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It was morning in Asgard when Crystal left the realm, but there were many other things to see to. It's getting late at the Institute by the time she returns, in no small part because she didn't actually pack anything resembling normal clothes, and had no real desire to explain court gowns to curious teenagers. And so she sneaks through the hallways in an elegant, rich gown of foxfire blue/green material shot through with gold and copper that drapes around her form like a waterfall of precious jewels, far more form-fitting and low-necked than anything she'd usually wear, trying not to draw any attention to herself.
*
As for Erik, he's in their room, dressed casually for the evening. He's still wearing the day's slacks, but has otherwise stripped down to bare feet and a white tank top. A pipe hangs out of his mouth, burning steadily; an open book rests in his lap, and a tall glass of beer is on the nightstand. He's not in bed yet; he rests upon a side chair, reading and smoking while listening to German opera.
The poor fellow has no idea what's about to sneak in.
*
It was really only supposed to be a short trip. Two days. Maybe four, if things were complicated. Instead, it was nearly a week. A week of being on display, of politics. And all she wants is to get back to the safety of normal life. In that dress. Once she's sure the hall is clear, she hikes up her skirts enough to tiptoe quickly along it until she reaches their door, dashing inside.
She closes it swiftly behind herself, leaning back against it and letting out a long breath of relief, eyes closed. For a moment, she's too relieved to even realize he's there, until the smell of the smoke reaches her.
Dress aside, she looks…better. Her color is better, her cheeks and eyes brighter, skin clearer. She's even breathing better. It seems the fresh air of Asgard agrees with her, whatever happened there.
*
At the opening of the door, Erik looks up from his reading. He's quiet at first, because - my God, look at her. It's enough to take his breath away!
Finally, he speaks up. "More diplomatic mayhem?"
He folds the book over a leaf, then sets the pipe upon the table. Without that constant puffing, it will be extinguished in moments. He'd left the window ajar to keep the room relatively fresh, but the cool air of fall is brushing in and making the room perhaps a bit more crisp than many would like. It doesn't bother him… Auschwitz was far, far worse.
*
Crystal straightens up from the door, pushing a hand through her hair with a rueful smile. "An understatement, I'm afraid," she laughs softly. "I'm beginning to think there isn't a woman in Asgard who isn't in love with the prince. It really gives everything an extra twist, you know?" She glances down at her gown, letting out a breath.
"I didn't pack anything normal," she admits. "And I didn't want every student in the school to see it, either. Medusa apparently let it slip that we weren't mutants, so Bobby came to interrogate me shortly before I left." Yet as she steps toward him, a crooked smile eases across her features until she's close enough to set her hands to his shoulders. "You are a sight for sore eyes."
*
A rueful smirk forms upon Erik's face. "Well, he is a prince," comes the admonishment. It's short lived, however; the news of Medusa's slip and Bobby's interrogation has him lifting an eyebrow. "Well, I don't think Charles intended this place to be just for mutantkind."
When she touches him, however, all signs of mirth leak away. He releases a long breath, and snakes hands up to rest over Crystal's fingers. "As are you, my dear." There comes a firm squeeze, a massaging of finger against flesh. "I won't say I began to worry; at least, not for your safety. But-" His eyes dance about for a moment, from one green eye to the next. "I had begun to miss your scent almost as greatly as your company."
*
"It was…exhausting." Crystal drops her brow to his, though a small smile lingers still, hands turning to wrap around his in turn. "But I was mostly safe. Except from the enchantress who probably wants me dead for this whole courtship mess, but she went too far and is currently not in much of a position to follow through on any would-be threats. Though, if you happen across any stunning, long-legged blonde women in green who make you feel things you don't expect to feel, I would recommend getting some distance."
The real reason, perhaps, that she hasn't so much as shared a name, even if she's told Thor her heart belongs to another. What one person knows, another can learn, and she won't underestimate the potential cruelty of gods.
"How were things here? No more kidnappings for a week, I hope?" she asks, a soft note of humor in her voice.
*
"We all know that blondes are the worst breed," Erik agrees. It's a quizzical thing that she speaks of; the thought doesn't admittedly cross his mind that this particular blonde may have certain powers, for Crystal has a power of her own.
"No, no more kidnappings," he answers. "Though, Manhattan Island seems to be having a bit of trouble. I've considered investigating, but… I'm not sure what good my particular blend of sorcery would be against the dead."
Another idea then crosses the German's mind, and his mouth twists into a wide grin. "If that dress is uncomfortable, I could help you be free of it."
*
"Oh, could you?" Crystal's smile deepens with a laugh, hands tightening around his. "You know, surprisingly, it's quite comfortable. Made by elves. Who are apparently very fine tailors. The things you learn." She leans in to claim a slow kiss, sliding onto his lap as she does. "Besides, if you take it off, then you don't get to appreciate how I look in it. Frankly it seems more appropriate in a bedroom than outside," she chuckles, brushing her fingertips over the material.
*
"Elves?" For a moment, there is disbelief. It seems that Erik is constantly reminding himself the importance of stretching his beliefs. "I wonder what they might fashion for the Master of Magnetism." That last bit is spoken a bit tongue in cheek.
There is certainly no complaint at having her in his lap! He shifts enough to make it more comfortable, providing some more leg to support her. "You make a good point," he answers, and turns his eyes down to admire it. He even mimics her motions, wondering what elven material feels like to the touch. "On both fronts. Does everyone wear eleven gowns in your realm? Or only royalty?"
