Contest of Champions

21

Gamora lingers in my dreams, fading in and out of existence throughout the night. I can't get a firm grasp on her. She's always just out of my reach. A flash of her black red hair, a glint of light flickering off the silver implants in her green skin, and she's gone. I run through endless mountain ranges searching for her, but to no avail.

Due to this, I wake up drenched in sweat, panting heavily. My skin is hot, feverish, almost, and I spend the rest of the night lying on the metal floor of the balcony, letting the cool wind wick away the dampness on my body. The delicious cold washes over me, chasing away the sweat and also, regretfully, my vision of Gamora. But the night air does help me to relax, a bit, and I don't leave until the sun begins to rise, shooting streaks of morning light into the previously dark sky.

Today is the final day before the start of the Contest. Tomorrow I will be fulfilling my oath to Gamora.

Tomorrow.

But there is still today's business to attend to, and so I shove myself up onto my feet and leave the balcony, straightening my rumpled tunics as the door closes behind me.

Hela looks at me as I approach her at the dining table, sliding into a seat across from her. My sister places down her coffee cup and surveys me for a moment. "You had trouble sleeping again."

"Yes," I say. I see no need to lie about that; she watched me come in from the balcony.

Hela tilts her head, giving me a smile I don't particularly like. "Ah," is all she says, curling her fingers around her coffee cup again, slowly and deliberately.

"What's the plan for today?" I ask her, for lack of anything else to say.

"You and Sif will work separately, with Jane and Valkyrie," Hela answers, casually picking up her cup and swirling it, causing the liquid to rise up the sides of the mug but not spill over. "Thor and I will assist where needed. You will prepare for your interviews tonight."

I nod and take a bagel from the tray. Absently, I rub at the crusted salt with my fingers as I turn the carbohydrate over in my hand. I'm still playing with the bagel when we are joined by the others for breakfast.

Hela gives Sif the same outline that she gave me, and when breakfast ends, Valkyrie, Thor, and Hela walk off with Sif while Jane takes me to another room.

"What are we going to be doing?" I ask. I don't remember exactly what goes into preparation for the interview, besides the actual costume prep. It's been a while since I actually listened to any of Thor's stories about his Contest.

Jane turns to face me. "We're just making sure you know how to conduct yourself when on stage."

I lift my eyebrow. I've practically been on stage my entire life; I know how to conduct myself. I have self-control.

And when I don't?

Well, that's why illusions are a thing.

"All right," I say, but Jane has noticed my look and has deciphered my thoughts.

"Loki, this is a different crowd of beings you will be appearing before tomorrow," she begins, but I cut her off with rare show of impatience.

"Jane, I understand that your job is to prepare me and ensure I don't fall on my face throughout the Contest. At least, up until I do fall onto my face with a spear in my back. But I have been standing before this crowd for my entire life. My sister is a champion; my brother is one as well. And I am Asgardian royalty. Perhaps now I'm the one actually in the spotlight for once, but I know how to handle myself, how to keep myself under control."

Jane crosses her arms over her chest. "Really? Because you're doing such a terrific job of it right now."

All right, now I'm angry. Which is why my control wavers and I snap, "No, Jane, I have fabulous control. That is why you never knew how much I truly despise you."

I don't even have time to regret the words fleeing my tongue when Jane lashes out and slaps me. My head jerks to the side from the blow, my skin stinging. The slap wasn't hard; indeed, the fleeting pain lessens swiftly. But Jane's reaction to my words is something unexpected and I feel respect begin to ebb up inside me, slowly.

Jane brushes at a strand of brown hair that hangs in her face and meets my inquisitive gaze. "Loki, I understand you're about to fight for your life. I understand you may not make it through the coming days. I understand you're stressed. But you have no reason to speak like that to me."

"You have no reason to doubt my control," I counter.

Jane sighs through her nose, pressing her lips firmly together. "Are you ready to start, Loki?" Her tone is pointed, and her meaning clear. This discussion is over.

So Jane begins to lecture on specifics of conduct and I pretend to be listening, but I'm not. Finally, I'm dismissed and Sif and I trade places.

Valkyrie, Hela, and Thor explain that they are to help me maintain my image, to further develop my strategy. We're continuing with my mischievous persona, with my magic and arrogance. With my crafty silence. So it's not too hard to make it through working with them.

And then I am released over to Erik and my prep team.

MJ, Ned, and Flash bicker while combing my hair and helping Erik ready my outfit for tonight. They style my hair the same way as for the entrance ceremonies, but this time I am dressed in a white dress shirt, pressed black pants, an ebony suit vest, and a long black coat that hangs down to the back of my knees.

"We know," Flash says when he catches my perplexed look. "I told Selvig you'd look like an idiot."

"Flash," Erik rebukes absently. MJ drapes a cheetah patterned scarf with frayed edges and a broad green stripe around my neck as Ned hands me a cane with a blue gem pressed into the hilt.

"May I ask why this getup?" I query, looking at myself in the mirror. I'm surprised at how...Midgardian I look. I would have thought my Asgardian features would be harder to disguise, but apparently that is not the case.

"Your strategy is supposed to set you apart as not being a typical Asgardian," Erik says, looking up at me. "So instead of coming out in traditional gear, you will come out dressed in this suit, which will challenge their perceptions of you. And then we will challenge them again."

I give Erik a wary look. "How are we challenging them again?"

Erik offers me a small smile. "The universe believes they know the Asgardians. They believe they are predictable. They believe they know what will come next when one enters the room. We're turning that idea on its head."

I tilt my head. It appears the tired stylist has a more devious side to him, which I like. "How?"

Erik's smile widens.