Well. That was quite the meeting.

I remain in the throne room after Thanos leaves, not wanting be ambushed by Odin, wishing to hear what it was the Titan had to say to me. I spend several minutes pacing back and forth before the throne, hands clasped behind my back, running over the conversation in my mind.

The Titan had told me I had to be in love with Veers, to show my affection for her to the galaxy. I also was to remind them all of Thanos' rule over the universe, in every district I traveled to, of his power.

Starting today.

And if I failed...my blood would be the first spilled to correct the Balance.

Well. The second, actually, what with the Collector having already died.

Eventually, I leave the throne room, Odin nowhere to be seen. Surprised but certainly not disappointed, I make my way to my room, shutting and locking the door behind me.

Compose yourself. You need to compose yourself.

I feel something press against my ankle and look down to see my flerken glancing innocently up at me. I can't stop the slight smile that touches my face as I crouch down to pet the creature, which takes the form of a mortal cat. "Hey, Goose," I say softly. "Still pretending to be a cat?"

Goose meows indignantly and paws my hand. A gift from my sister, Hela had insisted Goose was a flerken but to this day, he's never done anything a flerken typically does. I haven't seen hide nor hair of any tentacles shooting forth suddenly from Goose, nor have I seen him swallow anything significantly larger than his mouth. The closest he's come to it has been the swiftness with which he scarfs down the slabs of meat my sister brings him as treats on returning from her forays into space.

Anyway, as a gift from my sister, I've learned to be suspicious of the cat, even if he's never shown himself to be anything more than just that: a cat. Hela's gifts are never harmless. There's always an ulterior motive.

Being nice to her youngest brother? Not a chance. Giving him a gift that could eat him if he annoyed it? Definitely.

My sister's sanity is questionable at best.

Goose moves smoothly away from me, jumping up onto my mussed bed and kneading the sheets with his paws. I walk toward my bookshelf, taking an old novel down and settling myself into a book to read until my prep team arrives. I could use some peace and quiet before the tour.

Except I don't get it. Well, the peace and quiet I do, for a time, but the sensation of being drawn into a book, especially a favorite like the novel I selected, is noticeably lacking. I end up staring blankly at the old pages as I flip them, my eyes scanning over the words but their meanings refusing to enter my mind, nothing but scribbles on a page.

I end up closing the book and placing it back on the shelf, just as a knock comes on my door. "Who is it?" I ask, and receive back a chorus of young voices that can only belong to my prep team. "Come in," I say reluctantly, standing.

The door rattles in its frame, there comes a dull smack as if something slammed against it, and I hear Flash's annoyed voice rising above MJ's and Ned's. "Hey!" he exclaims. "What's your problem?"

Perplexed, I furrow my brow and then start as I remember I locked the door. Hurrying across the floor, I unlock the door and wrench it open, causing my prep team to stumble into the room, MJ crashing into me.

"Hello," she remarks, glancing up at me as she pushes back, hands against my chest. I raise an eyebrow at her as Flash laughs.

"Ah, look, MJ is already making moves on the champion!"

MJ turns and shoots a level look at Flash, the speaker. "So I'm supposed to find him desirable because he's a champion? Is that all?"

"Ouch," I murmur, turning away from them. "Where's Selvig?"

"He's on his way," Ned answers. "He wants to make sure you've showered so we can start on your hair and face."

Nope, I haven't bathed. But come to think of it, the cold water may be just what I need right now. "I'll go do that while you set up."

The water hits my face like a winter wind as I slide under the surface of the bath and I welcome it. It seems to purify my body of all anxiety and worry over this rapidly approaching tour, scouring me clean of toxins and other unwanted stuff. I don't want to leave the cold water, but I reluctantly do, dressing in a simple black tunic so the prep team can get started.

They're set up when I return to my room, Goose on my bed looking at the three mortals quizzically. "Oh, nice cat!" Ned says, pointing to Goose. I glance at the flerken, slightly furrowing my brow. So he's still set on fooling people, then.

Then again, his disguise is as a cat. I can't blame mortals for assuming that's what he really is. They'd probably be horrified if I told them what he's supposed to be. Just for that effect, I briefly consider mentioning Goose being a flerken but then discard the idea. Might as well just get on with it.

I take my seat and MJ immediately sets to work on my hair, which is always her job. Ned, "the man in the chair," reads out Eric Selvig's instructions, my stylist always having the final word when it comes to my look for the various events I have been forced into since volunteering for the Contest six months ago. Flash, after doing some "livestreaming" which only halts once MJ throws her hairbrush at him, cracking his phone screen, sets grumblingly to work checking that my nails are presentable. I don't know why that matters, but apparently, it does.

MJ retrieves the hairbrush and continues on my hair, eventually exchanging the brush for a comb. Ned, after reading the instructions, starts petting Goose, who's padded over to investigate the strange people in my room. The cat paws at Ned's hand, starting to purr as he gets scratched under his chin. Flash eventually joins him, the two petting the flerken as MJ finishes with my hair.

And that's what Selvig walks in on.

"What are you two doing?" he demands, confused, stopping in the doorway. Both Ned and Flash look up, eyes wide.

"It's a cat," Ned says, as if that's self-explanatory.

"On Asgard?" Selvig asks, surprised.

"Why not?" Ned says with a shrug.

"Because this is Asgard?" Selvig returns, brow furrowed. "I've never seen an animal here, beside a horse, that resembles anything remotely similar from Earth – sorry, Midgard."

