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She brought him someone who fell out of Wormhole #12—an A’askavariian, or at least a primitive mimic. It woke up as she was dragging it up to the platform, adding its screeching to the shouting from other Scrappers as she skipped the line and cut in front of them all.
“Oh, shut up, all of you!” Valkyrie snapped. “Just shut it!” She tossed the A’askavariian-mimic down and activated the obedience disk in its neck. It went quiet, and the other Scrappers’ yelling simmered down into a lot of disgruntled muttering.
“Hi,” she said then, only a little out of breath.
“Well, hi there,” said the Grandmaster. “This one is, uh… well, it’s ugly.”
“Yeah, but look at these teeth.” Valkyrie used the toe of her boot to push up the mimic’s lip, showing the first row of needle-sharp teeth that filled its mouth. “It’s quick, too. Took me two tries to get a net on it.”
“Hm,” the Grandmaster hummed, looking over the mimic thoughtfully.
“D’you want it or not?” Valkyrie asked. “Five million. I haven’t got all day.”
The mimic twitched and gave a high-pitched, breathy growl. The Grandmaster gestured to Topaz. A moment later, Valkyrie’s pocket computer pinged with a new deposit. She smiled.
“See you tonight?” she said. The Grandmaster smiled back at her.
“Wear something I got you,” he said.
Valkyrie turned to leave, a bounce in her step. “We’ll see.”
It was a routine for them. From the day Valkyrie bagged her first fighter for him, the Grandmaster often sent her clothes; usually imported, always expensive. Whenever she brought him an especially interesting contestant, the next package would have jewelry in it, too. None of it was to her taste—too colorful, too oddly shaped, too loud—but she’d make a point to wear one of his gifts every so often because it made him happy, and it paid to make the Grandmaster happy. It kept Warsong in good maintenance, it kept her in a good loft above the smog and noise of the city, and it kept her liquor cabinet full of the best stuff.
He didn’t mind that she usually showed up to their monthly dinner dates in dusty boots and scuffed leather, and she didn’t mind wearing a stupid dress sometimes. He gave her a few million credits for every poor soul she brought him, and she looked the other way when he tossed them into the Contest to die. He pretended not to know who she was, and she pretended that she didn’t know what he was.
They ignored the worst parts of each other. It worked for them.
It had been awhile since she last dressed up for their date, so Valkyrie picked out one of the less obnoxious things the Grandmaster had sent her: a shiny black-and-gold dress from the Sovereign, with a fat belt to cinch the waist and a gold circlet to hold her hair back. She didn’t like it, but it was bearable. Better than the fur jumpsuit from Contraxia, she thought.
The guards at the entrance to the Grandmaster’s tower were occupied with a game of cards, and they barely looked up at Valkyrie.
“Nice dress,” one grunted.
“Nice hand,” Valkyrie said, peering at his cards. The other guard frowned and withdrew his bet, and Valkyrie continued on her way to the Grandmaster’s dining room.
There was already another person sitting at the table, and that was weird enough, but when the stranger turned to her, Valkyrie froze completely.
"Hey there, gorgeous!” the Grandmaster exclaimed. “You look fancy.”
"She just looks clean," Topaz said distastefully. Valkyrie didn't even have the presence of mind to shoot her a smirking glance. She stood stiffly in the doorway, suddenly feeling a thousand times dumber in her dress. The Grandmaster beckoned to her.
"Come on, sit, we've been waiting for you," he said. "I know it's not usual that we have another guest on our little dates, but you'll like this one. He's so smart. "
Loki, son of Odin, prince of Asgard looked at her and offered a smile. She stared back, but there was no flicker of recognition in his eyes. He had been young when she left, hardly big enough to sit at the banquet table without a six-inch block under him. Thor had been quite taken with the Valkyries, but Loki was never especially interested in them. He probably doesn't even remember when we died, she thought.
“My name is Loki,” he said. Valkyrie inhaled through her nose, and exhaled some of the tension in her shoulders. He's just a boy, she thought, there's nothing he can do to me.
“Call me 142.”
She went to her usual seat, to the left and two down from where the Grandmaster sat at the head of the table, brushing her hand against his cheek as she passed out of habit. Loki's eyes followed her hand, and a crease appeared briefly between his eyebrows.
"I've heard quite a lot about you," he said as she sat.
"Have you?" she shot back.
"I was just telling him," said the Grandmaster, before Loki could do anything more than look surprised, "I said, I love it when you come to visit. I wish you'd come over more, but you—she doesn't like parties. I throw great parties, but she doesn't like them." He was talking at Loki now, who nodded politely. "But it's fine, because I like having all her attention to myself. Always makes me feel so special."
"Well, any friend of yours, Grandmaster, is a friend of mine," said Loki. Valkyrie popped the cork off the bottle of wine that sat on the table.
“We’ll see, Lackey.”
“It’s Loki.”
“Interesting,” Valkyrie said, and took a drink.
Dinner wasn’t fun anymore, but she stayed for the alcohol and the fat, eight-legged roast beast while Loki and the Grandmaster talked. She tuned them out on purpose—she didn’t want to hear Loki’s voice, or see his wily smile anymore. The Grandmaster was so taken with him, and it was annoying.
Topaz caught her eye from across the room at some point, and for once, they shared a moment of silent camaraderie as they both sighed and rolled their eyes. Then Topaz smirked at her and mouthed Jealous? and the moment was over. Valkyrie drained her bottle of wine and stood up to get another.
She ate four of the roast’s legs and finished the second bottle, and Loki finally left. He excused himself graciously, saying that he was loath to leave but he was simply exhausted.
“I must thank you again for your generosity, Grandmaster,” he said. He picked up the Grandmaster’s hand and pressed a polite kiss to his fingers. “I hope we will dine together again soon?”
“Absolutely,” said the Grandmaster, quite beaming, “you can count on it.”
Valkyrie wrinkled her nose.
A server brought bowls of pearlescent green-blue ice cream then, and they went out onto the balcony for dessert. The Grandmaster leaned his hip against the railing and looked out over the city while he ate, still smiling faintly. Beside him, Valkyrie mushed her ice cream around the bowl until it was just a cold soup.
“You’ve been awfully quiet,” the Grandmaster said after a moment. “Not even a “thanks” for having your favorite roast made.”
“Hmph,” Valkyrie grunted. The Grandmaster accepted that as the most thanks he would get out of her, and left her alone.
She couldn’t get Loki’s smiling face out of her head. It was strange and uncomfortable to have her past so close to her again, and worse still that it had to find her in the form of one of the princes she had once been sworn to protect. His appearance didn’t bode well for Sakaar, either. Wherever Loki was, Thor was sure to follow. Valkyrie couldn’t stand the thought of it.
She let her spoon clink against the bowl and took a deep breath. "Grandmaster, I—"
"I know exactly who he is," the Grandmaster said. Valkyrie shut her mouth. "What are you so worked up about? He's Asgardian, so what. So are you."
"He's their prince," said Valkyrie. The words sounded a bit lame as she said them, even to her. The Grandmaster had never been very impressed by Asgardians. They were new and haughty, he thought, and couldn't see past the ends of their own noses. He loved Valkyrie, but she was an exception to many things, and he often reminded her of it.
The Grandmaster licked a last bit of ice cream off of his spoon and set the bowl aside.
"So he's a prince," he said. "And I'm a god of gods, and you're..."
She gave him a hard look, and he patted her cheek affectionately.
"But we're all here, now, on Sakaar," he said. "Isn't that funny? It must be destiny, or something like that."
“Yeah,” Valkyrie muttered, looking up towards the stars, “something like that.”