InsaneJournal

Who: Sif & Drax
What: aliens go wedding gift shopping at Target. :D
When: this past week
Rating/Warning: Green

Drax was in need of a present for the wedding ritual of Tony Stark and his woman, who was named after a spice that caused sneezing if you breathed it in. He stood before the building which housed the marketplace represented by a Terran target symbol, on 255 Greenwich Street.

Yes. He would be able to find and barter for a gift here. Perhaps something for their newborn. This would be good, and he would not be distracted from his task by Quill's incessant attempts to woo women standing behind the counters.

Sif had changed into Midgardian clothes and asked about to find where she could purchase a gift for the wedding. She had a card for money, but had no idea what things cost or what a good gift would be for Tony, who had everything and could make what he didn't already have. She had come close to settling on some kind of cups for them to break at the celebration for the child--and also she needed a gift for the infant. Frigga would have known what to do. Sif missed the Queen so intensely for a moment that it struck her like a blow to the heart.

But there in the crowds near the store with the sign of the target was someone she thought she recognized. Tall and green and hairless, he resembled his photograph on the network enough for her to approach him confidently. "Hail and well met, friend Drax! I am Sif, and we have spoken together on the network of Stark." She offered a hand in a friendly clasp, one warrior to another.

Drax wasn't the brightest star in space. At first, he squinted at the building wondering if this was akin to the Contraxian pleasure houses where robo-women remembered who passed through (Quill) and would call out their names. Perhaps this store was attempting to lure him in, in a similar manner. But the last half of what was said finally sunk in, and Drax slowly turned his head to her. Upon seeing that it was the new warrior, his expression brightened.

"Greetings, foe of Thanos!" Drax said a little too loudly, grasping her hand and giving it a firm shake. "It is good to see you here on this ugly gray path, in front of this equally ugly market marked with a target. I am in need of an offering for friend Stark's wedding. That is why I will enter and throw my money at their targets while bartering. If you are not occupied, you are welcome to barter with me and also throw your money for essential items."

Target employees within the store have no idea what is about to happen to them.

Sif, at least, was somewhat more prepared than Drax, and probably better equipped to handle Drax than the poor Target staff members. And while Drax was strong, she was hardly crushed by his grasp. "I will accompany you, my friend. I have done a little Midgardian shopping, if that is what they call it, and I think I have some idea of we might find. I think something for the new child might serve well."

They were being watched; she could see that some of the passers-by had cameras prepared and snapping photos, or even taking video. But none of them seemed hostile. Her instincts didn't scream of imminent attack, and the warehouse that called itself a shop was big enough for them to defend themselves if needed. "Let us enter and find our goods, and perhaps enjoy a Midgardian coffee drink after we have found our prey. I am told the frap-a-china is quite delicious."

Drax wasn't perturbed by the cameras. Other people tended to view him as what was called a side show or tattoo man. To appease the Terrans, he often posed while flexing his arm muscles, or was asked to hoist children up on his shoulders for photographs. Sometimes they gave him money for this, which ended up being lucrative when he was standing around doing what the Terran version of the Nova Corps called loitering.

Now, though, there was paper credits in his pockets from working with SHIELD. And he knew enough that it was used to barter for goods. Why this planet didn't have credits was beyond him. He had many of those in his account, which he never used to buy anything more than new pants or food in pouches.

"Yes, the frap-a-china is good. Like the food made of Chinese," agreed Drax, finally letting go having both of them proven they had a mighty grip. "We shall go within, like this is a mission and drink the Chinese after. So far, I have only obtained Cheetos in the small marketplaces, or food from various vendors."

He walked forward into the doors like he was ready to kick names and take ass. Without actually doing either since he couldn't understand Terran obsessions with touching one another's butts.

"Small clothes for tiny humans!" he instantly proclaimed as though overjoyed, pointing at a display. "With Rocket's face on them! I will buy this. For Rocket."

