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The sun is beginning to set. The colors of steel and glass make for a rainbow effect in the city's streets, so much more easily seen when one is floors above it all.
In an apartment that looks as if it is simply a place to sleep as opposed to a place to dwell, the God of Thunder has made his home. His 'chambers'. Some may know that this apartment that is right in the middle of Midtown, overlooking all the great sights of the city, had once belonged to Loki, but now Thor's taken it over. A shirt tossed here, one there; it is far less tidy than the more cerebral of brothers' residence, but neither is it too bad. Sitting upon the coffee table as a centerpiece, its handle pointed straight up, is Mjolnir. Thor isn't far away, that is, he's on the couch, his booted feet upon the edge of the table, and his head is rocked back, his arms outstretched along the back of the couch. This will probably be the last few real moments on Midgard before he has to go home. Home because Amora and Lady Scarlett have harassed him to the point where he will simply turn to say, 'I told you that he is fine!' when they do, indeed, find that is the case. Home to introduce Crystalia to the All Father and Mother to ask for permission to court, as requested by Crystalia. Home and to vouch for Amora and the fact that she had been the one to convince, coerce, contrive to bring him home, as per the All-Father's wishes, though not quite upon his arm…
*
Perhaps it would be considered rude even by Asgardian standards, to track down where her Crown Prince and beloved Thunder God was by use of magic. But Amora was perhaps, the least concerned with matters of prosperity when it came to such things. So she teleported to the apartment, the wards Loki had set up still there and strong, and knocked on the door to the apartment that she knew Thor currently resided in.
"Thor? It's me, Amora. May I come in?" She called from the other side of the door, her voice a false lightness as she stood outside waiting. Her figure still in a human guise, still the beautiful temptress that everyone knew her for.. Simply, mortal. She adjusted her grip on a purse slung over her shoulder, a sigh falling from her painted lips as she waited to hear a response.
*
"Verily, it seems that the Midgard style of dress seems to agree with you, Amora."
Where ever the hell that Sif came from?
One could consider her to stalk the lovely Amora; becoming an ever loving thorn in her side for her own personal amusement, or could it be, for the past few days that Sif was at least attempting to try to understand the woman who is considerably her rival. But either way, one armored boot thumps against the wall, her hands folded against her chest as she leans against her shield, which leans against the wall to keep the armored woman propped upright. Dark hair tucked into a long ponytail that accidentally weaves around the hilt of her sword but when moved, easily slips away.
"Perhaps he is currently tangled and entwined in the arms of his betrothed?" Sif reaches out to lightly flick at Amora's shoulder, rude as she is. "Do we think it be wise to intrude upon him so?"
*
It would be ruder still to simply teleport into the chambers itself, but that would leave the possibility of interrupting 'something', should that 'something' be occurring.
But it's not. This is just a whole lot different, a whole lot more formal, and after a talk with Fandral, a little more unsettling. Why can't anything be easy?
Blue eyes stare at the ceiling, and when the knock on the door sounds, followed by the sound of Amora's voice, he exhales in a sigh, pulls his arms in and pulls himself up and off the couch in a single fluid motion. When he wants to be graceful, he can be… and it's usually in feats of the physical.
"Yes, yes, I'm coming.." sounds in his bass tones. He opens the door enough before he turns around to give Amora… "Amora. Sif.. you're early, but come in." Beat. "There is fruit and cheese and .. bread, or something they call bread on the table." Wonder.
*
Amora glanced over her shoulder toward Sif, a smile curving at her lips. "Oh I would sense it, if that was the case. Loki built these wards, aye, but I know the magic that results in coupling. I would be well aware of what I was interrupting if I was." She murmured, her voice rich with laughter and her eyes twinkling.
