Ballon
Hulk didn’t want to leave.
And that was fine, that was okay, but Thor DID want to leave, and he would probably need the Hulk’s help to do it.
Hulk left with the Valkyrie to do some training. Thor punched a wall. “Ow,” he added angrily.
“What did that wall ever do to you?” Eden asked, walking in. She was dressed as she had been the day before, in trousers, long blouse, soft shoes, her bright hair back in a braid. One of the few people in this place that actually LOOKED human in her fashion choices, he realized.
Didn't distract him from his annoyance, though. “Doesn’t anybody ever knock around here?”
“Not really, no. Hulk doesn't care--sadly. He's a bit of an exhibitionist.”
“So I noticed.” Thor winced. He had hoped to never think of that image again...
“Here, let me see your ribs.” He lifted his arms so Eden could unwrap the bandages. “Huh." The bruising was all gone, and he didn't wince at all when she pressed on the previously injured areas. "Good as new. How’s the head?”
“Great.”
“Awesome. Well, I think you’re healed. Congratulations. They’ll probably have you slaughtering your fellow captives in no time.”
Her voice had an unusually sour ring to it. He frowned. “What’s wrong?”
She shrugged, rolling up the bandage. “It gets to me sometimes.” She shook herself and forced a smile. “How are you?”
“I need to get out of here.”
He half expected another lecture on the futility of escape attempts, but her eyes showed sympathy. She didn’t say anything—and didn’t try to dissuade him. He added, “Asgard is under attack.”
She looked surprised, confused. “Asgard’s real, too?”
“Yes. And my brother Loki's real. And my sister Hela, apparently." He was getting angry again, now. "Goddess of Death, my older sister, heir to—” He had to pause for a moment before he could finish that thought. “Heir to my father’s throne, and absolute MANIAC. Whatever she’s doing in Asgard right now--doing to our PEOPLE--it can’t be good.”
“Heir to—? But Odin will stop her, won’t he? Isn’t he King of Asgard?”
Thor had to turn away toward the window, swallowing hard so he could speak around the lump in his throat. “Not anymore. He died. A few days ago.”
“Oh—God, I’m so sorry.” She put her hand on his shoulder and he reached up to grip it for a moment as he watched the busy scramble amid the junkyard below, seeing nothing but his father's form as it disintegrated into the air.
“Thank you,” he murmured at last, and cleared his throat, turning back. “Normally I’d use Mjolnir—my hammer—to escape, to do—” Rage built up in him. “To do SOMETHING!” he shouted. “But Hela destroyed that, too!” Eden merely waited, looking worried. “Sorry,” he said at last. “It’s been a—tough week.”
“No kidding.”
“They even cut off my hair!”
“No!” Her expression was sympathetic, but she began to laugh. “Did they? I’m sorry. But it DOES look good on you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
He smiled, a little flattered in spite of himself. Loki would have called him a puppy-dog: easily pleased. “Thank you.”
There was an awkward pause. “Hey, I’m the last person to suggest drinking your feelings, but—want a drink?” She gestured to the shelves of bottles nearby.
“Yes. Please.”
They sat down over a bottle of something that was tinted a poisonous-looking blue, but actually tasted pretty good. Rather like mead. “So—Eden. How did an Earthling end up on—” He couldn’t remember the name of the world. “Trash Planet?”
She laughed and almost choked on her drink. “Trash Planet! I like it. …Well, it’s a long story, but it begins with an alien abduction in a literal cornfield. Got picked up by an irresponsible partier from—God, some planet, I don’t remember, it was all very Hitchhiker’s Guide. And then HE got attacked by this… Space pirate crew? And a bunch of other stuff, and then I got dumped here. Luckily, I was picked up by Scrapper 142. She found out I was good with medical stuff, and she got me a place here. Pretty cushy compared to— Well, compared to where I could have ended up.”
“And you weren’t mad about the—abduction, the getting dumped?”
“Oh, I was fucking pissed,” she said calmly. “Still am. But it’s not going to do me any good, is it?”
“Mm.” He had learned a lot more self-control in the last several years, but he couldn’t have managed this. He would have done something hot-headed long before—and probably gotten himself killed, especially if he had been as fragile as a human. Just as well she wasn’t as hotheaded as him, he supposed.
They drank in silence for a few minutes. “Hulk said something about training—where is that?”