Somewhere out there, a talking raccoon's ears are burning.

"Yes!" Sif agreed. "I thought something for the child as well. I believe this is what Midgardians describe as 'cute'." She moved over to the display and started looking for one that would suit the infant, but rapidly found herself confused as she had no way to find out what was sized for which child. Mass production of clothing had not been an Asgardian practice, at least not as far as Sif was concerned. All her clothing had been custom made.

"Excuse me," she said politely to one of the other shoppers. "My friend and I are trying to buy gifts for a newborn child. We are recent arrivals in America. How do we tell which will fit a small infant?"

The older woman gave Drax a concerned side-eye but showed Sif how to size them using the tag. "Just look inside the neck, or on that tag, on the sleeve."

"Thank you," Sif said, with gratitude, because she would never have looked inside the neck of the--onesie? was what this was called? She produced one in the correct size to hand to Drax.

"You have our thanks, Terran," Drax told the helpful woman, nodding and taking the onesie to hold onto.

While Sif had been talking, Drax found a cartoonish raccoon t-shirt for a child and was holding both items in one clenched fist. As someone rolled a cart nearby he looked at them, asking, "Excuse me. Where did you obtain this obnoxiously large red basket on wheels."

"You mean a cart? Over there," a young woman replied, before wheeling her cart away while staring at the carnival freak and ren faire talking lady like they were off their proverbial rockers.

"Thank you," he called out to her and looked at Sif. "We may require a cart. That is what they are called. A cart. Wait until I tell Quill that I know something he does not."

Sif nodded enthusiastically. "Wait right here and I will fetch one." And dashed off with surprising daintiness for a war goddess to bring one and wheel it back. all the while observing the ways of this Terran market. The rows of goods could easily be tumped and used to make a barricade in the event of an alien attack. Also there was food and drink to prepare for a siege, and camping goods should the power be cut off. All well-planned by the people of the target!

"Here we go," she told Drax, returning to him with a cart. "Let us put the onesie in the cart, and now I will seek a onesie for myself to give to the child. Do we know if it is a boy or a girl? Midgardians set much store by dividing children in that way." She gestured at the large demarcation between 'girls clothes' and 'boys clothes'.

Drax threw the onesie and t-shirt down into the cart with unneccessary force. He looked over at the signs and squinted, unsure of what the meaning of this was.

"The child is a girl," he said as though this was a great puzzle to be very slowly figured out. "Do they cover themselves with different things?"

Drax looked down at the clothes in the cart and grunted like those were good enough for both genders.

"After we seek out this girl clothes," he told Sif, "I think we should gather food for ourselves and the parents. It was common for my people to give food when they chose a mate. It kept them strong for many nights as they bonded repeatedly. Then we gathered to repair any cracks in the walls of their homes the following day."

What? It's a beautiful process and perfectly natural, and nothing to be ashamed of. Like asking if Quill's father had a penis. This ended up being a legitimate question because Quill's father ended up being a planet.

In Drax's mind, Quill's mother must have been massive, and Quill came out like the small marsupials on the Planet of Animals channel that crawl to a pocket to incubate.

"They have bonded already," Sif pointed out. "I know the customs of Midgard have changed in the last millennium or so. But they have the child, so they have definitely bonded. Perhaps we should buy them a store of food that will last until the next time they bond." She pointed at a sign that said "Frozen Foods."

"Yes!" That was a little exuberant, and several looks were lobbed their way. "That is a wise decision, and will help them so they are able to have many, many offspring!"

Drax bounded off toward the frozen foods, looking like the only thing he was missing were some daggers in both hands. What stopped him short was that a tired looking housewife with a crying child opened one of the doors to the freezer section and Drax's nipples shrunk up like raisins.

"Cold. So cold," he said with a shiver, covering his nipples with his hands. "Sif! These foods are literally frozen, much like the inaccurately named hot pockets and the accurately named ice cream!"

