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New Yorkers, however much a hardy breed, take to the shelter of their brownstones and brick walkups when cumulonimbus clouds gather in thick steel-grey sheets, and the low ceiling swallows up the familiar outlines of the highest skyscrapers. The most blase performers batten down the hatches in Greenwich Village, drawn to the basement clubs and the snug theatres. Audiences turn their backs to trouble in the most urbanite fashions, hunkering down into their seats or acting as though nothing the least is amiss. Doors shut on trouble, and lights blazing brilliantly into the gathering darkness defy what nameless, formless terrors lurk just beyond sight.
Twilight gathers her dusty blue and violet skirts to herself, the lonely hour dipping away from supper into the dregs of nightfall. However, evening still reigns in that rarest hour owned purely by itself, and the soft, hazy shadows grow long while an absent moon rides behind the unpropitious sky. Several candles float in basins squaring the directions, shielded by simple tin and glass lanterns punched by a Turkish design. Lush greenery dominates the rooftop of the Albert Building, lovingly tended into a private, living sanctuary.
Heady scents of petrichor and peonies linger here, and amidst them, the neroli trademark that might be familiar. Nodding leaves and drooping vines lie over the bower where she works, though her silhouette is plainly visible and anyone seeking her has quite the crash pad to choose from. She brushed away a central space to multitask, reading and marking notations on a block of paper while arched in a yoga asana that curves the line of her spine all the way to her hips, her shoulders thrown back.
Runes are cast before her, and two witchlights merrily burn around them without an obvious source. The colour is an auroral green, that unearthly shade known only at high latitudes.
*
Perhaps one can hear it, the far off rumbles of the evening's sky. It's unsettled as if undecided which way it should go… shall it grow darker yet lighter so with a light show of lightning such as the previous evening? Or perhaps a wind from off the water will grant some reprieve and some normalcy to the weather patterns which have been unpredictable as of late.
And the reason?
Thor, God of Thunder, flies at night, blue eyes searching for a figure. He's checked in multiple places, gathered leads, and here… here is where his search has led him. With Mjolnir as an aid to flight, the swinging of the great hammer ceases as booted feet hit the roof, knees bending in the landing. In the next moment, the hammer is set to his side, and he looks around once more to get his bearings.
Scarlett… in.. arch?
Clearing his throat, to give fair warning of his presence (as if she couldn't tell before?), Thor approaches, his manner heavy and his mien one of concern. "My Lady Scarlett," he begins, "have you seen my brother this day?" Not one to beat around the bush. Not today.
*
Discontent in the upper atmosphere may be nothing new, the dissonant rumble pouring across the cloud-choked horizon. Sulfurous lights shine a weird yellow glow to their underbellies, suggesting fantastical shapes in the cotton masses above. Ten storeys up in the air, the bohemian has more to concern herself with than the crowds lured into performances and coffeehouses for shelter. She scarce blinks when the booms come closer, not until they start rattling the thin, cheap glass in metal lantern frames or the ground resonates wo the tiny shudders.
Scarlett is in a modified version of an upface dog, but the posture she adopts requires — nigh demands — intense core strength, engaged muscles that support her completely upright from the hips. Her shoulders drawn back give some vague resemblance to a sphinx or a warrior carved from marble, ready to strike, even if she stares at the stream of text printed on a textbook on the left hand, or a silver bowl in the middle, or a pile of notes from varied students given the changing writing on the right. All of these are weighted down by stones, save the bowl.
None of them will survive the hissing winds, the churning atmosphere as the Prince of Asgard lands on her rooftop. Her chin lifts and it might be harrowing to see the precise, exact shade of green shared by that other prince staring out her eyes.
The hammer earns a glance, then she gazes up back to Thor. Knees tuck under her and she moves to rise, showing a sinuous grace last observed in Muspelheim and very few other places. By the time he descends to her, she stands amidst the greenery flourishing here as nowhere else, closer to sun and sky. "No, my lord," she replies to him, giving a slight shake of her head. "Only in thought and dream, but no sending from him and nothing in the flesh. I worry."
As saying the sea might be wet.
*
The news, as told to him, brings a scowl to the elder brother's face and Thor nods slowly. "'Tis like him and unlike him," is muttered, and he spins around, looking around as if perhaps he'll catch a fleeting glimpse of the Trickster. "Damn."
