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The benefits to working for the Asgardian court include a great deal of colourful, unnatural alcohols capable of punching the average mortal to the floor after three or four shots. Depends on how generous the bartender feels like being, and when the bartender is the recipient, those shots can be doubles with no one the wiser.
Thus, Scarlett drinks tea.
What? Yes. Boiled water infused through a complex concoction of dried leaves and flowers, in a balance of her own design — and some, her own garden — serves as a potent liqueur over mead, ale, or a tankard of anything capable of rotting her liver out by merely looking at the flame-encrusted bottle. Truly it is a sad day in Midgard when they have such a lightweight in their midst. She sits in the study cross-legged, floating about three feet off the floor, posture pitch-perfect. Straight back, core engaged, she balances the saucer on her knee and brings the teacup to her lips.
All manner of degeneracy tonight: she even reads a book.
*
Fandral walks into the room, a first in several weeks since the man was felled by a kiss. His color has returned and seems to be in good health as he takes a tankard of ale from the bartender and starts making his rounds of the room. Many of his fellow Asgardians as glad to see Fandral in good spirits and health. They raise their glasses to him, forcing him to drink as he makes the circuit. Of course, his legendary stamina is not what it was so by the time he makes it to Rogue, he has a nice healthy buzz and seems relaxed, "Lady Scarlett. Greetings and salutations. How does the day take you."
*
The redhead is not given towards socializing with the other staff in service to this Odinson or that master. She is apart, forcibly bending her thoughts to the text positioned on her knee. Its antiquity does not help, nor the fact its contents are written in Aesir runes rather than English letters, a doubly perplexing situation forcing her to reconsider every sentence for not only appropriate language, but meaning as well. One page flipped leads to another. Tea is her poison, her vice literature. There could be worse fates. She could be Mimir.
The approach might go largely unnoted, but not Fandral's words. Inclining her head, she murmurs, "My lord," in proper Aesir. It might come as a bit of a shock that her pronunciation proves so accurate, neatly placed on her tongue, all the stresses accurate. Then she flows back into English. "Marginally improved, I suppose. I had thought to seek an avenue of escape, but how many are cut off from me. None to spar, much as I loathe violence. The drink is good, but what point to draining a keg? I could almost wish I could relate freely with anyone I wished, but alas, that's not in the cards unless Valhalla's empty."
*
"Ahh little one, do not despair," Fandral gives an understanding look, "If you are so in need of exercise, perhaps I can stir one of my brothers to give challenge." He does not offer himself since he did just get cleared to be more active, "And yes…the drink is a powerful brew but I imagine you find yourself better than most." He points to himself with a drunken smile, "I do not have that problem since life has seen fit to bring me low. Just one of the many benefits of my recovery." He takes another sip of his ale, "But why do you seek to hide from the world? That one I do not understand." He does make a point of saying, "Excellent cadence by the way. Your Aesir is coming along."
*
"Despair?" A hollow laugh shines in the air, something almost lovely but bereft of the animating sunshine to turn the winter into spring. "Alas, exercise would give me no escape from my mind, which might be the problem." She raises her teacup, and Scarlett levels a thoughtful look upon Fandral through those opaque jade eyes, lost of their brilliant luster, but otherwise a vibrant shade of green. It's merely not the usual one. "Hela's a right bitch, by the way." A flip of the page brings up another string of Aesir runes; the primer has an arcane topic, albeit simplified, without question. Hers is not the high reading level of a scholar, more one of a fresh hand to a foreign culture. At least she has advanced beyond 'See Sleipnir run. Run, Sleipnir, run!' "You are recovered, a blessing, one no doubt the Prince will be grateful for. A boon companion in such days is essential. And why should I hide? Loki Odinson sits willingly captive for my own nation's government, accused of slaying the last leader, after tearing back the veil of ignorance. It might dampen one's spirits some."
And, shall we point out, Hela?
*
"Hela should not be your concern Lady Scarlett," Fandral frowns deeply at the mention of the dark Asgardian. A deep anger is there in the man that normally is so lighthearted and it's clear there is no love lost there. He grips his ale glass tighter, "By way did you get to meet the foul bitch?" He's definitely concerned if that hellbeast is walking amongst the Midgardians, "I hope it was not here."
The mention of Loki's imprisonment brings a shrug and he sighs, "I am not sure if his announcement was the wisest of choices but what is done is done." But he does make a point of adding, "I do not think he was involved. As guardian of Midgard, he had no reason to dispatch the man. And Loki does not kill without gain involved. There is no honor in gain in that man's death."
