1963-11-20 - Exile
Summary: Amora, Skali and Namor walk into a party. One of them gets exiled from their home nation. Guess which one!
Related: None
Theme Song: "Royals" Lorde
amora skali namor 

There was no place for old money here.

The high rise penthouse apartment pulsed with music from the live performers, modern in its heavy reliance on lyric and electric guitar. Figures danced lazily, though most were interested in discussing upcoming marketing strategies, screen plays, the biggest names in cinema skipping attendance and yet represented by their employees. It was the sort of gathering where you had to know someone who knew everyone to get in, which made sense given the heavy stench of marijuana in the back rooms, the expensive liquor, the trilling laughter of foreign women come to New York with dreams of their start in stardom.

The stages were decided in rooms like this, the actors chosen, the product placement named. It was an advantageous location for anyone looking to pull the strings without being seen as a puppeteer.


Namor wored a suit, black on black where the blacks where different enough to be seen but could not be called differently. Shifts in texture from smooth to woven where silk and wool came into conflict and created lines, edges and transitions, made his clothing look expensive, tasteful, and glutted with the envy of lookers on.

He was seated, a drink nearby but not in hand, one leg crossed gently over the other, a starkly human pose for a man who looked deviantly inhuman. Where his skin was visible it was delicately azure, like the color of the sea beneath the waves on a cloudless day, a sort of camoflage that did nothing here. Tiny scales decorate him, giving him a sheen that set him apart from the humans sitting nearby. Ribbons of fin connected between the first inches of his fingers, the lobes of his ears to his neck, and swirled from behind his head to just beneath the lip of his collar.

His face wore a stern look, those in conversation with him alternated between trying to amuse him with anecdote, bold faced lies, verbal anamorphics of trial and adventure in the big city, and out-right asking him if he was ok. Occasionally he'd curl a brow and say something witty and curt in return, and the tiny rubber ring of sycophants around him would burst in peels of deserved laughter.

Still, his gaze wandered, listless.


Amora the Enchantress of Asgard had no rivals in terms of beauty or grace. Not on Midgard or any of the other Nine Realms. Beauty was her domain and all it entailed. None save the actual immortal gods of other Pantheons could claim such a prestigious title in terms of sheer physical form above her.

And it showed.

As she entered the party on the arm of some babbling would be entertainer, possibly a musician. Almost all eyes turned toward her. Male eyes of longing enraptured at the green clad woman that had entered their midst, and those of jealousy from those that were not so interested in her. Long cascades of golden hair, tumbled down her back and green eyes scanned the crowd of mortals about her with a bored and idle air.

The Asgardian’s attention shifted, catching sight of Namor with a hint of a raised brow as she left behind her mortal toy and approached with a sultry swig of her hips and click of her black high heeled shoes.

“Hello.” She offered simply, with a ruby lipsticked smile.


Namor saw Amora first in the glassy eyes of the man across from him. When he went slack jawed, Namor was relieved to no longer have his attention, to be alone in the room; waiting for something to happen that never did and never would. When he manfish turned his head to address the greeting, there was a moment where his brow knit and eyes narrowed, and darted to and from her to key parts of the room.

"The thing I love about the human form…" he said, rising to meet her on the battlefield he'd been waiting on all night, "…is its easy incorporation of imperfection, the way it molds that in and makes it seem continious; a part of the package deal." he tapped his cheek, "A mole here." his eyes wagged, "One breast larger than the other." then cooly, "The wobble of a weak heel in difficult shoes."

He drew in a long breath, "When you can't see any of those things." he said, lifting his drink from the table beside where he had been sitting, "Know what trouble is."

"Hello Amora."


Amora smirked, drawing close to the Prince of seas and oceans and waves. A hand sliding along to rest on his shoulders as she invaded his personal space with a familiarity that would boggle the mind of others.

“Well, darling, I can be whoever you want me to be. A mole? A flaw? I can create those so easily.” She waved a hand dismissively, “But why ruin perfection?” She fluttered her eyelashes at him, and leaned in to press a kiss against his cheek in the decidedly European fashion.

