Back in the Sanctum Sanctorum, everything is too quiet as the siblings and I watch the portal by the stairs slowly close. The wizards calmly walk to us, smiling, having visited the Orb of Agamotto seconds ago and found apparently great news,
—All the weak spots in the shields disappeared. We took a look into the Vatican and its portal is gone, and the demons we locked in North Dakota aren't there anymore. —
I let out a sigh. It's over. No more humans will die and I will not have to fight any more demons. Sabrina looked quite confident, so I'm sure Hell is about to enter an age in which it thrives in arts, science, and knowledge. I will get a decent time to properly learn about Earth, until whatever's going on in Asgard is over, and this will be nothing more than a fun adventure. A fun memory. A fun closure.
Victoire closes her eyes, probably feeling a weight leave her shoulders.
Barney claps. —Great! You know what this calls for? —
—A proper celebration? —Strange rolls his eyes,
—A. Proper. Celebration. —he puts an arm around his sister, —Hear me out; our rooftop, barbecue, drinks, music, and we invite the X-Men. Maybe fireworks, too. Can you make magical fireworks? —he points at me, and I nod, chuckling. —Perfect! Tonight, a small party to get drunk and then we go and sleep the hours we've missed these last nights. —
Vic smirks. —You missed hours? Last night you were sleeping like a baby. —
—Shut up. —
Strange looks at Wong, —What do you think, Wong? —
—Depends. —he looks at Barney, —Can I help with the barbecue? —Barney nods. —Then I don't see any problem with throwing a proper celebration. —
Barney celebrates on his spot. —Woo! Great, I'll go buy the best meat and I'll tell Doc they're invited - because he's my best friend and I know he'll definitely want to attend - and, uh... Yeah you probably already know where we live, so... Vic, come on, we're going shopping. —
Before they leave, I stop them, —Tell McCoy everyone is invited. Like, everyone we saw. Jubilee, Warren, Kurt, and Xavier included. —
—You've got a little obsession with them, don't you? —Strange asks, to which I just stick my tongue at him,
Victoire tries to defend me. —Let her be, Strange, she's gotta hang out with people her age. How old are you, Star? —I shrug. —Good enough. Still, it's good she's friends with the younger X-Men. —
—You know what would be good too? —Barney interrupts, —If we were on our way to the market before the good stuff was gone. —he holds Victoire by the arm and starts dragging her to the door, —See you by seven, mages! —
A human party, how great! I believe celebrations are a good reflection of a culture. The people you invite, the foods you eat, the entertainment you have. Asgard's parties are quite interesting; big dresses, plenty of food, live music, too many people, and, of course, ballroom dances. Humans are a little more casual, though, so I cannot expect such caliber for an improvised hang out full of people who just want to take a break.
✩✩✩
I underestimated how casual humans are.
But it isn't a bad thing, not at all. There is a level of intimacy in the party, even though a few of these people barely know the name of every person present, and they seem to be comfortable with it. It's way more personal than in Asgard. They're just having fun, celebrating a victory that is small for some, and big for others.
It's night, but the rooftop is well lit. Wong and Barney are taking care of the food (while trying their best to teach Scott how to handle the grill), as the other adults sit near the drinks and talk. The rest of the younger X-Men are a little closer to the edge, eavesdropping the adults.
I stand next to the grill in case of a fire.
—You need variety, Barton. —Wong mutters, moving green stuff around the grid, —A good barbecue features vegetables, too. Just add some spices, roast them well, and stop whining about the greens like a child. —
Barney scoffs. —Boring. Children, come here, —he calls out for Scott and I, and we get closer. With a pair of thongs, he leaves a small piece of meat on our hands, —How's it taste? —
When I bite into it, I find a smokey flavour. Spicy, too. It's good. —I like it. —I nod, and Scott agrees with me.