% Then Thor's voice sounded and she stepped back from the door with a brilliant smile painted on her features and she moved to throw her arms around his waist and tried to press a kiss to his chin. "Oh darling, I wanted to talk with you before we got to Asgard. Lady Sif and I had the most fascinating chat yesterday in Alfheim. By the by, you'll be getting the bill for Princess Crystal's dresses. How could you even /think/ of bringing a lady of her standing to Asgard without proper attire? She'd be the laughing stock of the court. How you even expect to make her Queen is beyond me if the poor child didn't even realize how out of her depth fashion was." She tsked moving further into the room.
"Also, Lady Sif said she saw your brother, he's apparently mouthed off to your father and is a cell."
*
"You would." Sif remarks. And that was the only thing she murmurs about such a subject. For the door was thrown open, and the invitation to enter was accepted.. for half a moment until Amora throws herself upon Thor's waist.
There seems to be a little look of irritation that hangs upon Sif's features, her hand lifting to create an invisible barrier (not really, but still), squeezing herself through the threshold of the common apartment with rolled eyes and a touch of red that lines her cheeks.
"By the grace.." She mutters beneath herself, her current path taking her towards the concoctions of food that remains upon the platter, for what would call for bread was snatched up almost immediately and eyed suspiciously before she takes a testing bite. "How you could even take a mortal as Queen is far beyond my understanding, but story for another day."
Maybe he didn't hear her, but that would be fine, for the subject of Loki was quickly glossed over in a quickening spot which as Sif clopping down upon a seat. "He looks well. All things considered." And.. her quip about Loki was just as short.
*
Oof. Amora's latching on is both expected and un-, and so he pauses as the hug and the kiss is pressed upon him. It's with a well rehearsed move that he is able to at least partially extricate himself yet not send Amora on her way onto the sea of 'rejected!'; thus, contact is maintained and order is restored. He looks puzzled for a moment as the ocean of .. womanly chatter starts in waves. "Wait.. okay. You went shopping.. for Crystalia's dresses." Okay, that part is understood through the clucking and 'tsking' that was mustered against him. "I.." Okay. That battle is lost, though won as Amora moves further into the room. "And Sif… what?"
Blue eyes move towards the one person who is inarguably Thor's best friend, confidante, and brows rise. (It's not that Amora isn't a friend, it's just.. different.) "Loki.." Thor's expression darkens, and in the action, there are thunder clouds that begin to gather just off shore of the island called Manhattan. "Enough with your commentary regarding my choices," even if he too is beginning to wonder, "What of Loki." His brother. Thor looks between the two ladies now, first Sif then Amora, and they linger on the Enchantress as she'd given just a little more information. "What?"
*
Amora sashayed away from the Thunderer as he stood fumbling to follow her rapid fire explanations and she shrugged, a roll of her shoulders that left her loose fitting shirt slipping over a delicate shoulder. She tossed her hair off to the side, moving to the table and plucking up a piece of cheese and nibbling on it pointedly as Thor's expression darkened. A flutter of her eyelashes followed and she looked up from the table with a look of pointed innocence.
"Oh, that's right, Lady Sif hadn't told you that. Oops," She smiled, looking to the coal hair maiden and arching a brow.
"Lady Sif could inform you, since she saw him in person. Apparently he is being kept in the dungeons? I wouldn't know, since I haven't been in Asgard. I am merely going off what she commented on yesterday.." Amora played innocent well, but only if you didn't know her.. but this time? Her words were ringed in truth and honesty. Simply the presentation, however, the coyness of her tone? Well, it was clear where she was manipulating the Thunderer's attention.
*
"Remind me to say the same when I choose to make mistakes." Sif's words were slightly cold, but as she watches Amora at play, her head shakes willfully as she shifts upon her seat, her shoulders wriggling so that the shield and sword could clatter to the ground in a loud racket that admonishes her line of wording.
"I was going to tell you." Sif starts in her explanation, dropping the piece of bread back upon the platter as her fingers soon steeple and terse before her. "I had a mind to take care myself and speak to the All Father and plead for Loki's release." Her hands lower then, confident in her choice. "But that was not the case. Pay not attention to my meeting Amora in Alfheim, but it was one small stop that deemed necessary before I darkened your door, my Lord."
