Thank You To::
m klindt (I shall never cease to tease!)
Ms. Hawkeye(Oh the things I have in store!)
Batghost (Totally the odd couple!)
I CAN HEAR THE DRUMS
PART 2
Chapter 13
March 15th, 2029,
it has been 62 days in space...together...
Cross Lake had nothing to do with Christianity or large bodies of water. It existed as a way point where the Oore System, the Dark System, Hyth's Star Vein and Galaxy Red all crossed paths. Small crystals of space debris collated in the blackness, and demarcated one system from another. The colors were red for the similarly-named galaxy, a deep purple for the Dark System, luminescent streaks of blue and silver for Hyth, and lastly, green bioluminescence for Oore. Cross Lake, a little moon outpost, hovered in the circulating tracks of this rainbow. It contained all the basic necessities for interstellar travelers: fuel, food, and information.
Clint decided to make the stopover. They'd been flying for two months without so much as a lead for Star-Lord's trail. Quill had yet to answer anyone's summons, from either the armada they left behind, or the personal ship. No one they passed had any idea as to the Guardian's location, and time was running short. They passed the first year out of seven before Galactus meant to return, and still they were no closer to finding the Infinity Gauntlet. Traveling in the small quinjet model across three star systems and, by now, countless planets created a strange camaraderie between the two dead-set enemies. They had a common goal, at the very least, for which to focus their sights on but that fact alone did not spare them the occasional jabs or threats of bodily harm upon one another. Getting out of the close quarters was Clint's second, and more paramount, reason for stopping at Cross Lake. He needed to simply stretch his legs and see a friendly face that did not belong to the ones the Frost Giant conjured up for fun.
"I still say that, should we fail to find indication of him here, we should cease this search of him and conduct our own investigation." Loki said, waiting along the gangplank for Clint to follow him down.
Barton shrugged out of his heavy jacket, and left it hanging on the back of the pilot's seat. Cross Lake had the grand fortune of orbiting a blue star. The sheer heat gave it the same kick of the Mojave desert. Trotting down the gangplank to catch up, Clint stretched out his arms and greeted the incredible feel of heat, air, and fresh oxygen. "I think we should dock here for a few weeks."
"No." Loki said instantly, rubbing his bare arm self-conscientiously.
"Oh come on, you get to enjoy the freezing cold, I want a little heat. As much as I can get. I might even go swimming. Are there pools here?" They strode down the landing platform together, sealing the ship closed behind them. Cross Lake was well regulated as far as security went. However, that didn't mean he trusted the random other ruffians to leave his brand new Midgard Armada ship untouched. They discussed adjusting the outside paneling when they got a chance to help the craft better blend in, they simply hadn't had the resources to do it. Making no statement at all, was much better than showing up in a new area with a short-burst fighting ship.
They strode through the center of town together, getting a general feel for the peculiar outpost. Clint had received a tip back in the Dark System that an old acquaintance of his, a Denali Rizzo, had moved his family to the moon.
It was strange to think back of Earth and his home he'd left behind. The memories made him feel old. It was true that waking up from the Sarhorn's healing gave him a new lease on life, and a vigor he hadn't felt in years, but that didn't hide the plain and true facts that age was slowly sneaking up on him like a thief in the night. He'd broken his hip once. The doctor's said arthritis set in, giving him the smallest hitch in his step that only strangers seemed to notice. His back was still strong, despite the years of archery, but his elbows were taking their licks. Tennis elbow, they called it. He'd never played a day of tennis in his life. The only consolation was Tony being a few years older than him. He'd gone grey first, a fact that Clint used to tease him incessantly about until the first white strands found their way in his own head of hair. Stark was a few years into fifty. Pym was passing sixty-seven. T'Challa neared fifty-three already. The creaks and cracks of their age caught up with them the way Thor, Steve, and Natasha would never know. There was something fundamentally unfair about that.
"I detest the idea of swimming, stripping down, and dealing with this ridiculous place. We are here to find a man who wishes to be simply the most unattainable informant the universe can offer, and if we ever do recover him, I may show him the exact lengths of my displeasure." Loki replied. He'd been forced to abandon his regal clothing for the much more understated "trappings" he currently sported. Short sleeves, though they complimented his physique, did nothing for his sensibility. Short anything, was meant for children and not for future kings, in his opinion. However, practicality was also a necessity. The world was hot, much too hot for him to endure living outdoors for a considerable amount of time.