“This party is so utterly dull. You should come with me the next I visit the Hellfire Club. /That/ is such a fascinating place.” Green eyes glittered with merriment and mischief as she glanced over the crowd of eyes that she had drawn. A wiggle of her fingers in lieu of a wave was offered to one man, causing him to walk headlong into another mortal woman, upsetting her drink and spilling it down the front of her dress.


"I'll take that offer." he said, leaning receptively to her fashionable greeting, placing his cheek to hers in turn. He knew she was agreeable company until the moment she wasn't, and that moment would only be spurred on by bad manners. "You look lovely." he said, smiling like he had some idea how stupid he sounded, "Have you done something new with your hair?" and he took a lock of it delicately between two fingers and released it. "Do you want to meet these people, or can we pretend you came like a Valkyrie to collect me and take me to the Hellfire club, the after eight life?"


A huff of a laugh escaped lipsticked lips spread wide in a glittering smile as Amora tossed her hair over her shoulder. The movement sent the perfume that clung to her skin and hair wafting upwards, the scents of juniper, and some manner of sweetness. Of forgotten magic and chaotic nights.

More than a few lustful glances followed her every move and more than a few heated glares were aimed toward Namor’s personage. Which seemed to only amuse the Enchantress further.

“Darling, you know I care little for the peasants that run rampant in this realm.” She rolled those brilliantly verdant eyes of her’s skyward, as if much put upon. “But, if we left now do you /really/ think we’d arrive at the club?”



The voice was all teeth, every syllable pulled off the bone and spat back out as the woman emerged from the porch. With whiskey perched in one hand, she interjected the conversation unabashed; lacking the ethereal beauty of the two in discussion and making up for this lacking with a tangible primordiality in her swagger. Curling her figure against Namor, there was nothing human left in her eyes as they fixed upon Amora and her disdain dripped from a snarl.


There was nothing beautiful about Skali right now, no matter how tightly the black dress hugged her curves. She didn’t need to be beautiful to rip the Enchantress limb from limb though.


Amora leaned back to eye the wolf in a suit, her lips remaining pulled into that oh so sharp and wide smile as before. Doubtlessly, Skali would be able to note the subtle differences in the Enchantress' scent. How alive and warm and smelling of all manner of scandalous things that were best kept between silken sheets.

“Oh dear, you know each other? How cute. You’ve found a puppy, Namor.” She drawled, arching a golden brow upwards.

“And no, apprentice is not what you should address me as, wolfling. I am Lady Amora, the Enchantress, and handmaiden to the future Queen of the realm eternal. But please,” Amora fluttered her eyelashes again.

“Amora will do just fine..”


"You know each other." he said fatuously. He took Skali in, lifted his drift and sipped it, peering at Amora over the rim "Old lovers?" he wondered, continuing his line of mock ignorance as zestily as he could within the confines of decorum. "Sisters then?" his eyes where laughing. He was enjoying himself.


“This is no whore’s court, Witch. I’ll call you whatever I like.”

As Namor’s hand settled on her waist, some semblance of control was reclaimed with a shuddering breath, a glare shot sidelong at him and his laughing, sadistic teasing. Maybe she would eat him instead, even if the wolf laughed with him at the passing thought. It was an empty threat. A little flicker of energy chased her rage away under his touch, and just as easily as that, she was brought to heel. The hackles smoothed, she returned her attentions to the Enchantress with a disdainful huff.

“Unrelated, Namor.”

There was a joke about in laws somewhere, but she wasn’t in the mood to take it. Instead her nostrils flared and she took in the heat of the woman’s scent, lip rising as the full force of it hit her. Her eyes watered and she sneezed under the magic that welled just beneath the flesh of the woman, a low growl creeping back up in her throat though she edged it down given the polite company.

“They let you keep some of that power you siphoned off helpless mortals? Seems out of line with the current dialogue the Trickster bandies about.”


A laugh escaped her and Amora took a drink from some poor soul that she found beside her. No complaint was held against her for it, the poor man already busy getting yelled at by his girlfriend for staring at the buxom blonde.

“Oh dear, Namor, you should count yourself lucky you have not met my sister. She always kept the Reine rather than the open seas, but still.” She winked, sipping at whatever wine it was that she had snagged.

Her eyes glittered with amusement at Skali’s words and she rolled her shoulders back, drawing emphasis to her form and figure with the gesture and she tossed her hair back.

