1963-09-18 - Stranger In A Strange Land
Summary: A girl left to her own devices has to fill the time up somehow. Enter -Freyr- Fandral, charmer of the Warriors Three, to provide an escort and tour guide service.
Related: It's Thor's Party
Theme Song: None
fandral rogue 

When the others take their leave to rest or return to their appointed quarters, that leaves the emerald-clad Midgardner at somewhat of cross-purposes in a mythical realm. With exceptionally little to tuck away, Scarlett familiarizes herself with her chamber in record time. Should that survey equally include a mundane search for anything that remotely appears to be a surveillance device, or better yet, something she ought not to touch due to unfamiliarity with its purpose, she is altogether done and done after no more than half an hour. Then there lies the prospect of admiring the view, rearranging her braids, and finally deigning a nap will not transpire while the sun gilds the city gold.

"Carpe diem, no?" she tells none, perhaps the first use of Latin in the palace in a hundred years or a thousand. Thus, out to test the hospitality that may prove fleeting indeed, she threads down the corridor in search of one of those ubiquitous guards. On her part, nothing about Thor's earlier suggestion she is no mere shaman presents itself; just a polite young woman in a flowing gown over a tinge of armour out to examine her surroundings.


Fandral had stepped out of the room in order to make some arrangements for Thor and his guests, which is why it's curious to find one of them leaving the confines of the suite to wonder about the palace. He motions to the guard that was going to escort her, "No need my friend, I can take this one where she wants to go."

"Of course Lord Fandral," the guard bows, giving the higher ranking guard the duty of seeing to Thor's guest.

Fandral moves to intercept the green vision with red hair, offering his chainmailed arm to the woman, "My lady, perhaps I can be assistance and show you some of the wonders of our fair city." He flashes her a charming look, "I promise to be a decent tour guide and show you around the palace."


Not so much the suite as looking for one of the guards, a deliberate search that concludes by making her appearance. Everyone else indisposed by their purposes, be that sleeping or activities other than slumber, Scarlett is very much left to her own devices.

Stranger in a strange land, she slows almost to halting when spotting the first furtive sign of movement. When that guard acknowledges her, she stops to await him closing upon her. That it should be the boon companion of the Crown Prince warrants the same easy smile that any of them might receive. It's worth noting her own sleeves, embellished by a metallic skein, are similarly armed and meshed up to the curve of her shoulder where the detached garment meets her elegant gown in its unusually detailed design. Her arm winds around his with assiduous care, keeping an appropriate degree of distance between Fandral and herself. At least as Sixties America demands, anyways.

"My lord," she replies softly. "I accept, if I do not keep you from your activities. Forgive me should it prove an unwelcome burden, and I can return to my quarters well enough." His flirtation meets with her slanting her gaze askance, demure enough. "The depth of instruction on Asgardian custom may lack for your tastes and I apologize. I'm called Scarlett."


"Scarlett, it gives me great pleasure to be the one to introduce you to the wonders of our fair city," Fandral tells her with a flashing smile, placing a gloved hand over the one that now touches his arm, "Please…call me Fandral since you have granted me the kindness of using your given name." He then motions to the beautiful architecture, "I think you will find that Asgard is unlike any of the Midgard cities that you have seen." There is a gleam of pride there for his home, "And there are no worries about standing on airs or conforming to Asgardian ways. You are a guest and we pride ourselves in treating our guests with honor and distinction."

Fandral starts to take a walk down the hall with Rogue, his manner is flirtatious but polite as if she is a precious flower that must be cultivated, "Now we have many wonders for you to view. Do you like music, theater, art or even knowledge. We have many places that we could visit, depending on your preference." He lightly taps his free hand over his heart, "And do not worry yourself on being any burden. You are a guest of his Highness. That gives you a mark of distinction and perhaps a note of jealousy from those that would seek Thor's favor."


Even should she be considered tall among every terrestrial culture but the Dutch, Scarlett isn't built quite to an Asgardian scale. Her boots give her at least two inches to leverage against that six foot mark. She inclines her head and nods. "Fandral, then. What can one say, discovering something conceived in fragments of story exists in celebrated beauty beyond these very walls?" She corrects herself a moment later. "Including these very walls. I well understand what favour His Highness graced me with by allowing a glimpse of the realm, thus would I wish to reflect my respect and gratitude by comporting myself properly." Those surreal eyes of hers are the shade of the northern lights that stream over the tundra in particular periods of solar activity, and not altogether that much different from Amora or Loki Odinson, for that matter. Her tone may be self-deprecating, if sincere. "Best not to leave anyone in an ill humour, or test their patience with a scion of Midgard by putting my foot wrong. Any guidance you might offer, I will listen to most intently."

There they have the first exchange, a currency of politic diplomacy and genuine earnestness. Manners matter to her, though she conveys this the best she can. "You ask a starved girl what to eat first at a banquet worthy of the ages." Lips part and she breathes out a hint of a sigh, tinged to mirth. "If I could somehow absorb it all at once, I would. Let me not demand too much of your hospitality or press hard upon the kindness of the All-Father and his son." Her movements are smooth, bidden by a grace not common in girls of her age and station. Years of athletic activity will do that for a person. "Mayhap we might break bread in the hall to prevent me from swooning straight away at the vivid beauty of your capital, and somewhere to learn? That seems best, before taking a seat before a stage and being mistakenly seen as someone too taken by pleasure to acknowledge duty."


