Burning Dahlia | A Loki Story

Chapter One ~ A Really Bad Idea

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The backwater bars of the galaxy always smelled the same, the scent of piss and cheap ale rising up from the often basement level pubs like smog. Dahlia had come to enjoy these places, seeing as they existed in every realm, they were as if home followed her. Now, whether backwater pubs feeling like home was a good thing was up for speculation, but was a concern she generally ignored.

Other than ordinarily enjoying not being sober, places like this were prime spots for hunting contracts, especially on Vanaheim's less than lucrative market which drew in smaller but far more simple cases; the most exciting thing you'd usually find in Vanaheim as an assassin were back-alley squabbles and the occasional intimidation job. While small talent gigs generally paid less, there were plenty to be found to make up for the lack of effort they required, as well as the pay difference.

"Hey Daffodil," a scruffy-looking Vanir manning the rugged bar chuffed, waiting to continue until she met his eyes.

"It's Dahlia."

"Yeah yeah, Dandelion. Look, you've been here for hours and ordered one drink. If you keep holding up the bar I'm gonna have to ask you to switch to a table or somethin."

Dahlia just waved the man off, flicking a gold piece across the counter in annoyance. The bartender grumbled, slapping a meaty hand over the coin and dragging it away. "Better keep ordering," the Vanir groused as he sloshed another tankard her way, nearly hitting her in the chest with the cheap ale within. Dahlia shot him a glare, catching it right before it could ruin her currently dry clothes.

"I'm waiting for contracts. I'll order when I order."

"Contracts, aye?" the bartender huffed, dropping a few glasses into a tub of gray day-old dishwater. "There's a Sakaarian that dropped off a datalink looking for someone to take up a job. People've been rejecting it for days. I haven't seen it but it seems like it pays well. I'll forward the contract your way," he hummed, nodding towards the datapad on her arm before tapping something behind the counter.

Dahlia looked down at her arm as the device beeped, tapping the notification that popped up on its surface. Of the many contracts Dahlia had been offered, this one was by far the only one with that many zeros in the pay bar. Unsurprisingly, the zeros had been the first thing she'd seen, instilling a giddy bit of excitement in her; with this kind of money, she'd be able to retire at the ripe old age of nine hundred and thirty-four. Well, retire for the next thousand years or so. Sadly, the next thing she saw was the name a few lines above that wonderfully long series of numbers, Loki Laufeyson. By instinct Dahlia almost hit reject immediately, stopping herself halfway through the motion; those were a lot of zeros.

"Who'd you say offered the contract?" the Asgardian asked, tearing her eyes from the name long enough to meet the Vanir's eyes. He just shrugged, beginning to wipe the counter with a dirty rag.

"Some Sakaarian. Didn't leave a name. That serious huh? The rest of em just rejected and left in a tizzy. Gave a generous tip." Dahlia could hear the tone in his voice with the last part, feeling the directed intent he put behind it. He continued when she didn't react. "I don't read the contracts on principle, but whatever's on there gotta be pretty serious to spook off so many of you folks."

The Asgardian just hummed, downing her drink quickly and standing from her stool and turning to leave. "Thanks. Though I'd start reading your contracts if I were you. You'd get tried for treason if anyone with any common sense found out this kind of contract cycled through here." The bartender just shrugged and went back to wiping the counter, apparently having heard similar before.

Stepping out of the dank pub Dahlia made her way up the steps and over to where she'd hitched her horse, untying the large stallion and swinging into the saddle. Once the pair had left the village proper Dahlia zoned out into her datapad, eyes locked between the zeros and the name. In truth, she was tempted to ask Átthagi what he thought of the job. She knew the horse had no answers, but he'd been along for so many of her money-guided escapades she was sure if he could talk he'd have something to say about the matter.