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Warning for Amora being Amora. (Smooches)
The river itself is a blessing. It staves off the arid heat of the desert that encroaches not a mile away from the fertile banks. Being mindful of where he's stepping down, Dr. Strange leaves the end of a summoned tunnel between realities, with the distant end showing a rapidly-collapsing vision of the Sanctum's Loft and this end still broadly-spread and lined in glittering gold. He lets out a soft grunt as he lands on the ground, strewn with drying palm leaves, and glances back. With a gesture that flows through his loose wrists and fingers, he closes the rift. It shrinks down until it disappears into nothing with a small twinkle of light.
His steel-blue eyes quickly scan his surroundings. Crow's feet at the corners deepen as he takes in the wide, sluggishly-moving river before him, deceptively calm-looking with its silvery shimmers atop a muddy olive-green depth. His senses, mystically-heightened, have led him here on his search for a lost text. He pulls at his collar with a grimace before deciding to unbutton by two holes, revealing his collarbones and the Eye of Agamotto, on its golden length of chain, resting in the divot of his sternum. He wears no vest overtop this white dress shirt and his pants, normally black and meant more for formal wear, have been swapped for lightly-woven khaki. He still wears his combat boots and glares down at them; he can already feel his toes getting soggy.
It's hot. Very hot. As he stands in the shade, he tries very hard to latch onto that tremulous thread that led him here initially. He has no true idea where he is — perhaps somewhere near the Nile? — and there is no sign of civilization nearby despite the presence of the river. Perhaps he's stepped into a deserted area. He wipes at his brow before closing his eyes and attempting once more to ferret out that weak beacon of mystical power.
*
Amora had been up to her usual tricks again, more of searching out old relics and texts that she had long ago left behind on Migard some centuries before. Her magic was at a near historic low for her, and she used it sparingly. A glamour here. A transportation spell there. It would take ages for her to regain what she had lost, especially while she remained on Midgard. It called for her to take more drastic measures to regain some sense of normalcy.
Thus it was that the blonde haired beauty had struck out in the banks of the Nile where she'd played long ago. So long she'd forgotten as the terrain had changed, where exactly the entrance was to the temple that had once worshipped her.
A grunt of irritation followed as she stepped over a fallen palm tree, dressed in the very picture of a British explorer. Beige shorts, and top, matching hat and shoes. She looked like a toy version of all the adventurers that had been written in the last century or so. Her hair swished with each step, curls bouncing around her flushed cheeks as she followed the quartz that led her on this merry chase.
So focused was she on following it, that she missed the lone figure that appeared before her, so much so she nearly crashed into him. A surprised noise escaped her and she was quick to capture the small, floating, rock in both hands before her. "Oh! I beg your pardon!"
*
"Agamotto!" Strange bites out as his personal space is suddenly invaded by another being. He takes a quick step back, eyes wide, just in time to see the woman grab something out of the air with her hands. His own hands have risen up before him in an automatic gesture of self-defense, one angle of the wrist and hissed Word away from a deflecting magical shield.
As he figures out precisely who he's looking at, he's taken aback by how…stereotypical she looks. She's not at all local to the area, no — much too pale and her hair is retaining curls despite this heat. Strange won't admit aloud that he knows only so much about women, but one thing that always stuck with him from his earlier years of relationships was the complaint of frizz and heat destroying curls. His gaze, shadowed by his knitted brows, drops to her boots and back up as his mouth opens and closes before he finally finds the words he's looking for.
"What on earth are you doing out there? By yourself?" Never mind that he's clearly an interloper as well.
*
A golden brow rose as she eyed the man that she had quite literally stumbled upon, Amora tucks the quartz crystal neatly into the top of her shirt, a whispered word leaving it inert. She smoothed her hand down the top of her cleavage, and a smirk traced her rubied lips upwards as she inspected the man opposite of her. Her gaze lingering on the relic upon his neck with interest and a faint 'ah' fell from her lips. Then she was drawing closer to him with a sway of her hips, despite the rugged terrain she seemed to move quite gracefully.
"Well, I was out here looking for something I had lost.. but.." She drew her teeth over her lower lip as she dragged out the last word. Her voice low and sweet.
"I seem to have seem to have stumbled upon a very handsome man instead.."
*
Strange's throat bobbles visibly as he gets caught in conflicting gut reactions: freeze or flee. For all of his elegant trapping of Mystical knowledge — for all of his years of study in the Arts of protection — for the weight and heft of his title of Sorcerer Supreme: he is still struck by the sudden change in her posturing. The shift from startled to coy is astounding and clearly well-practiced. His hands are uncertain as they seemed to drop from their defensive position slowly, as if some hard-learned lesson deep within him warns him about first appearances.
