1963-09-19 - Views of the library's stories
Summary: A walk and a talk between Amora and Rogue bring the pair to the library to look for marks of where Loki might have been in his youth, where they are later met by Fandral (the Dashing).
Related: Asgard logs
Theme Song: None
rogue fandral amora 

Behold the wonders of the main hall of Asgard, where the assembled Asgardians and one Midgardner break their fasts. The morning, such as morning exists, marks the time after prodigal sons and daughters returned from exile with two unlikely figures in tow. Whatever Crystal did overnight, she isn't present. Scarlett scarce slept at all, spending hours in the library, a nap in between, and now being feted between the Prince of the Wolves, the Crown Prince of Asgard, and Lady Sif. They take their leave individually, drawn off to different tasks, leaving the erstwhile sorceress and handmaid to her own devices. A guard provided from Thor's own loyal figures has thus far encountered little trouble from her; she wandered in Fandral's company prior, and watching her dine is dull indeed. Such courtly manners are hardly surprising, and she finishes the last of her bread and honey in quiet, contemplative regard. Seated at the bench whilst the spaces around her fill in, eventually she will turn aside to snatch a grape or two from a passing server already ransacked by the Thunderer. The plate, at least, has been refreshed much. "Thank you," she murmurs, and nods to the waiting guard as she rises to take her leave.


Amora had uncharacteristically been silent and avoided contact with the others in the suit for much of the night. Yet bright and early she seemed back to her usual flirtatious self. More than a few admirers trailed behind her, as she walked on the guard's arm as if he were an escort to a most fabulous ball. The man had stood little chance against her charms. She smiled, she laughed, she told jokes about her time on Midgard at the peasant's expense. A goblet of wine was held losely in her hands, swirling the contents about as she walked toward the great hall with a graceful step that drew the eyes of nearly every passerby.

How could anyone miss it? The Enchantress had returned from exile after a few short months abroad.

Green eyes settled a gaze firmly on the Midgardian red head and she angled her course to intercept the mortal before she left the hall proper. "Scarlett! My /daaarling/, how have you enjoyed Asgard so far? I see you took my advice to heart, lovely, outfit. I hadn't given you proper due, forgive me. I was trying to make nice to that Princess…" She glanced at the guard and shot him a much put upon look.

"Tell me you forgive me? I simply can't stand to have you feel as if you were forgotten."


'Mere' handmaid. But a child of Midgard, one of the rare few to grace this hall. Say nothing of Illyana Rasputina, thank you. All said and done, however, the young woman in her emerald 'gown' gives a slight pivot, the diaphanous skirt spilling around her legs in a perfect bloom doing naught to inhibit Scarlett from moving.

"My lady," she replies, dipping her head and granting Amora the station and standard one might expect for such an exalted personage in front of the entirety of the Asgardian dining hall. "Naturally you have business to follow up on, given your time abroad. I should be honoured to receive your attention, understanding what pressing matters weigh upon you."

English, of course. She has learned only the uttermost basics of Aesir, beyond and above what her tutelage in magic has allowed her. "No offense done, lady."

Fingers touch her throat and cast away, the guards accommodating this foray. She begins to walk, abandoning her place and heading for the outer periphery of the room. "Have you found everything to your liking here? Of a surety I can see why your time away weighs so heavily upon you. The splendour here is remarkable."


Another fluttering of her eyelashes follow and Amora waves a hand with a brilliant smile painted upon her lips as she appears to flounce over to Scarlett and capture her arm with her own—the illusion taking hold over not only Amora but Scarlett herself, and the mortal woman would see the appearance of the two of them walking onwards just a few steps before the true pair. Laughter and light hearted conversation follow with a similiar senseless direction.

Meanwhile, the real Amora, walked along side Scarlett slowly, her features drawn tight with concentration as she gestured for the mortal woman to follow.

"Come along now, you and I need to speak. The best way to not draw attention is to in fact draw all of it with what's expected. Now, hurry along, we have to stay close to the illusions or risk my magic stretching too thin and having us walk into a wall." She whispered, her green eyed gaze flickering over the mortal's figure.

"I spoke to Loki on our way in.."


How strange to see one's own likeness sauntering off, as inane and cheerful as she has cultivated her deferential, sunny nature to be. She is meant not to attract undue attention, after all, and Amora's glittering charismatic halo will assure that. Who is likely to remember the redhead confronted with a sorceress of Asgard?