“Darling, I did not take in even a whisper of the mortal’s power. That was how I did not break Odin’s decrees. I could not be empowered, but it said nothing about transmitting power to crystals and beyond..” She winked, and glanced down at her nails.

“What you scent on me, is merely what I’ve gained naturally. I’m a goddess of desire, of lust and beauty. I’ll let /you/ put it together. I’m sure even you can understand that much magic..”


There was a murmor of dischord in the area by the door. There where five new additions to the party, standing in formation just before the entrance. Bug-eyed, scaley, finned and dressed hastily in suits poorly tailored to Mer phsyique, the mermen of Atlantis fame slopped wetly into the party, a faint miasma of sea brine on the floor.

They arrived, and presented themselves to Namor and his company, the room hushed. Namor scowled quietly, petulantly.

"What is the meaning of this intrustion?" Namor said indignantly. He looked nothing like them, they where ugly mermen, only the women of the species could stake any claim to the legendary beauty for which they where known. Still, hits of their genetic similarities where hinted in skin and fin, which Namor possessed so much more subtly.

"Namor…" the one in the center began…

Namor cut him off "PRINCE Namor, you shit sucking sychophant…"

"Namor, of New York." he continue, his jowls glubbering the sounds as if he were still under water. "Your royal mother, Queen Fen of Atlantis has sent us so that you know her will. Do not return to the City State of Atlantis, or its sovereign territories. You have been convicted of treason in her magistrates court, a sentance of Death followed. Your sentance has been commuted unless you violate the terms of your exile." Then he shoved something forward, a long length of damp kelp scroll, sealed officially. The Mermen waited, seemingly fearless for Namor to react.

Namor took the scroll, broke the seal and slowly unfurled it. His lips moved slowly, silently. "Baduslav gulloch meayo." he said in some unknown tongue, "So it is written." it seemed to mean to those with Godears that heard unknown things.

Then he curled a smile, "Go then." and to all those around him he offered. "Welcome to my exile, someone buy me a drink?"


The realms Amora reigned over flirted at the edge of Skali’s purview, untouchable but fully understood. The manfish she stood beside had showed her aspects of desire and lust, trodden the dangerous pathways to court both wolf and woman in an effort to pull her into such worlds. Yet, even as she had tumbled into his bed and buried herself in everything he was, she did so with violence and chaos, gleeful mischief instead of sultry whispers, an undying loyalty that redoubled in strength now as the Enchantress was surveyed and hate simmered in a snarl that could no longer be misconstrued as a smile.

“You’d be shocked at the things I understand, Amora.”

The name was practically spat out, and perhaps she would have offered further divisive suggestion the other Asgardian take her leave if not for the interruption. Bestial anger redirected with a low growl only her companion could hear as she turned in time with his figure, golden eyes regarding the intrusion with a mixture of surprise and willing protection. The lithe frame poured into the black cocktail dress gave a little shudder that had nothing to do with his proximity, and instead related to how her feet had widened their stance, her lips parting in a quiet exhale of surprise.

There was an eagerness in her posture that he would recognize from the moment she had entered his hotel room and surveyed the businessmen brought forth to be coerced into submission. And yet she wavered, passing her mate the drink in her own hand and murmuring quietly with its relinquishing, “Treason?”

Suspicion entered her tone. It was likely this was her fault. Guilt didn’t wear well on her and so she shook it off, calling for towels to get this fucking sea water up off the carpets before it stained.


Amora finished off the drink in her hand, passing off the empty cup to some mortal that continued to fawn over her. A smirk painted on her lips just as sure as lipstick was.

“Oh darling, I’m sure you can. Like how to sit, and lay down and play dead. I’m sure you know those things too.” She practically purred, and her smirk widened into a grin. Green eyes shifted back to Namor as the party of Merfolk entered and she hitched a brow upwards.

“Mores the pity, shame that darling. Truly. I know how exile feels. Rotten luck that. Anyways, if you need to find me or require habitation I’m sure the Asgardian embassy that Loki has cooked up will take you.” She shrugged a delicate shoulder, and tossed her hair and just like that, vanished without a trace in a glow of green that doused the minds of everyone besides the two that she’d just been talking to.

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