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Amora's apartment had been transformed to a feast hall it would seem. One ringed in garlands of flowers and green silk that hung from the ceiling. A large table took up the main room, and was so ladened with food that it practically creaked. There were spitted rabbits done up with berry sauces, hanks of pork and beef, goose and chicken. A cut up lamb with mint sauces decorated with greenery. There were several barrels of mead. And Amora currently stood fiddling with some kind of a record player, the soft sounds of music that sounded vaguely Asgardian in nature flowing through the penthouse suite.
It was clear that at least the Enchantress had been hard at work organizing all day. Her own figure was clad in a fantastical silk dress that slit up her thigh. A crown of flowers was woven into her golden hair and tumbled down her back in braids. There were no servants in sight either, and as Amora turned around she hurriedly moved to one of the smaller trees that made up a decoration in the center of the table. And thereupon started to hurriedly hang painted eggs onto the limbs. She was clearly trying to finish up before Donald returned home.
*
Stressful at times though his job could be, Donald clearly enjoyed being a nurse. A strange position for him, almost certainly, where his instincts for medicine vastly outweighed his skill. He was barely able to operate a syringe properly, but he could diagnose even obscure maladies with just a few short words of conversation.
Snippets about treatment with poultices and herbs were, thankfully, kept away from the ears of the medical staff.
He's a few steps into the apartment, his burly shoulder bumping the door open, before he slows and takes in the strange sights. Decorations of a holiday nature? Music? Even Amora's gown seemed to smack of some form of tradition.
Slowing, Donald pauses and sets aside the duffel bag which contains his work clothes and his hammer, peering around the area with his brows arched. "What's all this, then?" he asks, with a pleased expression of bemusement.
*
The blonde Asgardian turned, and looking very much like a young woman caught doing something she shouldn't have, she quickly dropped the little quail egg decoration back to the table and straightened. A smile, warm and downright sinfully sweet, dripping from her lips as she sauntered toward him with tiny steps. Her heels clicking softly toward him, before she made to press a kiss against his lips and draw back.
"Tis the feast of Ostara. The Finding of Spring. The first day of the end of winter. One of my favorite holidays." She grinned, and reached forward to try to tug him to the table. Just as, with a wave of her hand, his clothes were replaced with a much more appropriate tunic of blue and gold, with loose fitting trousers.
"There is traditionally, a play or a hunt, where someone slays old Winter and saves the goddess of Spring." She murmured, and gestured to the table. "But it's rather smaller here. So I thought we can at least celebrate the feast with proper food and mead."
*
Donald returns Amora's kiss, giving her cheek a quick stroke of gentle affection. "Ostara? I'm not familiar with her," he remarks, brow furrowing. "Another ally of my Lord Thor?" he inquires, following Amora.
He yelps and jumps a little at the sensation of fabric squirming unexpectedly against his skin, looking down. He passes a hand over his chest and abdomen, examining the regalia as best he can. He doesn't seem to find it against his liking, however, and moves to help seat Amora before finding his own chair. "Food and mead sounds most agreeable. A passing strange feast, though. Why should winter be slain?"
*
Amora leaned into the touch, her eyelashes fluttering lightly before she drew back and took the chair he pulled out for her. "Ostara is the dawn, or the light. Not an ally of Thor exactly, though the name was lost and mixed up over the centuries on Midgard, as the mortals used to hold the feast as well. Tis not as strong a fertility festival as Valborg, nor does it have as much magic as the Midsummer Blot.. tis a powerful reminder that all things are renewed. A celebration that darkness fades and the harsh weather of winter shall fade. Forget not, darling, that at the end of all things, the sun shall be swallowed by the wolves.. And hence we celebrate her light and her return to strength." She smiled and reached over to pour him a goblet of mead.
"And as a goddess of desire, my own power derives greatly from the start of Spring as well. This celebration, small as it is, will be a boon to my magic. Which we shall need to support your desires in carrying out Thor's will.. correct?"
*
"One hopes," Donald agrees. "I know not what Spring might mean for me, though I know it's a time favored of my Lord as well— spring and storms and rain, all his elements," he grins. "There's an element of chaos to Thor's favor, I'm finding. Not… in the sense of being random, just in the sense of being disruptive. Life thrives in such, yes?" he inquires.
"So how do we observe this holiday?" he inquires of Amora, looking at the incredible feast. "Food and drink? Songs to be sung, rites observed? I'm new to the ways of my Lord's worship, so I don't know how to pay him homage aside from prayer and deed."
*
A grin as Amora lifted a golden goblet and made to pass it off to him, then plucked up her own. "We feast, we tell tales, we drink. Then well.." She winked over the edge of her own goblet of mead, a heated look as she eyed him up and down in a not too subtle manner. "My darling, tis a festival of Spring. Thor is celebrated for bringing Spring showers, as they are needed to make flowers grow."