Slowly Thor turns back around, and his head cocks slightly, brows rising in prelude to a question, "If I may ask," begins it, but from the tones, he's not really asking permission- the question will come of its accord. "What are you to my brother? He has told me some of his life here, but little of the people within it." He exhales and rolls a hand, "Are you friend? Apprentice? Lover? Wife?" Thor did catch the 'only in thought and dream', and he continues, "And he to you?" He tries to temper it a little, and his voice drops, "I would that you speak plainly for if there is trouble for my brother, I would wish you not in harms way. There is a difference here between those of Muspelheim and my homeland of Asgard."
*
"No, my lord, 'tis not. If he tarried too long in Asgard, I must do what I can to bring him back, if he wishes that." Her grave words add an unusual burden of weight upon her soprano voice, and Scarlett in spite of herself draws into a slightly more upright posture when Thor frowns. A plentitude of reasons compel her, the least of them owning up to drawing an independent conclusion.
How heavily the burden lies upon him, a shadow of the Trickster's absence renders the laughing bohemian into uncustomary solemnity. Her full lips lengthen slightly in the succession of questions tumbling into her lap, and surely he can identify loyalty staring out through her eyes, a struggle drawn in the fair, fine-boned lines of her fey face.
"If only." Words slip free, unbidden, in Old Norse. It makes no difference, given the blessings of Asgard upon its children to comprehend. "What I am to him," she says, "only he can answer." Her hands open to the sides, a gesture of peace as ancient as civilisation on Earth itself.
Halting again, the ghost of a smile blossoms. "And I? I love him, my lord."
*
Amora has arrived.
*
Thor shakes his head, "Aye, 'tis. I know my brother passing well, Lady Scarlett. There could be numerous things that would compel my brother to either stay on Asgard or find business elsewhere." Like Mother.
Her responses look to only frustrate him further, and he exhales in an audible breath. "I mean, are you his apprentice? Does he search you out to teach you, to learn from you?" He's worked out the 'not the lover' and 'not the wife' thing, but now? "This you can answer me."
The skies answer his mood with a rumble that seems closer yet than the outlying noises only moments earlier. "IF there is problem on Asgard I am weighing merit heavily on who of Loki's gathered may come with me and who should remain behind. Going to Asgard, as I said, is no trifling matter. You may get as close as the Bifrost, but if Heimdall wishes you not to enter, you shall not. You need convince me so that I may give him my orders." Unless, of course, Odin's already nixed that.
*
She does not argue his knowledge of a man roughly thirty centuries her senior, and much of that life shared with no less a figure. All the same, Thor's perplexed reaction cause her to drive her teeth against the inside of her lip to focus her thoughts upon the sting.
"Forgive me, my lord, I meant to say I do not know the depth of his feelings for me. I would not misspeak of them to you, and leave an impression which was inaccurate or untrue." The god of lies, finding himself a songbird of verity. Stranger things have happened in the course of history. Scarlett's expression does not flinch from the inquiries delivered upon her, even in the rumble of thunder. "He is my teacher at Columbia and in the mystic arts, along with the Sorcerer Supreme of Midgard. I am his companion and perhaps his friend, and my loyalty to him is near absolute. If he would harm this place and those causes I hold dear, then I would persuade him against such undertakings if possible."
Her fingers curl against one of the maple leaves, the branches of a small birch demanding their due. Verdant foliage coils around her wrist, doing what no sentient thing may without risking life and limb. "He feared that the All-Father would act poorly upon this plan of his, as much as he held greater hopes for your freedom. If I can help you, and he, I will."
*
A chuckle echoed out in the space between the two, before a flicker of light appeared and Amora's figure swirled into being a breath away from Rogue. Her hand, lifted to ghost around the redhead's hair without touching, reached over her to pluck a leaf from the tree. "Did I not tell you these same words, Thunderer?" She coo'ed, a golden brow raised high upon her brow.
"I see once more you doubt my honesty.." She drawled, stepping back and crumpling the leave in her hand, scattering the remains as she walked around the woman. Her figure was clad in her mortal guise. High waisted jeans hugged her ample hips, and a loose, green silk dress-shirt fluttered in the air with each movement she gave.
"Scarlett, my dear girl. You forgot to mention that I have trained you in the women's arts. Loki and the Sorcerer Supreme might teach you the basics, but they can never tell you how to weave or spin as the Norns do. Never mind that you'll never learn it from a better teacher in all the Nine Realms." She winked, over her shoulder toward Scarlett as she spoke, sauntering toward Thor and making to try to hook her arm through his if allowed. A decided spring in her step.