"That sounds like a personal problem. I don't think Star-Lord wants anything to do with your lengths or pleasures." Clint shot back. He threw a playful smirk over his shoulder, which Loki very nearly kicked him for. What Clint had lost those years of voluntary domesticity, he had slowly reclaimed in their time together: snark, quick wit, and an unending annoyance that Loki very much preferred to smack right out of him. Then again, the feeling was most likely mutual.
"I swear, if I am to endure you another moment, I may decide to throw myself into that black hole and give my life to Galactus now."
"You do that, and I have no one to annoy." Clint said. They reached the outside of Denali's place and Clint pulled open the old New Jersey diner-style door, and flourished his hand inward, inviting Loki to enter ahead of him. "Besides, you think you are much too pretty for suicide."
"And you don't?" Loki quipped, trying to walk by.
Clint cut him off, hip checked the Frost Giant against the wall, and walked inside ahead of him. "Nope!" He called, and headed for the bar stools.
The place was called Four Corners, a fitting description given its location in the universe. Its owner, Denali Rizzo, was a beehive-haired cross-dresser who left Earth during the mass evacuation of 2020 when the Mutant Registration Act went into effect. Even though Denali was a certifiable alien, most of the off-worlders who called Earth home decided to move on, rather than suffer the same fate as some of their mutant friends. Earth, Terra, Midgard had plunged into a form of insanity. What started out as a peaceful aim to census the known mutant powers in existence within the US borders, quickly dropped to the levels Professor Xavier always feared, and Magneto himself warned about. Mutants were cordoned off, held in internment camps when deemed too dangerous. Those who wouldn't comply with the terms of the census, were put under house arrest. Those who refused to submit themselves to the government, were hunted down, captured, killed, or many times worse. Clint had been instrumental during those dark times in setting up a sort of Underground Railroad. With Wolverine's help, he shuttled mutants and aliens out of the East Coast to where Logan took them at the Canadian border. Safety waited for the refugees on that foreign soil.
Clint, himself, didn't exactly escape his own torment. Though he wasn't a mutant, he was arrested for suspicion of smuggling. As an Avenger, and a famous one at that, his arrest made international headlines. When he was released with a back full of new lashes, his bloody body became the rally point for change to usher in. Some special beings still hid, despite the Act's repeal. Some left, and never came back. Denali was just one of the many.
"BARTON!" Rizzo cried, seeing the Avenger. He spread his arms out wide, crossed beneath the counter divider, and tightened Clint in an embrace. He pulled back, adjusting the auburn beehive, which slipped from the stocking cap he used to anchor it to his head.
"Hi, Riz. How's tricks?" Clint asked. He leaned on one of the stools.
"Hardly anything in this place. But, you know, I got the diner, which has always been my own little piece of heaven. God, what I wouldn't give for a Wawa coffee right now, though. How's Jersey?" Riz, beside the hair, played the part of alternating genders well. He wore an old 40s diner skirt, blue on top, with a hem hand sewn in white. His matching button up shirt went right up to his Adam's apple, with the lapels flattened and freshly ironed. He'd even managed to procure a pair of black healed loafers to conclude the look.
"Wish I'd known, they have those little bags of it now. I would have brought you some." Clint replied.
Rizzo groaned at the thought of an opportunity missed.
"Barton, honestly speaking, is there no place in this universe where you can travel that we do not run into someone of your acquaintance?" Loki grumbled. He stood to Barton's left and glared at the owner. In the last twelve planets, moons, and floating docks they'd visited in just the last week, Clint had to greet at least one person whom he had some recollection of. Others knew him by reputation alone and occasionally crawled out of their ale mugs merely to pump his hand in theirs and offer to buy him a round or show him the sights. Loki was either surreptitiously ignored or met with an open hostility if he was even recognized at all. After a while of simply staring, he couldn't help himself. "What are you?" he asked the cross-dresser.
Denali folded his arms and glared right back. "I don't owe a thing to a back-stabbing coward like you. I should really give you a stiff sock in the jaw for that New York stunt. I lost my favorite Prius because someone just had to control the planet and let his little minions drop a skyscraper on it."
Clint put a hand on Loki's chest and pushed him back a pace. He'd gotten used to this. "All right, back down, you two. Loki's working with me on a case, whether I like it or not. Loki, this is my contact, Denali Rizzo. Me and Riz spent time in Jersey together. He's a cousin of my employee, Bill."