She sipped at her mead and reached out a hand to trace over his arm, gently. "We must follow suit in our own ways. And light a bonfire at dawn as thanks." She finished finally, lowering her goblet. "I'm a goddess of desire after all." She started to carve a few select pieces of meat, making to serve both herself and him.
"How else am I to gain enough magic to help?"
*
"Bonfire at dawn, aye," Donald agrees, utterly oblivious to Amora's entendre. "Speaking of help," he says, as they settle into the meal. "I spoke with our friend, the Doctor Strange," he tells Amora, taking a hearty gulp of the stout mead. "He thinks perhaps the Lady Sif might yet live, in some capacity. I admonished him even if she does not, then we at least owe it to her to place her tormented soul to rest." His brow furrows. "He was not of great help in the matter, however. Still, I hope he might come to some realization, and we can venture forth to render to her some aid," he says, smiling at Amora. "I know not what Strange can offer in aid, but I know there are few others I'd trust on such a quest but yourself," he tells her, giving her fingers a squeeze. "It seems a noble enough cause, does it not?"
*
The mention of Sif kills any immediate thoughts of ritual seidr magic that she so enjoys, and her smile drops to a thin mimicry of one. Still, she doesn't pull away from him, instead taking her time to eat some of the food before her and sip at her mead before she responds. Candlelight flickering around them and casting her features in its warm glow.
"The Doctor does not seem apt to be able to do much. He seems more restrained in aiding anything to do with us. I begged for his help before and he seemed to be unwilling to do anything." She murmured softly, "And aye.." She averted her gaze, reaching for her goblet again.
"I shall aid you in whichever manner you seek, darling. Be it to chase visions or else wise. This you know." She whispered.
*
"I don't know what I'd do without you, Amora," Donald says, fingers squeezing her fingers. A smile blossoms across his face. "You're a remarkable woman. The kindness you've shown me alone— I cannot ever repay that. And your willingness to aid me in the proper veneration owed my Lord, I must owe you twice over for."
" I still am unsure, at times, what Thor's will is for me. The hospital is a fine enough place to work, but I wonder if he wishes of me to do more. To -be- more," he sighs. "Else why would a warrior send me a weapon to wield, instead of a doctor's valise?" he inquires. "But he doesn't speak to me in my prayers, I feel as if I don't know what -He- wants from me," he exhales. "Am I living up to the will of my Lord, or merely following my own desires?"
*
Amora turned as the conversation shifted away from Sif and she smiled, that warm and indulgent smile she reserved so for the blonde beside her. She reached out a hand, running it over his shoulder and leaning close to press a kiss against his cheek. "I am a weak and horribly selfish woman motivated by my more base desires, darling. I have a tendency to smash things I love and act like a child when denied them. I am trying, very, very hard to be better. For you and for the future. I swore to always be loyal and serve the Thunderer in all things. Regardless of his position. I shall try to do the best I can, even if the ways are clouded." She smoothed a hand into his hair.
"No one can say for sure what the Prince desires in all of this, we can only try our best. No? I know naught if this was all in his plan from the start, or if it has come about due to the All-father, or even Loki's designs. Regardless.. I am here. And I shall try my best to do what I can for you, and for our beloved Thunderer." She squeezed his hand and leaned her head against his shoulder.
"Know that I always have tried to.."
*
"Weak and selfish are not words I'd quickly apply to you, Amora," Donald says, brow furrowing a little. "You've been kind to me beyond measure, and aided me greatly." He takes a bite of his meal, chewing happily, and looks back at Amora. "No one is perfect, save perhaps my Lord," he says, gently, his tone reassuring. "All we can do— any of us— is aspire to be better than we were before. And that's all I've seen you do in the time I've known you: aspire to be -better-," he stresses. "To help others, to change yourself, to be kind and generous. If this habit of yours is new, then believe me, it is behaviour that suits you well," he says, with a flashing, dimpled smile for the leggy blonde.
*
The Enchantress eased back into her seat, watching him for a long moment in silence over the golden goblet filled with sweet smelling mead. The firelight flickered over her delicate features. Then slowly, she reached out a hand to trace over his shoulder and press manicured fingers against the sculpted muscles of his shoulder.
"Darling, you are a balm to mine heart." She whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she swallowed a lump that formed in her throat. "But have you considered the possibility that perhaps, you might be the Thunderer? A slim chance, aye, but I don't want you to ignore it might be possible." She whispered.
"Nor the possibility that should we save Lady Sif that she will think the same.."
*
"I— Amora, that seems vastly unlikely," Donald says, in a wry tone. Equal parts trying to reassure her and trying not to sound like he's talking to a madwoman. "Thor is a -god-. I am just a man," he says, repeating himself again. "Thor can call lightning and summon hurricanes, he lives among the stars and walks in the halls of Asgard. I work at a hospital," he tells her, a smile spreading on his face.
"I think I would know if I were a god," he concludes, his hands spreading in a shrug. "Whatever this… Lady Sif chooses to believe, that is up to her," he tells Amora. "But you also must consider the possibility…" He reaches up to squeeze her fingers. "That you see in me what you want, because you miss Thor so dearly."