She clears her throat. "It is as Loki said. I could not detect a lie from his very lips. He insulted the All-Father, and he decreed that he be punished. And there he sat. For what time, I do not know. But he seems accepting of his current predicament."
*
"Don't play me, Amora.. I'm in no mood for it." Thor's words are low, spoken slowly such that it's meaning and intent are easily understood. "Kept in the dungeons?"
Thor looks to Sif next, and slowly those thunder clouds close in to the island, a rumble now in the distance, but growing closer. He ignores her cold response and instead goes to the heart of things. "You were going to tell me? When? After your shopping? Why did you not come right back to tell me?" The Thunderer begins to pace the living room, grabbing a shirt that is simply draped over the couch. He's got a shirt on, short sleeves, so this is just.. something to do with his hands. Idle work in anger.
"Why can he not just …" What? Be Loki? "If he is accepting of his own fate…" Then something really must have passed. "There would be nothing you could say to the All-Father that would release my brother, Sif. Punishment, but it can't be for long… though this puts my return into a different light." Shaking his head, he throws the shirt into the small bedroom. "This is not what I would have planned."
*
Amora arched a golden brow upwards, still nibbling at a the food with a delicate pinch of her fingers breaking off a slice of bread and popping it into her mouth. "I simply told you the truth. Which is more than I can say for our darling Lady Sif, which, I was lead to believe that she saw Loki days ago… And was she not summoned to Norway with us? I'm shocked that she didn't tell you then." She tilted her head to the side, a suitably dry expression on her features.
"But it's none of my business," She added softly, her gaze lowered as thunder boomed overhead and around them in increasingly close range. "What would you have me do, Thor? Is there aught that we should plan for now? If Loki does not wish to be freed?"
*
Certain cadences betray themselves to the ear: the light thump when two feet connect simultaneously with the floorboards. A whisper of crinkling paper. Triplicate beats against the door, the mere dusting of knuckles meeting to wood reminiscent of a lively Vivaldi concerto.
Strike a chord, Muse, and behold the second act beginning this dreary hour!
Interruption for the darkening mood signals the arrival of Scarlett, she of no given surname. When and if the door shall open, she readily conveys herself inside with a passing nod to the assembled gods of Asgard. Her russet head dipped in greeting, she ought to know better than to linger anywhere a wroth divinity can hold her pinned down with an accusing glare. This is bound to be practice, no?
*
"The dungeons."
Sif looks to the ceiling, as if the plaster would part and see the world outside and how the thunder begins to roll across the sky. And then her gaze drops towards Amora, Sif's decision to keep it to herself made alight and she takes full blame for her own travesty. Her hands lift and slam down upon the counter top as she stands, a lovely display of misplaced anger thrown out at that moment. Because this is where the line in the sand is drawn.
"I did not come right away for reasons that are my own. And I know you, Thor Odinson, God of Thunder, more than any miserable cur you claim or think that has your best interest at heart. You would approach the All-Father imploringly, and you would tell.. no.. you would DEMAND that your brother be released at once and question the choices laid out at your feet only to be faced with the same predicament as he!" Her hands lift from the counter top to still herself, the lick of spit swallowed tightly.
"Now I can feel the clouds moving." Her fingers lift, painting an endless circle in the air, that finger pointed towards Thor almost accusingly. "For if you shared a care for your brother and not the meager means of.. this.." Her hand soon splays along the room.. "..you would have him by your side, able to walk the lands of Asgard and this dreary, war torn Midgard unharmed and as a -free- man."
Sif stops herself from speaking, turning a little to the side, just so that she could kneel and snatch her shield and sword from the ground.
"Forgive my words." She says quietly. "Your brother is your brother. You know him. And yet I fear that something else looms beneath the waters of which we tread and care need be taken, which is why I stayed my hand."