"Er, I'm sorry, but lost?" he says, his voice lacking its usual deep and smooth tones.
*
Amora had no qualms with invading the man's personal space, infact she stepped right up to him, a breath away. A curving smile that was filled with promises and heated exchanges remained upon her lips as she reached out a hand to run a manicured finger down the side of his arm unless he pulled away from her. She nodded, fluttering thick eyelashes up at him.
"Yes, I lost something here a long time ago. Would you help me find it? I'm afraid I've quite forgotten where I want to go.." She draws out each word as she tilts her head back to peer up at him. Electric green eyes meeting his gaze with a half lidded tilt to lashes. She oozed closer to him, a hip brushing up against his side with an almost taunting motion.
*
His dark brows rise up nearly into his hairline as he feels the brush of her fingernail along the sleeve of his dress shirt, above where his sleeves have been rolled back to expose his upper arms. It's not the touch that makes him pull back from her, no — it's the frisson of goosebumps that run in counter-currents up and down his spine until his very skin feels electrified.
Strange takes a quick step back, putting himself once more within his secure personal space, and as he does so, the Eye of Agamotto disappears into a clenched fist. He grasps it tightly, an anchor for him, and he feels his hormones ebb, leaving his thoughts a bit clearer. Now, and only now, he's able to articulate his response and while he tries for deeply-affronted, it comes out tainted with pure human interest:
"Honestly - who do you think you are?" Suspicion is also slowly coloring this thoughts. She still hasn't truly explained what she's doing here, in the middle of nowhere.
*
As if she expected nothing less, Amora allows the mortal to draw back, her expression still fixed as she coyly turned her head to the side and held out a perfectly clean, manicured hand toward him. Her skin pale and unblemished, and decidedly not tracted with dirt from grubbing around the Nile river valley. "I'm Amora, Amora Incantare. A pleasure to meet you.. mister?" She arched a brow upwards, as if of course, introductions were necessary now.
She winked a him, sliding her gaze over his form again but this time with a hint of hunger edging the green of her gaze.
"Won't you help me?"
*
"…Strange," he finally replies in a hesitant tone, his eyes half-shuttered in now-visible suspicion on his features. He does note that her skin has no dirt on it, somehow, and wonders more at the wiles of the female half. He's already got dirt caked on his boots and he's barely moved from his initial arrival point.
A little voice in his head fairly screams at him as he reaches out one hand to return her offered hand-shake and one can see the hesitation not only in the shivering of his nerves (having nothing to do with emotion, merely from past damage to his hands), but also in how he pauses not an inch from her. There's something off about her and he can't quite figure it out. Still, proper manners dictate that they exchange greetings (and he can't bring himself to deny such a lovely woman) and he finally takes her fingers in his, gently trapping them beneath his thumb and crooked palm.
It's in the moment of bending down, to kiss that pearlescent skin in a courtly manner that he's conjured from gods-know what sort of romantic literature in his past, that he realizes…OH. He jerks back as if burned and grips his proffered hand to his chest, his mouth half-open in silent understanding. "You know of the Arts." His voice sounds strangled, as if logic is forcing the words from his lips.
*
It takes a moment of fluttering eyelashes for Amora to figure out that his word 'Strange' was not a comment or remark but his name. She drags her lower lip between her teeth as he takes her hand and makes to kiss it. Yet as he jerked back and, mouth agape, a faint laugh escaped her. Her voice smooth and warm as melted chocolate.
"Well done Mister Strange, that I do. And it would seem you as well." She tilted her head to the side, picking off her hat and shaking out the still perfect golden curls that spilled over her elfin features.
"I can only imagine that we're after the same thing. How miraculous that the wyrd should bring us together at this exact instant.." She tucked the hat under her arm and raked her gaze over him again. "Won't you join me?"
*
He swallows loudly and now that he's once again out of arm's reach of the wondrously-attractive Amora, he's able to school his addled mind back into basic function once again. Her penchant as a user of Magic and nearly-supernatural beauty were enough to turn him into a knock-kneed, twitter-pated fool. He feels the beginnings of a blush flood his cheeks and the tips of his ears as he takes in a deep sigh and lets it out slowly. The touch of color lingers, mostly due to - once again - hormones.
