Here's the next one... and a prime example of how it doesn't break into chapters very well... but whatever...
She didn't sleep that night. If it really was night. The torches around the room dimmed as if by magic all at once, as the room was bathed in a warm orange glow. Over and over she turned on the tiny cot, but with the sad remains of a mattress, it was like sleeping on a rock. And it wasn't especially warm down here, so the fact there was no blanket made it even worse. She shivered, clutching her clothes. Her tank top and shorts had been appropriate for a warm summer day back home, but now she was really wishing she'd worn a sweatshirt.
Turning over again, she found her cellmate in exactly the same spot, sitting on the floor against the wall beside a very large pile of books. His eyes were closed, but how could anyone sleep like that? And why would he? She had noted already that for some reason, his white cubbyhole was sparsely decorated with furniture that hardly belonged there. And he had a bed. A real bed with real bedding and expensive looking sheets. She didn't even concern herself with the idea of fairness. But she felt obligated to wonder why he – who had a bed – was not sleeping in it.
Maybe he was meditating. Though he seemed a bit too relaxed for that. His arms hung lazily over his knees, and his chin almost touched his chest. No way he was conscious. And besides, he hadn't moved in hours. She glanced at his tray of food. After a few moments of careful observation, she could tell someone had at least started fussing with it. But she'd barely caught a wink of shuteye. Surely with this proximity, she would have heard him get up. I guess not.
He stirred and she quickly turned back over, staring up at the ceiling. It wasn't much to look at. Only more white.
A few moments passed before she turned over again. Her breath caught in her throat when she met his gaze. The warm light reflected off his eyes as they might a cat's – without thinking, she turned back over. She could have sworn she heard him laugh – low and quiet under his breath. The very idea of the sound gave her chills. She rolled toward the wall, staring into the blaringly white wall, attempting to forget he was there. It didn't work. All she could think was that he was watching her. Even with that layer of glass between them, she didn't feel any safer. Not that she felt safe at all in captivity worlds away from home. But his piercing gaze was the icing on this disgusting cake.
Running a hand over the cold metal bed frame, she took a closer look at the cuts on her hands. The glue was a faint pink from the blood and it was already peeling at the edges. She mindlessly picked at it as her mind continued to swirl. The events that took place in New York – all of the news reports she'd seen – filtered through her brain. The attack came out of nowhere. One moment it was simply another day in the city, but the next, an enormous wormhole in the sky was spewing alien creatures that clearly didn't come in peace. A year later the city was still in a state of repair. A year later, they barely had an explanation for what had occurred.
The conspiracy theories rolled in full force. Since the beginning of human civilization, man spoke of beings from another world but there was never any proof to be found. It only made sense that when proof was finally dropped in man's lap, he didn't know how to handle it. In the end, they were all caught with their tails between their legs. So the media swelled with panic and had it not been for this team – the Avengers – the entire world would still be trapped in an unending fear for what they couldn't protect themselves from.
The entire thing was surreal. Even now, after being abducted by aliens and teleported to another planet. For now, she was in this blissful state of acceptance because waking up from this nightmare was still a possibility. She feared that when the reality finally set in, it would be a freak out for the record books.
With that in mind, she was thoroughly enjoying her foggy state of ignorance. She imagined waking up back home, entangled in sheets, face nuzzled in her pillow. This place would only be memory, half remembered from her last REM cycle. In a matter of minutes it would disappear completely. After a long shower and a quick breakfast, her boring routine would resume, but subconsciously she would be thrilled that she was anywhere but here. This imagined horror story. Maybe she'd even call up her sister and regale her with what she could remember. At least someone could be entertained by such misfortunes. Life would go on again. But only until she awoke, still in a very white cell, in a very dark dungeon, and a long long way from home. Maybe it is real.
...
Loki decided within a few days that his new roommate was rather entertaining, whether she thought so or not. Much better than the endless silence that preceded her arrival. He observed her in silence as she so naively tried to find a way out of this place. Every time a meal was delivered, she would vainly attempt to catch its curriers' attention. They knew better than to respond and they wouldn't be moved by any threat or provocation. By the time she'd etched three tallies into the stone, her frustration was almost palpable.
Her brow furrowed deeply and both her fists clenched at her sides as the guards disappeared up the stairs again. He had to wonder what her plan was. Win the sympathy of the guards – the servant more likely. She'd be more relatable. More easily swain. She'd attempt to form a friendship that would at some point lead to an escape. Regardless, failure was imminent. If they went to the trouble of bringing her here and holding her here, they weren't going to fall for that. Foolish mortal.
Just like the night before, she riled herself into a one-woman frenzy, making as much noise as possible, desperate for someone to respond. Not even a second glance as the doors locked shut once again. She kicked the glass wall with a growl and then slid to the floor with a whimper as one of her bare toes gave a loud crack. Her face grew red as she violently massaged it. Her teeth were visibly clenched behind her snarling lips. Her nostrils flared as she took in air in a huff, trying to regain her lapsing composure after aggressively stubbing her toes.