*
The thunder sounds closer, and should any look outside the window, those in Central Park are gathering their things and leaving the park in advance of a sudden thunderstorm cell. The pressure is dropping and there are pockets of cold as it begins to pick up a little bit of steam. There's no rain yet, but as the skies darken, lightning dances from cloud to cloud; heat lightning, the scientists call it. Perhaps someone, somewhere might ascribe it to the Thunderer. Someone other than any in the room in Midtown Manhattan, that is.
"If Loki does not wish to be freed means that he agrees with the punishment or.." and Thor lets his words fade. Or it suits his purpose, whatever that purpose may be. He knows his brother, but there is a great deal he doesn't know- but that has never bothered the elder Prince and still doesn't. They are brothers. "And if-
Scarlett's appearance does nothing to assuage the Thunderer's anger, however, and she is given just a glance in acknowledgment.
It's Sif's response that gains Thor's full attention. He listens, oh.. he does, he listens to her words, and there isn't a thing that she says that couldn't be construed as true. Even in those moments, he's been considering exactly how that conversation would go, which would not go well. Either he would be exiled, and lose both his birthright and Mjolnir, or both would.. no chance of a warm hug and 'I love you's all around.
"Have you no idea how important Midgard is? Each of the other Realms are.. as they are. Centuries. Millennia. But here, these mortals? Look at them, Sif. They are not those that we played with as children two thousand years ago. They don't cling to the stories anymore because any one of them might be able to come close to matching any of our powers. Lady Scarlett -flies- under her own power and has the ability to wield magic. This is no shaman. They don't -need- us.
"If I had remained. If Loki had remained.. yes, we would not be having this conversation, but that can be said for every conversation, every battle.. 'If we had but…'"
Thor is working himself up even further, and all that potential happiness with Odin may yet happen. "If there is something that lies below the surface, then it is not Midgard's fault."
*
Amora turned her attention toward Sif as the warrior spoke, "And you would have had Thor find out when exactly? When we arrived in Asgard? When he had not the time to process what had happened to his brother and was face to face with his face already? Did you not think it possible for him to find out? Because Lady Sif, pardon me, but time is short. By your own hand such troubles might have arisen." She tilted her head, and folded her arms beneath her ample bosom, her gaze shifting back toward Scarlett and she offered the mortal woman a arched smile.
Then her green eyed gaze was shifting back toward Thor, "My prince, what would you have us do now that all the truths are known by /every/ party present herein? Do you plan to speak with your father in regards to Loki's imprisonment? I think it would be most wise to have a set plan now prior to our arrival.. What would you have me do?"
*
Introductions fall first, the necessity of them placed in gracious accord around the obvious emotions running on a king tide. Scarlett managed to escape the leaden sky only to enter the eye of the storm, though calm may not be present here. "Your highness, my ladies." She dips her head, the slightest inclination to her body acknowledging them in ways beyond the pale. The lilting cadence of her speech conforms to the refined enunciation beloved of England, Georgia, boarding schools. "I hastened from the company of the Sorcerer Supreme. Other troubles afflict Midgard beyond the imprisonment of the Prince, ones he must engage directly to safeguard this place. He has given me a message to relay to the All-Father, should opportunity presented itself."
Thus her place in the firmament and the dynamic forces driving her forth are named. She meets none of their eyes, but considers her gloved hands a moment until the Enchantress' questions fade from sound. The Thunderer's words weigh upon the spinning fulcrum of her thoughts, all the same.
She curbs her tongue. It's a temporary thing, to be certain, even as the errant calculations start to tally up. Green eyes tick to Thor, and to him, she spreads her open palms. "What would you have us do to best aid you? Before anything else, let me lay this before you."
*
"..I took it as he agreeing."
Sif's eyes lance towards Scarlett. There was nary a hello of a wave and offer of greeting, just a look that was soon directed towards Thor. "I have never said that Midgard was not important. How ever, it is best to tend and take care of home before your attentions are diverted elsewhere.." Her lips purse tightly; she does see his point. In some ways, the mortals that live upon this coil were magnificent. Greats walk among them and they do not bat an eye. They mingle, fit in, and carry on and their world.. seemed.. (which was odd to Sif), all the more better for it. "If they do not need us, why do you remain?"
