1963-09-02 - Amora the Loveless
Summary: Amora grapples with the tough reality of having strawberry when she really wants vanilla. With sprinkles on top, even. Is that too much to ask?
Related: N/A
Theme Song: With Or Without You -- U2
rogue amora 

Amora sat opposite of Rogue at the ice cream stand, she had by no means asked the woman if she wanted to join her. More or less, simply teleported the both of them outside of the shop with a wave of her hand and little explanation. Still, Amora seemed like she wanted to speak with the redhead for some reason, even though she hadn't yet spoken as she ordered and paid for a strawberry icecream and sat.

A shapely leg bounced up and down with barely contained energy, as Amora sat dipping her spoon and swirling it around and around in her cup. Wide green rimmed sunglasses sat perched on her nose, hiding her gaze from the world. She was in her humane guise, as always. A backless sundress clung to her figure, drawing several mortal eyes, though she didn't seem the least bit interested. She neither preened nor flirted with a single male that was obviously interested in her.

Surprisingly, it was quite in their little corner of the ice cream shop, magically so almost. Which was very likely given that no one approached the two.


Poor Odinson and Laufeyson, losing out on the opportunity to admire Hnoss and Gersemi, the Norse goddesses of desire and treasures. How terribly sad they are dealing with their father by blood and adoption.

Her choice in ice cream being rather exciting, half lemon and half raspberry, she carries the small saucer with its demi scoops after the Enchantress. Manners serve in outstanding stead, a selection of napkins first laid down upon the tabletop and then her spoon and cup to follow. Scarlett is comfortable with being eclipsed, as much as one can, easing into a chair and crossing her feet at the ankles. Her gladiator-style sandals are daring for one cursed as she is, though the tight twists of leather cord through the foil-stamped loops doesn't allow for terribly much skin to show. Besides, she can wield a spoon with the best of them.

It is not her nature to necessarily interrupt, speaking when spoken to and not with a mouthful of tart, delicious fruit pureed into a sorbet of sorts.


Finally, Amora seemed to have finished enough of her ice cream to begin her tirade that was promised to come, as usual. She held up her spoon as if to punctuate her words, waving it about with each word. "I told Hercules that Loki called me a whore—and while he did not say that word exactly, he implied it. And acted as if he were being a gentleman for not saying it! The ass! I have never /once/ traded the pleasure of my bed for goods. Men have /offered/ me gifts regardless if I took them to bed or not. It's not my fault that they want to give me things. My beauty is simply such that they want to honor me. How does that make me a whore?" She takes another bite of the ice cream a bit too fiercely and ends up snapping the spoon between her fingers. She scowls, mutters a word and the spoon knits itself back together.

"And I don't sleep with /that/ many anyways. Most of the poor fools just throw themselves at me. Magic or no. Loki is just a jealous ass. He's a fun bed fellow but he's so cruel. I mean, I can't pretend that I'm not, darling, but at least I don't go around judging other people like that! As if he has room to talk." She snorted and rolled her eyes.

"So Hercules wants to defend my honor for the slight, of course, but the oaf is dumber than bricks. I swear, Asgard and Olympus have two brilliant All-fathers that produce such ham-handed sons.." She shook her head, curls bouncing and rolled her eyes.

"Even if they're handsome. It's too much to ask for beauty and brains from men, isn't it? If you do, then you get someone cruel and terrible it seems.."


'Tis plain to any goddess of desire, any matron of matrimony, and certainly any keeper of human hearts and immortal passions that Scarlett approaches such a matter the way one does, say, a blue-ringed octopus. Oh, exquisitely pretty and charming, also incredibly venomous to the point of lethal should she misstep from a narrow, winding path through alpine conversational topics clouded utterly by how little she does know.

Nonetheless, she listens to the tirade whilst slowly consuming her ice cream with a glacial slowness. Brows rise in copper threads when Amora insists she was denounced in that most egregious of fashions, a woman attacked for her sexuality. Eventually, though, she must speak.

"Is it common for ladies of high birth in your culture to freely pursue their romances?" The closest she can come to a chivalrous inquiry is that, couched in a way no magical bystander could entirely understand. "Is it customary for men of your own class offer such gifts, as well as others? Mark my intent, only to know what is commonplace. One can hardly accuse the bird for taking the fruit if the avian is trained to expect it."

Too much to ask for beauty and brains. She faintly shakes her head, giving credence at least to… something on that. "Many a virtue must be balanced by some shortcoming, else you have a perfect man with no desire to procreate. See also, Catholicism."