The Frost Giant's eyes narrowed as he looked the peculiarly dressed man up and down again. If he was a relation of Clint's one and only employee back on Earth, Billetekeli "Bill" Frostketen, that made him a Blenheim native. They looked essentially human, with a few idiosyncrasies here and there. What he could not place his finger on, was why the obviously masculine man would ever be caught in such dour drapes as those he seemed to willingly wear. And unless Loki was gravely mistaken, Denali Rizzo was a man with a pair of copious breasts.
"I see you prefer the company of men." Loki assumed.
Rizzo threw back his head and laughed, his Adam's apple bobbing in the day's old stubble along his neck. "Oh, that was rich! Hilarious. I like him for his jokes, not the mass murder thing." Rizzo slipped back under the counter, and appeared at the coffee maker. He poured a mug out, added Clint's familiar fixings, and slid them over the counter top.
To Loki, Clint explained, "Rizzo isn't gay. He just prefers a simpler time, and dressing like a woman. He even has a wife. They share clothes." Clint lifted the cup handle, and blew down the steam. Where Rizzo procured the stuff, he couldn't hazard to guess. The Blen wasn't the most law-abiding alien he'd ever come across. After taking a sip of the first hot drink he'd had in months, Clint decided he didn't care where Rizzo got it. "How many kids do you have now, Riz?"
A little sparkle entered the diner-owner's eye. "Fifteen. Little sprites, they are. John, my oldest, wants to go back to Terra. He remembers it, like his sister, the doctor, but not the others. They were too young. I don't object, but, you know, what with everything going on . . ."
"News reached this far out?" Clint asked, slightly concerned. Beside him, Loki decided to take a seat. He spied a fruit across the counter, left abandoned, and reached for it. Denali smacked him, rather satisfyingly, with a rolled up piece of paper.
"Sure it has. Don't expect something like Galactus crawling out of the Dfusth Black Hole to be a secret for very long. Everyone knows. Most the people in these parts are talking about packing up. The Dfusth isn't far from here, you know."
Clint nodded. Loki instead reached over, grabbed Clint's coffee cup, and drank what remained. He set it back down between a disgruntled Barton's hands. Clint used the flat of his palm to smack the back of the Frost Giant's head. Loki shoved his shoulder. Only Denali's hearty laugh kept them from escalating.
"I see how this relationship has gone. Someone's gonna have to write a book about it. I'm guessing you're not just here to chat, Barton. Lemme set you up with a couple plates, and I'll close the place down to talk business."
"Hot meal, yes. Dear God, yes! But don't go through the rest of the trouble. If I know the guy we're looking for, this is exactly the kind of layover he'd come to when leaving Oore. We might run into him here." Clint held out his mug while Denali refilled it for him. He did not offer any to Loki.
The interior of Four Corners was just like any other 1950s diner throwback in New Jersey's golden age of tin-sided buildings. The walls were slathered in old records, Elvis, Monroe, and the front ends of model cars. Red vinyl booths, polished to perfection, lined the private nooks and crannies where the rougher sorts might find a quiet chance to do business. The black and white marquis floor could have been stolen out of an original 40s home and no one would be the wiser. Steve Rogers would probably love the place more than he did Johnny Rockets.
"Who's your guy?" Denali asked, dropping the pot back onto the burner.
"Peter Quill."
Rizzo's deep, hearty laugh filled the place with life. No doubt it was a calling card. "Star-nerd? If I had a nickel for every time that guy came in here and argued with me over whether Frank Sinatra, the Jackson Five, or Queen would win in a mud wrestling contest, I would have a bigger diner."
Clint glanced at Loki with a little bit of hope. Things were looking up for once. "Seen him lately?"
Rizzo crossed his arms, and tapped his finger on one elbow while he chewed his lip. "Quill . . . Quill . . . No, I can't say I've seen him. Not in the past couple days at least. Then again usually he comes by when they first stop in for fuel, shacks up at that Klekre House on Prism Row," Denali drew close, shielding his face from Loki with one hand as if to share a secret. "That's the red light district for us Terran's in the know."
Clint smiled. He didn't point out that, despite all of Rizzo's adopted mannerisms, he was no more Terran than Thor.
"I understand the term Prism Row. I am not a sheltered whelp." Loki complained. He'd stolen the piece of fruit he eyed earlier, and stood chomping it loud enough to disturb their host.
"You are just a big ball of annoying, aren't you?" Rizzo shot back.
"Riz, Quill?" Clint interrupted again, before things escalated.
