1963-07-26 - Thor and Peace, Part I
Summary: Thor stops traffic with his L'Oreal hair, and Amora is reconsidering Lady Flame-Hair.
Related: None
Theme Song: Blind Guardian - Skalds and Shadows
rogue amora thor 

It's hot in the City. When it warms up, the concrete and steel in canyons just bake in, and the hint of breath from a breeze is either a welcome respite or it only servers to make matters worse. Cars are in the streets, passing by in slow waves of traffic as defined by the traffic signals.

Wait… signals?

Thor is crossing one of those 'busier' thoroughfares with something of a bounce to his step and a decided inattention to those traffic signals. It places him in the middle of the street at the turning of the green, but he doesn't seem too terribly upset about it. One stride, two, and a screen and a horn blare rises, but remarkably, on this day, there is no destruction. A smile, a way, a brief apology, and he moves on.

The Thunder God is in good spirits, so there won't be any rain in the forecast today!


Amora had not, oddly enough, tracked down Thor prior to this point. She had, graciously, she thought, given him some space. But after her conversation with his younger brother, the Enchantress found it amusing to trace where the Crown Prince had ended up. So as Thor crossed the street with his usual grace and lack of knowledge of mortal customs to right of way and traffic. She was there waiting on the other side.

A mortal disguise was once more upon her person, the same one that Thor had seen her in last. Sweeping curls were tucked under a wide brimmed, white hat and sun glasses sat perched on her delicate nose. Despite the heat she seemed at ease. Clad in a lime green dress with white edging, a high collar and a mini skirt, she looked every inch the fashionista.

As Thor managed to cross the street without smashing into cars or others, she stepped forward toward him, regardless if he noticed her or not. She smiled as she sashayed up to his side. "Darling, you seem in a good mood.." She drawled prettily, tossing her curls over her shoulder.


The big apple is a big apple bake, smelling heavily of diesel and sulfurous fumes, sticky tar and a crust of mildewy sweat to top it all off. The pressure cooker lid balanced on the points of the skyscrapers assures even the most seasoned, jaded urbanites look twice over their shoulders or honk hard at the chronically double-parked taxis when they might let it go. Subways belch out foul breezes to stir up the stagnant air, swaying around the thin, permeable cotton layers dashed in elegant embroidery that would put the Bayeux Tapestry to shame. Emerging from one shaded street, a tall redhead sweeps through the trudging masses of humanity. She halts for a moment at a vendor trying to earn his way, exchanging a few coins and folded bills for a white carnation from his pile of flowers hawked at anyone who might wish a brightened bit of colours.

Soon enough she tucks this into her fiery plaits, walking down the curb. More curiously for all and sundry might be those sandals, wrapped up her calves in a brace of leather snaps, like something about a millennium or two out of keeping and never trod around in the Americas. This is how the bohemian set make war, sunglasses in place and a curious, weathered paperback peeking out of her book bag.

It's all terribly exciting, especially when the florist bleats. "Stupid country boys, they come to the city and screw up everything. Ain't never seen traffic before. Wait—where you going, girl?"

It only makes matters worse when his former customer steps off the curb, timing the moment to when the traffic cabs three deep aren't going to let anyone speed through.

Good spirits indeed!

Regardless of the heat that is causing misery to untold peoples of this fair city, Thor, God of Thunder is in grand humor, and as the costumed Amora catches up, it takes him a couple of glances to catch whom it actually is who addresses him. Pausing in his step once again, Thor looks down at his friend and shakes his head, blue eyes gleaming, the smile still lurking there, "Amora.. you hide too well, and if you hide often, you shall disappear." His voice rises, however, and it's as if he'll be addressing the skies. "I now have found what those here call 'an apartment'." Perhaps a little too excited?

Rogue's headlong dash into the street of difficult if not ornery drivers gains Thor's attention, and in the next second, is leaping over the hoods of cars, vaulting over the tops while leaving dents in the metals, just to be sure that the lady crossing the street isn't squished. The mood of the commuters will undoubtedly be 'She deserved it'. Or, even better? 'Never saw her.'!

"My Lady, take care of where you cross!" As if Thor does?


