Contest of Champions

13

Jane shepherds Sif and I through a tunnel connected to the landing platform, taking us to the large building where our stylists and prep teams will meet us and prepare us for tonight. Hela, Valkyrie, and Thor seem to have lost all interest in helping the two of us out and have disappeared, probably off to talk to their other champion buddies. I saw Peggy Carter approaching the station as we disembarked, greeting my sister with a smile.

"Now, you will each have a stylist," Jane tells us as we walk swiftly through the tunnel. Sif and I are barely listening to her as we glance out through the transparent walls, taking in all of our startlingly different surroundings. Beings are watching us pass through the tunnel, sizing us up, pointing and saying things we cannot hear. "Once I drop you off, we won't see you until tonight, right before the entrance ceremonies."

Jane leaves us in what I have heard my siblings refer to as the Garage, which apparently is a place Midgardians use for fixing up their vehicles. It is only when the prep team assigned to me, composed of three young Midgardians, starts debating what to do with me as if I am an inanimate machine that I realize why that is so. I am startled when I see they are all teenagers, their parents having relocated to Titan after Thanos' triumph, and they had taken up jobs readying contenders for the Contest as soon as they were old enough. Apparently, that's a task to be envious of around here.

The girl, Michelle, called MJ by the two boys Ned and Flash, argues with me over what to do about my hair, seeming annoyed that I don't immediately accept her supposedly professional opinion. She wants it cut. I want to leave it how it is. Ned and Flash add in their opinions, sitting back in their chairs as we stand before them in debate.

"I think he should leave it," Ned says. "Thor had long hair. So did Hela, for that matter."

"Thank you," I say, gesturing to him as I smirk at MJ.

"I think it looks stupid," Flash objects with a shrug.

"Never thought I would agree with Flash," MJ comments. "But yes, it does look stupid, Loki."

"You let Thor keep his hair," I challenge.

MJ rolls her eyes. "We weren't the prep team for Thor. Otherwise, I would have shaved the whole mop off." She crosses her arms and lifts her eyebrows on the last three words as she emphasizes them.

We glare at each other, each daring the other to say something that definitely crosses the line. It's not like my hair is even that long. Thor's is longer now than mine is. Ned and Flash just watch us for a little bit before Ned offers a compromise that I keep my hair the length it is and MJ gets to decide how to style it. Reluctantly, we both agree.

So they send me into the showers while they begin to make their plans on getting me ready for my stylist. Ned works from a computer, calling out ideas as Flash lounges back in his chair, insulting most everything Ned suggests until MJ dryly says that Flash can't make fun of Ned's ideas when he doesn't seem to have any of his own. That sparks an argument between the three that ends when MJ abruptly picks up a book and begins to read. Ned goes back to his computer screen and Flash starts combing through their supplies, selecting what he thinks they'll need.

Dressed in a loose black tunic, I am forced to sit still in a chair while MJ combs through my wet black hair, letting it lie naturally, flat against my neck with the tips just barely curling up, before examining me critically from every angle she can think of and then moving a couple strands left or right, patting them flat, and examining my hair again. When she's peering into my face, a little too close for comfort, and Flash suggests she get closer, she straightens, turning to him, and deadpans, "Oh, because I'm a girl I'm supposed to find guys like him attractive?"

Flash doesn't have a response to that.

"It's not that I don't," she tells me matter-of-factly when she returns to studying me. "Find you attractive. I'm just not into you or those of your type. Attractive guys are overrated. I'd much prefer a less conventionally attractive, smarter guy."

"I'm offended," I protest. I'm much smarter than any guy she'll ever meet, I can tell you that right now. "Men can be attractive and intelligent, MJ."

MJ makes a skeptical face. "Conventionally attractive men are full of themselves and think they're better than other people."

"Sounds like Flash," Ned mutters.

"Except he's not attractive," MJ points out, and the two laugh as Flash protests vociferously to the insult. I'd check my watch out of boredom, like Tony Stark does if an interview runs long, but I don't have a watch. I end up glancing at my wrist anyway, because I am bored.

MJ leans down and picks up a strand of my black hair from off my forehead. She fingers the damp hair, twisting it between her fingers, and I can't help feeling a bit uncomfortable, what with her declaration of finding me "conventionally" attractive. And what did she mean by the "guys like him" statement? Asgardians? Nobility? Or just the male contenders in general?

She decides to just comb my hair back and allow the tips to curl up off of my neck just slightly. So she sets to brushing my hair while Flash and Ned bicker over which presentation approach "Selvig is going to use" and I suddenly remember that Erik Selvig is the name of the stylist who worked with Thor during his Contest.

As soon as MJ finishes with my hair and does another examination, ending with a satisfied nod, she points out that Ned and Flash have left all the work for her to do, "again." They shoot back varying responses, Ned saying that his job is to be the "guy in the chair" while Flash just protests that "it's not like Loki is going to win or anything." But before I can respond to that, Erik Selvig, an older man with a haggard expression and no appearance of being a stylist at all, strides into the room and kicks them out, telling them to be "fast this time when I call you back!"

Erik stops five feet in front of where I sit in the chair and just stands there for a while, studying me. I start to wonder if he's ever going to say anything when he picks up a clipboard from the table and gestures for me to stand up.

"So you're Loki?" he asks. "Brother of Thor?"

So that's what he's looking for, I think. To see how much I resemble my brother. "Yes," I answer. "I thought you knew that."

Erik sighs. "You're not your brother, I can say that for sure."

"I wasn't aware I was supposed to be," I shoot back.

"Quick to speak," he observes. "What else are you?"

"Annoyed," I retort, the word flying out of my mouth before I can stop it. Erik lifts an eyebrow at that.

"All right, all right, calm down," he says, referring to his clipboard. "Loki, you are aware of the way contenders tend to dress for the entrance ceremonies?"

I am. They have to reflect their home district. For Asgard, our contenders tend to wear traditional armor and costumes. Valkyrie wore her Valkyrie getup, Thor wore his grey breastplate, winged helmet, and red cape. "Yes."

"We've noticed that Asgardians don't always get the best welcome on their first day in Titan," Erik tells me, setting his clipboard down and perching on the edge of the table. "Darcy Lewis – Sif's stylist – and I want to change that. We want to show them something they haven't seen before."

"Like what?" I ask. I try to remember if there was any grand entrance for Thor's Contest, but all I recall is a bolt of lightning striking the chariot and illuminating him and the female contender as they rolled out of the Garage and into public view. Well, I suppose that is grand, once one thinks about it. To me, it was just my brother, throwing his shadow over me again.

Erik settles back. "Thor tells me you do magic."

I raise my eyebrows in surprise but answer honestly. There's no reason to lie right now, not yet. "Yes, I do."

Erik hands his clipboard to me, an idea scribbled there for the entrance ceremonies. "What do you think of this?"