Rizzo looked back and shrugged. "He stopped in for the usual. Eggs Benedict on an English muffin , with a side of bacon, sausage, and french toast. All of it swimming in maple syrup, which isn't exactly easy to get outside of Quivenrell unless you want the crappy stuff they make in Druglee. We talked about Grease Two, a terrible movie if you haven't seen it, and he headed out with that green broad he's always with. The one that Thanos raised?"
"Gamora." Clint supplied. He finished the cup of coffee, but rather than order a third, he began to stand. "You said this was just a few days ago?"
"That's right. He always stops in first, heads to the Klekre House, and he usually comes by again before they take off-world. Unless he's short on cash. Then, he just takes off without a howdy-do. He always says he'll pay his tab before he goes. I should learn better, but you know that face he makes."
Clint extracted a few units out of his pocket and set them on the counter. It covered more than a few meals even at Denali's prices. "Thanks for the info. I think Loki and I are going to skip breakfast and check out this place. Save something hot for us when we get back? I'm a french toast guy, and so help me, if you have bacon, I might kiss you."
Denali grinned and pushed the units into his apron pocket. "Your fatty pig slices will be awaiting your return."
:(:):(:):
"How much do you trust this strange man-woman to provide you with information that will not end in our doom?" Loki asked. They walked along the wooden boardwalk of the dusty Cross Lake moon in the direction of the dark side a few blocks away. The moon was like a small colony pulled out of the old west. It was a cowboy town, full of the same life like Knowhere, but sunnier surroundings brought out the better crowds. If Clint didn't know any better, he'd put money down that Josh Whedon once shot a few movies in the place.
"Rizzo is a cross dresser, and yes, I trust his opinion." Clint replied. He stopped at the end of the next boardwalk, and looked down the connecting lane to the long line of parked ships. He hadn't seen the Milano when they did an initial fly over, but he wanted to double check that nothing had changed. Quill's cruiser, though, had been outfitted with a personal cloaking device of Rocket's design. It was possible they didn't see it because of that.
"Your taste in allies is disconcerting."
"Present company not excluded?" Clint asked.
They reached the edge of Light Town, and stood on the border between the bright and dark side of the little moon. The change was striking. There was no small transition, no grey zone where the Light Side stopped and the Dark Side started. It was as if a curtain of black simply cut them in perfect halves. Clint reached his hand across the division, and felt the overwhelming cold just beyond them. He pulled his hand back and touched it to the side of Loki's face. The Frost Giant yanked away from him.
Clint chuckled. "This sucks. The minute I finally get same warm weather and Vitamin D, I'm stuck chasing Quill down on the dark side of the moon. I should go back and grab a coat."
"In the time you return to our ship, Quill may make his timely escape once more." Loki crossed the town line. His skin faded slightly blue, as if to blend into his surroundings like a chameleon. His body shook a little, getting used to the sudden temperature drop. "Stop your miserable complaining and let's get on with this."
Clint crossed into the dark. He threw his arms around his waist, and pulled his body in tight while the cold shot around him. Like jumping into a frozen lake, he waited a moment to catch his breath, and let his body adjust to the new surroundings. Already Loki had begun to turn pink again. He started down the lane, hoping a little movement would keep his fingers and toes from locking up.
Prism Row was lined on either side by tall street lamps, lit with peculiar fires. They stretched out from a stone fountain in the center of town, and took a four direction course. One lane was green, another red, a third blue, and the last purple. The fires burned in all shades of their primary color and only along their designated lanes. The fountain itself contained all the colors in liquid form. Subterranean heaters kept the water from freezing, while the jets cycled in and out of their intricate turns. Hand carved marble, precious stones, and ore formed it from the base up. The bottom was made to resemble peculiar creatures Clint had never seen. The seven faces were shrouded in marble veils, arms outstretched, with seven different sorts of wings unfurled and touching tip-to-tip with the being beside them. From there, the base went flat like seat, dipped down into the three foot well of water, and started up again in the center.
The center itself was as intricate as the base. Four warring creatures, Clint recognized some as Celestials, one was Galactus, and another he wasn't familiar with, all locked in an unending battle, frozen in time. On their backs stood the next progression, a dark black stone, lacking any sign of stars with the masks of the Dark Elves staring lifelessly at him. The next tier began to expand outward. Frost Giants, Oore, Man, Light Elves, and so many more species of sentient beings and beasts piled one on top of the other, in a beautiful diorama of flowing water fountains and floating lights. The very top held a single, brilliant stone. It was white, pure, massive, and lit the entire fountain with an internal, unexplainable hue. If Clint didn't know any better, he would have assumed he'd uncovered an Infinity Stone right in the middle of Cross Lake's red light district.
