Timeless

◈ 23 ◈

I stepped into the small, dark space that contained my few remaining belongings and flicked on the light to illuminate the pathetic glorified closet that I called a bedroom. Thor's room on the ship was a bit nicer, but it had originally been mine. He'd kicked me out of my own quarters after deeming it "the only quarters on the ship worthy enough to accommodate a king."

I'd "repainted" it the next day when he was in the mess hall and left the fifteen cans of hot pink paint that the Sakaarans has left behind- though I wasn't quite sure what purposes they originally were meant to serve- on his bedroom floor.

He hadn't been very happy about that.

I crossed the room to the table near my bed, where a small key was the only thing occupying its surface.

Picking up the key and examining its authenticity, I curled my lips upward into a satisfied smirk and left the room.

The cold metal of the key was pressed against my fingertips as I walked the halls of the ship. I got to my destination in barely any time at all and peered down the stairs suspiciously, making sure that no one was hiding in the shadows, before quietly making my way down to the hull of the ship where the bulk of our stock was located.

At the end of the narrow passage filled with crates of supplies and unnecessary items was a smaller crate with a lock on it. I twisted the key into the lock and opened it up. Stacked neatly inside of it was the notebook and picture frame that I'd transported to the ship when I was back on Asgard. I pocketed the small items and turned around, intending to leave, before hearing a clattering noise coming from the front of the cargo hold.

"Who's there?" I called out, unsheathing my twin daggers and slowly approaching the spot where I'd heard the noise.

I turned the corner and stepped back in surprise when I saw a pair of legs sticking out of a crate full of packing peanuts and liquor bottles.

"Hey, Lackey." A muffled voice called from the inside of the crate.

I sighed and lowered my daggers, letting them vanish in my hands. She pulled herself up to the top of the crate and watched me drop my defensive stance.

"No one ever bothers to restock the bars, so the last of the liquor is down here."

I nodded.

"Ah, that explains why you dove face-first into a box."

"Shut up."

She pulled out two of the bottles and handed one to me.

"Up for a bit of late night sparring?" She asked, chugging the bottle with little effort.

"I suppose. You'll have to come out of the crate for that, though."

Brunn grinned and climbed out of the crate, landing unceremoniously on the other side.

She got to her feet and started jogging up the stairs.

"Come on, Lackey. You're falling behind already!"

✧✦✧

The Statesman's only gym wasn't exactly a gym, per se. It was originally used as a sex dungeon, but Brunnhilde and I had done some work and added a few training mats to go with the hastily thrown aside gym equipment near the wall.

We sparred for most of the night, and by the time we'd finished, we were both exhausted and sporting various injuries.

"I think I'm going to turn in for the night, Brunn."