—Good, good, good. They don't call me the Grill King for nothing. —he grins, as he hands Scott a plate filled with more meat, —Give this to your friends, they've been waiting for too long. That's beef, chicken, and some pork. —
Victoire walks up to us. —No one calls you the Grill King, dumbass. —she hits him softly in the back of the head, —I'm going downstairs, we ran out of ice. Star, mind helping me out? —
We quietly jog our way to their apartment, and Victoire opens it, letting me in. She heads for the kitchen. Near the door, there are a bunch of pictures hung up on the walls, many of those including the siblings and other humans around their age, except for one; one with two elders - a man that looks like Barney, and a woman that looks like both Bartons.
—Grab this for me, please. —Victoire comes back, and hands me two bags of ice. She looks at the picture too. —A lot of people say we look like her. I don't see it. —she shrugs,
—You do look similar. Is that Barney's father? —
—Uh-huh. Let's go, before it melts. —as we are leaving the place, she decides to keep talking, —I used to think he was my bio dad until I was like... Nine. Don't know how, though. His hair was way darker than mine. —she smiles. —I liked him. He was a good dad. Mom chose well. —
I chuckle, —Except when it came to Lucifer's son. —at my joke, she tries to hold back her laughter, shaking her head. —In her defense, she probably had no idea. Maybe he's actually a great lover, who knows? —
—Maybe. But not better than the Charles Bernand Barton. The senior, that is. I don't want to see Barney as a dad. —
—What do you mean? —there's a Charles Bernand junior?
She grins. —Barney's a nickname, Star. —
Charles Bernand Barton junior. Humans like getting creative with their names, don't they?
When we get back to the party, music is already playing. We leave the ice in a box by the drinks, and sit with the adults, joining whatever conversation they were having - which was, apparently, about Strange's eyes.
—It is, technically, a mutation. —Xavier says, probably a little drunk, —Sectoral heterochromia, green and blue. But stigma against the x-gene has made people afraid of using that word. Mutation. Many scientists forget that mutations helped us evolve into the species we are today, just because they're worried about evolving further. —
I nod, and lean into Strange, —What in Hell is he talking about? —
—Human science. I'll explain it later. —he whispers. He looks at me for a few seconds, then, he frowns, —Have you gotten any news from Loki? Now that we have free time, you can try to contact him, or something. —
Father's not dead, that's the only thing I know. If he was, I would have known. He's probably very busy at the moment, and he will contact me when he feels like it's necessary.
—You're not getting rid of me that easily. —
He rolls his eyes, but he laughs, taking a sip of his drink. Maybe I should have one too. I grab one of the glasses from the table next to me and start pouring one of the alcoholic drinks, but before I can drink it, Strange takes it from my hand.
—No, I don't even know if you can drink that, and I'm not risking it. —he points at the younger X-Men, —Go hang out with the children at the kiddie's table. Go, go. —
With no reason not to, I walk to their corner, awkwardly waving as a hello.
—Star, Star, Star, —Peter calls out the moment he sees me, jumping from his seat, —Warren said you got wings too. Or like, you can make them appear. Can we see them? —
I look around, and considering the small space, it would not be a good idea. —There isn't a lot of space here, but maybe I will show them later. They aren't as nice as his, though. —Warren, who is sitting on the ledge so his wings can move freely behind him, sighs. I don't think he sees his wings as nice.
—Boo! —Jubilee says, —We wanted to see more cool wings, this isn't fair! —
I laugh. —Someday, Jubilee, someday. —
—Oh my god, you actually remember my name. —she smiles, making me smile. —That's so nice. It took Peter weeks to learn it. —even though she narrows her eyes at him, she doesn't take it too seriously.
Peter ignores her eyes, and grabs a piece of meat from a plate, —I didn't come here to be attacked. What else can you show us, magic girl? —
Before I can answer, Ororo points at the meat he's eating, in disbelief. —Isn't that pork? —
He pauses for a moment, —Depends. —with his speed, he finishes the pork, and leans back comfortably. —Why you asking? —
Scott continues the questionnaire. —I thought you were jewish. —
—Depends on the holiday. —
Everyone laughs, so I follow. When it gets quiet, I remember his question from before, and the fascination he has shown for portals - I can show him what I learned.