*
"In Hel." Nothing said loudly there for every last person in the building, save her, can understand every word she says unless she defaults to absolute nonsense or the written word, in which they are grievously ill-prepared. That Scarlett gives Thor lessons quietly on the side on how to print in English is probably not common knowledge. "A foray of necessity, though I should warn you, my lord, not to trust entirely in Lady Amora. She serves under Lady Sif now. I doubt anyone holds illusions upon her happiness in the arrangement now she has her feelings back."
Wordless shrug gracing her shoulders, she stares at her reflection in the tea and finishes the last of the liquid. Its refill might come by or not, but a floating girl in midair does not generally encourage people to come near. "I doubt the Prince aims to gain notoriety on that scale by murder. Rather I am bothered by his imprisonment. He is there, not here."
*
"He is showing good faith," Fandral tells Rogue, giving her a pointed look, "We seek a peaceful co-existence with your people. If we balked at playing to their rules, it would not be a good sign of diplomacy. I applaud his choice in taking the imprisonment." He pauses and then adds, "But yes, Prince Thor should be seeking ways to have him freed. I did meet one of their officers…a friend perhaps. I should reach out." He gives a half smile.
At the mention of Amora regaining her emotions, there is a look of surprise, "She is whole again? When did this happen. No one has given me news of this." And it's clear the guard is annoyed at that state of affairs. He shakes his head, "I feel as if months….not mere weeks have passed since I took ill. It is a little overwhelming at times how quickly time passes here."
*
"Indeed. He demonstrates his willingness for justice to take its course, and his brother the prince in turn acknowledges Midgardian laws. It was not a happy resolution, given Thor feels it diminishes the importance of Asgard and potentially lowers the dignity and majesty of the Lord Protector's mantle." Scarlett is well and capable of comprehending diplomacy on a few levels; this, clearly, is a not a new argument to her. "He rightly worries, for we have a troubling habit of stripping the mystery of anything and making it familiar, which for certain people means subject to derogatory comments, attacks, and worse. By the same token, however, demonstrating common goodwill does diminish the fear associated with the unknown. Rather hard to hate someone that also eats hamburgers and French fries, speaking knowledgeably about the Yankees." Mostly that they suck, of course. "I daresay the Prince will remain in custody exactly as long as he means to, and not a moment more. Yet I can still chafe at the situation, for here I sit in pretty golden chains with not a thing I can do to help him other than by remaining out of sight, quiet, and mindful. Patience I know, I beg you do not counsel or advise me upon it."
Thus, perhaps, the crux of the matter. On the other hand, the shift of conversation is simple. "She received her heart back. Almost immediately she told me of it, and then went about pursuing all manner of thrilling adventures in the vein of her previous ones, chafing as she does at the collar placed upon her. Have a care. She makes up for lost time."
*
"Yes…I suppose there is no easy matter," Fandral muses to himself as he thinks on the matter. There is a quiet resolve as he mentions, "But I hold faith that the Odinsons know what manner they wish to approach this. And in time, even if some of the mystery is lost, I hope they see the benefits of courting our favor." He motions to the room at large, "In some way, I worry your people will be greedy…try to take by force instead of asking with honeyed tongue but…" He gives a shrug as if it is above his paygrade, "I will let Thor and Loki decide how far they wish to take this."
Fandral does nod at Rogue's warning of Amora's behavior since getting her heart back, "And thank you for the warning…" He gives a little smirk, "I have already tasted the cold from helping her once. I will be wary in the future of giving up my all again for her." He did almost die for Amora's wellbeing before and just now is recovering, "If anything, it might be wise if I give her berth while she settles back to herself."
*
"Do you believe they would be so foolish as to aim a gun at a tactically superior and technologically advanced… No. Do not answer that question. Always there will be someone who thinks he needs to tear down the stars to the soil, and stamp their light out." This, particularly, is where Scarlett belongs nowhere near alcohol. She's not quite maudlin so much as reflective, cast in the frostborn reflection of her teacup. No alcohol here, pity. "The best I can say is they will do the best they can on the Asgardian side, and let's hope we have a planet left in the middle. War from aliens on one side, angry gods on the other, and all sorts of horrors caught here. What interesting times we live in!"
*
"I am just sorry we did not learn about the plot to your leader before it happened," Fandral offers with a sigh as he takes a sip, "We would have assisted in protecting him if we had but known." Which of course they didn't by the impression that Fandral is giving, "And yes, there are always those that wish to block the rays of the sun or steal the light from a star but I find humanity worthy of protecting. As does Thor and the others." He gives a little smirk, "And I'm sure we'll see more as time passes. As you said this is an interesting time." He looks to her after a moment of reflection, "And Lady Scarlett. What place do you wish to hold in the heralds of history?"
