1964-01-29 - Love Potions
Summary: Amora teaches Illyana about love potions
Related: None
Theme Song: None
amora illyana 

The penthouse suite that Amora had taken over was a show in luxury and gaudiness. Gold and marble decorated every available surface. Silk gauze of green and spiraling plants climbed to the glass ceilings that sparkled with the sunlight that streamed from all sides. The furniture was built for an Asgard. Solid, larger than mortal frames. Massive mirrors dotted the other available spaces, framed likewise in gold.

Yet most impressive of all, out side of the bedroom and bathrooms of course, was the kitchen.

It was framed not with glittering gold or glass and mirrors, but rather stone work. Centered in the middle of the penthouse it was rimmed with smooth and polished black veined stones. Magic soaked the air, and it was clear that the 'kitchen' such as it was, did not belong on in this realm of existence. Rather than a stove, or fridge, there was a fire pit. Cauldrons and vials, herbs and bones hung from the ceiling. Crystals and other baubles of ancient make ringed the shelves and books with writing so old none know remembered the name of the language it was writ in.

And in the center of it all, clothed in naught else besides a sheer slip of a green dress wreathed in rose-gold, was the Enchantress in all her glory. She shimmered in the reflection of a green flame that heated a copper cauldron. Several vials merrily twirling and dropping into the bubbling surface at the flick of her hand.


Of perhaps the entire population of Midgard, few could be more non-plussed by the presence of all the gilding and ostentatious wealth than Illyana Rasputina. Many would see the gold and intricate work and admire the wealth and power that could purchase such artisanry, but for Illyana, to acquire the same would literally be a matter of a little time and focus at the center of her power in Limbo.

Of far more interest to her was the process of Asgardian alchemy to which she was both witness and participant. Sitting suspended in the air, Illyana's attire is equally brief— a long dress that hangs low on her shoulders, nearly diaphanous and in black with a single long slit to the hip. Working with Amora had early on influenced Illyana's perspective on clothing in new ways; inarguably, Amora's attire had a devastating effect on mortals.

And in the kitchen, which could get hot as /blazes/, a loose and lightweight piece of clothing is both more comfortable, still practical, and easily shucked off in the event of a fire.

Floating in midair three feet off the tiles, legs folded under her, Illyana's dress pools against her bare legs, floating lazily around her hips. She examines three of the ancient tomes hovering in front of her, eyes flickering back and forth as she consults them simultaneously.

"Hruthgin says, two measures of the blackroot, then one measure of wychlyne," Illyana informs Amora. "But Tallust says here, one measure of blackroot per measure wychlyne." She absently tugs at the asymmetrical braid her long blonde hair is done into, keeping it conveniently from drifting into her field of view as things bubble and boil.


A smirk and Amora turned, waving another vial to drop into the mixture. Her arms folded beneath her ample bust as she cocked a hip to the side on stilettos that defied gravity and all sense. Made of a gold that matched the jewels at her neck and dripped from her fingers and ears. Nothing said gilded and glitter like and Asgardian. Especially the Enchantress at the height of her powers, as Winter dragged on, and Spring marched ever onwards on the horizon it seemed rather that she became ever more powerful, rather than lessing. Especially as the mortal holiday of 'Valentines Day' approached.

"They're both fools. I seduced them back two thousand years ago when I stole those books. You really just need fresh blackroot, and then only a half measure will do." She directed another vial in, glass and all without looking. A plume of smoke shot upwards, light dazzling the room in a flash with a bang.

"There should be my notes written in the margins of the next two pages stating the problems with their conjections for such a potion. I've tested them both thoroughly. Now, apprentice. Given that, my notes clearly state that both instances of the love potion ultimately fail for two different reasons. Why?"


Illyan flips several pages with pointed glances of her blue eyes, fingers folded in her lap. Lips move soundlessly to review the notes in the margins, and she makes a sound of frustration as she has to decipher Amora's sometimes diffident shorthand.

"Is not love potion. Is inflammation of lusty appetite," Illyana reminds Amora, still focused on the papers. The young blonde is a stickler for proper terminology.

She takes her time coming to her answer, brow furrowing in thought. "Potion works best against people with weak inhibitions, da? Prone to… anger, to indulgences. Says here, 'true love', ya ya," she says, with a dismissive flick of her finger. "Not causative link— merely that people who possess discipline for true love, also have discipline to resist lustful inclinations."