He indicated the seven creatures. "What are those?"
"The Founders." Loki replied. He peered into the well, noting the treasure of units, coins, gold, and jewels all-encompassing the bottom of the waters; wayward travelers, hoping for a wish, and receiving nothing but empty pockets in return. "Some believed the universe formed after their creation. I blame them for what we go through now."
"The Sarhorns?" Clint said in surprise. He stooped down to see eye-to-eye with one of the marble shrouds. He could just make out the texture of a face beneath. Depressions for eyes, the outward curve of a nose, and two pursed lips. The sculptor was a master of his craft.
"I forget you have never seen one." Loki said. He took a few strides around the structure, noting the history in it.
"There's seven?"
"Asgardians call it the council, or Flegneks. In Oore, they are the Guiders, Tru-vu-ni. Most every race has some fantasy or other regarding their existence." He stopped and looked over to where Clint crouched. "One of the reasons so many have agreed to abide this warning from them."
"Natasha said they're everywhere. They hear everything. Why would they show up and drop news like that, then never come back?" Clint stood and looked up at the historic progression. From the day Galactus warred with the Celestials to the reign of the Dark Elves, everything was laid out before him. It was beautiful, in a way.
"I never believed in such fairy tales. Celestials are dead. Otherwise, no one would abide in one of their skulls harvesting its juices. Galactus' days are numbered. Even the Dark Elves had their time and lost it. Why put faith in a body of creatures hardly anyone sees and still fewer speaks with?" Loki rounded the distance between himself and Clint, folding his hands behind his back. "What would be the point?"
"I don't know, yet." Clint replied honestly. He indicated the jewel. "What's that?"
"A Lion Stone. They used to exist in great quantities on Midgard. However, over time they have been squandered. Not many exist now. This is the largest I am aware of. A peculiar spot to have this, to be sure." Loki indicated their licentious surroundings.
"A reminder of morality in a place without morals." Clint said, more to himself than the Frost Giant. "No one tries to steal it?"
"I imagine it is well protected in this place, not to mention the acid I am sure this water is made of. I would not tempt it."
Clint considered the four paths they might take, and the city line not far away. If it was possible, he felt a little colder now than he had first crossing in. Most of the lanes were empty, save a few souls leaning, lying, or dining on the many available boardwalk patios. He felt he'd either stepped into an old west saloon town, or the squat men-only districts of some Asiatic city depending, on which lane he looked down. He thought about where Peter Quill might choose to go. "All right, where's the Klekre House?"
Loki didn't move. "I have never been here before." He stated, emphasizing himself.
"I didn't say you have. You don't look like a guy that gets around much." Clint replied. He decided to choose the most obvious, and went down the red lane first. Loki trailed on beside him, his long legs overtaking Barton in an instant.
"I would have you know, if I cared for such things, that I might have whatever fool damsel I chose."
Clint laughed. "Oh really? I see them lining up at your door daily. I'm beating them off our ship with a stick. That last place we went, I believe they sang ballads about you." Sarcastic venom filled the lines.
"My interest is not in fool damsels." Loki shot back.
"No, it's in horses." Clint quipped. Loki's face paled in utter horror, but Barton only shrugged. "Hey, I'm not judging, but that little thing we never discuss does give me ammunition. What? Did you think I'd never figure out how Odin ended up with an eight-legged horse? Please. I knew from day one. Don't insult my intelligence."
"It is increasingly hard to insult something which so rarely makes an appearance!" Loki's color returned with his anger.
Clint waved him off. "Oh, get off it. The only reason you're mad is you haven't gotten laid since getting out of jail, and I have a wife with a rocking hot body." They reached the end of the first block, and considered their potential directions. They could either take a side lane and try one of the other four districts, or continue another half mile or so until the red section ended. Clint decided to keep going forward.
Like any city, the further they went from the heart of town, the seedier the establishments became. Sure, some areas had the diamond-in-the-rough, or the quaint little town lined in rural houses which popped up like the gardens in their yards. But this was Cross Lake, and the dark side of it at that. Most of the area homes were tall, saloon-faced places made from wood, nails, and elbow grease. Most had some hand painted sign or other posing the wares they hid inside their swinging doors. Drinking, gambling, women, men, aliens of all races, and occasionally, Terrans, were all made available in one small, dusty town which never saw the light of day. Business boomed 24/7. Others tried to replicate the success of Cross Lake's Prism Row, but none had been as successful.