A heavy sigh dragged from ruby lips and Amora took another dollop of ice cream. "Well," She starts and stops, the spoon turning down between her fingers. "Technically, a man should ask the lady's father, or closest male relative." She paused and tilted her head to the side. "But since I lack all of those, I am my own woman entirely." A smile traced at her lips at that.

"It is considerably less common for ladies of high birth to take dalliances as it is for the men. Though it is not unheard of. Most ladies of the court are much as your mortal ladies were at one time. Valued for their ability to continue on blood-line and the alike. Granted, there's less of that issue of 'purity' or some such nonsense like those Catholics your mortals like to vaunt. Also there's very little of that unwanted children—magic and what not. Also children are so highly valued and rare anyways.." She shrugged.

"But back to your pointIt is typical for courtly romances and men to send gifts of various sortsit doesn't mean the lady in question needs to accept their attentions. More often than not it's expected she ultimately turn them down. Though again, cite back to male relative—which I lack. So it is merely up to my judgment on such matters." Another half sigh fell from her lips as she leaned back and recrossed her legs, propping her chin up with a hand.

"Asgard is —what do you mortals call it? 'Stuck in the past'?"


Acknowledgment comes by way of a nod as the young woman dips her spoon back into the sorbet, using the blunt edge to separate a small mouthful away. Lifting the utensil to her lips, Scarlett bows her head and dines in relative silence. A fact is simply acknowledged in a sound almost bordering on the music of a stifled, mirthless laugh when Amora explains ladies aren't to bed whomever they like. "Plus ca change, plus c'est la meme chose," she wisely murmurs. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

"A blessing women can choose when and how to conceive. Or is it the opposite, and fertility is the issue rather than the norm?" Asgard might be overrun otherwise. Or perhaps that explains so very much about the men leaping around Midgard in great, joyous abandon for every lovely thing they can possibly find. All said and done, she mixes a little lemon and frozen strawberry puree together, spinning and twisting them around and anew.

"You receive gifts of flattery in hopes you might accept a token, or simply because custom says that is the thing to do. Much like ambassadors receive gifts and deliver them, even if there is likely nothing in the world new to your king." No use of All-Father here, she's too canny for that. "It matters they make the attempt and the show of wealth, status, and observation. Should you deign to accept one, it is something quite different. And this somehow has offended the gentlemen in our acquaintance because their sense of propriety and nobility are offended, or they have not accurately judged the essential nature of what you are. It cannot quite hold up to their perspective upon the world, just as an agent representing truth would be very hard pressed to appreciate, let alone tolerate, how the professor takes such liberties. Yes?"


A thoughtful look crosses the Enchantress' features for a moment and then she shrugs. "We are a long lived race, women may have a child when they desire. Magic is the woman's domain by and large and many women choose when they wish to have one. Though it is often, at best, a difficult thing and many times does require magic. It is an odd balance." She murmured.

"Still, women are held to the double standard as many are here. Men can drink, toast and wench, but many noble ladies are frowned upon for joining in—simply not done so in the same manner your people do exactly." She pursed her lips together in thought, "I can accept gifts as they're laid at my feet, which does me little in terms of favor for my reputation true.. But I have not had an intact reputation for a very long time. Even by our standards." She shrugged lightly, a roll of her shoulders.

"I believe that our dear Professor simply wanted to upset me. And make no lie, it does irritate me. I wish to get him back soundly, which I will." She pointed the spoon upwards as she spoke and arched a golden brow upward as she leaned forward.

"The professor is very much a case of the kettle and pot both being made of iron and so are the same color. Yet he persists in naming me the one that's so." She huffed and shook her head. "Tis a foul thing, and unfair. Such as we two are. Constantly at each other's throats. We know each other too well and wound one another.."


"When you are close kin as you appear to be, naturally you will know the best ways to upset one another. Trust is an act of allowing another person to know about you personally. None can hurt us so well as those whom understand us best, and for all the Professor's faults and perceived indiscretions, you probably cannot argue he has your number. And you him," says Scarlett after a very long pause. She sets aside the bowl of fruit sorbet, mostly finished at this point. The spoon lies neatly over the mouth, forming a diagonal slant.