"Also, is very difficult to dose the heartroot properly," she says, tracing alchemical sigils in the air in glittering foxfire. "All others potentiate, but heartroot varies by person to person. Too much and are so inflamed with passion they might simply pass out. Too little, is barely more than a stiff drink at bar. Da?"


A smirk and a nod as Amora finishes off the ingredients, a word of power whispered and the light in the room was fused with a brilliant shade of lime light that twinkled once and was gone. The candles returning to illuminate the stonework once more on wall sconces of leaf-like designs.

"The spells on my lips are much more effective in controlling lust and bodily reactions against the mind. They believe that they truly love me, it goes beyond their sexual appetite. But that's just different game entirely." She arched a finely shaped brow upwards, glancing at her apprentice before turning to the concoction she'd made.

Rather than the expected soup or potion, instead was a neat little flower of bright pink hue and tone. The edges glimmering with enchantments and power. She held it out toward her apprentice, offering the stem for Illyana to pinch.

"But, if you use the petals on any bed where passion already exists? Mmm, it can be quite delicious. Not as good as summoning wind elementals.. but.."


"….really." Illyana reaches for a cotton glove and wriggles her fingers into it, then— /very/ carefully— pinches the stem, after making sure there are no barbs or thorns.

A bad encounter with a carnivorous blackleech vine had very firmly entrenched in her mind the dogma of proper protective gear.

"All right. So, is all made, and much work and energy went into it," she says, finally offering the rose back to Amora, and pointedly NOT sniffing at the aromatic magical pollen. "But what is point? Why make such a thing?"


An arch of a perfectly shaped brow follows, amusement pulling at full, ruby lips as Amora eyed the younger blonde before her. There were no thorns visible on the stem, it looked like a perfectly trimmed rose. Petals and all.

The Enchantress held no qualms with sniffing at the dizzying scent it put off, and inhaled delicately. Arcane power swirling in her irises as she dipped her head forward and back in a fluid motion. "Aye. I desire you to test it on your own bed. With your own notes added to my books. What you notice of its powers and what it lacks."

She tapped the side with a pinky finger, gold dust floating off the edges of the petals at her touch. "I am immune to its effects now. My powers being beyond its abilities now. So I desire to know how far you have come in your training. Will its powers still sintilize your senses and your bed? Or will you overcome them?"


"Is not perhaps most scientific of tests, da?" Illyana reminds Amora, with one brow lifted. "Have been reading about method of science. If I know is there, then mayhaps will affect me. Might think it works harder, or expect it to work more and then— perhaps I make it work less effectively, da?"

"Will conduct experiment with Rosemarie, if she agrees," she says, shaking her head in nevermind. "Merely saying, is perhaps not most rigorous way to test this concoction."


A shrug, "Tis a means of testing your ability to either counteract it, or enjoy it as you desire my dear. If that little pesky thing is more than you can handle, then we shall have to restart at the basics. I believe however, that you should have no issue with it whatsoever. Tis made by the male form and with their weaknesses in mind. You are by far superior to it, as you should be." She flicked her wrist to the side and a martini glass appeared.

A stool following behind her as she leaned back and perched in a sinuous manner. Delight painting her exquiste features even more generous than usual. She was as gorgeous as a dream, but more dangerous than a snake in her home, and she knew it.

"We shall move onwards with your training once we know where that stands. Now, have you aught else in terms of questions for me?" She preened as she crossed her legs, puffing up her hair with her free hand.


"Not at the moment, Mistress Amora," Illyana says, ever-politely. She gestures with one flick of her fingers and the books snap shut, and fly to their respective shelves, and she uncoils her limber, coltish legs and descends to the floor. She carefully wraps the rose in a piece of silk, folding it several times over, and with her bare legs making flickering contrast against the thin black of her dress, she puts the folded flower with her small pile of personal affects. "I am very grateful for your instruction in this area," she tells Amora, undoing the thick braid of her blonde hair with quick, flicking threads of her fingernails. "Is a welcome relief from monitoring the woes of Yggdrasil. All remains quiet," she tells her mentor.

"…For now," she adds, unable to keep a dire forewarning out of her voice.


Amora watched, her chin propped up by a curve of her palm. Green nails flashing in the candlelight with a glitter of adamant like sheen. "Tis most welcome a reprieve for myself as well, darling. This is my passion after all. Magic and beauty. All entwined to work together." A smirk painted her lips again, ever present as always.

"Worry not about Yggdrasil for the night. I watch her and see her still firm and bright. There are no further signs of impending Ragnarok. Enjoy your lady love and her warmth."

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