Sif shakes her head as she turns a blue eye towards Amora. Her expression tightens, then releases in a calm collection as she shucks her shield back upon her shoulders. Her eyes close for the moment, then open again as she rounds the counter top with her fingers glancing upon the surface and down. "He would have known in due time. Though your eagerness to kneel and kowtow have remedied that in which.. I thank you." Her hand crosses over her heart, and her head bows slightly.
Scarlett's words has her lips pressing, and as she approaches Thor she lifts a hand to press upon his shoulder.
"Midgard is not at fault. -WE- are." Her eyes even falls towards Amora, and with a cut of them and a release of Thor's shoulder, she approaches the door. "I take my leave."
*
Time to depart. Sif's had her say, and Scarlett's information was next on the table for discussion. It doesn't much matter, however, because Thor's taking up Mjolnir, the action effortless, and he's ready to go out the door. A trip of this nature needs space; room for the markers to set and call them all home, first to the Bifrost.
Outside, to Central Park where most have departed due to the thunder clouds appearing and that 'heat lightning' that continues to dance from cloud to cloud, lighting up the darkened skies in a show of sparks. No one could ever guess that it reflects the mood of the Thunder God himself. After all, in this day and age, gods don't walk the Earth. Right?
Right?
When all are gathered, there comes that familiar (to some) flash of light, and perhaps allaying some fears, all that are within the proximity of the Crown Prince are taken to the Rainbow Bridge, that path that leads to the Golden City of Asgard. Hands are taken, arms held, murmured whispers of assurances fall before the views of what Vikings would call 'Valhalla' rises before them some distance away.
A little closer? A man clad in darkened armor stands just beyond, and more distant? A small group of guards that look ceremonial, but the edges to their swords are anything but. The man bows, not to the group, but to one in particular, and Thor's greeting is measured.
"Heimdall. Is my Father within?"
*
Fandral arrived within minutes of their departure from Central Park, and with the gathering of the storm, few words are passed from him to the others other than a brief introduction, "Fandral." He chooses to give his Asgardian name rather than his cover that he uses in Midgard. Although, all the ladies in attendance do get a passing glance and jaunty grin if they look his way. He clasp hands with the others and allows himself to be transported back with his Crowned Prince.
When they arrive to the face the man in darkened armor, he gets a respectful nod but in no way does he interrupt. His eyes do scan the guards and measures the welcome held there. He positions himself almost as a guard, a protector to the group that has arrived.
*
As Sif takes her leave Amora only seems to brighten in mood, at least until Crystal and the others arrive and the moment of truth arrives outside in Central park. If Crystal had need, but /of course/ Amora would take the time to cast a spell or two on the woman and 'fix' whatever she deemed an affront to fashion. (Be it hail, nails or makeup.) Then there are familiar sights, sounds, and light show that brings the group to Asgard arrive just as expected. And there the Enchantress of Asgard stands in all her glory once again. Gone is the mortal guise, the 'dulling' of her presence. Her full weight of over six feet is modest compared to the other Asgardian born members of their party, but decidedly she seems to revel in it as she looked down at Crystal and Scarlett physically with a sharp smile. Her golden hair flutters around her and she twists to catch sight of herself in the shimmering gold of the walls around them. There she primps her hair up, running a hand through it and blowing her reflection a kiss and a wink.
Then the rest of her attention shifts toward the gate keeper, Heimdall, and she brindles a little, shifting her weight onto her toes as she casts a look over him and back to the other guards behind him. She wiggles her fingers in a wave toward at least one that aimed a glance her way. Even if the rest of the group focused on the Prince himself.
*
Preparation. There's only so much to be done when you're going to Asgard for a meeting of this magnitude. But Crystal has at least tried. Thanks to a shopping expedition with Amora, she's garbed appropriately for an audience.
