Dark Star || Loki [1]

[06] Dine and Dash

14 JANUARY, 2011

ASTRID

The starless night was consumed by a singularly dreadful sleep. She caught flashes of the face she knew so well and still never wanted to see again. She heard gunshots and felt warm blood pour like molten metal through her fingers. It burned and burned, and then she awoke.

The sun crept slowly through the old curtains over the windows. Astrid quite literally rolled over onto the floor and groaned, wiping the drool from her mouth. Tear tracks stained her cheeks.

Forcing herself to stand, she adjusted her shorts on her legs and rubbed her aching feet. Just as she started to make her way to the main room, she caught a glimpse of a figure looming sheepishly in the corner of her bedroom.

She nearly jumped out of her skin, hand flying to her chest. "Shit," she said, whirling on the alien. "Don't you have doors on your freak planet?"

He frowned. "Of course."

"Well," said Astrid hotly, "when we Earthlings want to talk to someone, we knock on their doors."

His eyes narrowed. "You're being sarcastic."

"Well done," she snapped.

"You needn't be so harsh."

"Oh, I need be." Astrid pulled her hair back into a ponytail and rubbed her hands over her face. Her eyes were still adjusting to the light. "Next time, just knock, okay?"

The alien nodded courteously. "Understood."

"Thank you," she said, not quite regretting her sharp tongue. He was still a righteous ass. "I thought we agreed you would sleep on the sofa."

"I did. But the little clock on your table began to ring incessantly."

"And?" she prompted.

"I broke it."

"Oh," she said absently, peering groggily at his middle. "How's the injury? Still being a baby about it?"

"I suppose that you haven't ushered my demise sooner into the future," he told her.

Astrid rolled her eyes, mumbled "Drama queen," and stretched out her arms. He did look healthier. His skin had gained an ounce of colour—although he was still as pale as a sheet of paper—and he was walking just fine, no longer sweating or panting. She felt a stab of pride, but it dissipated when she began to wonder how the hell he'd recovered so fast.

Astrid moved into the living room, which, due to the less-than-lavish size of her apartment, shared its floor space with the kitchen, and addressed the dismal situation in the pantries. "Do you actually... y'know... eat?"

"Nothing could possibly persuade me to consume any of that," said the alien, squinting at her terribly-sorted piles of food.

"Pretentious asshole." Astrid stood on her toes, struggling to grasp at a box of cereal above the stove. She groaned in frustration when she failed to reach the cupboard and looked pleadingly to him. "Do you mind?"

"No. You may continue."

She huffed. "You can't be serious—"

He reached up and took the box in his hands, holding it out to her. "Say 'thank you.'"

Astrid snatched it. "I'd rather die."

She brought the milk from the fridge and rummaged through her drawers for a bowl and a spoon. "You never told me your name," said the alien.