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*
The bar was cloudy with smoke and the cheers and jeers of various drinking patrons. A singer played in the back corner, a soft guitar and tamberine added to the atmosphere. Amora, in her human guise sat at the bar. A beautiful woman, who was most decidedly not alone or lacking in male attention. A small crowd of men hung around her, and she seemed mildly amused as the men fumbled over each other to pay for her food or drink.
A smirk pulled at ruby lips as she chided one and praised another, watching as it led to blows from the testosterone fueled males. They were soon sent out of the bar, and the sounds of the fist fight could be heard from outside just barely over the music.
The Enchantress chuckled faintly, recrossing her long legs sensuously and drawing even more male attention. Her legs were bare save her knee high boots, flashing skin up to her thighs where she wore a mini skirted, emerald green sweater dress. A belt of gold chain links draped over her aple hips. A flutter of black eyelashes followed as she ordered a martini from the bartender.
*
At the bathrooms, a door opens and Karl Mordo exits.
The man is… quiet. It is no merely a detail of his speech, but his whole demeanour. Unassuming. Thoughtful — pensive, rather. Dressed in a nondescript suit — at least, that is the illusion — he makes his way into the bar. Beneath the illusion, his tunic is torn and bloodied, his face is a mess of bruises, and there are strands of… webbing? caught here and there in his clothing. He carries both a sword and a short staff sheathed at his back.
As soon as his face comes into the light, he spots Amora by the bar-counter, and stops dead in his tracks. It is not just her beauty — which is stunning. It's… So it would appear he is not the only master of the Mystic Arts in the room tonight — and she could not stand out more if she had all the spotlights from the stage focused upon her. Coincidence? Perhaps.
Perhaps not.
His dark, emerald eyes glinting, the warlock steps up to the bar right beside Amora, and orders a gin and tonic. Then he looks sidelong at her, sussing her out.
*
A curving smile pulls at ruby lips as Amora catches sight of the sorcerer and she slinks off the bar-stool as he glances side long at her. She shrugs off the mortal men that fawned at her, and with a sway of her hips, pulled up alongside Mordo. A hand rising to trace a teasing path over his arm and along his shoulders. She could smell the scent of blood and magic on him, and her equally green eyes of matching hue caught his own.
"Hello handsome," She breathed into the shell of his ear. A predator who knew what she wanted and knew what would drive anyone of the male persuasion wild.
"What is a gentleman like you doing in such a boring place like this?" She purred, leaning back with a smirk upon her full lips.
*
"Making use of the facilities," Mordo replies easily as his drink arrives. "Another, for the lady," he tells the bartender — although when that drink arrives, Mordo surreptitiously gestures with the fingers of his hand, and turns the beverage into something less pedestrian than anything found here on this Plane.
He smiles.
"I'd almost ask you the same question," says he after a moment, pausing only to sip his drink and narrow his eyes at Amora. "But something tells me I know exactly why you are here. Do you have an equally-enchanting name to go with those eyes? I suspect as much."
He glances sidelong at the other men in the room who are glaring jealously at him; he did after snag the attention of the beautiful woman in the room… ah, mortals. So mildly… everything.
*
Amora tossed her hair back over her shoulders with a flick of her perfectly manicured hand, her smile deepening at his words as she held out the same hand to him. "Amora," She drawled, a flash of white teeth following as she leaned in until her side brushed against his teasingly.
Her eyes fell to the drink, noting the casual expression of magic as he waved his hand over it and changed the contents. Her smile only widening as she reached forward with her other hand to pluck it up and sip at the contents.
"What other reasons does one visit a bar filled with desperate, sad and lonely men? I desire company, I am sorely.." She sighed, "lacking, in good company. In the company that I oh, so, dearly want." Her figure leaning close to his, invading his personal space without so much as a blink.
"Do you think you could keep up with me?"
*
Mordo smiles.
Not this is interesting — and such coincidental timing. The swarthy man lifts his chin, peers back at Amora, his eyes alight. He knows the name. Amora the Enchantress. Asgardian sorceress, beauty, the desire of men, the envy of women (and vice versa, probably, too). The warlock's eyes glint in the smoky light as he drains more of his glass.