"Yes, I have knowledge of the Arts as well," he says. A droplet of sweat, proof of the heat even so close to the river, tickles as it runs down one temple and he brushes it away unconsciously. "And I don't believe in miracles, not anymore," he adds wryly, his upper curling in a faint sneer. "I'd feel much more inclined to join you if you would stop attempting to use your…wiles — " he stumbles a bit on his word choice, clearly still flustered by said wiles; "Stop using your wiles and explain what you're after." He folds his arms and tucks his hands away against his ribs.
*
Amora tossed back her head of curls with a hand, still smiling as she met his gaze again. Another rich, and throaty laugh escaping her as she watched him and he demanded she stop using her wiles. "What if I'm not using them, but rather that's just me when I find an unexpectedly handsome man, when I had expected to find only bugs and swamp?" She fluttered her eyelashes again.
"I find it shocking, that you can find the use of magic and those that practice it acceptable but not fate or miracles." She pouted, and folded her arm beneath her ample cleavage. With a swaggering gait she approached him again, hips swinging as she dropped the hat from under her arm and reached out toward him.
Her pale hands reaching to slide up his chest, attempting to clutch his shirt and pin him to a nearby palm tree. Her form leaning forward on her toes as she tried to steal a not so innocent kiss from the man. With all that it entailed.
*
He listens to her smooth words with teeth that were tightly-clenched and now in the process of loosening. It leaves his cheekbones not quite starkly in view, but he isn't comfortable enough that the hollows of his cheeks disappear. Quite frankly, he looks like he's still getting over chewing on a lemon. Him? He's the one to blame when her mere existence would be enough to drive any red-blooded male to wrenching his neck on the street? And wait, what? Handsome? He shifts his stance and relaxes a little as his ego begins to purr deep within.
Then she approaches him, hips all akimbo and swinging like a siren's pendulum and talking about his disbelief in miracles. His eyes are drawn to the placement of her arms — who wouldn't be? — and then his safety, the space between them, is abruptly nulled.
Her fingers, with surprising strength in their delicate length, suddenly wrinkle sections of his shirt and pull it taut against his back. His impulsive retreat, based solely around instinctive avoidance of danger, is stymied by the spine-jarring presence of an old palm with its wide trunk. The air escapes his lungs in a muted grunt and then —
Perhaps it wasn't the trunk that stole his breath, but the velvety softness of her lips that have captured his with all of the ease of ancient feminine knowledge. Cool and smooth, they mold over his mouth and seal in his half-hearted cry of shock that escapes mostly through his nose. His hands are paralyzed at his sides; something keeps him from touching her further, but it's getting very, very hard for him…for him to fight the desire to further the kiss.
*
Amora seemed to enjoy the fleeting struggle he gave against her lips, even as her arms smoothed over his chest to his shoulders and she took her time entangling her body against his. Her lips played a coy and playful twist, edged with a hunger that was far older than the magic user she locked lips with. After several heady moments, and only when his form finally gave way to her tender mercies, did she pull back.
Her curves draped over him, her gaze looking up at him through her eyelashes. It seemed in a breathless manner that the goddess smiled up at him languidly. "Won't you join me on a little adventure?" She practically purred out, against his lips. A hand reaching up to entangle with his hair.
"Don't leave me all alone out here…"
*
The scrape of her fingernails along the sides of his head, so entangled in his hair, leaves Strange quivering against the palm tree trunk. He's managed to keep his hands fisted at his sides and bolts of pain shoot up from damaged nerves as he squeezes his knuckles into bloodless white hues. The lances of agony clear some of the heady fog from his brain, but not enough for him to regain the clarity he needs to keep himself from making any grave mistakes. His chest rises and falls in marked breaths as he fights for air. She's still not an inch from his lips, lingering there with wanton ease, and he licks his dry lips.
"I, er…oh gods, I…I won't leave you alone," he finally says. It's not that he was compelled to say them, not in the least, but Amora has plucked his major strings and currently, his ego is composing quite the symphony. "What…what adventure? What do you need?" His eyes, dilated with lust, suddenly shrink and a confused expression creeps over his face. He shakes his head sharply, as if it will realign his mental faculties, and the beginnings of emergence from this haze cause him to shift against the palm tree trunk.
*
While one of Amora's hands remain massaging his scalp, her other works at unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt in an idle manner. She exhales a breath against his lips, her eyes fluttering as she kept her form pressed against him. Even as he shifted against the palm's trunk she edged her leg between his, pressing her advantage even further.
"I need you," She breathed, tilting her head to the side and pressing another kiss against his jaw and up toward his earlobe. "Help me find a little something here I lost. I can't find it on my own. I'm so very turned around. I,"
She nipped at the flesh of his neck, "need," another kiss, "a big," a lick, "strong…" She returned to his lips and stole another heady kiss from him. She didn't seem willing to give him the space it required for him to think this time. She nipped at his lower lip as she drew back again.