Senses sing to the tension of magic, and she laces her mail and leather bound hands together, palms brushing in the lightest of touches. "Very well." Her stride is long and those boots give her near to an equal length as Amora's, causing very little issue with keeping up. Besides, if it really matters, she'll lift an inch off the ground and float along. The guards are going to follow at some distance anyways, so all the better they remain in tight proximity.

"I see." News hits her serenity and vanishes under the surface, giving few indications of the depth. Amora will speak in her own time, or not.


Amora allows for several long moments of silence to follow as the illusions continued the inane chatter up ahead. "I do not know what to make of it, he is in the highest security level that the dungeons have.. He bid me to not interfere." She arched a glance over Scarlett, a frown marring her lips.

"He did not speak of you, nor anything that I should pass onto you, nor his brother." She fell silent then, her gaze ahead and every now and then she'd wave her hand this way or that, nudging the illusions around a corner or around an obstacle. Clearly, the Enchantress was occupied with her thoughts, a tumult of emotions rocked in her gaze, but none showed on her delicate features.


Does this inflict any pain upon the green-eyed girl? Not in the least, not visible, her features schooled to attentive consideration and almost nothing else. A stranger in a strange land, she must guard against everything, including possible agents of the Allfather or the Queen of Asgard measuring her reactions to all. "Is it customary to treat one such as he in that fashion? Are the measures to keep something else out, for his own safety?" These queries are vague enough to portend some manner of mild concern, coupled to a lack of understanding.

For this is Asgard. What does a child of the middle realm know of it? Her birthrights lie elsewhere, such as they are.

"Did he bid you aught else, my lady? As though he anticipated you should turn your far-seeing gaze elsewhere?" Memories and echoes of Frigga's admonishing suggestions reappear, not without purpose.


A heavy sigh dragged from Amora's lips, her arms crossing as she eyed the illusions steadily for a long moment rather than to speak. Another pause had her shrugging, a simple rise and fall of her shoulders that left the bejeweled pins that held up her silken gown on her shoulders sliding down in what most would construe as a tempting fashion.

"No, tis not. Even more so for a Prince of Asgard. Sif said he insulted the All-father. He would not even share such a detail with me. Which is.. strange to say the least. He cleared my debt to him too.. if I but kept to my own ends. He," She sighed, and shook her head. "It was my Prince that commanded me, not my old friend. And not the man that you knew in Midgard.." She offered softly.

"If my exile is lifted, I had planned to go to my palace. I would offer you a place there, if possible. Though how to make it officially acceptable I know not.."


The handmaid to the fates listens wordlessly, her long braids as complex a binding as anything Nornheim might produce. Each plait is thinner than a pencil, elaborately twisted and arranged, a beautiful enough collaboration.

Thus Scarlett's appearance may be better suited for Asgard than Columbia, and certainly over those hideous flight suits she has sometimes to wear, even if she might be a step towards waging elegant warfare in that dress. "Did one offer her advice to a friend, she would tell that intelligent, wise woman to heed the request and lay plans. Question why someone so placed would call a debt quits and stay silent. Perhaps there is something which only silence can speak to, and only open eyes can see where others are accustomed to staring right past the danger in plain sight."

Understandably this also describes the soul-thief in Amora's midst.


A flickering glance was spared in Scarlett's direction as Amora continued to walk, her jaw squaring together briefly. "I cannot but think that all this was intended by him. That he is angling for something I cannot yet see. That my interference might be what he expects and has planned for—and that in telling me not to act, that he thinks I shall." Her lips thinned to a white line as she looked away, scowling down the marble hallway.

"I fear that trying to piece together what Loki means and plans is a fool's task. One that I am ill equiped to handle when he has been gone from Asgard for so long. I keep feeling as if I am missing some odd notion, that something is at work beyond my rank and scope." She reached up to proper her chin with a the back of her hand.

"I still mean to follow his words regardless. I had intended to leave the palace as soon as I was able. I dare not risk angering the All-father further as of now.." She smirked faintly, as she spoke as if such words were amusing in their own right.


"We whom are blind strive to perceive the shape of a plan, lacking so much as a wisp of colour or certainty." She dips her chin slightly, acknowledging the prospect. Or just the mutual frustration for Amora and her fellows. Scarlett smiles a fraction, though her eyes are far too bright to lend any additional emotion remotely visible therein.

"What do you surmise you might miss, my lady? Speak freely. Perhaps in the very unlikeliest of outcomes you might find a truth. A teased semblance of possibility. Is it perhaps a feint to test at security from another, to give leave for someone to descend to their duties or clean things up? "

She inclines her head slightly, and then gazes to the corridor. "We are to hunt, and in turn, I am all but invited to hunt through the library in search of the Prince's early texts. Perhaps you would deign to instruct me upon your language?" Yes. Come ransack the library!