Amora laughed, attempting to siddle up next to the Thunderer and hook her arm through his. "Don't tell your brother that, he thinks I'm as subtle as a hammer to the face." She murmured with a wink.

"An apartment? I should love to see it. Do you have a job too?" Her voice is rich with amusement, verging on the edge of laughter as she peered up at him from over the rim of her sunglasses. She fluttered her eyelashes and she grinned, flashing white teeth.

And then he was dashing off to rescuse a mortal in the most obvious and dramatic way she thought possible. Her smile dropped and she turned on her heels with folded arms to watch. A sigh dragged from her lips as mortals continued around her, some casting wary glances at Thor and more than a few cursing under their breaths. She smiled, waved at a few, and waited.

Yet she made no move to interfere or chase after Thor further.

Who in this creation balanced between nine realms can fail to be captivated by such grandiose displays of energy or delight? For surely someone who can seize life by the horns deserves a kind of prize for defying the stultifying weather that saps every last dram of will from even the hardiest New Yorker, ones who tell you about that scorcher back in '55, or the terrible heatwave in '54 when it hit 102'F and people started dropping like flies in the street.

It deserves to be said that Scarlett cuts a stark shape in turquoise on white, her gait expertly timed to the rhythms of the city for someone accustomed to them. She has no hesitation at all about departing from the illusory safety of the curb to reach the other side, or even start at the sight of a given broadbrimmed hat so like her own. One cannot discount the notion of familiarity, even as she makes her crossing.

Then the essence of sunshine distilled down to an imposing form and crowned with an ozone-crackling grin is calling out to her, and moreover, making an Olympian's advance on her tiny corner of Amsterdam Avenue. Drivers already short-tempered might have much to startle them out of their irate reverie, muttering about gridlock and poor urban planning that started in the Dutch era. Then they have a complete madman, probably from Australia or somewhere backwards, threading through traffic to rescue the startled damsel crowned in blossoms and intense verdant eyes widened to his onset. Behind, the adoring companion may be left waving in uncommon good humour.

Even a New Yorker knows better than to loiter midstreet, but the bohemian holds her ground anyways until he descends upon her. In a heartbeat she extends her gloved hand to him, the multitude of emotions tumbling over her countenance stabilizing in a trinity of curiosity, wonder, and restrained … something. "My lord? Have a care for yourself, for I wouldn't forgive myself if you came to harm for me."

"A job?" Is that the sound of a scoff? Merely a deep chested chuckle as he gives response. "No."

Thor is and will always be… Thor. Now that he's a little more humble, that is. And that is say a great deal for the great oaf, should one known and fully understand the Crown Prince's history, which Amora most certainly does. This charging into the street then? After a perceived mortal?

Well, that's new.

Making it to the center of the street without even a hint of hastened breath, Thor glances to the other side to see if Amora is alright where he'd left her before he returns his attention to Rogue. His head quirks as he picks the cadence from her tones, and his smile creeps up a little more as he hears an answering 'My Lord' in her speech.

"If a final breath were taken for your safey, it would be a breath well spent. Now, once these conveyances cease their noises, would you allow me the honor to escort you across so that you may continue your path?"


Naught would imply Scarlett is other than a stray pedestrian swept off her feet by a big damn hero, save perchance her willingness to wear tall, glorious leather sandals in a city where dogs and humans are known to defecate in the gutter or that uncanny, almost ethereal air about her. Naught but tigrine eyes shining bright as emeralds cast into her face, a cousin if not exact to the fashionista's favourite choice of accessory. Irony of ironies, they have a great deal in common in their favourite colours. And people.

Rarely has an education at Barnard College proven so valuable, nor the humanities courses overflowing from her timetables registered purposeful. Her smile softens as it deepens, perhaps playing the part though genuine intent rather than malicious seems to register. The girl wears pretty embroidered gloves for a day out, a vestige of a more elegant age about a decade ago.

"I would be delighted for such consideration shown to me," she says, the sunlight ablaze on her coppery hair. "Though I am unsure what makes me worthy of it."

Where he leads, she follows, and Amsterdam Avenue bustles with irritated drivers, idling engines, and beauty itself over there making some of the wait a little better.