Cloth of gold is a less than apt description of the material that makes her gown. It's in shades of gold, but the material itself is as woven light, soft and bright as stars and sun, in shades from pale gold, to the deepest sunset rose gold. High-necked, it rises into a collar set with amber and opal, nipped at her waist with careful tailoring before skirts flow out. Her hair is mostly down, though intricate braids weave through the top, holding it away from her face.
She's polite at the park, smiling and offering quiet introductions, but as the group arrives on Asgard, she falls silent, all the better to watch and listen.
*
Supposing anyone asks, Scarlett has a few things to say about gods walking the Earth. Another time, another conversation over a horn of mead and a haunch of roasted reindeer, surely. Now is not the hour. Her own preparations involve ducking into the bedroom to strip off her habitual garments in favour of something suitable for the occasion, and she lacked the benefits of Alfheim shopping excursions. Then it's off to Central Park in tow. Proof she has creation's finest weavers on call lies underneath a heavy, hooded cloak of deep hunter's green, a skein of gold running down her gloves to her fingertips adjusting the fall over her hair. Thus does she step between realms in a prismatic storm to have a moment knotted into the tapestry of her wyrd.
For Heimdall, she sketches one of those effortless curtseys practiced in silence, her foot sweeping back behind the gossamer fall of a near-living aurora. How ironic, then, that she complements the would-be Queen of Asgard's day by serving as the everlasting night. Tinctures of iridescent green ripple around her legs whence she dips, and maintains her hands in an open palmed gesture long enough to be marked as a near universal sign of peace. Scarlett rising leaves her gloved fingers closed at her throat, a mere pulse of heat and power echoed between her aura and her heartrate.
Crystalia manages an excellent template to follow, though her own habits convey that same wordless respect as the Midgardner, messenger of a sorcerer, and dubiously forgettable one here.
*
"He is aware you've arrived, my Prince." It's a phrase that is filled with meaning, though what that is, the Watcher is inscrutable.
While Amora looks radiant, the Crown Prince of Asgard is still robed in Midgardian wear, though his manner and mien changes ever so slightly. He is the first to step from his place, his arm extended for Crystal to take hold, and he is fully aware that Fandral will be taking his side. Thor's detail always includes those of the Warriors Three.
The information thus imparted, Thor takes a deep, audible breath and looks behind him, around him, and, of course, beside him. "This is Asgard. For those of you who do not know," he nods towards Fandral, "He is my armed guard," for lack of a better term. "Everyone here will have an escort around the grounds of the city and within the palace. In that, my Father will not budge."
Stepping forward, Thor speaks to Heimdall softly, "It is good to see you. Be well and speak truth." The Prince isn't going to ask anyone to lie for him.
The city that lies beyond now is easily seen past the gatehouse, though it is some distance. The guards meant for Thor bow and look apologetic as Fandral's presence is taken. They weren't aware, and so they are briefly displaced, but only to a point.
One guard addresses the group, staring at those not Asgardian as someone might look at someone with three heads, or two tails. "My orders were to bring all of you to your chambers," and he makes the exception briefly for Thor, "The All Father is in meetings and has been. He sends his apologies and will find a way to speak with you at a later time."
Message thus relayed, Thor looks back at his group and exhales, "Welcome to Asgard."
*
At the lack of any attempts to arrest her for breaking her exile, Amora shifts upon her toes. She reaches into a pocket at her hip (yes she has pockets), her fingers curling around a crystal there, unseen by even Heimdall's infallible eyes. She continues on the manner as is expected of her: flirting with every thing in sight and even scowling duly at Crystal beside the Crown Prince. But she doesn't say anything, not so much as a word.
While her attention split, her magic was fast at work. The soul stone, that she had crafted the night before came to life, magically imbued already and muted from the brilliance it had displayed previously.
Even as the Enchantress went along willingly to talk of quarters and the alike, her mind split. Her eyes going slightly unfocused as she cast her spell and wove her works as silently as possible.