"Man.." She whispered finally.
*
"What…er, what…ah." Words are very, very difficult when a woman is nibbling on his neck. He feels the wobble of his Adam's apple brush against the soft curls of her hair and finds himself looking up at clear blue sky and sunlight shining down through the verdant spines of the palm leaves above him. A breeze whispers by, bringing in ghosts of parching heat from the far desert, and he's momentarily blinded by a ray that had been blocked by the thick fronds. He blinks, dropping his head automatically to save himself from more pain, and this allows her easy access to his lips.
Something…something is lost. What's lost? He's lost. The pain of her teeth nipping his bottom lip shocks some sense into him and he pulls away even as she pulls away, brows knitted in a very confused frown.
"What…what did you lose?" Always the seeker of information, Strange, even when pinned to a palm tree.
*
Amora leaned away from him then, a breath, a step. Giving him space as she unbuttoned the top of her shirt and pulled free the crystal upon a chain that she had been using. She made to try to press it into his hands, the crystal still warm from her body heat. "Use this? Please? I do not have the magic needed to power it to the refined point required to find the object in which I seek. Won't you help me?"
A flutter of eyelashes followed as she crossed her arms beneath her chest in a pleading manner.
*
The space that the woman gives seems to aid Strange more in emerging from his bewildered state. His chest still rises and falls rapidly. His skin seems to tremble with the need to follow her retreat; it actively misses the press of her weight against his and he swallows thickly as his eyes rest on her face.
The sensation of something being shoved into the hollow of his clenched fist makes him momentarily relax his grip and he glances down to see her hands urging a chained crystal, some sort of Mystical focus, between his half-numbed fingers and palm. She's asking for aid yet again, for finding an object…?
"I don't know what you're searching fo — " He grunts, eyes slamming shut and face contorted in an uncontrolled rictus of brief pain, as the Eye of Agamotto about his neck sings to the seeking crystal he now holds. The two magical foci create a complete circuit of eldritch energy from his chest down to his fingertips. He suddenly inhales a huge breath, collapsing back against the palm tree's trunk and grasping at it with his free hand. "Wha…what…?" he gasps, looking around until he realizes that Amora still stands before him. This time, he's able to stumble around the palm tree and put it between them. He gestures with the hand holding her seeking crystal, pointing one finger at her as his eyes glow with lambent energy: "Don't you touch me again."
*
Amora pouted, her lower lip stuck out and trembling faintly as she turned wide eyes upon him. "I thought you quite liked my affections." Her voice seemed to quaver with a false emotion, and she hugged her arms around her middle.
"I was looking for the Book of Giants.. if you must know.." She blinked her eyelashes repeatedly up at him, keeping her spot opposite of him without so much as a threatening step forward.
"Please, won't you help me?"
*
His nose wrinkles as he sees the subtle quivering of that bottom lip, but it's mostly self-disgust. He's finding more and more of his calm, centered, meditative self with each passing moment, but the trappings of hormones and the oldest urges known to mankind cling like heavy, heated weights to every one of his thoughts. The edges of the crystal's multifaceted surfaces cut into the palm of his tightening hand, further fighting against her lingering wiles.
Then she mentions the very name of the very text he's searching for. He straightens on the spot, eyes slightly widened, before scoffing. "Help you? Help you find the Book?" He glances down at the focus in his hand. The desert sunlight glints off of the golden chain and he winces, the surge of energy from his own Mystical charm calling yet again to the one in his hand. With a hiss, he begins to bring back his hand, as if to throw it far from him…and stops. No. No. Despite all of the preceding events…he remains a gentleman. "Take it," he growls, holding it out and away from him as far as he can. It zaps him a final time and the burst of energy makes his hand spasm; the crystal drops onto a dried palm leaf. He turns around on his heel and begins to stride away, hoping against hope that this is the last he's seen of the woman.
*
Of course as soon as the good Doctor dropped the crystal charm now so imbued with his magic, her own swirled around it and returned it to her palm as soon as his back was turned. She followed after him, a grin flashing over her features. "I wouldn't try to go too far without me, Mister Strange." She called, cupping a hand to her lips.
"It was mine for a time several centuries ago, and without me you'll never be able to unlock the protections and wards on it." She nimbly paced behind him, without so much as a pant of effort. She was all grace and easy steps.
The crystal, now imbued with her magic and the mortal sorcerer—she truly just wanted him to find it for her, but this could be amusing too. Floated up in the air after him, held by the chain circled around her hands.