*
Thor chuckles, the mood passing quickly and he bobs his head in a nod. "I understand it well. Loki does have a way about him. And aye, he isn't wrong; the All-Father, our father, is difficult to speak to. And when we believe him to be incorrect?" Another chuckle comes and he shakes his head as he steps aside so as not to seem intimidating, just in case. "Even Loki cannot sway him, and of the two of us, his words are the more likely to do so."
Though now that he's understanding more, Thor turns briefly to look out at the city's lights. "IF Loki requires aid on Asgard," and he spins around to underscore just as Amora appears, "Your loyalty to him will serve you ill should the All-Father hear of it." The word 'if' is enunciated just for her. "You must also remember, he is a Prince and as such, there are things we are required to do. He may not be in any trouble at all, given that I am here, and he is the only son now home on Asgard." Yes, Thor just intimated that Loki may now be Crown Prince.
When Amora hooks her arm, Thor chuffs a soft breath and brows rise, "Certainly you're not insulted that I seek out others with whom my brother holds affairs, Amora?"
*
Graceful fingertips skim along the branch and disentangle two recent shoots of growth from their surrounding thicket, a tending as gentle as can be. Amora may well recognize the myriad flowers, not just the drifts of poppies and peonies lending their scented adornment to Scarlett's braids, but the selections of herbs and flowers all holding particular correspondences to a seasoned student of the arcane. Even if their gardener does not understand the full significance, she holds a fairly well-stocked larder on the rooftop of her flat.
The chuckle dispels all fears, and seconds later, the blonde Asgardian solidifies them all over again. She averts her gaze in the familiar whisper betokening Amora's arrival, though the bewitching woman's voice and gestures are enough to eclipse the mortal in the full, and how she feels about that no one alive will ever know. Some secrets are meant to be carried to the death. "I was uncertain whether you would take offense of my claims of such, my lady. Please take no offense. I merely aim to be mindful, given the circumstances."
They tread a cautious line, all of them, however they might roam. Her most of all in some ways, allowing her attention to fall inwards upon the couple and focus there in all the burning intensity akin to staring into the sun. "If, my lord. Nonetheless, I gave my word and my offer stands. Such as I can offer, I will give."
*
A lean forward closer toward the Prince and Amora was practically plastered up against his side, before she used his arm to lean back playfully as she made a short sound of another laugh. "Insulted? By you, my dear Prince? I believe that is your brother's task." She sighed, and clicked her tongue, shaking her head and sending the halo of gold that was her hair bouncing.
"I think the cause of most concern, Thor would be thus.. Your brother would send word if he was able, as he knows many await him here. Which implies that he is unable to, or is unwillingly to. Both are cause for concern. We all know that the All-father desires your return to Asgard. Sending Loki certainly ensured that. As.. since when is it possible for one brother to go without another for long?" She arched a brow upwards to him.
"Especially since your reunion? Loki would not leave his works here on Midgard undone. Not now.." Her voice was soft and she shifted her weight upon her toes, green eyes that so matched the Trickster God's in mischief and devilish thought and color scanned over the Thunderer and present mortal.
"If your father desired you home before, regardless of what Loki did or did not do.. then it stands to reason that by just demanding he remain, he might bring you home?" She arched a brow and with a swaggering step swung around behind Thor to shift her arm through to his other side. Her gaze alighting upon Scarlett once more, a smile tugging at her lips in a bemused fashion.
"I told the Thunderer that you would desire to come. My plan being that you would act as my hand-maiden. If I arrive on Thor's arm with all the due course that is expected of a woman traveling with the Prince it would be expected. As a thank-you for your care on Midgard of course, you'd simply have to follow your mistress until such a time as the wedding or some such nonsense would be. At least, so would the court would assume.." She practically purred the words out, laughter and mirth tickling the edges of her voice.
*
Thor steps very much like the bull in a china shop while his brother dances within the realm of nuances. Any tipping done by Loki is by design and purpose, as opposed to Thor's own brusque manner. But, Amora is correct; one brother is not long without the other, regardless of circumstance. Why they were apart a century and a half is anyone's guess- including the pair of Princes'.
Of course Amora knows this.
"Very well, Lady Scarlett." What else can he say?
Now, as the enchantress makes her arguments known, Thor watches as she flits about, looking back as she moves from side to side. "If he is unwiling, that is a different matter, Amora. It would be concern for us, and not him. If he is unable to, then it is both a concern for us and him." And Asgard.