Having already speculated upon that, her posture shifts slightly and she draws a supine S-curve upon her chair, her forearms bracing against the lip of the table and her weight settled upon her hip. Flaming braids tumble down her shoulder, curling into the precipice of her flank, diverted by the merest alteration of posture. "Women do not have the liberty to behave freely here, in single or mixed company. Oh, some of us push the boundaries of acceptable behaviour and we stand in the crosshairs of any conservative critic who decides we are a scourge upon womankind, a sin to be expunged." Slim shoulders tip in a faint shrug. "That age is swiftly passing."

Scarlett rests her palms together, fingers steepled. "I will not and cannot critique upon what you, a woman grown, and he, a man in his majority, do outside my company. Such would open me to any number of unwelcome inquiries, and as it stands, I value your respective company enough to hold my tongue and my thoughts. Any Asgardian's interest in a mortal is likely tenuous, for we're but mayflies in your culture's view: birthed by dawn, dead by midnight, a flaming life in between." A blink of those surreal green eyes hints to the hue of the witchfire she summons, the same shade as the aurora borealis. "I don't wish to compromise what we have attained so soon into matters, especially knowing as I do that somewhere in your golden heart lies a pure and abiding desire that tells me you would turn the entirety of your passion upon the right figure, likely without fail and diversion, if destiny aligned just so. What a man or woman must be made of to withstand that, I know not, but your complement still waits out there in the world."


Amora blinks once, and then again in thought at Scarlett's word and she inclined her head slowly as she finished her cup of ice cream and set the spoon aside. She folded her hands, propping them up beneath her chin as she listened further to the woman's words. A cant of her head followed, turning golden curls shifting over her shoulders and catching the light as metal might. She paused in silence for a time, stilled out of her previous thoughts for a long time. Then she inhaled and slowly released the breath before she spoke.

"My heart still and forever will belong my Crown Prince." She grimaced, looking down at the table. "He is at once the only person I know that feels as he wants to in my presence no matter what—I cannot enchant him. It is.. a difficult thing to measure feelings as true or not when the world is enamored with your appearance as so many are." She murmured, reaching out a hand to scrape her nail against the top of the table.

"Beyond his beautywhich he has indeedhe is.. at once the kindest and most honest man I have ever met in my entire life. He isn't the crafty sort to lie or manipulate.. He's honorable, always has been. Nothing has broken his goodness at heart.. And I want to be good when I am around him. Better than I am.. He makes me want to be the nicer version of myself. The woman that he would deserve. But," She pursed her lips and hung her head slightly.

"He shall never love me the way I desire. Oh, I might secure him for a night, maybe even a dozen.. but love?" She shook her head and an arching sigh escaped her lips.

"I shall never have that. I'm sure it must be some trick of fate that so many love me and desire me but I shall never have what I want.."


"You mean, my lady, that he sees you for whom and what you are rather than being so overwhelmed by the shining nimbus of the sun." Scarlett borrows easily from astronomical definitions, gesturing to the window of the ice cream shop where only a thin sliver of the summer sky presents itself. "What glamorous air guards you does not prevent him from peering further. Therein lies the great conundrum. You can be sure his feelings and reactions are pure, for the man -does- rather have an air of… worthiness about him, doesn't he? I realize that's not the finest descriptor but I could consult a few dictionaries and not find the precise definition I want." There is probably a German one, somewhere, and it's twenty-four letters long.

A terrible curve of a lunar smile touches those full lips so given in their mobility to expressing moods of a various sort. Scarlett is young and pretty, though much eclipsed in current company. Fearless, in her way, to even tackle a situation for which she has no comparisons to speak of. What good is a soul thief understanding these matters?

She considers a moment, then replies, "Maybe your Crown Prince will not feel romantically towards you as you do for him. Perhaps he sets another beside him and then what? Is your heart full of an emptiness for what could be, or do you set forth to find someone who kindles the same passion to excel and exceed beyond yourself? I am not certain there will ever only be one such in the many realms you have been to. Though maybe I am wrong, maybe we find our hearts set upon the impossible and our unrequited state will be sung by poets and nasty bards who think they know everything about the psyche."

The faintest acid runs over her voice, diluted heavily by a pang of laughter almost teasing in its nature. "Even you, my lady, cannot see all ends. Have you consulted with the Sisters Three and had their iron-clad assurances about the truth of /your/ path in love and fertility and family? I suspect they don't divulge their truths freely even to the head of the family, though I dare to assume that. But then, I've dared to seize the rose now and then. It will forever hurt me to do it, but without it, I perish: a slow, long demise."


A shrug, a simple roll of her shoulders and Amora was leaning backward in her seat. This was what women did with friends, right? She had never had one this long before, much less with a mortal of all creatures. Yet here she was, in the ice cream parlor and this was.. good? She supposed this was what was meant by having a 'friend' in so many words.