—Oh, oh, I know what I can show you! —he looks at me interested, so I start conjuring my sling ring onto my finger, —I learned how to make portals. Like, actually learned. I can open one to, uh... Oh, I know. —I kneel down and create a small portal that leads to my room in the Sanctum, through which I can see Django eating his food. He looks at us, and doesn't hesitate to walk through the portal.
Peter is suddenly kneeled by my side, scooping up Django. —It's the boy! Our favourite boy! Portal's cool but the kitty is cooler. —he shows the cat to the others, —Look, the baby! —
They all "aw" at Django, and Peter acts like a protective parent when they try to pet him. Jean, sat next to where Peter was, pats his place while looking at me. I sit down on his spot, and we keep observing the interaction between the cat and the guys, while sometimes catching a few words from the adults' conversations.
✩✩✩
I like it here.
The music isn't too loud and neither are the laughs. From the rooftop, you can see the city's lights, which can get confused with the few stars in the night sky. Sometimes a cold breeze hits but the warmth of the youngsters sitting next to me is enough to make me ignore it. The food keeps getting better, the drinks are tasty enough, and the energy is almost a perfect one.
They don't write about this in the books about Midgard.
Following Barney's request, I have been playing around with a small illusion of fireworks right on top of us. They don't make noise, but they are bright. Jubilee - whose mutation helps her make fireworks, too - has been helping me and, sometimes, daring me to make bigger fireworks than her. It isn't hard.
—Okay, come here, Loki junior. —Barney says, putting his hand out to me. When I hold it, he drags me from my seat.
—What do you need, Charles Bernand Barton junior? —
He gasps. —Oh my god, she snitched. —he shakes his head, —Ignore that name. I've been doing it for years now, it's helped my sanity. Too many letters for my liking. But now I have an important question. —when we reach the middle of the "dance floor", as the teens called it, he sighs dramatically, —Do you know how to dance? —
—So important. —I chuckle, shaking my head, —Yes, I know a few ballroom dances. Why? —
—Ballroom? Oh, I have so much to teach you. —he starts moving weirdly, following the beat of the music, —On this planet we sway with the music, you know? Usually we don't have specific choreographies. If you're gonna stay on Earth for a while, you gotta learn about music, and to learn about music, you gotta learn how to dance. —
I tilt my head a little. —That's dancing? —I tease,
He sticks his tongue at me. —So mean. It's dancing, and it's more fun than the waltz you probably know. —he pauses, —But I'd like to learn waltz, honestly. Reminds me of Disney movies. I want to learn waltz and salsa. —
—Okay... —I nod.
He smiles, —Show me your moves, mini-Loki-—
—Star? —
My head turns to the direction the voice came from; it was Peter. He and the rest of the teens are looking at Django, who's in his hands, meowing and trying to run away.
I leave Barney behind and walk up to them, —Let him go. —
—He looks stressed. —
—Something is making him stressed, then. —Django starts biting his hand, so I nod and repeat myself, —Let him go. —
Peter leaves him on the floor, and Django immediately runs to one of the ledges on the opposite side. They are too tall for him, though, so he can only stand by it and scratch it, whining and trying to get to whatever's making him feel this way. Carefully, and well aware everyone is looking at the cat confused, I walk to the ledge and look down the building.
We are at least ten stories high, but I can still see the street's shadows come closer to the bottom of the building, and creep their way up, getting quicker by the second. Through the shadows, I can see some hands, and they are not here for good.
A tingle runs down my entire body and I feel nauseous.
They're here for me.
But I cannot run anywhere; the moment I step back, the shadows reach my leg, and start bringing me down. My body isn't exactly solid anymore, so going through the different floors does not hurt me, but it feels nauseating. The grip of the hands gets stronger around my wrists everytime I try breaking free and they hurt the burnmark I almost forgot about. Temperatures keep rising the lower we go, and my sight just becomes useless, as everything blacks out.
I had never experienced this feeling, but I don't need it to realize what is going on.
I am dragged into Hell.