The art of conning a person wasn't something Naomi could claim to be experienced in. She was a decent liar, especially on the spot. There was many a time in High School when she had to explain why she was running late to a class, or why she had her phone out during a lecture. Not to say Naomi Swanson was a delinquent, she was a good enough student, she was simply good enough without always arriving on time or always paying attention.

However conning someone was an entirely different scenario than coming up with B.S. excuses. The most experience she had was watching Oceans 11 and The Wolf of Wall Street. But if there was ever a time for her to try something new, it was now. Walking through the garage and out into the corridors, she racked up her knowledge of poker games and figured out a way to bluff her way into the tower. For the most part, she avoided people in the long winding corridors once she found her way out of the garage, but she couldn't stay hidden forever. Eventually, the small corridor she was wandering through opened up into a much grander hallway, with an arched roof and strange designs on the walls. The planet was truly chaotic, if only in their choice of architecture.

Naomi pressed herself against the wall, hiding from view until she could scope out the path. She felt a bit silly, in truth. If any of the Avengers had been inherited position, ad she had watched it on a screen, she would have thought it the coolest thing. The big, powerful Avengers stealth-ing their way through an alien planet, it would have been amazing. Yet when she was stood there, with a busted wrist in a sling and a backpack slung over her shoulder, it didn't feel nearly as cool. Perhaps she was missing some dramatic theme music, but it was a bit risky to play it on her phone, so she opted out.

Instead, Naomi did just about the one thing she could do, and swaggered out into the hallway with all the confidence of Peggy Carter doing literally anything. Her reasoning was that, if she simply appeared to belong there, she would. It wasn't the safest route, perhaps, but Naomi didn't have a team of script writers concocting an epic scam for her to make her way through the ranks on Sakaar. All she had was a brisk pace, an intimidating gun swinging casually at her side, and a DIY sling.

Astonishingly, it worked. The hallway was clearly some sort of servants path, and thus was bustling with uniformed aliens of several different species carrying various dishes and supplies. They all immediately took notice of Naomi, since she stuck out like a sore thumb for several reasons, but the pure confidence in her stride prevented the 'slaves with jobs' from questioning her. It took quite a lot for Naomi not to burst out laughing that she was actually scamming her way into the Grandmaster's Palace.

Didn't last for very long though, seeing as all her MCU plot convenience was used up when she fell onto a moving space craft and survived.

"Hey, you're in the contest yeah?" The voice spoke up from behind Naomi, and she froze for a moment, before turning around. Before her was an alien with a lovely shade of lavender skin and deep violet hair, which was pulled up into an immaculate bun. She couldn't be overly sure, seeing as it was an alien, but it struck her as male, with a sharp jawline and stern features that should have gone against his color palette, and yet didn't. Based on his attire, the alien was clearly someone of relative importance, and he carried a gaudy quill paired with a clipboard that he checked frequently, as though it was subject to change.

"Yeah, what of it?" Naomi answered curtly, praying the man wouldn't look into it further. He did of course, and stared suspiciously at the gun dangling at her side, which only vaguely matched the general atmosphere of the planet.

"That from the champion's rack?" He gestured with the oversized feather, shaking it in the direction of her gun with clear frustration. "You can't take those out of the weapons room, and who the hell did that monstrosity?" His features twisted in disgust as he moved his quill to point as her sling hesitantly. Naomi was almost offended, it was the best she could do with limited supplies and only one hand, and here she was being judged by the fashion police. The alien's pompous attitude only helped her however, as it made her 'gruff champion' facade more realistic as she bought real emotion to the table.

"I've just got back from training, and it's my gun, got it as a gift." She declared, matching his air of importance as some of the passing servants took notice of their conversation, discretely listening in. She was completely bullshitting him, of course, but no one else had to know that.

"And who, might I ask, has clearance to give some low-level champion an unregistered weapon?" He spat, forcing Naomi to take back all the nice things she had previously thought about his hair. It was quite impressive, the precision with which it was done, but she couldn't focus on that when she had some impressive lies to tell.

"My friend Valkyrie. You might know her as Scrapper 142, one of the Grandmaster's favorites." Naomi dropped names left and right, drinking in the fearful awe that crept over the purple-skinned alien's face. He composed himself quickly, but grumbled all the same as he forced her to register the weapon, scanning it with the surprisingly high-tech clipboard and asking for her name, so she could claim official ownership. That threw Naomi for a moment, as she hadn't thought of whether she should give her real name, but she was too deep into the lie to tell the truth now.

"Hepburn." She retorted, with all the false confidence she could muster. It seemed to have its intended effect, as the man simply became annoyed by her attitude rather than suspicious of whether she was a real champion or not.

"Fine then. Go get that arm fixed in the med bay before the next fight," he once again used the quill to point at Tony's prototype gun, "and leave that at the door."

"How the hell am I meant to get to the med bay?" Naomi asked, and immediately cursed herself. The man had just been about to leave without prodding into her identity, and now she brought his attention back onto herself. Her curt tone still served a purpose, as the clipboard-bearing alien's only response was to yank a random servant from nearby and shove them at Naomi.

The purple man quickly disappeared into the crowd, unwilling to associate with 'Hepburn' any longer. Tony would have laughed his ass of if he knew that Naomi was using his nickname as an alias on a different planet. Now Sakaar thought she was Hepburn, Asgard thought she was 'the Prophet' and her home dimension probably thought she was dead. What a mess.

"Right then. Lead the way?" Naomi turned to the servant that had been interrupted from their job, a small stack of plates in their hands. The poor thing was at least a foot shorter than Naomi, and seemed rather intimidated. She almost felt bad for pretending to be some ruff and tuff champion that hung out with the famous Scrapper 142, all of which was a lie. Hopefully, she would be able to get treated in the 'med bay' that had never shown up on the movie screens, and then worm her way out of having to actually fight anyone.

"U-uh, yes, of course, Hepburn." The servant squeaked out, unsure of themselves and whether they were allowed to refer to her by her name. For such a chaotic planet, there appeared to be some distinct class infrastructure, all leading up to the top 1%, Jeff Goldblum.

Thus, Naomi followed the servant closely as they navigated the corridors: Naomi staring ahead as though she was important and avoiding all eye contact, and the servant wishing they had been left to do the bloody dishes instead of leading around some mysterious fighter woman who casually toted around a lethal weapon.