Lowering his empty glass to the bar-top, he leans a bit forward with an elbow resting on the counter, and cants his head to the side. "Now isn't that the question," says he in a playful murmur. "I suspect… you wouldn't have come here if you had not already thought so, yourself. Do you have any specific plans in mind, of which I should be aware? Or shall we… play the Fates by ear, as they say?"
*
Amora lowers her hand as he lowers his glass, her lips remaining in the perfectly painted smile as she leaned in close. Her eyelashes fluttering as she peered at him from beneath them. Then she moved with a careful, aching slowness, slipping a hand (unless otherwise stopped), over his shoulder and used it as leverage to swing herself into his lap. A full throated laugh escaping her as she did so.
"Well, I'd say I would plan to offer you the best night of your life, with the most beautiful woman you've ever had a chance to lay your eyes on. And from there? Who can say what the fates desire. But I can say, that I am very — ," She paused, dragging her lower lip between her teeth, "very, interested in getting to know you. Perhaps with your name..?" She hooked a golden brow upwards, reaching up with both hands to try to trace along his jawline.
*
"My name is Mordo," the warlock replies, remaining still but slightly wary of the Enchantress' touch — although if she wanted to ensorcel him, she could do it without touch just as easily.
Or at least attempt it.
So he doesn't stop her from touching his face. "Baron Karl Mordo." He usually doesn't give his first name. "And I know you, my dear, at least by reputation. I'm honoured…" The man lets out a breath, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
Surely she sees through the illusion. She has to know that he at least has… 'been through' something. And the webs… there aren't that many 'spider-gods' across the Planescape. He wonders how much she already knows…
"I look forward to it," says he behind another pearly-white smile. "Getting to know you better, as well. What do you say to carrying this conversation to a setting more appropriate?" She was right about the bar.
*
Amora saw through the illusions, but hardly put in the effort to continually seeing through it. Regardless the Enchantress hardly seemed concerned with the man's state. Even as she smoothed her hands down his shoulders and inhaled deeply as she leaned in close. Green eyes flickering with amusement and more than a hint of desire.
"How lovely to meet you, Baron… I'm honored you've heard of me. I hope… all good things.." She flashed another coy, and yet sharp, toothed smile his way.
And then she was moving to stand, dragging her hand down the length of his arm and threading her fingers through his. "Then let us depart, I do so love a man that is direct."
*
Mordo takes a step back from the bar-counter, leaves some cash upon it — he is not all bad — and raises his chin. "Yes… somewhere more fitting than this…" says he in a low murmur. Heedless of onlookers in the room (altering their memories is a simple thing after all), the warlock motions above him with his arms, forming a circle horizontal in the air — seemingly made of dark green water.
His fingers move as if pulling threads, and the circle begins to turn… until it is spinning. A pool of water forms within it, through which another image can almost be seen — it is brighter than the smoky bar. Cleaner. And there is water there… The circle of darkwater descends slowly over the warlock and the enchantress, and while it leaves them perfectly dry — it causes the image of the bar around them to… run.
Like a water-based painting in the rain.
When the circle reaches the floor, Mordo and Amora find themselves standing inside a Grecian bathhouse, or day-spa — yes, in Greece — with attendants already approaching them with towels, robes etc.
"I hope it's to your liking," says Mordo as he walks behind a screen to undress and put on a robe. "I do own it after all. Please, order whatever you like. The people here are very good."
*
A smirk pulls at Amora's full lips as he teleported them away from the city. As they stepped into the Grecian bathhouse, her mortal guise faded. There, there was the full presence of Amora The Enchantress, witch of Asgard, beauty of the realm eternal and most beautiful woman in the Nine Realms in all her glory. As he stepped away behind a screen, she fluffed her golden hair, a sigh pealing from her lips.
"Tis a lovely place" Her voice low and warm as melted chocolate and a hint of red wine. Then she was stepping toward the attendants, holding out her wrists, offering her back without further preamble for undressing. It would seem /she/ at least, cared little for what the attendants saw or did not see.
"Do tell though, why come to that pathetic city when you've this little retreat?" A stretch followed, holding her arms over her head as she was freed of her clothes. Then she was stepping delicately into the waters, glancing briefly over her shoulders to where the Baron changed into his robe.