When she finally returned to her feet, she limped. Her last three toes looked purple. She stumbled toward the bench wincing whenever she bumped her latest injury. She sat down, carefully extending her leg along the bench to avoid disturbing it again. She eyed it from afar, already grimacing at the dark and unholy tones. Her crazy glue wouldn't help her this time.
Her big brown eyes were practically burning holes through the glass when she caught his subtle smirk. She sprung from her seat, suddenly disregarding the pain in her foot as she stomped – with a gimp – to the glass that separated their cells. "Is something funny?" she demanded. Loki almost rolled his eyes. Her long nails scratched the glass – her nose was almost pressed against it. And her glare only deepened. "I don't know what the hell you're in for. Frankly, I don't care. All I know is that I have no reason to be here. And I don't need you making this shit hole even worse with your constant ogling! Leave me the fuck alone!"
Loki finally looked up at her, a wicked grin gracing his face. Ordinarily that was enough, but she only stared back, squinting until her eyes were only slits. Without breaking eye contact, he stood. That alone seemed to surprise her. He rose once more to his towering height –a good foot taller than her. Her form faltered only slightly as her gaze traveled upwards to meet his. He smiled widely as her brow slowly relaxed.
"Poor, naïve, little mortal," he cooed quietly, his voice a mere purr in the darkness. "Thinks herself so immensely important. Have you no idea who I am?" He could tell by her expression she didn't. "I am Loki. I am a god you pathetic meat sack! You are so insurmountably insignificant – a petty prisoner. You want to know why I'm here? You want to know how far a god has to fall to end up down here?" He leaned closer until his breath fogged the glass. But even through the thin film of condensation, he watched the fear pool in the darkening brown of her eyes. "I invaded your worthless realm. I brought an army to your doorstep. I destroyed your city and slaughtered every single person who got in my way. I have been imprisoned for the rest of my life. An unenviable eternity! Now am I in any way deserving of that?" He pressed the toes of his boot against the glass, theoretically hanging over top of her. His smile slowly returned as he spoke again.
"Ogling," he chuckled. "I was to be your king and you just another nameless, faceless subject. If I wish to take pleasure in your mirthful antics, than I shall. You try so aptly to play the part of cool and confident and composed, but you abandon all of that for the sake of aggression and some meaningless show of force. You can't even think through your thick skull, how can you hope to think your way through an enchanted pane of glass? Pity," he spat, "that your intellect doesn't measure up to the form you so vagrantly flaunt." He gave her a very obvious perusal. She was still too wrapped up in his admission of attempted world domination to be too greatly offended. She was something of a sight, her clothes a mess with dried blood, her hair in a similar state of disarray from rolling around on it, and now her increasingly purple little foot. But beneath all that, he saw potential. Sultry curves and such delicate hands. Her teeth bit down on her soft pink lips in contemplation, but her stare was painfully unwavering.
The shock quickly faded – melding back into her sinister glare. Her lips gently parted, she pressed her body against the glass, leaning up on her tiptoes. Or those that were functioning. She lifted her neck, her chin brushing the cell between them. "You don't scare me," she said quietly. "I'm going to give you one motherfucking show," she growled. "Loki."
Well, that was certainly not the response he'd been expecting.
He leaned away, watching her go. She turned, limping back across her cell. She seemed remarkably unconcerned that he had attempted to take over her planet. And even less concerned with his verbal abuses. She simply stood there and embraced such things as compliments or fuel to the fire more likely. She hadn't blushed out of embarrassment. Nor had she really cared to rebuke him for his assumptions and observations. The words merely slipped over her shoulders before dispersing into the emptiness of this dungeon. She didn't care. She curled up on her cot, her hair cascading over the edge, her foot carefully placed out of harm's way. And she was quiet after that.
Such a peculiar woman. Melodramatic and overzealous. Overconfident is more like it. One moment quiet and the next fuming for all the world to see. And what would that gain her? Certainly not the attention she sought. A show? He laughed quietly to himself, watching her feign sleep. So transparent. Pathetically predictable as with the rest of her ignorant race. Slimy, backhanded creatures that would blindly impale each other just as soon as bond in camaraderie. And he meant to rule them. Such a thing that in hindsight seemed both impossible and completely undesirable. It would have been a headache, second only to the one he received daily from the unyielding silence preceding and the present predicament invoked by his charming new companion.
He called to mind her flustered expression as she attempted to throw some sort of half-witted rebuttal his way. A show, he thought again. Perhaps there was hope for her yet. A show? His countenance twisted mirthfully. Have it your way, love. I'm looking forward to it.