Amora shook her head lightly, strands of hair catching in the sunlight that streamed in from the tall windows that arched gracefully above the two women and the illusory pair before them. "I dare not speak my guesses out loud, for I know them not myself. Other than an firm belief that if I but knew something that I have missed I could better unravel the fate of Asgard and the Princes besides. An inkling, as you mortals put it. An itch at the back of my head that will not leave." A grimaced twisted her features again and she shrugged once more, speeding up to close the distance between herself and the illusions.

"Whatever it is, the ground stands shaky beneath us. A tremor, a nudge, might be enough to set off an quake.." She muttered, mostly to herself, as she waved Rogue forward to catch up with the illusions as they slowed and paused to admire the view out of a particular window.


"Look within or look to the boundaries, for there will we discover the sources of change. It is rare to find proof of upheaval at the centre. The effects spread outward, and there reach the light better than if you attempt to espy the effect in the densest regions," murmurs Scarlett, peering out to the city in its steep grandeur. "Imagine every corner of this place. What might challenge it? Is there no source of unrest, like the possibility of a claim to throne or marriage? I only wonder, and these are idle at best."

Her gaze travels back to Amora, there only a moment. "Perhaps the only choice is laying in defenses and being prepared and flexible for what may come. I have to find those old tomes in the library. I doubt the prince left any ciphers or hidden messages to us. But I want to see how terrible his penmanship is."


As the two women rejoined their illusionary figures Amora waved the after images away with an expert hand. Clearly, the subject was finished as she plastered on the false smile with the same inane flirtation that the illusion held previously. "Well, if you wish to spend time in the library I suppose. There is so very much more of Asgard that you're missing my darling girl." She tsked under her breath, and ran a hand through her hair with an imperial air.

"But again, it might yet be wise to seek out dusty old tomes when it comes to your education. I shall require wine though," She caught the attention of a passing servant, calling for more wine and such side dishes that matched to be brought to the library.


Many a beauteous diversion begs for the attention of the young woman. If she had a week, a month, she might satisfy enough of her appetite to whet even more. It's an unfair arrangement; the desire to have only grows. In that the goddess of desire is someone she can eminently understand, comprehend at deeper levels. Her smile is equally vague and she dips her head, her guards left to wonder at the subject. "My lady knows better than I. I must, as is demanded by the prince, go under guard wherever I am. For good of Asgard as much as me, surely, this is a reasonable request. I am not overly troubled by my luxurious cage," she murmurs, a tease on her lips. "Fear when I cease to sing, apparently. Where would you take me, given the chance?"

The great library is a glorious building and those poor librarians who barely hours ago had a long, long visit indeed from the girl may weep yet to see her returned. "My lady, where would the Prince's brother store books of his? Is there a section only for sorcerers?"


A soft, if wistful sigh followed the question of where Amora would take Scarlett if given the chance. "Oh, what would I show you of Asgard? Hm, well, there are certainly a number of beautiful vistas.. shopping plazas and other various places that would steal the breath and give cause to pause and wonder." She shrugged again, flippantly throwing a hand into the air, a golden ball materializing and she caught it with an idle twist of her manicured fingers.

As they entered the library a hush fell over Amora, her features composed into a still mask of a reserved manner. In passing she scouped up the goblet of wine that had been held out in offer to her, and sipped at it as they ventured forward. The silence of the ancient library descended on the two and Amora tossed up the golden ball once more—and a muted blanket fell over the two. They were once more hidden from prying eyes and ears.

"Loki would keep his books in his quarters. If he had need of them. Beyond that I imagine he does as all good practioniers and hides them where only he can gain access to them. He never showed me, so I cannot tell you. Sorcerers, in all realms, guard their secrets close.."


ROLL: Rogue +rolls 1d100 for a result of: 81


"The vistas, the breadth of the market, the quality of the people?" These are repeated not without purpose, and her gaze flows up towards that luminous example of witchfire. She still refuses to call it; Scarlett's elemental light very much is light, and all the fury of the star behind it, a roiling ball of superheated gas more often than not threatening to paper.

All the same, she conducts herself exactly as a student entering a place of sacred knowledge and wisdom should, upon discovering a hallowed locale beyond her young and fledgling civilisation. Wine will be taken only with a measure of relief, though she gazes into the liquid and stirs it with her fingertip. Clockwise, she spins the rotation like an absolute heathen. One drop settles upon her fingertip and she presses it to her lips, miring the stain of the lovely offering clean away. A frisson of subtle energy flows across the surface of the liquid, lending it a mirror stillness helped in part by the fact she only appears to walk thanks to that overly long skirt. She leaves maybe a fraction of an inch between her soles and the floor.