*
When Mordo emerges from the screen, he is wearing only shorts and a robe. The robe only stays on long enough for him to walk to the pool — someone takes it from him as the injured warlock steps into the refreshing water, and sits down on a seat (which is underwater) at a table (which is above).
His eyes never leave Amora.
And despite himself, there's desire in those eyes of his.
"I go where I wish, or where I must," he tells her as he starts to relax — for the first time in… a while. Who knows how long he was stuck in that dimension of Sham-Horoth? Time does not flow there quite the same as in this Plane of existence. At least he can call that dimension 'his own' now…
In a way, Mordo IS 'Sham-Horoth'.
He likes that.
"I know people in New York," he goes on to say. "People who… require watching. I'm sure you can understand the dangers of power in the hands of the unworthy."
*
When Mordo settles into the pool, Amora gracefully leaned into her back, lazily drifting through the warm waters. Her cat-like eyes lingering on him, as she shamelessly stretched out before him. Sometimes teasingly lifting a leg up into the air and running her hands up and down the length of her calve.
As he spoke she twisted around, swimming back toward him and settling into the seat beside him, draping herself against his side, seeking to settle her arms over his shoulder. Heat burning in those brilliantly green eyes.
"Oh, there are those that think me ill fitted to wield what powers I've learned and gathered for centuries." She whispered, sticking her lower lip out. "Who.. ever would require watching in that city?" A pause, "Besides others of my kin, those uppity mutants.." She purred into his ear, running her hands over his shoulder and massaging the muscles there.. Following a nip at the edge of his ear teasingly.
*
"Yes," the warlock replies, leaning his head back and enjoying the soothing waters… as well as Amora's bare over his shoulders. He could be saying 'yes' to her comments about her kin and the 'uppity mutants', or… to her company.
Or both.
Both is highly likely.
"There does appear to be a great many of your people 'slumming it', I believe the term is, here upon 'lowly Midgard'," he agrees after having his ear 'nipped'. He doesn't quite shy away, but he does give the exquisite woman a sidelong glance.
"And some would say the same of me," he goes on to say, watching her, and he wets his lips with his tongue. "But surely you have heard of the 'mighty and infallible Stephen Strange'? He requires watching, as any fool with too much power requires watching."
A pause.
"What is it you want?" Mordo asks, fighting the urge to kiss the Enchantress here and now. He might have given in, but he is no stranger to seduction — not when he has consorted with demons, and managed to keep his skin intact.
*
A chuckle follows as Amora rests her chin atop his shoulder, pressing her figure against his with a teasing lightness, her hands lightly and idly tracing over his upper arms and shoulders still. Red lips quirked upwards into a smirk as she blew gently on his neck as he glanced sidelong at her.
"The Princes, Thor, and Loki. Lady Sif, Fandral the Dashing — the mortals called him Freyr. Hmmm and myself among a half dozen others.. Though, we shall see for how long that lasts." She murmured gently.
The Enchantress was oh so close to teasing him with a kiss against his shoulder, but paused when he mentioned Doctor Strange. A golden brow hooked upwards as she leaned back to meet his gaze firmly. Then she smiled, and a deep laugh escaped her, low and warm. "Oh, Doctor Strange, the Sorcerer Supreme. He thinks himself so high and mighty," She purred, reaching up to try to tace her hand against his jawline. Then she was shifting, making to try to straddle his lap.
"He rejected me, so many times. I offered him honest help.. and he refused me." She tsk'ed, shaking her head and pouting, sticking her lower lip out again as she leaned forward. Her lips ghosting above his own teasingly.
"I want to be loved, to me admired, and desired for a night. Is that too much to ask? To not be coldly forced to watch others play while I suffer lonely bed?" She breathed.
*
"He never did know what to do with… power," Mordo comments a touch breathlessly. He shifts his weight upon the seat as the Enchantress sits on his lap, while attendants bring drinks over. "Who in his right mind would say no to you?"
That said, there is suspicion in the warlock's voice, and he narrows his eyes at Amora. "And what of those of us, who might desire more than just… one exquisite night to be remembered? I intend no offense, but my goals do extend beyond my bedroom door." There must be more that you want, he thinks, while at the same time brushing his fingertips along Amora's arm.