Now they're being filmed, courtesy of some snickering teenagers at the end of the aisle.

"Yes," Sif explained. "We will have to buy a cooler to keep them in so they stay cold. But there are machines that warm them. Microwave ovens." She looked at the dinners inside the open case and frowned. "Not enough meat," she told Drax. "Let us look for something more--ah, yes." There was a sign for what they needed here, as well. 'Family Size'.

Sif opened one of the cases, picked up a box, and scrutinized the content labels to see what was in it. "Some of these ingredients are unknown to me," she confessed. "I know sodium benzoate must be a salt, for preservation, but I have no idea what it actually is or how it tastes."

"Sodium been so great." Drax thought on this as he stared down at the family size box in Sif's hands, thinking that it sounded like something that Quill would say. "That tells me that it tastes good. Let us get that. And this other family sized box of stroke you off. It has balls made of meat."

He was pointing down at a large box of Stouffer's stroganoff, a cursory glancing of the name resulted in that major snafu. This would be forgotten in about 2.5 seconds.

"We should get them Cheetos. Those never go bad," Drax said, proving that he forgot all about the stroganoff as he started to look around. "We are in need of Cheetos."

"I do not think that is what is meant by that--" Sif started to say, but Drax was already on his way. She tossed the two boxes of frozen meals into the cart and shrugged at the teenager with the camera.

Another older lady, this one quite ancient to Sif's eyes, patted her on the arm. "Men are like that, dear, even if they're from space."

"I HAVE FOUND CHEETOS!" bellowed Drax, from another aisle. He sounded very excited about it, and the reason why became clear as he rounded the corner. Under each arm was a big barrel of cheese balls.

"They look similar. I will give one to Stark and his woman, and have one for myself. Do you want a large container? They are delicious."

She wasn't sure what the things in the plastic container even were, and absolutely wasn't sure they were edible. At least the frozen food looked like food. But it might insult Drax if she was seen not to like them, and then someone would surely need to eat during the move even if Sif didn't like them.

"Let us get another, and then I will find the onesie for the child for myself, and then we will pay for our goods," she suggested, as the older woman gave her another reassuring pat on the arm.

"Yes!" Drax bounded off and came back with two more barrels of cheese balls. This also went into the cart, and Drax stopped, looking at the older woman. He nodded to her, taking in her cheerful but crinkly appearance, and said as though stating the obvious, "Hello. You must be one of the Terran elders. I can tell by the white of your hair and the wrinkling of your skin. Do you need help across the store? I have seen scouts offering such aid on the TV. Sif, we should help this old woman to cross populated aisles, so she is not run over by the baskets on wheels."

"Only if the honored elder requests it," Sif reminded Drax.

"Thank you dears, but I'm just fine." The old woman patted Drax's arm, just for variety, and maybe also to feel whether he really was all muscle.

Drax's arm muscles flexed under the old woman's hand, proving that, yes, that is all rock hard muscle. He nodded down at her, putting his hand on her small shoulder and patting it very lightly. Elders were treated with respect on his world as well. Although they were known to be more ruthless in battle. Probably due to knowing more ways to kill rivals and having endured their village being raided more often due to a longer lifespan.

"You are welcome, wizened one. If you are in need, call out for us and we will bodily harm any who infringe upon you. We must now buy a one see for a child in dire need who is blind in one eye."

At least that's how Drax thinks onesies work. Trying to explain what it actually is will be information that is gone in sixty seconds.

"Good luck with that, dear," the old woman said, apparently to Drax, but her eyes were resting on Sif. Another pat, and a good feel of Drax's generous muscles, and she moved along with her own cart.

"Let us fetch the one-see for the child," Sif suggested, and proceeded to do so, Drax trailing in her wake as she made her way back to the area where they had found infant clothing, careful not to let her face betray any discontent at the frills and delicacy of the items intended for maidens. Tony was a warrior in his iron armor. His daughter must have the chance to follow in her father's footsteps if she wished.