"Prince Thor and Lady Sif told me of books he left here, ones which bore writing from a younger age. Also, a dent in the shelf from his head, though I am uncertain whether His Highness meant that seriously," she murmurs. "Had I some means and it were permitted, I would simply rely upon a spell or a librarian to point me to the proper way. However you are here, and you know him well as any. I should not say I'm up to rifling through spellbooks so much as trying to distinguish where he might have written things."


Again Amora tosses up the ball of golden light in her hands, much like a real solid thing. The glow little more than a modest, twinkle. "He and I studied together magic and spells for years… I was in Nornheim and he and his brother trained in Alfheim. Both realms share borders. Prior to that though, we studied magic in as many ways are possible—" She led Scarlett down various shelves, deeper and deeper into the library proper.

"But I do not see the point in looking into texts he touched when we were young. It has centuries ago. They would've circulated through other hands.." She muttered, hooking a golden brow upwards. "And anything that might give insight? He'd never write such things down. Much less in a library open to all the court.." But still, she led them onwards, through bending and twisting stacks.

Finally they seemed to reach a destination, in the darkest, furtherest, and oldest part of the library—away from the tall windows and light. Away from the usual paths of history and tales of economics, these were shelves that reeked of age, of dust and magic. Amora held aloft the globe of light, the floating ball balanced above her shoulder where she set it. "What do you wish to look into? We read nearly everything, if not everything here."


She learns of such things in these moments, when Amora divulges glimpses into a childhood when Greece stood at its height and Rome dreamed of importance outside the shadow of Magna Graeca — Greater Greece, Sicily. Scarlett can dream. She can wonder. "It may be proper. Though it may simply be something they set me to as an amusement, and I acknowledge that. I make no assumptions of understanding, my lady, only a ghost of purpose. There may be some hidden cipher in there, some prospect of a buried message left by someone here before they were sent away unexpectedly? A lark. This is but a scavenger hunt."

She brings the wine glass to her lips, saturated in an amused look as the glory of the stacks slip by in all their details. Gazing upon them all takes time, but she follows the Enchantress. "I look for the dent, first, which may guide us where the rest are. Truly I do wish to see whatever he might have scribbled when no more than a youth. Discoveries worthy of having, what might there be buried here? I wonder of Asgard and her fellow realms. History. The Norns. How the realm came to be, how you see Midgard. I cannot know everything in a go, but I can wonder upon the realm and how I do not sound completely ignorant. The Eddas are hard enough to read, and they are incomplete tales of yours."


Fandral has arrived.


A small trickle of laughter sounds from Amora at the mention of a dent in a shelf, and she gestured to the darkened edge of a corner to her left. "Ah, I wasn't there for when /that/ happened. But I never heard the end of it. Nor did I miss out on the planned revenge." She grinned, a flash of teeth in the otherwise shadowy wing of the library.

A hand raised and she gestured to a low table, a forgotten stack of books left there in the shadows and Amora summoned another bobbing light to float over it. She moved around the stacks, plucking the top book up and chuckling as she read over the title. "Well, we read almost all of them. But we did tend to get side tracked—never finished this one though. I remember trying to. Edheldron's book of 'Magic Spells and Minor Prophets'," She sighed and set aside with a cluck of her tongue.

"Someone else must have picked it up some time ago."


The pair of them forge an exotic comparison, the golden-haired diva and the hunter-clad vixen. The study can be made from afar how close and how far Asgard and Midgard stand. Wine in a library may be sacrilege, but they both carry a goblet and persue the stacks at leisure. Tis Amora who takes the lead, purposefully so.

The bohemian raises her glass in a toast. "Truly, they fought so certainly? How did the tutors or the librarians not intervene when they engaged in fisticuffs?" That subtle vision of brothers warring and clocking one another, perhaps one unaware (or all too aware) of his own strength tracing a smile upon the girl's lips. One who has no sisters or brothers of her own, except in stolen memory, is left with the illusory silhouettes of her imagination.

Scarlett laughs, then, so full of sunshine that defies the very darkness of the library. A mercurial bon vivant surely presents no harm, even as she takes the book in question. Unless it's English or Old Norse… French she can get by in, but not Aesir. "You may have to translate or show me a charm for such, my lady. I cannot read, though this here," she points to prophets on the cover, "and the first one looks familiar. How does one absorb that, too? I have a great many months of study ahead."


