A Night on Sakaar

Valkyrie liked to think she had a rule. When the act of throwing back a shot saw her topple and fall out of her chair, she probably shouldn’t drink much more than the bottle she was on.

Well, more of a guideline than a rule. Still, she did try to stand by it.

There were a lot of places to party on Sakaar. The Grandmaster’s joint was decent enough, but it always served the cheap stuff - there were enough guests from off-world that much of higher quality was snapped up before she could get to it. Add into that most of the snacks being scooped up from the junkyard under the portals, and she preferred a lot of the more distant places on the world.

There were taverns further out that rewarded the dedicated traveller, serving as pit-stops or quieter inns. ‘Quiet’ was relative, of course. Sometimes it was easier to enjoy yourself without someone being thrown through the wall from the arena.

Still, it was suitably raucous. Valkyrie drank, laughed, drank a bit more, sang karaoke, and eventually staggered out the front of the bar. There was an open landing area for ships: unable to remember where she’d left hers, she wandered down it, stumbling until she found her way to one that looked familiar enough.

If she’d been more sober, she might have remembered that it was possible for two different ships to have similar models. As it was, she just fumbled with the door a few times, muttered something about locks, and pushed with a little more until the handle squeaked open.

The interior wasn’t quite the way she remembered it. Then again, it normally wasn’t quite so blurry. She shrugged it off, tottered unsteadily down the corridor, into a room, tugging off her top. Her belt almost defeated her, but she managed to unclasp it, and left them, and eventually her pants, strewn messily on the floor. She crossed the room, and promptly fell flat on her face on the bed.

She snored, open-mouthed, for a good few hours. Sleeping nude was comfortable for her by now - her daily armor wasn’t really conducive to comfort, and when you lived for centuries you eventually got bored with sleepwear.

Hours later, and Valkyrie stirred. Her head pounded. She groaned, and pushed herself up, shaking her head a few times as she looked around.

Huh. Her room didn’t quite look how she remembered it. She had a couple more posters, she was sure, plus a drinks’ cabinet for emergencies over that way. True, her ship wasn’t where she preferred to sleep - she had a room in Sakaar proper - but some nights she wasn’t really in a condition to pilot it.

She looked down at the floor - it was nothing but bare grey metal. She was sure she’d have left her clothes there; she knew her habits well enough by now to know that. Valkyrie mumbled something to herself, and pushed herself forwards. This was too much of a mystery for hungover-her to bother with.

She walked out her room, bleary, and caught sight of a small robot on the floor. It was barely higher than her foot, squat and black with a billowing white bag coming out from the back, and tiny mandibles. It beeped, alarmed, at her.

Valkyrie stared at it for a long few seconds.

“Huh,” she slurred. “You’re new.”

It beeped again.

She knew what it was, of course - she’d seen plenty around. They were little cleaning units, sweeping up behind their owners with no extra effort needed. Valkyrie was pretty sure she didn’t own one; with her, ahem, filing system, tidying up the floors would just make her lose things she needed.

Had she been too drunk to remember buying something? Admittedly wouldn’t have been the first time. If nothing else, it explained where her clothes had gone. The little droid had probably decided it was junk left on the floor.

Valkyrie sighed, just awake enough to be annoyed, and stumbled in the direction that her refreshments usually were. Eyes mostly-closed, she only half paid attention to the odd, new decorations or lack thereof.

Still, there was a constant aboard all ships - a ready-supply of caffeine-boosters to get the pilot ready to take on the day, and to shake off any lingering hangover. Valkyrie fumbled for a bit.

She heard a faint clatter in the distance. She frowned, looking up, to see the vague silhouette of a figure at the far side of the room. The ship’s real owner stared incredulously at her. Valkyrie waved them off, reaching for the booster.

Head pounding, barely aware, there were a few things that didn’t occur to her. One was to ask why there was a stranger on board her ship - okay, true, again it would not be the first time, but she was pretty sure it hadn’t been one of those nights. Two, she could have drawn a connection between a stranger person on the ship and all the oddness she’d been blithely going past.

Three, she might have remembered the fact that she was still as naked as she had been when she’d gone to sleep. Perfect, dark skin, with toned legs, a neat triangle of dark hair (neat enough that it ought more than likely raise a few questions about her priorities when it came to personal grooming), abs leading to relatively petite breasts, a body that radiated strength, beauty, and nudity in equal measure.

Less attractive, admittedly, was the strained squint she gave the ship’s captain. She took a caffeine booster and downed it, gasping, letting it chase away her bleariness.

And then she paused. And looked at the captain again, remembering just how… off the ship had felt. Valkyrie hesitated.

“Okay. I might’ve had a bit too much to drink last night,” she said.

She paused again. She looked down at herself.

“Oh. Naked,” Valkyrie said.

There was another pause. At last, she remembered to cross her arms over her bare chest, a little unsure. She shifted.

“Um. Hi?” Valkyrie tried.