*
Scarlett raises her cup in silent toast, and she folds her legs tighter, the book still poised above her knee. A slim ribbon laid crosswise on the page anchors the location, and she shuts the cover. Heel of her palm resting upon the cover, she forbids the knowledge from flying away at random. "Letting the rare few spoil the impression of the many would be a grave loss," she speaks softly. "Better not to judge a whole race by a single specimen. At least I would think so, as a Midgardian. We do stand to gain that way."
Pressing her knuckle against her full lips, the vertical line of her finger draws upwards towards her nose. "Is it ever appropriate for one such as me to appear in the annals of history? I would not take a silent position, the voiceless woman ever at one's side in loyal service, known only in relation to others. Perhaps it's best history knows not what I did at all, a current out of sight, recognized only by friends and companions. What do you wish?"
*
Fandral thinks on her words, nodding as she mentions her wish to perhaps be only in sight of friends and companions, "Justice…" There is a quiet fire that burns in Fandral's deep blue eyes when he looks at Rogue, "For those that have been forgotten perhaps by history's injustice and make my enemies shiver in fear at my wrath." Gone is the joking lightheartedness of the playboy and in place is a man that is haunted by more than what he's willing to share, "But do not fear Lady Scarlett. I find that justice is sword best wielded in silence. It would not do well for the sheep to understand what Asgardians are fully capable of."
*
"Justice is well and good, tempered by wisdom and equality. It takes a great deal of insight to know when the wrong is done and how best to correct it. We've had a lovely history of tyrants in our history, short as it may seem," murmurs the redheaded bohemian. She eventually raises her chin to gaze directly upon the laughing man who reminds, in a moment, he is more than that; a warrior, the cutting edge of Thor Odinson's court, the sword and the wit to wield it. "I doubt any wish to face your wrath, certainly not with an inkling of what it means. Nor do I wish to lie moldering in obscurity, having crossed it. May you never have cause to question my faith or where it lies. I already know what awaits me at the hour of death, now, and for some reason that is a peculiar comfort. It's the long sweep of time between I am less sure about."
She corrects herself: "Long for me. There is no assurance, no guarantee, that the Norns spun me a thread beyond the norm, and our norm here is a twinkling of an eye to your folk. The best I can do is be worthy of something. The trust placed in me, the Trickster I follow, the measure of Lady Sif and Thor. I don't know, my lord, truly I do not."
*
"All histories, Asgardian included, have stories of tyrants in power," Fandral gives a smirk and it's clear he's not willing to share who, "And I have no doubts of your earnest effort to find a balance between your world and our Trickster." He does bear a fond look when he thinks of Loki, "He may not always travel the safe path but never have a known a man that matched his wit and passion for learning." He tips his glass, trying to lighten the mood, "But perhaps in time he will find an equal in your Lady Scarlett. Your thirst for knowledge rivals his own."
*
The glitter of something lies underneath the surface of those vast jade eyes turned towards a window. Scarlett muses for a few moments; compliments don't settle upon her easily, rolling away. She has the manners not to challenge them, but neither does she know what to do with them. "I daresay it comes with the territory. My horizons expanded. I want to understand what fills the space in between. Were it not completely inappropriate given the state of affairs, I should ask if you have any interest in seeing the auroras or seeking the far shores of the sea as dawn rises. Something to fill the hours."
*
"I am doing my best to keep a low profile, considering the affairs of our Trickster but in the future," Fandral gives a little bow and then finishes up his tankard of ale, "But perhaps at a later date." He is not opposed at the idea but clearly the man has other obligations at the moment, "I'm afraid I must be off m'lady." He does appear to have some sort of pending appointment as it's clear he's going to settle up with the bartender as she motions to them to wrap up his tab, "But keep your faith in others and enjoy the day with another one of my brethren."
*
"Be you well, my lord. I hope to see you about and content still." That being said, Scarlett resumes standing and sweeps a tidy bow, bending from the waist. Her teacup and book, stacked atop one another, will end up in their proper appointed places for someone else to clean up. She herself? That's another matter, but for someone as her, the sky is the limit.
*
Fandral takes his leave of the clever Midgardian, stepping discreetly outside so he can see to his business matters. His dress is Midgardian and he manages to blend once he leaves the confines of the Asgardian stronghold. Ever aware, he keep an eye out to make sure he isn't followed as he goes about his day.