Fandral arrives at the library to relieve the guard on duty who's keeping an eye on their visitors. He gives a friendly clap on the man's shoulders and then makes his way to the ladies with a wide smile after the other man leaves, "Still exploring the library Lady Scarlett?" He gives Amora a flirtaous smile, "And Lady Amora, I did not get a chance to give you my proper respects." He gives a deep bow, "How are you finding Asgard after all this time?" He says it in a way that makes it sound like Amora was on a holiday and not banished from the city. Fandral has always been a man of discretion.


A brow arched upwards in the darkened stacks, shadowed by the tall and magnificent shelves that reached up and up, into the high ceilings well above the heads of even the tallest Aesir. "Oh, no, Loki didn't swing a fist for revenge. And he wouldn't take his revenge here. No, there were snakes and bedsheets involved for that one. And we also took the time to make sure Sif—" She broke off at the sound of the door opening, and she lowered the muffling field of magic around them, allowing others to once more hear what conversations were held between them.

At Fandral's approach a rather sultry look, the mask that Amora always seemed to wear, pulled at her lips. If she just happened to angle herself between Fandral and Scarlett, it was mere happenstance. No protective instincts there. Amora held out a delicately manicured hand to the golden god, showing off ample clevage as she leaned forward toward him.

"My lord, how lovely to see you. I was merely regaling little Scarlet darling here with tales from childhood. She's such a curious little mite, and polite too." Her voice was rich and sweet with the promise of all manner of things, and in her free hand she balanced a golden goblet of fruity smelling mead.

"I find the court tedious, how else? I wish to know if I might venture forward and return to home soon, the Nine Realms be blessed that it might happen with some haste."


"Her ladyship accedes to my needless desire for entertainment." A few hours ago, she was here. A few hours past, a nap and dining, here Scarlett is again. "Though my definition may differ from hers considerably, at least in places. Not verily so when it comes to dances and festivals around bonfires, invoking the stars and ancestral divinities alongside the fecund earth." Let's just add a little fuel to the fire, for the born-and-dyed pagan diverging from her Christocentric worldview can paint words in luminous tempera shades when she wants to.

She bends in a curtsey all the same, her obeisance well practiced, the forward fold of her torso and dip of her knee gracious. "The honey in the hall is delightful, by the by." A glimpse to Amora finds a smile there. "Though I am favoured doubly to not besiege these towers of learning alone. Else it should be a very short siege until someone sent word to the palace and returned me squarely to Her Highness' service."

The curve of her orchid smile acknowledges the likelihood of this, as opposed to finding her curled up on 'Sagi's Primer for Asgardian Children, A Phonetic Guide.' Her musings venture away to silence, and she gazes up at the dustier reaches of the stacks taller than she is. No way around it; the only way up is /up/ and if no rolling ladder presents itself, she goes about it the hard way. She climbs the shelves, or at the very least, appears to.


"Sadly I can not give you leave to return to your home Lady Amora," Fandral tells her with a regretful look that also happens to allow him full view of the charms the Enchantress is displaying, "Only All-Father can lift the banishment." He provides a look that tells if it was up to him, she would be forgiven and released, "And Thor's wishes to have you here rather than downstairs…" In the dungeon is left unsaid, "Only go so far my lady. But I am sure that All-Father shall hear Thor's words and take them to heart."

"My lady…please be careful," Fandral pauses in his flirtation to call out to Rogue who has taken to climbing on the shelves, "Not all of them are well grounded…" He pauses with a concerned look given to the girl. It's more than duty, Fandral seems to geniunely like the girl based on their conversation last night, "I can bring a ladder if you are intent on climbing up there." He then looks around quickly, moving to find a ladder so he can move it into place for Rogue in case she needs it, "And I am glad you found the hall enjoyable. There is many flavors to savour there as well as good company."


Amora's deflated shoulders follow Fandral's words and she lowered her gaze, her lips pouting outward in a delicious display of full lips, and she fluttered her thick eyelashes once more. "Well, mayhaps I could stay a night or two with you then? If I have to listen to his highness and the Princess court each other for the remainder of my stay, I fear I might return to Midgard out of sheer need for a decent night's rest."

Then her gaze was lifting upwards toward Rogue and she huffed, irritation flashing over her features. A hand waved and magic ensnared the brave mortal in a green silk band of protection, lifting her up and then trying to settle her back down. "Oh do get down from there, you're searching for the books Loki and I read when we were young yes? I can and will summon them down for you if you would just remain on the ground. I can't have you cracking your head on the floor or on a shelf. Mortals are so fragile. What would people say if you died?" A tsk followed and Amora made a show of waving with her other hand at the shelves above—several books lifting out of their places with a green edge and floating down gently around them..