Midgard, Terra, Earth, C-53 – it's all the same, really. Different names for the same thing.

"Good point," Flash says. "Loki, is this a cat?"

Again, I consider lying and telling them it's a flerken, just to enjoy the look of terror and to see them race out of the room as fast as they can, but I decide that would just get the Champion Tour off to a poor start. And after my talk with Thanos, I need to put as good a spin on this tour as I can.

"It's a cat," I tell him, bored.

"Well, I'm glad to see that MJ still considers her job more important than a cat," Selvig rebukes Ned and Flash, who both look indignant.

"It's not like there's that much to do, really! Besides, she broke my phone!"

"It's a cat!"

"Out!" Selvig orders, and the two boys scatter, running out into the corridor. I wonder what will happen if they run into my father. I'd love to see him lecture somebody else for a change. Or if they run into Hela in a deserted hallway. That won't end well for them. My sister has a tendency to throw knives at people when no one else is around.

Actually, my sister just likes to throw knives, no matter who the audience.

I find myself chuckling darkly, catch MJ and Selvig both giving me strange looks, and restrain myself. They're going to start thinking insanity runs in the family.

"Are you finished with his hair?" Selvig asks MJ.

"Almost," MJ says. "You wanted it casual, carefree, correct?"

"Yes," Selvig said. "Like he doesn't have time to tidy his hair, just a bit mussed but not enough to actually look messy."

And I thought guys had it easy when it came to hair. That whole sentence sounds complicated. In that moment, I am thoroughly grateful that MJ has shown such an inclination for doing my hair, saving me the tedious job of pretending to know what Selvig was talking about. Or, rather, the job of telling him I really don't give a damn.

Selvig places a garment bag down on my bed, absently patting Goose on the head as he jumps up and paws the bag. "Not now, kitty," he says, idly shoving the cat aside.

I freeze, waiting for the flerken's tentacles to appear and swallow my stylist whole. I've never, ever pushed the cat, for fear of him attacking me; I spent whole nights sitting up in bed watching him when Hela first gave him to me, waiting for him to try and eat me. Frigga had been quite miffed with my sister after that and my mother had assured me the cat would not eat me, had even taken it into another room when I still refused to sleep.

Say what you will, but I quite believe that was a legitimate fear at the age of eight.

But Goose doesn't unleash his hidden tentacles on Selvig, doesn't eat him or even make a threatening noise. I must admit, I'm slightly disappointed. I really wanted to see the flerken in action on someone that isn't me. But I'm not that put out; Eric Selvig is sort of important to my team. Without him, I wouldn't have stylish clothes to wear.

And no, that wasn't all sarcasm.

Selvig unzips the garment bag and takes out a suit as MJ gives a grunt of satisfaction, sets the comb down, and leaves the room. At least, that's what the clothing looks like at first. But then I see it's just a shirt and pants, with a tie, no jacket like the other outfits I wore last year.

"What look are we going for this time, Selvig?" I ask, eyeing the clothing.

"Traveling," Selvig says, holding up the shirt and running his hand over the white fabric. "It's a casual look. Darcy is going for the same look with Veers."

Darcy. I suppose Bron-Char decided not to continue on as Veers' stylist; or perhaps since she's living in Asgard, it made sense for her stylist to be attached to the Asgardian team.

Which brings up another question. Since Veers is a Kree champion, will any members of the Kree team be accompanying us on the tour?

"This way," Selvig continues. "The pressure for your appearances settles down a bit; they won't expect flamboyant outfits or magic tricks at every outing, although they will hope for them."

I quite like his logic. Last year, two of my three big appearances involved illusions, so a toned down look will be a nice change. Especially as we will be making thirteen large appearances and probably multiple smaller ones. I honestly have no idea what the amount will be. Out of my two siblings, only Thor had a Champion Tour, since they hadn't been established when Hela won the first ever Contest of Champions, and when Frigga requested he "prepare" me for my time in the spotlight, he raved on and on about the crowds and the food, and pretty much all about them.

Figures.

Selvig sets the shirt down and pulls out a pair of muted grey pants. It actually takes me a minute of staring at them to assign that color to them. They could be a very insignificant beige, for all I know. The bulky jacket is in the same color, just a touch lighter in shade. The tie is a muted navy blue, also a hard color to distinguish. I'm beginning to think that is the theme of the outfit: indistinguishable.

Actually, I quite like that.

Selvig leaves me to change. The white shirt is collared, the tie hanging nicely. The jacket complements the pants and the shoes are black, not boots at all, which sort of annoys me. But Selvig's choices have always worked before, so I resolve not to complain. That is, not until he fails me or I get a blister in these ridiculous shoes.

"Selvig, why do I keep wearing Midgardian clothes?" I ask as he returns, glancing at myself in the mirror the prep team set up. My clothes are entirely unassuming, the only thing of note the faceless, circular gold mark on the left side of the jacket. I could be anyone, from a businessman on Midgard to a hitman, probably most likely on Midgard. I don't know, maybe suits are popular with mercenaries in other areas of the galaxy, too. I wouldn't know.

Anyway, the point is I look ordinary.

"We're keeping you low-profile," Selvig says grimly. "After everything from...from before, we thought this might help more than hinder."

"Shall I stay low-profile the entire time?"

"No. You will have formal appearances, and both you and Veers will be dressed up for those, as is proper."

"All right then." I turn to face Selvig, spreading my hands out slightly, the jacket crinkling slightly with the movement. "What are we waiting for?"