“Oh—there’s a training area down the hall.” She pointed. “Want to take a walk?”
“YES.” He was getting very sick of this room and its horrible paint job.
--
Turned out, the training area wasn’t much better. “What is WITH these people and the—” He gestured toward the walls, which were done in geometric patterns of green and red.
“Offense to the senses and all that is holy? No idea. Maybe it’s supposed to be a distraction from the stench of garbage,” Eden shrugged.
They could hear a lot of thumping and joyful shouting coming from the next room: clearly Hulk and the Valkyrie were having fun with their sparring session. “Want to train?” Thor asked.
“ME?” Eden looked at him like he was crazy. “Um, no.”
“Come on, why not?” Thor grinned. A little exercise: it sounded good. He needed to burn the cobwebs out of his head.
“Uh—I’ve seen you fight. One punch, and I’d be toast. I’m human, remember?”
“I’m not saying we FIGHT each other. Just—you know—train!” Humans did this, didn’t they? What did Steve call it? “Like at the gym.”
“I'm... not big on the gym. Never really played sports.” Eden shrugged .
“You must have done SOMETHING. You played games or something as a child?”
“Yeah, like kickball in gym class. And I was in ballet…”
“Ballet?”
“It’s a really precise dance form.”
“There! That.” In Asgard, they used dance to train warriors. The Valkyries were always famed for their grace, a grace born entirely of precise control and strength. “Show me some ballet.”
“Nah. I’ll just—"
“Come on, Eden—please?” He gave her what Loki had once called his one persuasive strength: sad eyes. “I mean, Hulk’s having fun without me, and—”
“Oh my God,” Eden groaned. “Fine. What do you want to do.”
“Yes!” Thor grinned. “Let’s do some warm-ups first.”
Eden did some leg warmups and increasingly fast and high kicks and Thor did some pushups, alternate-knee crunches, and pull-ups. It felt great. Eden looked self-conscious, though.
“Okay. Show me some ballet.”
She looked at him helplessly. “Like, a choreographed dance? I’m not sure I remember any.”
“Well—what was your favorite thing in ballet?”
“Oh.” She tried to hide it, but he could see how her eyes lit up. “The jumps.”
“Okay. Show me some jumps.”
She started off with some that went side-to-side across the floor: glissade and assemblé. He tried to imitate her, which made her laugh. She stopped and gave him some pointers to improve his technique, but he could tell from her amused expression that nothing was going to give him her grace in just one lesson. the movements were totally different from what he was used to--different muscles, different muscle memory. Besides, skilled dancers took years to learn the kind of precision of movement she was exhibiting. He was sure he looked very clumsy in comparison, but he enjoyed watching her laughing, even if it was at his expense.
“Alright—something a little bigger. Grand jeté,” she declared, and demonstrated the flying leap. She might not have had very strong arms, but her leg muscles were first-rate: she could jump as high as Natasha.
“I’m impressed,” he said freely, and she blushed with pleasure. “You like—hang in the air.”
“That’s called ballon,” she explained. “It’s something ballet dancers really train for.”
“How long did you train in ballet?”
“Oh, from the age of four right up until I was abducted. Twenty-four years?”
He nodded. “You’ve done well.”
“Thank you.”
She was pleased, and he smiled. “Show me something challenging.”
“Hm… How about the grand jeté en tournant?” She explained how the dancer jumped from one foot to the other, doing a sort of scissor-kick in midair while turning a hundred and eighty degrees.
“I think I’ve got it—show me how it’s supposed to look.”
“Alright—here, move, I’ll do them across the floor.”
He stepped aside and she prepared herself, lifting one leg behind her to balance in arabesque for a moment, and then chasseing into the leap.
It was astonishing: each jump grew higher and higher. Eden seeming to pause in midair as the scissoring movement pulled her around to face him once more, landing lightly and precisely on one foot before chasseing into the next leap. At last, on the far side of the room, she did a final leap—and jumped an incredible height. Even Natasha and Clint didn’t jump that high. She not only seemed to hang in the air, she almost floated down, like a slow-motion replay on those football games Erik Selvig and he used to watch.
She was flushed with exertion and pleasure as she jogged back, and Thor applauded, smiling at her obvious happiness. She curtsied delicately and he bowed--that was one movement he DID know how to do. But when she turned away, he frowned. She SAID she was human—but what was she, really?