A ladder anywhere within reach, reasonably, will set forth Scarlett upon a trip to recover the object and roll it along the casters and shelves. She does not begrudge a little effort on her part to spare the librarians having a collective heart attack and flinging the Midgardner among the Svartalves. They might not know what to make of a Nightcrawlerfledgling sorceress who keeps calling them .

Thus when she ascends the rungs — or the shelves — it is to float above the ground, a few marked lines higher. Her leggings give absolutely failure of modesty, and she searches for the slight imperfections illustrating a missing book, a small volume, a dip where a young man might have tossed another. Stamped and marked, the wood tells no tales save to those who can conjure up memories from the grain. Not so much. "Truth, my— Fandral." Rules are recalled, hesitation limited on the lilting honey accent gilding every word. "I oft forget to eat, and find myself unexpectedly famished when smarter a course to dine more regularly. But such are the consequences of being fully absorbed in a subject."

The sensitive and unspeakable disquiet of Amora and the courtship of a princess and a prince are far beyond her capacity to endure. Let Fandral bear up against that sorrow of the heart, though he does earn a faint smile. "If I died, they would say I up and went to Hela, and would be blessed to have my soul carried off in the blesse‘d realm of Asgard."
At least she’s pragmatic about the whole affair, a dim glimmer rippling over her lips, coursing into the air as a melody bewitching as a moonbeam.


"My lady, you do me a great honor," Fandral tells Amora with a twinkle in his eye as he lowers his voice, "To hear your siren song and bask in your presence would be a gift that I would take to my grave." He flashes her a conspiral smile, "Who knows, after our rendevous, we might take a walk along the scenic hallways of our fair city and visit a few old friends." There's a look that Fandral gives Amora that indicates that a private audience with Loki is not completely out of the question with the smooth talking lord by her side.

"Thank you Lady Amora," Fandral tells his companion as she uses her magic to rescue the mortal climbing on the stacks, "Thor would have my head if anything happened to his guest." And Fandral would be sad, he might even cry if it were to happen by the look he passes to the girl as she is floated down to safety, "And I would be sadden if harm fell upon such a treasure of Midgard." He waits till the girl is on the ground before telling Amora, "Although, if she had taken a spill I would have done my best to catch her." He gauges the height for a moment, "I think I would have been able to do so without much trouble." He nods off to the guards that are further away, "Although such an action might ruffle some feathers."


A wicked smile lights up Amora's features, her hands held aloft as she angled down several more stacks of books with practiced ease. Her gaze lingering on Fandral with a flirtatious quirk of her golden brow. "Oh, I would very much enjoy such a scenic night." She leaves the line about 'old friends' be, for certainly the only 'old friend' still in Asgard that would even speak with her (up until her recent arrival) was Loki.

"I think you misjudge how fragile mortals can be, my lord. Their necks can snap from such a fall and then, well, where would we be?" She turned, letting her spell with the lowered books go as she plucked up one at seemingly random.

"Ahh, yes, 'The Mysteries and Myths of Tantric Script'—" She held it out toward Scarlett. "I have notes on that one from when I was a girl. You should read it.." Amora paused again, her head tilting to the side as she settled a hand on her hip. "Right, All-speak.." She sighed and stepped toward the mortal woman before her.

Several whispered words later, and Amora tilted her head to the side, as if considering Scarlett before committing to the spell. And then she was closing the distance between them and pressing a kiss to the mortal's lips—a spell passing from her to Scarlet and giving the woman the gift of Asgard's language.


Oh, what terrors! A tender lily too brave for her own good is plucked back to earth. The woeful state of the world, that a foolhardy young woman cannot cling to a rickety ladder without a spell used to save her neck. Though she safely alights upon the ground, the spiral swirl of her iridescent sash crashing against her boots. The Enchantress doing a good deed? Perish the notion, surely, for it is only to win favour with Fandral or Thor.

"Must we speak of frailty and shattered bones? What graces and blessings be amply bestowed upon your people must forever leave a girl in solemn reflection." The nearest the princess' handmaiden comes to admitting the faults and jealousies so known to humanity, Scarlett delivers in that wry turn of voice with faint traces of the slyness she adopted so expertly — by some standards — at Columbia. The students certainly haven't noted the difference.