*
"You…would not do well there. The only thing forbidden there is iron. Ironically. Is that irony? I'm always getting it confused." Crystal teases, brushing her fingers through his hair in an absent motion, soaking in the contact. The fabric itself, though it looks almost metallic, is even softer than silk, slightly cool to the touch, almost like running his hand through water more than touching anything solid.
"Royalty and nobility, I'm given to understand. And it isn't my realm," she adds, wrinkling her nose. "It's Asgard. It's Thor's realm. Or more properly his father's, though if this betrothal business…" Trailing off, she shakes her head. "We have our own fine things in Attilan, but this came from Alfheim. And believe me, modesty is…not the same sort of concern there, it seems."
*
Forbidden? Erik arches an eyebrow. Why on Earth would such a thing… well, point made, it isn't Earth. "You know… it's theory that any planet capable of sustaining life must have a strong magnetic field, in order to dissipate harmful solar radiation," he points out. Words that might belong in a lecture hall, but Erik utters them with a raspiness that speaks of his arousal. "That, my dear, would be the irony. Oh… oh my."
Erik doesn't have words to describe what the gown feels like. The words are there, but they wouldn't be suitable to his understanding of garmentry. "It must feel like you're swimming in it," he nearly whispers, now finding that he can't keep his hand free from it. "Modesty is only much of a concern in America. And, honestly, people are beginning to embrace a more… European mentality."
*
"I'm not one hundred percent certain the realms are planets or follow their rules. Though, admittedly, I was a bit distracted." At his description of the dress, Crystal laughs low, nodding with her nose against his cheekbone. "Yes, it rather does feel like swimming. Which only adds to the feeling of being completely naked despite the fact that I'm wearing it."
"And they're elves and fairies," she adds, as if that should explain it all. She was young enough when they left Attilan to still have been exposed to European fairy tales. "Cold iron is anathema to them. Or again, so I'm told. But it does fit the mythology. I met Odin. Is that not…the strangest thing?"
*
Erik claims her with a kiss, not letting go of his hold on her midsection. "It would seem there's some truth to the mythology, then," he admits. "I wouldn't be so blind as to claim that this… Odin, and Thor, are mutants. Not that it's out of the realm of possibility, but… surely there is some power there, or else myth wouldn't have become legend."
*
Crystal's arm snakes behind his neck at the kiss, leaning into it and sighing contentedly as it breaks. "I would be inclined to say aliens, personally. But we both have our own bias," she laughs, the corners of her eyes crinkling with humor as she reaches up to cup his cheek in her hand, eyes soaking in his features. "Every time I see you after we've been apart, I fall for you again. It's hardly fair."
*
At word of aliens, Erik produces a quiet but honest laugh. "Had someone said that to me three months past, I might have considered them delusional." Things have changed.
The humor lingers, soft like a whisper under the deafening connection that has formed between Crystal and Erik. He lifts a hand to cover the fingers that touch his cheek, and his eyelids droop like liquid.
"Why do you think I never complain when you take your leave?" he asks. "It makes your return that much more meaningful. It would be a pity to become complacent with you, Crystalia… if such a thing were even possible."
*
In just one sentence, he says it. A pity to become complacent. Crystal said she wanted a challenge, she wanted adventure. And with Erik, that's every day. Some of it may be strange, most of it will be difficult. It's none of what she was raised for. But it's a life of agency. Of self.
"You don't complain because you are unflappable," she says with a small, warm smile. "Because you are the most rationally self-assured man I think I've ever known." Her fingers trace through his hair as she shifts her weight in his lap, settling in. "Tell me about your week. Or England. Or…anything. I am utterly exhausted of being a princess right now. I want to hear about a different life."
*
There is a warm smile, but deep within there is a sense of fear. Erik knows, deep down, that he is not unflappable. He won't speak of the time wasted, pouring over archives in London, searching for signs of the Nazi's responsible for the murder of his mother. He doesn't speak of it because he knows, deep down, that when he finds them, he will take their judgement into his own hands.
Thus, the momentary silence.
"England is beautiful this time of year, but it always rains. There isn't a single moment where you leave shelter without the comfort of an umbrella. It's similarly paced to New York, but… different, somehow. New York is young, vibrant, hungry. London is settled, comfortable in the groove of its insanity. Mature." He smiles. "They still remember the war, perhaps moreso than the good people of die Mutterland. It is a place of comfortable caution, of whimsical paranoia."
He grins wider then. "Not like Paris. You must see Paris, Crystalia. It is vibrant, free. They've not let the horrors of occupation dampen their spirits; in fact, in many ways, it has helped them to come alive anew."
*
It will be a dark day when Crystal realizes just how hungry he is for vengeance. But for now, she's content to speak of European cities, of the personalities that come with them. "We spent some time in Paris," she laughs. "And yes, Paris is…I liked it there. Rome as well. Places where history sits so much more heavily than it does here. Attilan is ancient, but it's…for all we celebrate change, the city itself can be so stagnant. But in Europe, the march of history across any city is so clear."
It may have already been late, and there may be other concerns heavy on her mind, but for now, she's content to speak of everything and nothing, laying down the burdens of royalty for a very human moment between two people who can only partially claim humanity.
*