"I do not think he shall ever feel toward me as I do for him, not with all the other ladies in his life. I might be the most beautiful woman in the Nine Realms, I /am/ the best woman at magic in Asgard, but that matters little to him. For all the reasons that I so adore him, so he does not feel the same for me." She shook her head, her voice soft and smooth.

"I have tried to find love, trust me, I have had this affliction for thousands of years. I do not favor it. I have sought love in all its many forms. I have consulted oracles, prophets, and even the thing known as 'love' at the ends of the universe.. And I have had no answer. Not a breath of who—if anyone, might be what I desire." A hand rose, propping up her chin as she leaned forward again, her other hand drumming against the table top.

"Do you know how galling it is? To be worshipped for centuries as a goddess of love, desire, lust and so on but never have what you want?"


Scarlett shakes her head, tucking a lock of hair escaped from her ubiquitous braid behind her ear. It will eventually slip free again, betrayed as the shade of a pure frost gathered upon a mountain slope rather than everything else that shines red. She never, in her lifetime, allows anything but her fox bright tresses to show.

"You are passing cute," she offers, and prepares to jerk back if Amora decides to slap her for the understatement of the year. "As for him, I am far less acquainted than you are. Would I had the means to improve on that, I would. Not because I fancy myself a contender but because he seems a genuinely friendly, approachable person with a terribly wry sense of humour."

A beat passes.

"But I told him so," she murmurs. "He laughed, and yet I was proved the right. They both allowed me that, and don't think for a moment I failed to note it." Oh yes, that bout of laughing at Amora's expense has never truly been forgotten but women are cannier to subtleties than men most of the time anyways. "Have you ever considered allowing love to find you? Mayhap in all your searches, you are missing its opportunity to come."

She cannot answer that last question, nor will she dare.

Because, as the Sisters Three know, love found her when time stopped.


A beat passes in a stunned silence for a long moment. Long enough that many might have twitched or started to shift restlessly in anticipation for their coming doom. Calling a woman such as Amora 'cute', was not something the Aesir woman had heard. It never happened. Not once in her long life did she recall being called 'cute'. Beautiful, gorgeous, and every other word that might describe such a woman in every language ever known had nearly been applied to her. However, 'cute' had long been absent.

A lift of her brows was the only reaction that Scarlett received for some time, before a wry smile pulled at her lips in a sardonic manner. "Cute, hmm?" She drawled, shifting in her seat. "Aren't you a bold one?"

Then she was reaching out a hand held out flat between them, palm toward Scarlett. There was no magic, merely a gesture meant to pause as many did. "Wait, you told the Thunderer that?" A smile warmed her features, less dry and more honest amusement. "Oh yes, that does sound as his reaction.." Her gaze fell and another sigh dragged from her.

"He is all that.." She trailed off again, and grimaced. "That is a fool's explanation. One does not simply find what they cease to look for. I have had decades when I do not active 'look' for love, fair enough. Yet I have not seen a soul that sparks such feelings." She paused, "I do not think I can some days. That it be an impossible thing outside of my Prince."


Maybe in the dim twilight of Asgard, when Odin had black hair, two eyes, and a cocky grin, Amora was cute. A tiny waif of coltish limbs and snubbed nose, melting smiles and playful giggles: it wouldn't be hard to imagine. By the same token, golden brother and shadowy mirror might be called sunny and sly together.

The mortal response is even more deadpan than before. "So they tell me." A pause. "Usually before they shoot."

It may not be wise to inquire into the nature of Scarlett's extracurricular activities. Suspicions might mount regarding suppression of information and probability of why they shot.

Amora's inquiry is met by a nod, and the redhead pushes the bowl further aside. "Quite so. They both had a very jolly laugh and then proceeded to discover, after they stopped, they were quite wrong in their assessment." Let it warm whatever cockles of the Enchantress' heart that the news may.

"You know more of love, romance, and desire than I. I would imagine if you are attuned to one focus so strongly, you may not be sensing other, softer wavelengths. I know light." Scarlett takes the task from another angle, holding up her hand. "Were I to try, I form lightning, flame, ice, and possibly a blob of water. That proves especially messy. As yet, rock will not appear. The last time I tried, the stone… disastrous, let's say. But, my lady, I cannot hear stone the way I hear light. If you are disposed towards your beloved, you might not know when someone else is trying to talk and attract your attention."