And there comes the gift of Allspeak, delivered by means that would scorch the hair of a deva, and leave the ljosalfar practically vibrating in shock. Magic saturates the air, awash through the air, and blending connections that never existed prior.

A kiss is but a kiss except when daring a soul-thief's touch. It may only be the rotation of the Enchantress and her previous history which warns the bohemian, and her conscious efforts flatten the black tincture in her soul leaping forth to seize upon the connection of the flesh through an eldritch barrier. A gift of tongues by any other way; electricity sings along the boundary.


"Odin's beard…" Fandral swears under his breath as he watches the heated exchange between the two women. There is a moment where the man is slightly jealous of the two ladies as he watches Enchantress impart her gift upon the Midgard girl. Then to be respectful, he does turn away to perhaps make a few adjustments as not to embarass himself when the ladies turn to him. Instead he finds a few shelves rather interesting to distract himself. Only by sheer willpower does the man play the gentleman and not leer over their exchange.


A kiss from the self-proclaimed 'Goddess of Desire' was everything and more than what the poets and bards of old would describe. All the long centuries of practice and skill were used and Amora leans back with a smirk only after the magic was fully imparted. She flashed a wicked grin at Scarlett and then cast a glance toward Fandral over her shoulder. A heated gaze sparkling in those green eyes so like the mischievous God of Tricks.

Then she was turning away from both of them to pick up the discarded book she had plucked earlier from the stack and hand it off to Scarlett. "There we are, you should be able to read and speak All-speak for the duration of your stay in Asgard. Well, at least as long I remain here. It's a constant spell, it will funnel through the ambient energies around us, but it goes through me before you."

Amora rolled her shoulders back, and leaned against a bookshelf with a smirk on her features as her gaze lingered on the blonde haired god opposite of her. "Impressive that you managed to keep your hands to yourself. Bravo." She offered dryly.


None in this building, and none in this city save one, likely has the faintest notion of how much willpower exerts itself on Scarlett's part to withhold a murderous touch. Thus is her full mouth slow to conform to the kiss bestowed upon her, the silken touch of her lips fleeting at very best. Desire exists, but passion? Ah, no, the only fire to be described to Fandral's sight is the cold light of a star burning suspended in the heavens. She tastes of honey and mead, overlaid by the recent bouquet of the wine, and the gossamer tendrils of her aura plunging through barriers of flesh and networks of synapses to make two discrete individuals one for the briefest of moments. Invisible tendrils soak in, no matter how tightly restrained, the difference of exposure to radiation at different rates. In the end? Still telling, still fatal.

When Amora pulls back, she can be as satisfied as she likes. No hint of a blush touches that cream fair skin, an unnatural glitter in the blazing nebulae of too-bright eyes. Power pours over Scarlett, imparting that gift of omnilinguistics, and she can be certain all those lovely, friendly faces gossiping about her or her kin have no privacy any longer. Secrets between friends and Warriors Three. Her eldritch gaze is nigh identical to the God of Mischief and the Enchantress, but then it always is.

The harbinger demurely glances askance and offers a faint curtsey again to the pair of them. "The tomes I will read diligently. Is this where you would spend your afternoon, or shall we venture elsewhere?"

Aesir. Their own tongue, upon a mortal's.


"I've been practicing restraint my dear Enchantress," Fandral tells her as he turns around flashing Amora a heated glance, letting her know with his gaze that he will have his own to give her in due time, "Something that occassionally comes in handy." He folds his arms at his chest and surveys Scarlett to make sure that she's fine after that magnificant display of Amora's powers, "And thank you my lady for imparting your gentle gifts upon Lady Scarlett. It will make it easier for her to explore our halls of knowledge."

"You speak our language well," Fandral drops his hand and relaxes as Scarlett does not seem upset by the encounter. His own ignorance of her gifts doesn't allow him to understand that perhaps he should have been protecting Amora from her. No mind, the man continues to see the young woman as a gentle Midgard flower among pillars of his hearty Asgardian friends, "And we may go to almost anywhere in the city. Do you wish to visit our marketplace and see how keen hagglers trade their wares for a coin or service? Or perhaps back to the hall for a snack? Or we could even wander through the gardens and observe some of the gardening marvels of my people."


Conveniently, it also means Fandral can do other than translating!


Amora offered little more than a preening roll of her shoulders back, and a lifting of her chin as she combed a hand through her voluminous golden hair. Whether she was aware of what exactly might have happened if Scarlett's control had slipped or if she didn't care, was up for debate. Either way she pushed off the shelves and walked with an sway of her hips toward Fandral, attempting to run her fingers up his arm to his shoulder. "It will make it easier for her to know when danger approaches, rather than having to wait for someone to address her." She murmured.