He exhales in a sigh and his head bounces, "Aye.. and the perfect way to assure my return would be to somehow cause Loki's departure to be delayed." That's as far as he'll allow. A delay. "Because Father would know that I could not allow it." There are so few of those that Thor would come back for; he can count them on one hand. Literally. "I would not put it past our father to make such a demand."
Thor watches as she slides back to the other side, her arm winding its way back to hold his. "Now.. wait Amora.." and he takes a step back. "There was naught said about a wedding. Or a presumed wedding."
*
When honesty achieves nothing, retreat into diplomacy. When caution and tact prove about as useful as a dorsal fin on a dragonfly, Scarlett turns aside to capture the silver bowl full of water and the handful of stones laid out upon a simple bag. She gathers them up in her palm, dropping the tokens into the thick, dark cotton and shaking them until their rattle chimes on the wind.
She shakes four free and casts them down in the fluid grace of practice, each falling at a cardinal point before her feet. One of the poppies in her hair dislodges as the bohemian tips forward to interpret the outcome of the divination, her long plaits cascading off her shoulder in a curtain shot by foxfire and golden highlights. The petals brush upright closest to bottom rune, the quartz standing almost clear as a chip of ice.
"I can fulfill the role, if you would kindly provide any instruction on expected behaviour, my lady," murmurs Scarlett, and her expression grows somewhat hazy, the results of the runecasting plain enough ror any who wish to look. "Would the All-Father not be taken aback by a Midgardian present among you?"
Berkana stands at the top, flanked by Ansuz and Isa, the base of Raido. Lines incised at brutal angles into the shaped stones give their impressions, glistening bright as a star.
*
As Thor steps back a pout crosses the Witch of Asgard's features, pulling at her cherry lips downwards momentarily before she reached out to poke him squarely in the chest. "I certainly am not saying it, but rather what the court will think and whisper. After all, my duty was to charm you back to Asgard and away from mortals. What else will be assumed? That I'm with child?" Her voice was coy and a smile turned lips upwards again.
"You shall have to pretend that you are in fact 'charmed' my dear Prince, otherwise it will all be for naught and your father will know immediately why you will return. He will suspect, of course he will, but if you pretend at being well and truly enamored with me.. it will distract him. And is that not the point? How else do you plan to investigate the palace or the city without arousing suspcion? I will scry for him, but if he is in the palace in a warded room and I am without, it shall be much harder to pin point the details.." She murmured, shaking her head slowly as she turned on her toes to peer at Scarlett as the woman cast the runes.
"I will tell you well ahead of time what would be expected, though you at least are a clever girl. You'll do well in our little deception. As I said before, you're a credit to Loki indeed." Her gaze fell to the runes and a breathy gust of a giggle escaped her lips.
"So the fates seem to agree Thunderer, we are going on a journey that will involve me and your brother it very well seems. How delightful. Time to show what you've learned, little apprentice…"
*
Thor is not one who knows or understands the Runes. When cast, it's usually by some old woman looking to make a point. A seer. Divination at its best. As they fall, then, the Thunderer looks down and actually crouches to see how they fall. Brows rise as he looks up first towards Rogue and then Scarlett, "And?" Is he supersitious? Could be.
"Odin is suspicious of any that enter our Realm, Lady Scarlett. Any who are not those of Asgard. The last time one of Midgard came, she was tested and failed." Jane. The one who was to be his Queen. "Father won't take kindly to any other that may come in without due reason such as Amora's." See? Thor's agreeing with the Enchantress!
Though now, as Amora explains things, Thor shakes his head slowly, "If I pretend to be, Mother at the very least will grow suspicious." This is going to be harder than it would appear, at least for him. "If Loki is about, I do have the guard to tell me. There are some who are loyal to me. After all, I am still their Prince." If Thor has any concerns as shared with Amora the other night, he's not letting on now.
"What do the Fates say?"
*
Scarlett sets her hand against her stomach, the other braced against the small of her back as a counterbalance. Tipped forward from the waist, she descends with an ultimately masterful display of unconscious physical control, scarce minding what the pair of them may think. "Respectfully so, I imagine. Why does an outsider come, what do they wish, and what impact will they have? Such thoughts weigh upon my mind, from time to time."