*
Amora oddly didn't argue, even as she let him take up her hands to squeeze them gently. "I am aware, of my aching heart for the Thunderer." She whispered, softly. "And aware that tis not likely. Highly unlikely, but the magic that took hold of your sleeping mind was strong. Far stronger than I could ever imagine a mortal being able to withstand." She murmured, reaching out to set her goblet aside and then with her free hand cup his cheek.
"There are odd magics at work in Asgard right now. Loki himself is scattered throughout the realms. His memories dotted amongst people who knew him.. He requires forgiveness to return to the realms. Though many have none to give.." Her brow creased. "Whatever working he cast, might be why the Thunderer is … where ever he is.." She exhaled a breath as she spoke and closed her eyes briefly.
"If you are he, and 'tis possible, the impossible and Asgardians are forever bound…" She started and stopped, letting her hand fall away. "I fear that I shall be forgotten once more.."
*
"Anything is possible, Amora," Donald agrees. "But we must err on what is -likely-. It seems unlikely I could be my Lord. Look at me, I have— I have been blessed by him, yes," he says, spreading his arms and looking down. "But I cannot call the thunder and rains, I can't speak the tongues he does. I barely remember my home or my life before he Blessed me, though I am grateful for his blessing," he adds hastily, glancing reverently at the sky.
"I know not what touched my mind. The same force that holds Lady Sif at bay? Some alien power, or some relic of Loki's magic?" He exhales, gripping Amora's fingers again. "You leap to the conclusion that fits the facts as you wish to see them, Amora, and set aside other equal possibilities. We must proceed deliberately, and let things arrive as they may."
*
Amora sighed softly, "Aye. Perhaps the Thunderer is trapped as Lady Sif is.. perhaps he is reaching out unto you for a will unto the mortal realm. For he is unable to reach out otherwise. I know such spells, darling." She murmured as he captured her hands once more and she curled a weak smile upon her lips.
"But my talk is based on fear of losing you. For if by chance you are the Thunderer, and regain his mind and abilities.. then I fear I shall lose you." She blinked repeatedly and glanced down at their entwined hands.
"A silly thing, but one that I have come to fear greatly. You are important to me. You bring me happiness, an ease and a comfort to my heart and hunger for company." She murmured, eyes glittering as she lifted them to his person. What she told of truth or supposition of the truth was tangled up as it always was with her.
Words had double, triple meanings with her after all.
"I do not wish to see you vanish for any reason."
*
"You are important to me as well, Amora," Donald says, as sympathetically as he can. "You're the first friend I made here and you've shown me care and consideration for days, asking nothing from me for it," he says.
"I don't think you'll lose me, save in duty to my Lord— and that is I think an honorable enough end for anyone to accept," he says, with a smile. "But aside from that circumstance, I plan not on going anywhere but here," he assures her. "And you and I may do my Lord a great deal of service by seeking his allies. Who knows? In time they may lead us to wherever he's been stolen away."
*
A crinkle of her eyebrows followed slightly before she turned back to reach for her mead and to pick at a few berries that were spread out before them on the various plattered. A sip of her drink, strong enough to even affect her, followed before she chose to respond to him once more. "Your company is all I desire, darling." She mumbled, and averted her gaze.
"And I shall aid you, as I have said before as well." Another sip as she slide her gaze back toward him and her expression's tightness eased somewhat.
"Perhaps we shall find the Thunderer together, and my exile shall be lifted in turn for my good works. Your presence has been a boon to my ability to turn my face away from vengeance and petty arguments. Perhaps I shall only continue to become better.."
*
"I think that when my Lord returns, Amora, he'll see you as I do," Donald assures the blonde woman, smile growing wider. "Kind, selfless, and generous of soul. I know not what my Lord craves— there are precious few books about him that don't talk about war and feasts and the glory of combat."
"But if he is as I hope he is, then he will be nothing but pleased at your efforts to make yourself a better person. As I hope he is pleased with my efforts to become the servant I crave myself to be, in his glory."
*
A smile at that, slow and sly and warm follows his words as she leaned forward to press a kiss against his cheek. "I hope so, darling. The runes read ill and it worries me." She whispered, and then leaned back, taking another sip of her goblet.
"But fear not, let us enjoy the feast, shall we? I might tell you tales, if you desire. Of the past about Thor, such as when he cut a lock of hair from the Elf Queen of Alfheim. Or perhaps when he and the warriors three were sent off to help a village that was under attack from a greater wyrm? I heard these tales myself from him some years ago, I might yet remember them.." She tossed golden locks back, her shoulders rolling in a sinful arc backwards.
*
"A tale? I'd enjoy that tremendously," Donald assures Amora, a wide smile crossing his face. "Tell me of my Lord and his prowess in battle! I know Thor admires warriors and courage— knowing tales of his own courage would help me in my goal of being more worthy of his Blessing," Donald declares, before leaning forward to listen eagerly to Amora's every word.