Fandral isn't as tall as other Asgardians, and is just shy of six foot so in her heels, she is actually taller than him. This has never bothered the compact man, having been surrounded by giants his whole life, "Your Norse speak of Valhalla. Asgard is that city of legends from times of old when my people spent time in Midgard and shared like I do now with you, the wonders." He has kind blue eyes that reflect a man of calming peace, a peace that he extends around himself and brings comfort to others in his presence. He does damper the ability with her on his arm, but it takes a little moment of concentration to do so, "It's rare that anyone is in ill tempers when I am around. A gift of sorts but one that I have used to keep the peace, even when Asgardian tempers flare."

"Let me take you to the halls of knowledge," Fandral tells her after a moment, "We can always take pleasure in a brief respite on the way so to fill our bellies and quench our thirst before digging into the pursuits of academics. Now do you know our language? Or been tutored in All Speak?" He is curious about the woman that Thor brought to Asgard with his beloved, "Or do you need me to translate our texts? I have been told I have an excellent reading voice."


The bohemian shakes her head, a faint smile. "Imperfect records at best. The translations speak little of the beauty or architectural details, no more than they speak of the All-Father's appearance or his queen's soothing presence. Words fall short before images, and images pale to the true countenance of a thing." Scarlett can turn a very pretty word when she wants to, though she relies graciously on the ability to be understood in any spoken language rather than attempting to convert her thoughts into something foreign. "I have read something of the Icelandic and Norse peoples thought, in their own tongue, though it is something of a torturous effort without adequate tutors. Nonetheless, it would do no less honour that way."

She ghosts her thumb down the line of her jaw, skimming to where her loose frosted white bangs brush against her shoulders. This sign alone mark her as something unusual outwardly. That and perhaps her assiduously polite bearing.

"You possess a great gift. I have been swept up in the wrath of passions gone unchanneled too frequently, and felt the stirrings of anger or fear. Such a thing, were it more common, might allow for civil discourse instead of rioting in the streets." Her smile is unwavering, even if the topic far from light. "I know Old Norse but poorly, having studied it for about six months. Allspeak is not mine, though I should not be remiss in learning that, too, while I am here. At least how to say please, thank you, and hello, I am a child from Midgard. That ought to cover the basics so I do not start a war."


"All-Father…Odin is as fierce as they say, just as his wife, Frigga, is a woman beyond compare," Fandral tells her softly, clearly serving them out of love rather than just duty, "They are the measure at which all of us, including Thor, try to live up to." He gives a half smile, "I am fortunate enough not to have his Highness' pressures." Being Odin's son has never been an easy thing, "But I do my best to help soothe where I am."

Fandral smiles as she makes mention to his gift, "Oh it has many applications, including anger or fear." He motions to the gloves that he wears, "It's worse when those around me touch my skin, so be weary of it." He warns her out of courtesy since she is Thor's friend, "I have brought many into thrall just by willing my mood on theirs." He is clearly not one to be proud of such things, "But as with all things, I found control in time and lost my appetite to stir to the darker emotions."

Fandral comes to a stop in front of the library, "Ahh, we are here." He turns with a teasing look, "Prepared my dear for some splendor." He then nods to the attendants to open the doors of the Great Library for them into what seems to be a city of knowledge contained within the palace, "You will have to give me your first impressions. Because even though I have been here many times, too many to count, it still fills me with wonder to look on it."


"Princess Crystalia and the Prince carry burdens of expectation and obligation none outside their station endure, and in a sense we may be blessed to lend relief from those demands." Given the many sights around them, it's a wonder Scarlett has any capacity whatsoever to speak on the crushing pressure one lives up to when they are set to inherit a throne. Yet she can, even as she drinks greedily all that her seven senses might offer in fullness. They commiserate thus, her eyes lifted from the firmament and Fandral to guide so they do not veer over a balcony to her likely death and his dashing evasion.

Assurances and warnings lie easily enough with her. "I shall keep very much in mind. At home, touching others with a sense of familiarity may be deemed rude, especially for a woman to lay a hand upon a man." Or conversely, but that doubtless doesn't need to be said. She tips her shoulders up in a very light shrug, faintly amused. "Though I thank you for the notice. You can freely extricate yourself at your convenience without fear of offending me. It should take a great deal worse than that to dent my composure." Including, apparently, controlling her to the point of being a deluded thrall.

Therein the library presents itself, she utters no more than a murmur. So many questions, so few opportunities. "Did Hypatia regard Alexandria's towers such?" The tease of an old chestnut aside, she goes silent, reserving a hush appropriate to all repositories of wisdom. Signs are bound to be hopeless unless they are written simple enough for a student of the Eddas to know what she looks at. At least the suffixes are something to go by. Where to begin? "Is there anything to speak of Asgard's history? Without driving you to tears of boredom entertaining me."

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