Reaching the second crossway, Clint was nearly convinced they'd chosen the wrong district until Loki pointed out the sign on the street corner diagonally from them. The place resembled something from a John Ford movie. Two swinging batwing doors separated the warm interior lights' yellow glow from the blackness painted red just outside. Three red torches lined either side of its three-body porch, which wrapped from one side of the building, down the cross street to the front of the doors, and down the red street, all the way to its next door neighbor. It was two stories high, with tall glass windows on the second floor. A few were cracked open, allowing silk and gossamer curtains to suck outside into the cold moon air. A cursory exam didn't reveal any Guardians of the Galaxy, but to know for sure, they had to go in. Clint led them to the few short steps.
"All right, I'll track down Quill. You keep an eye out for some of the others. Find Drax – " Clint paused, stopped before walking in, and looked at Loki. "You know what, not Drax. You should stay away from Drax. Find Gamora – Wait, I think you have history with her too. Ok, you have two options. Groot, or Rocket. If you find one of them, let me know."
"Your faith in my taking care of myself is astoundingly little." Loki complained.
"I just don't want a bar fight on our hands in the middle of alien old west. You do what you want." Clint pushed open one of the doors and strode inside.
The place seemed a little more updated within than it appeared. A gilded gold mirror hung over the bar back, with bottles of liquor hailing from over a thousand systems. It made Clint remember, rather suddenly, his quest for a seven year sobriety. It was a good thing he hadn't brought Tony along. The bar was tucked in the left corner, and extended out far enough for a team of two barkeeps to keep the fire water handed out. The rest of the floor was decorated in round tables, fitting four chairs a piece but no more. Too big of groups all sitting together, tended to cause more trouble than if they were split up. A few booths, aiding to privacy, were set up like a horseshoe on the far right. A gold plated rod hung over them, draping dusty black curtains in front of the occupants inside.
Clint indicated the booths with a flick of his head, and made a short sign in the other direction. Since being together, Loki learned the small bits of sign language Clint managed to retain in his daily life. They split up at the door.
Clint headed to the bar first, thought better of it, and diverted around a few parties of card players in the center tables. He followed the empty rows toward the back stair case, and slowly felt along his pant leg. He didn't want to risk sticking his hand in his pocket among this group of ruffians. No doubt they'd think he had a gun. He did want to make sure he had easy access to the clip of collapsible arrows he packed, though. Manipulating the pocket from the outside, he slid the clip closer to the opening of his pocket. He could snap the arrows out like pez from a dispenser. The tips didn't do much damage, they were only a little sharper than target shooters, but they served him just fine with a bow as strong as the Asgardian one in the close range of the saloon.
While Loki curved around and used his height to check the private booths for one of the Guardians, Clint used his charm to seduce a good informant. He rounded the half wall that separated the staircase upward from the saloon proper. Twelve ladies lined the hall, all in various degrees of undress and costumes, feathers, wigs, and pearls, to boot. Some were painted fluorescent reds for their district, others went subtle and tied red ribbons through their copious locks. Rather surprisingly, he realized one of them was Elvish.
"Pedin Elohem." Do you speak elvish? Clint asked the woman. She wore a laced gold bodice, with tooled leather and a short skirt to match. Her long auburn hair had been shaved down to expose her skull on one side, and grown out and braided on the other. Dark mascara elongated her already almond shaped eyes.
She cocked her head a little in surprise, looked him up and down, and then nodded gingerly. "The-theo eva nu?" How did you come by it?
"Eyani'?" Troublesome, Clint asked. It was the Elvish word used for the Southlings who'd been banished from Alfheimr years ago, when Barton nearly lost his life. It was the only explanation for seeing an Elf in a place like this. That might either help him or hinder him, when it came to getting information. The Southlings were all sons or daughters of a supreme evil known as Ge'elaphi. Their mission was to destroy Rinon, the entire Light Elf regime, and usher in a new era on the backs of his incestuous children. The catalyst for such change was the incitement of war with Asgard. The same war Clint nearly died for. If this Elf was a daughter of that evil, the last person in the galaxy she may want to see was the Avenger their family failed to kill.