*
Amora preened as he spoke, as he stated the very thing that she wanted to hear. After all, who in their right mind indeed would say no to her? Her ego, so savagely bruised as of late, simply shined at his words. The Asgardian goddess tossed her hair over her shoulder with a roll of her shoulders, her hands smoothing over his chest and traveling up to cup his chin, and if he did not halt her — to steal a light and teasingly coy kiss from his lips. One that, while tempting on its own, clearly was bespelled.. but for some reason, did not actively bespell him. As if she had actively not used the magic, but he would note it was there. Waiting.
"Who indeed?" She murmured, her voice a heady mix of delight and lust. "I offered him my bed, and he turned me away multiple times. Blushed like a school boy. Like a child." She drew closer, trying to press her forehead against his.
"You desire more than a simple night? Well, what would that be, darling?" She drawled, her breath ghosting against him, "I am attracted to power, I shall not lie," She inhaled, her eyes fluttering shut briefly.
"And you're intoxicating."
*
Mordo smiles, and finds himself tilting his head forward somewhat, pressing forehead to forehead. His eyes close, and he breathes in the Enchantress' scent. He is quite sure that he is not the only intoxicating person in this little rendezvous.
The warlock lifts his fingertips off Amora's arm, and gestures intricately with them as strands like gossamer-thin web form and weave themselves into an impossible flower. Its colour shifts, changing with the light, although it shares a faint likeness with the rose.
Smiling faintly, Mordo offers to set the flower in Amora's hair as he replies: "Indeed? It's very kind of you to say so… As for myself, I could well use a partnership, if you wish to call it that. There will be more power for the pair of us — and plenty of… entertainment."
At that word, his fingers curl about a lock of Amora's hair and he toys with it, idly. There's no question that the man is aroused by the goddess' attention, and for all the smiles, the comments and flirtations… he is very keen to puzzle out what this enchantress' game is.
"It would depend on how adverse you are… to danger, my dear."
*
A glance was offered as she felt the shift and magic that interplayed between his fingers as he summoned the impossible flower. Her illuminous green eyed gaze flitted over it briefly before he tucked it into the golden corona that was her tumbling wave of hair. She smiled, threading her hands over his shoulders and curling them behind his neck.
"That is very, very," She leaned in with each word, "Tempting." She kissed the corner of his lips teasingly, a brush and nothing more. Not yet.
"I could very well be swayed by such a promise indeed. As far as dangerous, darling.." She laughed, throwing back her head as she did so. A high color dusting her cheeks and only succeeding in making her delicate bone structure stand out all the more.
"I have been to all Nine Realms before, at one point or another. And I am bound to serve a mistress that desires a visit to Hel. The very realm of the dead. I have few aversions to anything left in all my centuries of life." She brushed her cheek against his own as she whispered the words into the shell of his ear and drew back again.
*
"Then, I think…" says he, the warlock, as he lowers a hand to reach for his beverage — an Yrutian Starburst, not of this world — and taste the nectar within. "This may well mark the start of something… positively divine."
"But for now, I could well lay aside all other adventures and callings… for a day in the company of a goddess." He, too, can play this game — and he is not adverse to enjoying it, either. To the full. Dark, emerald eyes gaze back into Amora's own, and Mordo places one hand at the small of her back, while tracing the other along her bare arm, to her bare shoulder, and down her side.
"Shall we dispense with talking for the time being?" he asks with a smile.
*
The smirk only widened into a fully realized grin at his words, delicately manicured fingers smoothing over the skin of his shoulders and down his chest and back as he reached for his drink. A teasing hint of nails scaping against his flesh here and there to illicit goosebumps as she pleased. Magic lighting up the tips of her fingers, no real spell, but simply a buzz of sensation.
There were benefits to having a goddess of desire that was also one of the most skilled users in magic on your lap. In this case, it was the very real sensations and touches that she added that few others possessed. There was clear proof for how Amora had been able to seduce wizards throughout the Nine Realms — if Baron Mordo actually required any further evidence to such a thing now.
Still, her grin was infections and her eyes fluttered shut as he brushed his hands over her skin, and she leaned into his touch. Another teasing kiss was toyed with at the edge of his lips as she leaned in close once more. "Mmm, lets."
*