"But enough, I am off to return to the quarters we have been asked to remain in. If you wish my company, my lord, I shall be there. Scarlett, do try your best with the books."


The mortal inclines her head towards the Asgardian pair, her fingertips mirroring one another and palms together as she affects what may be considered a suitably modest appearance. Let Amora entice all who look upon her, much less stand before her bewitching, breath-stealing kiss. Her pulse plies a leaden note, percussively struck from the halls of the dwarven smiths, chased by the emerald fire of controlled absorption.

"I apologize," she murmurs. "Had I known she intended such demonstration, precautions may have been taken. I thought her purely fascinated by the Crown Prince." The difficult linguistic leaps come to Scarlett easier than before, the dropped vowels and rounded contours of the ancient and stately language conforming naturally. The goblet of wine at hand is drained slowly rather than a go, manners forever holding her fast. She remains the alpine flower, ever fragile in the light of the sun, doomed to perish long 'ere the heartier folk of a showy garden descend to the season.

His offer is met with a slight smile, and she inclines her head to Fandral. "Not the hall, I think. Wherever would suit. The marketplace, perchance, and these books can be carried back to the Prince's chambers if we are permitted to take them forth?" Reading is about to be a whole lot easier when every symbol makes sense.


Fandral stiffens as Amora runs her fingers up his arm, doing his best not to reach out and take that woman into his arms right then and there. Amora has always had an effect on the warrior, stirring memories that certain him fully to attention, "Lady Amora, until he next meet." He then brings her hand to his and savors the softness of her skin against his lips as he gives his goodbyes. His eyes do not leave the Enchantress until she is out of the library .

"Be careful of what gifts she provides," Fandral softly tells the girl as he turns back to Scarlett, his composure back into place now that the Enchantress has left the building, "She is an intriguing and complex woman that never gives her gifts freely." He gives a fond smile at some memories, "Sometimes the payment is not unpleasant but still…just be clear what she wants before you accept gifts in the future." He nods when she asks if she can take books back and forth to the rooms, "It should not be a problem, just advise our librarian that you wish to check them out." He then motions for them to head towards that destination, "If we drop some of these books at your rooms then we can head on to the marketplace."


After a long pause, "And most of us do not see the barriers in gender nor seek just one partner," Fandral admits to her in her surprise over the Enchantress willingness to have more than one partner, "She plays both brothers as well as their trusted friends." Fandral is not just the only Asgardian close to the brothers that Amora has toyed with.


"No gift comes without its cost." A bemused quality does not settle easily upon Scarlett, her eyes altogether too radiant in the fair frame of her face. "Least with a woman renown here as a huntress of amorous affiliations. Should she position me to cross my liege, accidental or deliberate, I will prevail upon him honestly. Alas, these blessings I cannot undo of my own accord. Not without the secret lying in those." She sweeps her hand towards the stack of books selected by Amora. "Therein may be the rub, but without loyalty I would not be here."

Fingers brace her upper arms, clamping down upon the woven skein evincing traceries of the wind, the veins of leaves, the spin of destiny thrown on the loom. "Let me ask the librarians to tolerate the borrowing. I'll seek their recommendation for a good legal codex, and let them presume you will be resting well having perused the essentials in translation." English should not be impossible; her mind thinks one way, the spell merely augments her understanding and fluency of others. It speaks to her character she wants to read of Asgardian law, perhaps?

Girl needs /fun/. A glimmer of wildfire dances behind the construed mask. "Naturally. You live long, your passions charge in variety."


"As would I if the Enchantress sought him harm," Fandral tells Scarlett with a smile, as he chats with her in the library proper, helping her gather the books she wants to take to the librarian to check out, "But I sense no mischief other than her own need to entertain herself. No…I think she will contain herself till she gets what she wants…" He gives her a wink, "An audience with Loki and perhaps his freedom in whatever he's done to get himself in the dungeons." He then motions for her to follow him, "And if she asks you later for payment, play surprised and act like you didn't realize she would expect anything back."


"Is not what she desired somewhat different?" Scarlett leaves that in the air as she goes to confront the librarians about her rather substantial pile of books to review. At least it says something about her disposition and commitment to learning, or the perils of a student, she has a healthy number of them to carry out with residual effort spent on hauling them off. Someone else can deliver them. Either way, she ends up prowling out after Fandral into the street at large once the arrangements are finalized. "I think she chanced fate well enough, doing what she did. Thank you for the warnings, though. Shall we?"


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