"La. Ne neyu me'el ve malira, Ackarae." Yes. I recognize you too, archer. She stepped away from the others, and began to head up the stairs. She paused after a few steps, and waited for him to follow. "Lue beleo. Fine miri te gee'wilu ma. Av'osto." Follow me. I will give you whatever you seek. Do not fear me.
Clint thumbed one of the arrows free, and palmed it in his hand. He walked through the rows of call girls to follow the outcast up the stairs to the second floor. Loki, having found nothing himself, poked his head through the doorway just soon enough to watch Barton disappear into a room.
The Light Elf opened the first doorway, checked inside to be sure it was free, and stepped in. She left the entry open for Barton. He walked in behind her, and assessed the closest exits on either side of the hall before deciding to shut himself in with the Elf. This could only go one of two ways. Either he'd get what he was looking for, or she'd take out a years-long exiled embarrassment on him. He closed the door and turned to face her. The Elf's laces were already undone on her bodice. She made to pull it completely off, but Clint sailed across the room and put his hands over her. She stopped and looked at him in complete confusion. Apparently, killing him wasn't on her agenda.
"No, no, no, it's fine. I'm not here for any of that. I just want to talk." Clint explained.
The Light Elf looked down at his hands, which he pulled away, and then at the bed before looking back at him. "Talk? Ackarae, my family nearly murdered you. I, myself, wielded a bow against you. I set fire to the home of our once great king, and helped seal him into his death! If you have not come to fully declare your victory, then what could have possibly brought you here?"
A deep sadness settled into Clint's heart. Some part of him always felt a connection to those innocent lives Ge'elaphi destroyed by his insanity. His children never wanted to be born to their own brothers and sisters, or to live their lives in fear, hate, and loathing. He'd bred it into them. Clint wondered if this Elf was young enough at the time to avoid her father crawling into her bed one night in his sick depravity. By her confusion, Clint assumed not. He indicated the bed, thought better of it, and dragged over a chair. He waited for her to sit, cleared off a night stand, and sat across from her.
After a little time of letting her relax, he said, "I'm not here to take advantage of you. Whether you know it or not, normal men don't do that to women. I'm not sure how you ended up here, but I'm sorry for that. I hope the rest of your family, the good ones, have made easier lives out of their banishment. I didn't even know I'd find an Elf here, but I'm glad I have. I'm looking for a friend. A very hard to find man named Peter Quill. He's tall, with short shaggy hair, and usually dresses in body armor. You might have seen him with a woman formerly of Thanos, Gamora."
The Elf didn't say anything at first. She looked very seriously at him, and remained quiet for a long time. After a while of testing his patience, and seeing that he indeed wouldn't speak before she did, the Southling conceded. "His description is familiar. Star-Lord?"
A smile spread on Clint's lips, but he quickly let it fall away. He didn't want to frighten her with an excess of emotion. "That's right. I've been looking for him. Has he been by?"
He waited again as more long minutes passed. It was like trying to have a conversation with Rinon. "Haliu vo." Today, she told him.
"Is he still here?" Clint asked.
Her head went up, then down, and up, and down very slowly.
Clint would have leaned a little closer had she been human. He might have even touched her hand and tried to reassure her. But he knew better, given her species. Clint stood. He took a step backwards toward the door, and then moved one step to his left, before bowing with a little flourish. Given her position in life, she'd never seen a man be submissive to her, especially not in the Elven way. He said, "Don't be scared. I'm not trying to trick you. I only need to find him. Can you help me do that?"
She stood. As smooth as a bird, she crossed to the window and drew the curtain away. Clint walked over to join her, conscious to keep his body away from hers.
"There," she said, indicating a place across the street. "Her name is Meli. He likes her. I believe the others may be there, but I am not sure."
Clint nodded, thanked her, and headed for the door. He pulled it open to find Loki leaning on the hall railing just outside. Where once he smiled and planned to say something enticing, his expression crumbled. He looked past Barton to the woman inside and suddenly stood.
"Mal'alio! Mal'alio!" Traitor! The Southling screamed, bursting out of the room at him. Loki pulled his dagger as she withdrew her own, and Clint, risking life and limb, threw himself between them.
"No!" he shouted, trying to keep them apart. He trusted Loki not to strike unless forced, so Clint focused his effort on staying her hand instead. They wrestled together on the landing of the saloon. The girls below began to mount the stairs, expecting trouble at any moment.