A faint trace of a frown pulled at Amora's lips as she turned her gaze to the mortal the Thunderer had rushed off to 'save'. Recognition flickered in her verdant gaze and she shifted her weight from the back of one heel to the other, her hip cocked as she waited. A smile, just as razor sharp as a well honed knife pulled at her perfectly sculpted lips as she made her way to the curb to await the two's arrival.

"Darling, you know that at the rate you're going this city will have a fit about damage to their beloved modes of transportation." She called, a delicately manicured hand cupped to her lips. Her nails of course, painted a vibrant green.

An irritated commuter shot her a glare and a 'Do you know this guy?' with a look of disbelief. Amora smiled, and with her usual charm, ensared him.

"Oh, he's from out of the country." She whispered softly, and patted the man on his arm and sent him on his way.



Once upon the other side, and the street is indeed crossed (take that, Boy Scouts!), Thor is certain to be sure that the way is clear should the damsel decide to continue upon her journey. He bars her way in no way or obstructs her path. "Worthy?" The blond shrugs lightly before he consicers, "There was something." But beyond that, he really can't say.

Amora's approach from not too far distant is graced with a smile, and he brings his shoulders to rise again. "Should they decide to pilot their transportation in a manner that is not a danger, then perhaps they will find repairing their … cars…" Sounds like a new word to him before Thor continues, "Less expensive?" That isn't to say he's going to end up being the city's royal crossing guard, however!


Now all Scarlett needs is a kerchief in her hair, a shopping bag over her arm, and a dime to pay the nice young man with. Or a kingdom in dubious lack of a proper heir, and a ready match to add to the jewels in his Asgardian throne.

Only the three spinners under Yggdrasil's expansive branches know the secret of her, and they remain curiously mum about the whole affair.

Nonetheless, the gentle incandescence of the redhead's smile does not waver an iota. Whether she recognizes Amora from their prior encounters or no, it warms her sunny expression. A passing look behind the departing commuter sent off doesn't quite linger too long, pulled back in by the heavy gravity of her two new companions.

"I believe the city's been waiting for a collective improvement in navigating and parking for nearly a century now. It was no better when horses and carts were the norm." She traces her fingers along the outer curve of her cheekbone, securing her fiery hair. "Perhaps the distraction serves them right. They could use a lesson about safety." The matter is left to drop in easy measure, and she glances up to Thor. "You're new to the city? A pleasure to make your acquaintance." She sounds the part of the sophisticated New Yorker, though a trace of an accent indicative of tosh London or refined Savannah lies underneath. Though with that flaming hair, she could be Scandinavian to full-blooded Gaelic or aught between.


The Asgardian beauty made her way to Thor's side with a sway of her generous hips and click of her heels. A sigh dragged from her lips as she sauntered to Thor's side and attached herself there as if it were her sole right to do so. A slender hand made to hook around his bicep, a glittering glance spared for the red-headed mortal. "It would be just as dangerous to go stepping out in front of a carriage, or several." She murmured softly, laughter ringing her voice. "Still, this city is better planned for such modes of transport than many of its older relatives in Europe."

Amora reached up with a hand to adjust her sunglasses on her nose, an eyebrow hooking upwards as she glanced up at Thor. "As for repairing their cars, darling, you are most certainly a detriment to their existance. Perhaps we might start to call you carriage-bane?"


Thor is no linguist by any stretch. The familiar tones of Rogue's voice blend and meld with those of lands not visited, making any identification virtually impossible for the elder brother. (Not the smarter of the Princes!) But, what he lacks in mind, he does make up for in heart, and some might say, in body as well. "The City will grow as it will. I've been noticing such things of late."

The question as to whether or not he's new to the city gains something of a shrug once again. "I have been here before there was a city, aye, but once it was founded, no. I have returned anew, however, to see my way forward with you all." Thor inclines his head and extends his hand, though it's not as if to shake it, but to serve as a rest for Rogue's own for introduction, "Thor Odinson at your service, My Lady." And he's leaving off the titles?

Amora's attachment brings Thor's attention around again, and he chuckles, the sound deep. "Another to add, and would cause my father great consternation. I love it. Let it be so."