Whyever would she think such things is unspoken of, even while she teases out the message throughout the connection. "I read for the forces at work upon your brother's silence in Asgard, particularly an unseen conflict. Hence the quartz runes." Each stone might be mistaken for a shard of ice, a bit of glass. They are not. "The foundation of the issue, Berkana, is the family. This rune speaks to the possibility of a new beginning, a positive outcome to ventures undertaken with care." A pause. "Pregnancy, potentially." A topic not touched.
"What acts on the issue is Ansuz, literally the voice of good counsel. The voice of reason comes to deliver wisdom or knowledge where it is needed most, and it must be heard even if the terms are painful. If the family listens, they will know there is reason and good advice being given." She taps the rune upon the left.
Then to the right, another tap. "Isa also acts upon the matter of his absence. Isa, the rune of ice, can be exactly that; ice. Wait a moment for clarity instead of rushing into action, for there are old grievances and frustrations at play that will deafen everyone around us to the counsel so badly needed. I think there is an unwillingness to hear before those pains are redressed, but I am not sure. Isa is also a sign of treachery, ambushes, and deceit… though they do not imply this is your brother, but an outsider. It's in Heimdall's realm, this rune, and speaking of a source? I do not believe it comes from within your circle."
The girl reaches for the last piece. "Where efforts bring us, in the end, is symbolized here by Raido. Raido is the chariot and it means a ride. It could stand for a journey, that is obvious. But more importantly it means wise advice and good leadership guide one to make the right choice, and a new direction in life."
*
A shrug follows as Amora turned back toward Thor, looping her arms back behind her head and combing her fingers through her hair. "I have no intentions of attempting to decieve the Queen. Your lady mother holds far too subtle an intellect for me to attempt it. She knew well enough when Loki and I.." She trailed off, and shook her head, her lips in a curved, hooked grin.
"I'm counting on your mother to approach and tell us what goes on in her own time. You know she will, the Queen has too long kept the All-father's temper in check. Everyone knows she does, especially those in court. We need only convince your father and the court at large. Then, if Loki is hidden away, it will be easier for me to move unimpeded. That means you will have an act to upkeep, my Prince." A sultry smile crossed her expression, "You'll have to be convincing."
Then as Scarlett reads the runes she gestured, "Ansuz, good council — also the rune that the mortals connected to your brother most of all. Funny that. Still, a good reading Scarlett. You've grown considerably. Now — is there aught else we might cover before we set these plans into motion? Any other that should be included in our party from Midgard?"
*
They do look as bits of ice and Thor looks between the two women, trying to read anything upon their faces in terms of knowledge. Did Loki tell either of them the carefully hidden secret? It's in the next moment that the Thunderer shakes his head in response to the unspoken, unuttered question and makes an attempt at a smile and fails. Child? Pregnancy?
It all comes back to family, and it's that one subject Thor is loathe to bring to the fore. Of course they all have their problems; gods and men, immortals and mortals alike. Their issues are just… moreso.
"I thank you for the readings, Lady Scarlett.." and he coughs to clear his throat before he says more, "I will speak with you again when I have made my final decisions in terms of who will accompany me to Asgard." Thor turns to Amora and he inclines his head, "I will take your suggestions into account as well, Amora. Certainly it would go far to lift your exile…" but he's just got a feeling there is more than that.
He chuckles to look between the ladies again, "Lady Scarlett, heed the Lady Amora's words. My mother the Queen is perceptive in ways that go beyond simply motherhood. She knows all. Do not attempt to deceive her if she confronts you in private. It would not go well." A smirk rises before the words continue, "Would it, Amora?" He's picking on her, absolutely.
"If there is aught else, please tell me later. I have more to think about this evening. I have to speak with Princess Crystalia before I depart for Asgard…"
Without much more, Thor takes a step and inclines his head, "Ladies," before he takes Mjolnir in hand once again and begins the spinning.. and he's off.
*
"I should recommend the Sorcerer Supreme, Doctor Stephen Strange, if you are so inclined. He is loathe to see the realms in disorder or trouble brewed across them, and would give you at least an ally upon that front." The recommendation passes from Scarlett towards the Asgardian prince, quietly offered on the backbone of the Enchantress' question.
She inclines her head as she hears the warning given from Thor, and the look from her is almost horrified. Huge green eyes widen all the more, and Scarlett rocks back upon her heels a fraction. "I should not ever think to lie to your lady mother! She is your mother!" The impassioned response to that is, if nothing else, fairly startling perhaps.