"Since we're entering English airspace, I hope you've arranged clearance, Coulson," Solomon said, addressing the cargo bay monitor without ceremony. "I'd rather not jump out to shoot down a couple of Typhoon fighter jets. These pilots are humanity's elite; while Britannia's eagles may no longer soar as high, I still need them—or, rather, I might recruit them. Handle the formalities, and just keep flying east. Don't question me, girl," he added, referring to Skye, the only one in the cargo bay with him. "Until the Sorcerer Supreme's orders are rescinded, I won't allow the sight of a massive portal opening in the sky to traumatize civilians."
"Wow, you sound like a pompous jerk," Skye muttered, perched atop a Jeep's hood with a brand-new laptop on her knees. She seemed utterly unimpressed with Solomon's tone despite his gift of a high-end computer. And truthfully, her description wasn't far off the mark.
Solomon had activated his holy mark, which dulled his human emotions slightly. Anyone observing him on the astral plane would notice the faint golden glow emanating from him.
"I must remind you," Skye said, smirking, "that social media is abuzz with news of Asgardian soldiers riding public buses. According to passengers on Route 8 from Heathrow's Terminal 5, the bus was crammed with golden-armored brutes and one curly-bearded blonde guy. The air quality? Horrible. Erik Selvig says they're heading to Greenwich University, taking a train from Egham to Waterloo, followed by a 41-minute subway ride, and then another 19-minute ride on the North Greenwich line. It's already pretty sensational—what's a little more magic?"
"That'd be Fandral. He's dependable—at least without Volstagg," Solomon said, his air of authority deflating under Skye's teasing. "I doubt Asgardians bathe often, but I'm sure their armor doesn't exude soap suds either. A single bus couldn't fit 100 Einherjar warriors anyway. Considering their gear, it'd be overloaded. They must've split into groups. I can only imagine how unpleasant the ride is for their fellow passengers."
"The good news is, the police aren't stopping them—thanks to S.H.I.E.L.D.," Skye added.
"If they tried, they'd die," Solomon said dismissively. "These warriors are over 1,500 years old, veterans of countless battles. They're nothing like the naive newer Asgardian generation. You should be grateful S.H.I.E.L.D. saved those fools' lives."
"You're such an absolute jerk," Skye scoffed. "You should tell that to your queen. Buckingham Palace is in chaos. I can't believe Downing Street hasn't figured out how to handle the Asgardians yet! Westminster's like a zoo. What a corrupt country—modern society with a feudal queen? Maybe Guy Fawkes was onto something."
"Civilization's progress isn't measured by political systems. That's a human-specific trait," Solomon replied. "Asgard's a feudal society, and they're still the universe's top power. And for the record, while I'm a British citizen, the Windsor queen isn't my queen. In fact, I hold a legitimate claim to Britain's throne. When the time comes, I'll restore—"
"Okay, okay. I pity your future subjects already," Skye interrupted.
"They should be honored. The entire universe will change. Humanity's peaceful existence will end. Interdimensional horrors will storm Earth with their tentacles, claws, spores, and slimy appendages. Mythical gods will declare dominion over humans, skies, lands, and seas. Humanity's feeble strength will crumble under these assaults. You'll lose again and again—even failing to escape a hole barely ankle-deep!" He paused for breath. "Of course, this doomsday scenario only happens if Kamar-Taj falls completely, which is unlikely, thanks to the Holy Sword and Holy Lance."
"So…" Skye dragged the word out.
"So enjoy life while you can. These are your last moments of peace."
After Solomon's dramatic fear-mongering, Skye fell silent, focusing on reporting the Asgardians' movements.
Coulson, listening to the entire exchange, was pleased with Skye's newfound focus but decided Solomon's intensity warranted a polite protest to avoid traumatizing his team further.
"Phew…" Fandral let out a long sigh. He couldn't fathom why their army hadn't brought any airships. Instead, they were crammed into metal carriages that reeked of vomit and homeless men, like sardines in a tin.
Darcy sighed in relief too. Guiding Asgardians wasn't as glamorous as she'd imagined. It was Jane Foster's punishment for losing the car keys. Initially, Darcy thought it was a reward—being surrounded by muscular warriors was her dream. But she quickly realized they were taciturn, and their overwhelming masculine aura was suffocating.
"We're finally here," Darcy said with a deep breath, looking up expectantly. But her face fell when she didn't spot who she was looking for. She wanted nothing more than a hug from someone not clad in armor.
"You're here already?" Darcy called into her phone as the Einherjar filed through the university gates, their disciplined strides intimidating the hesitant security guards, who wisely decided against intervening and instead called the police.
"I'm here, Darcy," Solomon's voice came through the receiver. "But the plane's using reflective panels or something similar, so it's invisible. Coulson's trying to land near Greenwich University's courtyard—there's plenty of open space and grass. S.H.I.E.L.D. loves landing on lawns, just like when they landed at Eton's fields to find me… Anyway, where are Thor and Sif? I'd rather not lose someone like a kid on a field trip."
"Everyone else is in Erik's car with Jane, but it's packed to the brim. They're taking the M4…"
"Are you saying they're stuck in traffic?"
"Yeah. Maybe the M25 would've been faster…"
The call went silent. Darcy kicked a pebble in boredom, while Solomon, well-acquainted with London's road woes, seethed at the infernal design.
Was London's traffic system conceived by a devil from hell to generate endless frustration and lucrative soul contracts from car accidents?
Finally, Solomon spoke. "Thor couldn't just spin his hammer and fly ahead?"
"He could, but he doesn't know the way. And I think Sif has it out for Jane. If Thor flew Jane over, I wouldn't put it past Sif to skewer her mid-air."
"Fair point…" Solomon sighed.
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