"You liar! You trickster! You deceive with your words!" the Southling screamed in mixtures of basic an Elvish. Clint stole the knife out of her hands and threw it to the floor. With the toe of his boot he kicked it off the landing where it hit the floor somewhere below. Wrestling the woman, he ordered Loki away.
"Not without you!" Loki replied, grabbing the back of Clint's shirt as if to drag him and the Elf apart.
"She'll settle down, just get out of here!" Clint screamed back. The Southling fought him like a hellcat. He trapped her arms against her waist, and grabbed her from behind. She snarled at the Frost Giant, and, given half a chance, Clint had no doubt she'd resort to biting him if she must.
The other women reached the landing. A few of them had guns, others held electric jolt sticks. If Clint didn't get Loki out of there, then they'd have a little war on their hands. The collapsible arrow he'd palmed earlier, he now twisted. With a flick of his wrist, it extended and he held the point only a few inches from the bridge of Loki's nose. "Out!" he ordered, booking no room for argument.
Loki's eyes flicked to the fighting Southling, but he did concede. Without traveling through the gaggle of onlookers, he grabbed the banister and hurled himself over the side. He dropped down to the floor below, sent a last glance toward Barton, and headed out the door. One task complete, Clint considered his next options. He had to let the Southling go, eventually.
"Are you going to go running after him if I let you go?" Clint asked the Elf.
She pulled against him, he squeezed tighter, and it took some time, but soon she relaxed. "Ny."
He released his grip a little, just to gauge her reaction. When she continued to not fight him, he let go completely. The Elf put a few paces between them before turning around to face him. Her head tilted slightly to one side, eyes narrowing into tighter slits with curiosity piqued across them. "Why?" she asked, shaking her head. "With him? That deceiver?"
"I don't like it more than anyone else, but I have to keep him out of trouble. I'm sorry he shocked you. He has that effect." Clint explained, keeping his voice low and steady. He moved by her toward the crowd of girls who split to let him pass.
"You don't understand, do you? All that he has done? What he took from you?" The Southling continued as Clint went down the stairs.
"I know enough." He replied, not stopping. "Loki's not trustworthy, and I know that too."
She pressed against the railing, watching as Clint disappeared into the larger room. She wondered then about forgiveness. She could never return to Alfheimr again, a fact that haunted her every day of the long life she may yet live. But she'd met the man whom once she tried to kill. Not only did he want nothing from her, he was reverent, submissive, and kind. He walked with the carriage of one who knew his place in the world, even standing at the side of the Frost Giant, who so often set out to murder him. If Clint could find such forgiveness in his heart for her, for Loki, did that mean hope still existed in the dismal path of her own life? Clint himself wasn't party to her internal thoughts. He walked out of the saloon, filled with questions and answers both. He'd seen people react to Loki before. It was actually something he'd come to expect everywhere they went, but this touched him differently.
"One day, you are going to tell me exactly what that was all about." Clint said, picking up Loki as he headed across the street.
"I have enemies. A fair share of them, I might add, which is why you have forced me into half a dozen ridiculous disguises over our internment together." Loki replied easily. They entered the next bar and walked straight in. The layout was similar to its sister across the alley, but the general floor plan allowed for a bandstand on the right, with its booths along the wall directly across from them. Clint found the stairwell on their left and, without bothering to canvas the room, he headed right for it with Loki in tow.
"That's not what I meant. That girl knew you. You're going to tell me how. Not right now, but the minute I get a free minute to think for myself, I'm going to remember to ask. And you'd better be ready with a better answer than that." Clint entered the hall first, asked the working women about Star-Lord's room number. He mounted the stairs first. Loki came up behind him. Clint found the number, considered something, and sent a smirk to Loki. "I've got an idea."
"Why is it that the prospect of such a thing terrifies me?" Loki replied.
Clint nudged the door open a crack, and looked around for the woman and Peter Quill. He found her, standing over the bureau rooting through his pants pocket no doubt for spare credits. Clint figured it served him right to get robbed. He whistled a little to gain her attention and curled his finger, displaying a handful of units to entice her out. Casting a glance at the man in the bed, apparently asleep, she went over to Clint.
"Here's a fifty. Take it and my sincere apology for having to deal with him." Clint told her. He hiked a thumb down the hall, which she took as her exit, and squeezed by the two men. When the girl was gone, Clint looked back at his partner in crime. "Here's the plan – "
Um, so i just love this dynamic!
Next time: How Clint and Loki wake up Pete, the plan for the search, and what happened to Bruce Banner...
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