"That elder found me virile," Drax was saying as he walked to the children's section behind Sif. "If her hair thins more or she balds, I might find her attractive."

When they arrived, he looked disgusted all of a sudden. There were frills, and pink, and everything was so soft. His daughter would never have worn such things. How was a newborn supposed to fend off blood thirsty reptiles and insects in this fluffiness?!

Even more than that, Drax stated the obvious (at least to him), "These aren't going to help a half blind child see anything."

"It is the custom on Midgard to dress infants in soft clothes. Midgardian infants are very fragile and their parents must protect them from cold and injury," Sif explained. This much she had learned already, that Midgardians in general were easily broken compared to her own friends on Asgard. "Also that the color pink is for girls. I would rather find her a hearty blood red, with gold, to announce to all that she is a warrior's daughter." She flipped through a couple of stacks of onesies and finally settled on one. "This will do," she said, with no enthusiasm at all. It was at least white with colored spots on it, not all pink and lacy.

"Now we must pay for our goods." Sif looked around to find where the cashiers were. She remembered that there were cashiers on Midgard from her previous visits, but this was her first time in a large store like this. It wasn't frightening, not to a warrior born, but definitely confusing.

Drax nodded in agreement with Sif's assessment, walking across the aisle and finding tiny grey baby socks. They weren't frilly but grey like he was, albeit without the slight green undertone. He threw those in the basket on wheels and began to look around as well.

"I know the Terran custom is to put their barterers toward the entrance and exits of the building. In this way, they seek to prevent theft of their goods."

He pointed back to where they came in, with a squint. It was like spying their quarry on the horizon.

"There. There is a woman in a red shirt who looks unenthused. That is how those bartering on this planet look, all of the time."

Sif pushed the cart toward the front ot the store. As best she could recall from her interactions on Midgard, there was no actual bartering involved. "I have what they call a 'credit card' for paying for goods and services. Based on the numbers, I believe the funds in the card will suffice." For all of the goods, she thought, but Drax had said he had money. And he had come here to purchase goods.

"I shall use my paper credits to pay for these goods," Drax assured her as the checkout lady eyed them like the circus let the freaks out.

One more than the other, since a really tall woman wasn't abnormal, but a big tattooed grey strongman covered in scarification wasn't an everyday sight.

She patted the counter when Drax stared at her, and he sat the things he was buying down in front of her.

"I will give you ten paper credits for these items," Drax said, and watched as the woman scanned each thing on their computer system.

"Twenty-eight ninety three. That's with sales tax," the woman replied.

"Fifteen paper credits," Drax countered, intensely staring.

"Twenty-eight ninety three," the woman said, intensely staring back at him. This was New York, and she saw a lot of freaky things working the main checkout at Target.

The air felt heavy. It felt like seconds became hours. The staring intensified.

"...................you are a worthy adversary," Drax grumbled, and put down thirty of the paper credits. He received metal disk credits afterward, and his items in bags. Which he took. And stepped aside for Sif.

"This ain't a flea market," the cashier told Sif, so they didn't have to go through that again.

"I came prepared with a credit card," Sif reassured the cashier. Unsurprisingly, her transaction went more smoothly, and the cashier was, if not pleased, at least relieved that somebody knew how to act like a normal person. "I thank you," Sif told her at the end of the transaction, as the cashier put her goods in a paper sack for easy carrying.

"It is a lovely spring day," Sif told Drax as they headed out the door. "And we have been successful in our endeavors. We have gifts for the child and the parents."

"Yes, or task is completed" agreed Drax, with a firm nod in the affirmative. "Thank you for providing comradery to me. One day I will show you the food wonders of the many boat-tangos of this city. Until then, I will see you at the wedding."

He nodded to her and set off to the street corner, where the old woman from earlier was standing. Drax helped her cross the street and it looked like they were feeling up one another's biceps the whole time.