*
Fandral gives a polite nod to those known and unknown to him when Thor does the introductions. His manner is friendly but careful to keep an eye on all of those present, even those within the party. Amora's presence in the group didn't go unnoticed by the guard but since she was brought here by Thor, he keeps his tongue in check. She does get a bit more reaction, a quick wink to let her know that he's glad that she's in company. He makes sure to stand between her Heimdall's watchful gaze too closely.
At the guard's words, Fandral tells him, "I shall be staying in my prince's company. No need to take me to my quarters." Even if he does has a residence there. "There is no need to separate us at the moment, I'm sure his Highness' suite is more than enough for all of us." He does keep an eye on the guards to make sure that Amora isn't split from them and at the same time works his peaceful nature on them, "Just take us there. I'm sure there's no problem with us cooling our heels there."
*
Crystal steps forward, taking Thor's arm as it's offered. Her touch is light, formal for public perception, though there is the slightest squeeze as her hand settles in tacit encouragement. She doesn't hang from his arm; instead she takes it with the sort of gravity one expects for matters of state.
The guard stares, and Crystal meets his gaze with a flicker of a smile, a hint of amusement in the expression. Yes, clearly she is a miniature person. At least in comparison to everyone around her. Very strange.
*
What burning spell exists might touch upon the awakening senses of the other present at its crafting. Might, but 'tis no guarantee. Her hood does a fine job to conceal Scarlett's face much as frame it, leaving a moon-pale oval dimly awash in charcoal shadow that subtly alters from sinister to radiant shades depending upon the dominant shade the rainbow provides. Midgard's portion is measured when she laces her gloved fingers together, the embedded gilt scale betraying hardly a sound. When attention turns to introductions, she lends Fandral, the only stranger by name and face, a rather deep dip of her chin by way of greeting.
Nary a sound is to be heard from her other than, "The hospitality is most gracious, Your Highness."
Speaking may be unfortunate when the entire purpose she holds, like the rogue of any party, is being overlooked and forgotten when even in plain sight. Their paladin and sorcerers and ranger deserve the attention. The other sights are infinitely more interested than a lone human, aren't they?
*
The palace guards look to Fandral as the Warrior makes his own demands. Rank and privilege, that's what it is. The Prince is under no requirement with his return, nor is Fandral. Those of Midgard, then, seem to be guests under the Prince's auspices, but Amora? "My orders, my Lord Fandral, were to see them all. I will tell the All Father your plan." He didn't say no, nor is this a matter of 'tattling'. It's simply Odin knows all that goes on in his palace, and this is no different.
Thor is no mage so what Amora is doing behind him is truly from his view. The entire city thrums with a certain magic, but more, antiquity. This Realm is ancient; she existed long before Midgard was peopled, perhaps. When each span of a life is a minimum of 5 thousand years, it is only 4-5 generations when man began his move from Africa to points northwest and northeast. A generational line easily quoted by Thor Odinson, or by Odin Borson, the now All Father.
Now, on their way to palace proper, under supportive guard, though deference is given to Fandral and, of course, Thor, as they walk the path, groups of people whisper and bow, curtsey, do their obeisance for the returning Crown Prince. There had been whispers of his departure, but that can't be true, right?
The palace is huge.. round, white and gold marble colonnades rise from floor to ceiling, and as the group moves, there are few and fewer people around, until chambers are reached. Princely looking chambers.
Thor pauses to look at the group, and his voice is low. "These are my rooms. I would offer you a place within, but do not do anything that will cause notice or arouse suspicion." He looks to Crystalia finally, and his expression softens as he reaches for a hand of hers to kiss, "You did not go unnoticed by me, my Princess. You are lovelier than any to be conjured by a heart's dream."
Compliment thus paid, Thor looks to the rest. "We won't have long before we will be expected to present ourselves." The comment about a 'meeting', obviously, was a diplomatic falsehood.