For a heartbeat, the world slips out of focus for anything further than the man holding her delicate, long-fingered hand. Stars come tumbling from their heavens and the moon wobbles off its orbit into the furthest reaches of space. Suns explode from superheated gas, burn out, and explode in the violent throes of their undoing in the epochs between an indraw of breath and the blink of sooty lashes. Cream complexion driven away of its animating blood glistens like a pearl, the ethereal element bringing her up onto her toes. Day inverts to night, solid ground to an endless precipice bubbling up with stars rotating to a dance beyond understanding.

A reckoning is to be reckoned in that instant.

"Scarlett," she replies softly, her words formed softly. "A friend, Thor felli fjornets." Hesitation lingers but for a moment. But one.

The thread is twisted, the shuttle thrown, and the cord snipped to its appropriate measure. Winding around their voices, she murmurs, "I know that kenning."


A sultry smile lit up her features as she pressed closer to her Prince's side as he chuckled and she brushed her hair back with her other hand. Golden trendils teased with a spidery silk against his arm and she laughed gently. "So it shall be so, darling. I'll make sure to note it, the skalds will befuddle themselves over the tales for sure." She winked as she finished speaking, falling silent for a long moment as he greeted Scarlet. Her smile faded, and the warm drained from her eyes as she watched with a viper's poise and stillness.

"It's a pleasure to meet one so educated in the Old Ways, Miss Scarlet." Her voice was barely above a whisper and it seemed as if the other noises around them became muffled for the few moments that Amora met her gaze and a clash of green on green occured.

"A rare woman indeed, to be in this city and know such things.."


Thor… Thor lives and breathes the universe, very much like his brother. Loki has a hand on the beatings of the Tree, as does Amora, no doubt, but the Crown Prince of Asgard doesn't have to search deep to tap, though his attunement isn't as refined. The meeting of the minds, then, seem to be a great deal more one-sided, though blue eyes look into Rogue's green and finds many, many similarities to those he knows and has known from his earliest of days.

The softly spoken words that come, however, from 'Scarlett's lips are indeed a surprise. It's when his gaze lingers before he inclines his head once again, and the smile comes forward a little more. One who knows who he is? Who he is? This… things really are not as the All Father would believe!

Once contact is broken and Thor can hear Amora's dulcet tones once more, he looks back with a 'hmm?' before he continues with an, "Ah, yes. We shall speak of it in the Halls, and the Warriors Three will die in jealousy that they weren't present for the vanquishing."

It's when the underlying great cat begins to prowl from under, that Thor makes note softly, "Amora, this is a good thing."


Some things are more terrible than the Allfather would believe. The crux is just that. Buried in the likeness of a flower-graced bohemian lies something beyond terrible and grand, vast and compressed to a single point. Belief.

She believes, eyes wide open, with the rational clarity of a child born to the postmodern age, one who does not bend the knee to a pantheon of media and Mammon. Faith entwined in a never-ending, never-starting channel of reason holds an inviolate place in time.

Congratulations, Asgard found one person who accepts on principle what they are. Odin can go and have complete fits, shout at Frigga for his slippers, and question his younger self's wisdom at inviting all those skalds that one time.

"Nor the bold and fearless slaughter of a great many steel chariots, swept off the field, that even the slightest lady might walk unassailed by the brutes," she muses, adding a certain cadence that cuts sidelong. Amora's attention is not a thing to reckon lightly even in the shattered minefield of her broken mind. Something within recognizes that danger even should she not fully comprehend precisely what the Enchantress is.

On the contrary, she knows when to accede by a delicate bow of her head, averting her gaze mildly. "A goblet rather than the sea of mead, ma'am."


It was only Thor's gentle side comment to her that broke the silent stare that Amora held firmly upon the mortal before her. Her stillness vanished and the seriousness of her expression melted away like a summer's breeze. A smile blossomed upon her features as she tilted her head back to peer up at the Crown Prince beside her. She tilted her head to lean against his muscled arm— her own hands still gently settled upon it. "I am merely surprised to see one that still lives the Old Ways and knows us for what we are. A rare and valuable gift is one such as she. I thought them all gone to time's mischief." She practically purred as she returned her gaze back to Rogue.

Amora studied her again, her gaze raking over the young woman's form. As if in an effort to deconstruct her and put her back together in a way that Amora might better understand how she came to be. "Tell me, Miss Scarlet, for I am dreadfully curious.. are you native to this city?"


To be continued..

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