X-Trees| Volume One: Welcome Home

Chapter Three

Summary: A visitor from the stars crash lands in Las Vegas, NV.

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In the Lomora galaxy, a lone man seeks communion among the stars. He is adrift in the nothingness that is space, where possibilities are endless. The light of a thousand rainbows dance playfully off his silver skin. He has witnessed the birth of a hundred stars, and the destruction of a thousand planets. He skirts past a black hole, effortlessly ignoring the way it attempts to drag him into its gravity. Asteroids clash together in front of his face, their collision, silent and slow. Fragments pull apart like opposing magnets, controlled by the unseen hands of Eternity, wreckage he navigates with ease. Below him, the swirling green clouds of a planet full of life, of life that will continue to exist because his arrival no longer signals the end, fills him with solace. The galaxy is no longer a beauty he must suffer, a beauty he's been ordered to slay. He has free reign to enjoy it as he sees fit.

Norrin Radd, The Silver Compact, makeup artist extraordinaire, is finally at peace. And all thanks to a lone X-Tree from Earth 616. Who found him broken and starving for death. Who never gave up on him, who never let him give up on himself. Who journeyed with him through the cosmos, and made it feel less empty, and in return, made him feel more complete.

With a smile that rivals the small sun of Lotiara, The Silver Compact, catches the tail end of a comet and rides it out into the cosmic dark, a lone destination in mind: Las Vegas, NV. For he has a friend to see.

The Vegas Strip stands in bold defiance of the natural world. It does not darken come sun set; it does not dwindle in drought. It is a city that is constantly thriving. That has dug its roots deep into the surrounding Nevada desert, that taps into a wellspring of youth and vibrancy and rebellion often shared by those within its limits. The entertainment never stops, the drinks always flow, the chatter light and lively. Some nights, lives are changed forever – a winning roulette spin can make the lowliest pauper into a king. At the same time, the reverse is also true, because like the desert that surrounds Las Vegas, the city can be cruel and unforgiving.

Harsh realities seep into the neon-fringed skyline, and Trees can find themselves stripped bare, savings emptied, and tossed onto the streets in despair. And yet, despite this duality, there is a third outcome the city is known for – the ability to make stars.

In the penthouse suite of the Venetian, Alison Blaire, stalks back and forth, nerves chipping away at her confidence. She hopes tonight will be her night; that she'll be propelled into a world of glamor, that of cosmic stardom. A flash outside her room, causes her to stop fidgeting with the silver spandex unitard she is to wear for tonight's performance. She stomps over to the balcony to investigate, but is stopped dead, when a similar flash occurs inside her room. As the light fades, and her eyes adjust, she is greeted by a familiar face.

It causes her to glow. "You made it."

Narrin steps gracefully off his silver palate-glider, returning the young X-tree's elation. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

His eyes skim the surroundings – the luxe foliage of the room, made up to resemble the African Savannah. The walls painted a warm beige; hanging vines forming a lavish bar in the corner; a waterfall gurgles into a basin hot tub at his right, but what catches his eye, what gives him pause, is the large vanity on his left, and the messy array of cosmetics strewn over its smooth, stone top. "You weren't planning on doing your own makeup?" he asks, his ego somewhat bruised.

Narrin, before being enslaved to Galactus, devourer of worlds, had been a famous makeup artist on his home planet. And through his travels across the universe, he'd cultivated unparalleled skills, incorporating several alien techniques into his artistry. To think Alison would choose to do her own makeup on such a huge occasion – hurt. Wounded his pride as her friend, and as a consummate professional at the top of his field.

Alison frowns. She shakes her head, a few of the golden leaves gathered at the base of her crown, fluttering forward. Her eyes dart to the ground. "I wasn't sure you'd be able to make it."

The bitter taste of guilt fills her mouth, congeals in her throat, falls like heavy rocks into the pit of her stomach. She has doubted her friend, and in return, ended up hurting him. While she is focused on the ground, too ashamed to look Narrin in the eye, he moves toward her, his strides elegant and sweeping.

His always-cool touch grazes her shoulder. "I would never leave you to doing your own make-up tonight." Alison raises her head. Points on Narrin's body twinkle in alternating rhythms, until he is a constellation himself. Her breath is stolen by the sheer beauty of it all, of him. To further enhance this effect, Narrin flashes a smile so grand and bright, it's capable of stealing the attention away from a supernova. "Think of the audience." Alison's eyes widen, her expression one stricken with confusion. "Them having paid to see you like that. A mess on stage with smeared eyeliner, runny mascara, and ruddy, completely-the-wrong-shade blush."

She chuckles, and it is a sound most pleasing to Narrin. For centuries he'd been surrounded by hollow pleas for mercy, quiet utterances of acceptance, and screams, ones that struck fierce at first, and diminished into hush breaths nearer the end. Because of this, he never tires of Alison's warmth, captured in every sound she exudes. She is a constant reminder of life, how it persists, despite challenge, how it's indulgent, despite demand, how it's happy in the face of opposition. How it, like hope, endures.

"I would do an awful job," she concedes. He nods, takes her by the hand, feeling the pulse of sap traveling beneath her bark, and leads her to the vanity. She sits, staring at him through the mirror. Her outfit captures the overhead light and she sparkles like a moon preserved in mercury.

He retrieves a soft-bristle foundation brush from the satchel on his side. It is silver, and has seen more than a thousand planets, just like the Compact himself. He settles his other hand on Alison's shoulder and gives her a reassuring squeeze. "Any requests?" The clock strung up on the wall reads 5:30. Only an hour before the performance is set to begin, but that is more than enough time for Narrin to get to work. Alison Blaire will shine like no other star has ever shone before.

She grins at his reflection. A dozen balls of color explode around her canopy, scattering rainbows around them before disappearing into the air. "A star," she replies.

He nods, delighted by the mini-light show she's performing just for him. "I can do stars."

He gets to work. Retrieving a foundation blend he'd made for this exact occasion, dipping his brush into it, sweeping it across Alison's delicate features. He never told her, but he'd made the foundation for her not long after they met. That night Alison told him of the nature of her dreams. He'd thought how nice it was to still have dreams, and how, he'd like to help someone, someday, achieve theirs.

Back then, broken as he was, Narrin knew Alison would go far. If nothing else, traveling the cosmos, had made him an impeccable judge of beauty. Alison was beautiful, undoubtedly, but there was something else about her, an undefinable quality that gave Narrin certainty - the universe had not yet had a star shine its brightest.

But now, it would.

Alison would take her rightful place among the stars.

And she would dazzle in every corner of the universe.