SPLATTERED WITH RED
OLIVIA WAKES TO THE FEELING OF CONCRETE BENEATH HER. She sits up, noticing herself in some sort of holding area with a gate keeping her from a sunlit arena. Loki is peering through the bars with displeasure.
“Let me guess: you had a bad day,” Loki remarks sarcastically, turning to look at her as she brushes off her jeans. She nods, stepping forward to stand next to him.
“More or less,” she agrees, squinting to get a better look at the arena. She can hear the cheers of some kind of large crowd, uproariously excited about something.
“You might want to get ready,” Loki suggests, pointing. “I gather we’re next.” She follows his gaze to a table with her usual choice of weaponry on it; mysteriously, though, there are no guns.
She takes his advice, tucking a switchblade into her pocket for later. For the sake of having a long-range weapon, she clips a sturdy chain to one of her belt loops. She reaches instinctively for the black leather gloves, but her hands halt just above them.
With a bitter glance, Olivia forgoes the gloves, instead opting to take the wooden baseball bat.
As if they were waiting for her, the bars keeping the pair of soulmates from the arena start to rise with a creaking groan. Loki backs away a few steps, and Olivia trudges over to join him.
“Any ideas what’s out there?” she asks, glancing at him. He shakes his head.
“None. And you?” he replies, not nothing to look at her. She takes a deep breath, remembering her fight with Bruce.
“Just one,” she admits. He looks at her now, his expression as grim as hers.
“And?” he prompts. She shakes her head with a grimace.
“Let’s just hope I’m wrong,” she sighs, gripping the handle of her bat tightly as the bars finally finish moving with a loud ‘clang’ and a shudder. A flash of realization crosses Loki’s face; then, dread.
For a solid second neither of them moves. Then, at the same time, they both proceed cautiously forward.
***
The arena is bathed in the harsh light of the sun, warming up the white sand beneath the soulmates’ feet as they finally step into the open.
The stands, positioned high above, are filled to the brim with the cheering masses. It’s a slightly jarring mixture of humans and Asgardians— the only visible difference between the two being their choice in attire. Their faces are indistinguishable, but their combined roars are loud enough to make up for it.
“Where are we?” Loki wonders, turning slowly to examine their surroundings.
“It’s the Roman Coliseum,” Olivia informs him. Her eyes land on an odd detail, and her eyebrows shoot up. “Except that part,” she amends, pointing to a segment that sticks out like a sore thumb. “That’s from Harry Potter and the Goblet Of Fire.” He glances at it, and his face contorts in confusion.
“I don’t want to know,” he decides; wisely, in Olivia’s opinion. Given that they’re in the fucking Coliseum, she doesn’t think she’s gonna have time to explain Harry Potter.
“Good choice,” she agrees. Two loud bangs sound from the stands, and for the first time ever, the crowd falls silent.
Loki and Olivia turn to see the old man with the eyepatch, standing in the emperor’s box and holding a long, golden staff.
“Oh, great,” Olivia huffs. “Diet Nick Fury again.” Loki splutters with shock, his entire body having a physical reaction as he whirls to look at her like a crazy woman.
“Diet Nick—? Odin is not a diet Nick Fury— if anything, it’s the other way around!” he exclaims, apparently deeply offended by her comment. Her eyebrows shoot up; Odin? As in, Loki Odinson?
“That’s your dad?” she wonders, glancing between them. “Wow, that is seriously fucked up.” Loki shifts in discomfort, still reeling from her words and unable to think clearly.
“I’m adopted,” he reminds her. She gives him a look, as if he had just reminded her the sky was blue.
“And?” she prompts. “That doesn’t make it less fucked up; he almost drowned us.” Now, an expression of distaste forms on his face.
“I hadn’t forgotten,” he assures her. No, if he thinks hard enough about it he can still almost feel the saltwater burning his nose.
“And now,” Odin announces, his voice carrying easily throughout the stadium, “for our main event. On one side, newcomers Loki and Olivia.” The crowd boos as loud as they can, their jeers growing loud enough to be physically felt.
Unbothered, Odin pounds his staff into the ground twice, bringing the crowd to silence.
“On the other side, the undefeated champion,” Odin begins, earning himself cheers from the crowds as the gate begins to rise, “the bloody baroness,” the cheers from the crowd reach a fever pitch as the gate continues to rise. “Fox!”
The gate shudders into place, and out comes a woman that makes Olivia’s entire body seize up. She tenses so visibly that Loki’s mind is sent whirling.
It’s easy to tell why they call the woman across the arena “Fox”. A fox mask is covering the entirety of her face— save for her mouth, which is set into a hard line.
Of course, she sets Loki on edge too; mostly on account of the blood splattered across her. It’s mostly concentrated on her black gloves and hoodie, but some splatters have managed to find their way to her jeans and mask. In the former case, there’s even a smear mark from when she wiped something off.
When she steps forward, Loki takes instant notice of the blood caked on the bottom of her sneakers, as though she’s been walking through half-inch puddles of the stuff.
Thanks to her mask and all-covering choice of clothes, Fox only has two identifying features: her long, blonde hair and her red-painted lips. It’s next to nothing, and that’s speaking optimistically. His best bet at her weaknesses would be Olivia’s recognition.
“Friend of yours?” he prompts, already knowing the answer as he grasps his daggers tightly. Olivia’s grasp on her bat tightens as she finally moves, stepping forward with an exceptionally grim expression.
“No,” she denies shortly, tone grave enough to almost make him nervous.
“At least it isn’t Banner,” he volunteers, grasping onto the only bright side he can think of.
“You’re gonna wish it was,” she pledges grimly.