Questions about why someone was shooting at her, or what the woman was doing to lead up to that were not about to leap to the Enchantress' lips. For a being much too consumed with her own centuries long drama, a simple off hand comment was lost easily. Especially since it was on a topic so belovedly close to the Asgardian's heart such as love and finding it.

"I can run several different spells at once. My lips are enchanted constantly to enslave the mind of those I kiss. It is basic and runs without any thought from me these days. I attune myself magically to the beauty ideals of whatever culture I interact withthis is again, done without thought constantly. It takes effort to me to mute it more than to power it.." She murmured, "Yet all of this does not distract me from teleportation, elemental use, energy spells of various kinds. When you live as long as I do, multitasking becomes quite easyI would not put that as a good example exactly."

"I take lovers all the time when amused, even when my Prince is well on my mind. I have Hercules in my bed, and it is no feat. The man is powerful, muscled, handsome and from a high standing within Olympus. By all rights I should feel /something/ for him when he and the Thunderer share so many traits. But he remains a toy.. nothing more."


Clearly the multitasking comment is lost, for the mortal young woman shakes her head slowly. Facts will be settled away, assuredly. "I mean you hold so dearly to your icon of desire that you might never consider another candidate. It's hard to live up to the sweet intoxication of what you most want, yes? Someone may have stirred you but you perhaps didn't feel those inklings immediately?"

Even gods can be blind. Or apparently less desirable in bed than others. Danger, Will Robinson!

"I can be grateful to remain eternally upon the sidelines," she adds, a playful curve of her mouth matching her curled fingers supporting her chin atop the soft mount of her palm.

"So he doesn't charm you the way the golden sun will. Whatever will you do?" It's an old chestnut for some. Therein lies the rub for Asgardians; to mortals, all the stories are new!


A considering look flits over Amora's features for a brief moment and was chased away again. Stubborn determination seemed to be a trait both the God of Thunder and Amora shared in common at least. Even if it was blindly done.

"Of course I have considered other candidates! But they all are just.." She exhaled a long breath of a sigh.

"They're too easy? No that is not it. If it was so I'd be interest in the Sorcerer Supreme more than simply amusement. No.." She drummed her fingers against the table top and huffed a breath of a sigh.

"And it's not simply the ability that they resist my enchantments either. Because Loki can—he has his own magic to do so. And I most certainly do not harbor feelings for him like I do the Thunderer. It's just.." She pursed her lips together and dragged a hand through her hair.

"No one has ever made me like as I do for Thor. It isn't down to some simple thing, such as his crown. I'd be happy to be by his side even if he didn't have it. If he were cast out permanently or even made mortal. I would seek him out because it's /him/. That is love, is it not? I do not feel such things for any other being in existence. I have /tried/." Another sigh, clearly, the near immortal, powerful Asgardian suffered greatly in this.

"It is not as if I do not experiment with lovers at great length. I have even played at being a fairy wife to mortals in the past.."


The soul sings, the heart cries, the psyche begs for things it cannot name. Such is the curse of Scarlett, she of no name, as much as Amora the Enchantress.

"More ice cream," the bohemian resolves the matter. "Good music, for this is beyond simple poetry. Perhaps a romp in the flowers. No doubt you need these in several spades."

Of course the girl with a witch's garden, made somewhat unwittingly, would know such things. Her dreamy reverie solidifies into a plan of action involving an empty bowl. "What is it, my lady, that you want most out of life? What do you turn all your energies upon?"

The same has been asked of her time and again, and while she is stuck all alone between the shuttle and loom and fate, what becomes of her is not something the bohemian focuses upon.


A raise of golden brows follow the statement of more ice cream and good music. A hand waves and then several more dishes of various types appear before them. Clearly, Scarlett could have only meant ice cream right now and not at some point in the future. "Are you suggesting an actual walk or skip through flowers or that I take a man to bed there?" She asked with a faint trace of confusion in her voice.

Amora took up one of the dishes she had summoned, spoon in hand and leaned back, taking a bite regardless of the mortal's answer. "What do I want? Is this a realistically what I desire out of life, or a what I desire above all else in a dreaming sort that shall be simply impossible. Because I do believe you were with Loki when he walked within my dreams—I looked through my crystal to see the past. As I do not recall it still, and as such I think you know what I desire.." She added.

"Long term? I have no true plans besides finding some immutable idea of happiness. For a long time I've thought the Thunderer the key to that." She grimaced looking at her ice cream. "Realistically I realize that is foolish to do. Short term? I wish to lift my exile and return home. That in short order is what I want from life. What I get?" She arched a brow.