*
The magic Amora poured into the crystal in her pocket is time well spent, even as she follows along in silence. The ambient magic in Asgard was a balm to her already strained magics and she breathed easier with each step further into the realm eternal. That she held chambers in the palace was not remarked on, nor the fact that Thor offered the group a chance to use his spacious ones.
It was odd, that she didn't say a word to any, much less cast a flirtatious glance toward Fandral or even offer insult. Her mind split with where ever she was mentally, and physically..
*
Fandral gives a nod to the guard when he defers to Fandral's wishes, "Of course. I would expect nothing less. Thank you for the escort." Then he moves at Thor's side as they make their way, giving polite greetings as he moves through the city. His attention is given to all even as he carefully watches out for those under his protection. When they make it to Thor's suite without being waylaid, there's a measure of ease given to his stance. He watches Thor talk to the others, keeping his opinions to himself for the moment. He does look at the other guards, "Please see that the prince is not disturbed." Making sure that only himself and those Thor's trust are left inside the suite. The others are left outside to guard the door.
*
Crystal lets out a slight breath once they settle in the Prince's chambers, smile easing a bit at his compliment. "Thank you, your highness," she murmurs, drawing his hand back to brush a kiss to his knuckles in turn. "That certainly could have gone worse. I'm sure the meeting will be fine." She's not, but she's willing to pretend. "It is, after all, the prerogative of the ruler to take meetings in their own time."
*
The guards have precious little to find interesting in Scarlett, as much as she adopts a properly deferential posture and ghosts in Crystal's wake. Let them think her the handmaid of the Inhuman princess, or some oddity that Thor brought home to amuse his lady mother with. Maybe she knows something regarding Fandral's missing sword and wife. It stands that she smiles faintly at the courtly courtesy affected between Crown Prince and Crystal, the belle averting her gaze but for a moment in a show of affected modesty.
Or very real.
The enormity of the place, its antiquity, pour down over a student of history and the arts, coursing through her veins and opening her eyes to the enchantment of its spellbinding halls. The others talk; she absorbs in stilled silence, not so different from Amora. Here lies a solid mask over her surging curiosity, her dancing pulse, imperfect but present. No doubt in days to come, she might be welded to some hall of learning and devouring whatever reading materials they permit her — with translations, or else she's using a faulty understanding of Old Norse to sound out primers like a child. For now? The soul-thief is the quietest of retiring presences, until installed wherever they intend to allow her.
Thor's chambers reflect the Crown Prince in its entirety. It is luxury mixed with his more martial of pursuits. A spot to hang Mjolnir, he's got no need for swords, but there are more than one rack settled around the 'living area' of the room. Several armor stands with various formations of leather armor (is that… a winged helm?) sit in proximity of those weapon racks, but the weapons and other bits of war regalia aren't the only things within the room. In this the living area, there are rugs of all manner of animal, chairs, a large fireplace, and beyond, a balcony that seemingly spans the entire side of the palace. There is a table just outside, then, that has been appointed with food; cheese, meat, breads, and flagons of wine and mead.
Crystal's response gains a momentary warm, genuine lopsided smile before he reluctantly parts with her hand and he looks to Fandral.
Once inside, Thor exhales in a sigh, "Thank you, my friend. Now, we wait." The rest of the group is then addressed, "No one is to go unescorted. If anyone needs anything, we have our servants. So, for the time being, get comfortable. If you need rest, take it. There is food if you are hungry."
A sharp inhale follows Amora's return to her mind, a scowl fixing itself on her features as she suddenly comes back into her own body more fully. She blinks, her hand uncurling from its death grip around the crystal in her pocket, the magic used up and spent. She smoothed a hand down her front, as if reaccquainting herself with her figure. Then she was moving, away from the group, her head down. She didn't make to leave, but rather find the furthest piece of furniture away from the Prince and various others.
Not a glance was spared as Amora found a heavily cushioned couch and practically flung herself onto it, feet and all, and put her back to the room at large.