching for the pole that was holding the roof of the museum together where a hole had been blown into it by those Guardians of the Galaxy people. The whole building groaned ominously as Gwen swung herself up and balanced her way along the pole, trying very very hard not to look down, to where it connected with the gallery that ran around the edge of the building.
Bar, she thought numbly, sprinting along it. Head for noise. She made the mistake of glancing behind her and saw shadows of things flickering between the exhibits, heading for the stairs and for her quicker than anything should be able to move. She gulped and faced ahead again, following the sounds of strange music and yelling, and realised that there was a greenish glass window overlooking the main entrance to the museum, which opened out onto a bar she remembered being filled with gambling tables and more species in it than the Encyclopaedia Britannica.
"It loops round, Miss Ratatosk!" Tivan's voice called out as Gwen pulled off her jacket and held the back out in front of her. "There's only one way back –"
Down.
Ancient glass shattered around her as she plunged through the window, the coat protecting her face and hands from the worst of it as she fell, smashing through the rotten roof of some adjoining building with a scream and landing on some poor man – woman – thing's head with a scream. She rolled off of him onto a long blue table covered in small running animals, gave silent thanks to her past self for leaving Algernon at home, and looked up into the not even slightly surprised face of Loki.
"Hello," he said, "nice of you to drop in."
A/N yes, that last line was a pun. Yes, it was awful. Yes, I spent ten minutes laughing at it, alone, in my room, drunk. Yes, I'm a little bit ashamed. But seriously - if I weren't bound by canon, this fic would be entirely Gwen and Loki gallivanting, getting into trouble, being space pirates and ignoring all their responsibilities.