"Think about the first time a man recognized you not for a person but as an object of desire. Think about how young I was when I first gained such attention. How young your mortal world was then." Her voice was soft. "It's easy, to gain a man's attention, his desire for my body. My beauty. I get that. I get men in my bed. Do I desire it? Sometimes. But most of the time it's to stave off the ever increasingly long days that are filled with little and less. For what else can I do when I have already lived as I have?" She shrugged.


Holding up the spoon, Scarlett wields the long-handled utensil deftly as any painter plucked up a brush before setting it upon his canvas. She forfeits the clarification when the Asgardian sorceress answers the question she harbours in one of its nuances. Then she elaborates on the possibilities of what she seeks to bring an end, touching upon the elusive wishes and the profound circumstances that balance her life.

"I could not tell you when that was," the redhead interjects a statement. "Reliably I might give a vague estimate. Not an accurate memory, and certainly not enough to hold up to your explanation." She might be jesting.

And very likely she is not, the answer held in the slim digits splayed against the side of a bowl to capture its chill. "For reason, the professor warned I should not be idly approached. You stand in the charmed embrace of your lovers, and that eases the pain, yes? Or the long, terrible sweep of hours and days without end."

"There lies a very distinct necessity to fill those hours. What else can you do but explore the bleeding edge of progress, in science as in society and every other pastime there is, discovering and plumbing the depths of existence. Perchance you will find the staircase up to the back of your house, something unlocked." Musing becomes a simple fact. "Realistically, you have terrible and vast resources to put towards a grand aim."


Another scrape of spoon against the dish follows as Amora helps herself to ever more ice cream to fill the silence in the gaps between their conversation. She shrugged again, a slow roll of her shapely shoulders. "What your people call science, my people call magic in many forms. I am well versed in it. And as you say, I have terrible and vast resources to access if I so desire at any given time." She pursed her lips together and eyed Scarlett.

"I find amusement and a small break in the days when I have a decent lover to bide my time with. A physical pleasure to pass the time, and rarely a mental one follows." Never mind that the God of Tricks and Lies frequently provided both in some way.

"As to your physical issues.." She arched a brow upwards, "Loki mentioned that to me. I thought to offer you some spell or some such that might temporarily allow you to touch another, if you so desire." She tilted her head poking the spoon in the redhead's direction.

"But you would have to formally ask that of me and I would have to formally accept some measure of payment—be it something small like a 'thank you' or your first freed embrace, for instance.."


"Or the first invitation to partake of the gladness one properly should show in the eldest forms of reverence, recalled in the hymns and chipped marbles, the cracked imagery laid low under the swirling, heat-baked sands forbidden to us by generations of fearful patriarchs who wish women to be deceived by their fair and tender messages?"

Scarlett is bold, this is clear, striking out on her own to conjure up some illusory notion. "My existence is circumscribed by the nature of what I am, and those great experts in a field so freshly made it scarcely has name acclaim my sins will be mine to wreak havoc with for many years to come. Presuming, of course, I live that long. Bad habits die rather hard, I admit, but if you were to provide such a thing I would ask it be in conjunction with the professor. Not that I doubt your capacity."

A pause there. "But something of a professional capacity, respect for your arts. The matter hangs in a balance for me. Do I misstep, the circumstances for me are unpleasant."

Like, say, a god charged by ennui after joy. Or, you know, death.


A nod follows, ready acceptance to the condition that she work such magic with Loki as if it were expected. "I'll speak with him and see if he has any workings in mind that might work. Granted, that would change the cost of it in the asking. Your debt would belong partially to him. But if you desire it, I'm sure he shall not refuse you. He has an interest in you at the moment after all.." She murmured and waved a hand as if to dismiss the idea.

"Anyways.. as I was saying before all this.. I had told Hercules of such issue with Loki before. And as a result, he was confused when he saw the two Princes and proceeded to mix them up. He was ready to attack the Thunderer on that street. Which would be /not/ what I want. I just wanted to clarify that in regards to my vanishing the other day." A smile and a wink followed and then she was setting aside the ice cream dish.

"How strange today is.. I have never had a mortal woman talk with me such lengths so cordially." She mused as she stood, and stretched her arms over her head. "I find I enjoy your company, Scarlett. Though I think I shall be off for now. Until another time.." She murmured, nodded and once more vanished into a poof of green smoke.

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