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Ah, the Village. Kai's down here again because why not? His people are down here. Hell's Kitchen is a zip code, Greenwich Village is home. He's just coming out of The Night Owl in a blast of music and warmth. Then the door closes, and he stretches. A productive night of doing nothing but smoking and drinking. That's a good, long stretch, the stretch of someone super satisfied with life. Then he shakes it off and looks around, this way and that. The evening is young. Where is he going to inflict with himself next?
*
Greenwich Village is equally Scarlett's home. She is as much a fixture here as the Victorian mansion, one of two, owned by a certain doctor of arts, rather than sciences. The redhead sits upon a balcony, her legs dangling over the edge, a glass in hand and a metal spindle standing on the tip of her finger. Impressive given the metal is the length of an icicle, and the thing turns ever so slowly of its own accord. She is only a storey off the ground, etched in lambent flame and verdant fire, a benediction for the lost and a doom to any sailor ever taken to sea. Green-eyed, flame-tressed women are bad luck as far as they are concerned. Fortunately on a sultry night as this, warmer than usual by a good ten degrees, few ships embark through the streets and tangled routes, unless flights of imagination.
Or possibly ephemeral longships in heady fog, drawn up by a badly drawn rune inscription or six.
*
Kai doesn't wander too far just yet. In fact he glances back at the door to the club. Though his looking around does bring his gaze to Rogue, and he blinks up at her. "You!" he says. "What's the tale, nightingale? I haven't seen you for a few." Sure, she's Asgardian. Sure, her purpose is to learn things he'd rather her not learn. But she's swinging, and he can't just let that go.
*
Loki drifts out of the club a bit after Kai. He is also looking behind him as he goes, as if he were still half listening to someone who was talking to him and had delayed his exit. He draws up a deep breath and casts his eyes about for Kai, and spots Rogue at the same time. His smile is a little more subdued and careful, outside the club, unlike Kai who is in a constant mode of giant smiling at people. He approaches at a casual pace.
*
Amora the Enchantress appeared with a flash of green light, to the mortals around her, the beauty had always been there. How could she not? Such perfection must have always existed. It was not to be questioned, only admired and gazed at unendingly. Her appearance was mortal in shape and stature, though no less scuplted from folklore than her usual. Blonde hair hung freely down her back and she wore a fashionable dress of green that swept around her knees with a silken drape. Her cleavage was as always, on ample display as she blew a kiss and winked down at a mortal from her perch behind Scarlett.
A delighted murmur escaped her as her gaze landed on Kai and Loki both as she made to tap the redhead she stood behind by the shoulder, a flicker of power alighting her green eyes with mirth.
*
What constitutes the width of smiles? The mile between each S? The depth of the curve and the angle? If so, then Scarlett demurs to the spin of the celestial court, her mouth under a pearl sheen the absent moon in its deep crescent phase. Faint strands tease at the pivoting spindle, but it hovers a hairsbreadth above the pad of her fingertip. Amora's appearance from naught shatters the hint of concentration and it starts to tumble end over end, snatched out of the air with reflexes fit to make a lightning bolt rather envious. Green eyes drift upwards from the street in a slow measure of certainty, the metal point as much a bodkin suitable for stabbing as scribing incantations on a dreamy night. "My lady." Familiarity breeds at least a thin veener of defense against the fascination effect.
"Lo, where the moon along the sky
Sails with her happy destiny;
Oft is she hid from mortal eye
Or dimly seen,
But when the clouds asunder fly,
How bright her mien!
Far different from we — a fro'ward race
Thousands though rich in the Norns grace…"
The lilting lyrics come down from on high in her mezzosoprano, elevated on the charms of her sonorous, near English voice.
*
Kai blinks a little at as Amora appears. His eyes are a bit beyond mortal. He tilts his head, gazing up at her. Queer as a three dollar bill, but he can appreciate aesthetics. Intently. It takes him a moment to glance back and see Loki. A soft smile lights up his face. "I thought I was going to lose you," he says. The urge to take his hand is aggravating, and he shoves both hands in his pockets to resist the temptation. "Have you met Scarlett?" he asks in an undertone, unwilling to drown out the singing. "Isn't she marvelous? And check out the looker."
*
Loki looks up to regard Scarlett again and when his eyes find Amora, he tenses some. He leans to Kai, "Careful…with that one." Then he smiles more pleasantly and openly. "Yes…I know both of them. Good evening, up there, Ladies. Care to grace the ground with your presence?"
*
Amora, for her part, seems only delighted that her apprentice started to sign after acknowledging her presence behind her. The lyrical tune attractive enough on its own, but was only amplified by a flicker of Amora's power. It seemed as if the blonde, being of good spirit, desired little other than to be amused. As Kai and Loki speak, however she slings herself forward, draped against the railing with an arm stretched out, and her upper carriage thrown forward. Long legs peeked out from silken skirts of green that seemed to move in an other worldly breeze.
"I know not, is the ground deserving of our presence? T'would seem as if it were a foul thing. Unfit for the beauty that we hold. Pray, sing our praises more and we might be convinced to join your earth treading feet upon the street." She called, ruby lips shaped of a perfect upturned smile followed. Fingers wiggled in his direction as she waved and winked down at them.
*
"Would you scorn the stone-sealed earth the touch of your fair sole?" The skald does her noble art credit when so inspired, the gilded clarion weaving a languid spiral around the senses. Her heel bounces slightly and the narrow precipice upon which Scarlett perches puts her in dire threat of falling the more than ten feet did Amora take it to mind to shove her over. "Caution, my lady, you may encourage them yet to greater feats or send them to take leave of us, rushing away without a further word to find consolation in another corner."
*
Kai's eyes widen as Amora leans over. "Sweet mercy, would you look at those," he muses in a low tone. He then smiles up at Amora, and while he may not be anywhere close to her calibre of beauty, he's got a certain puckishness about him, and that smile is a little ray of sunshine. "Your presence is the only thing that could make it deserving," he calls up. "Without you, it's merely earth and stone. With but one touch of your sweet foot, my lady, it would become a pedestal for perfection, a stage set for a pageant beyond the scope of mortal eyes." He spreads his hands and adds, "But all we can do is beseech thee and pray for the sweet kiss of your indulgence." He glances back at Loki, only then noticing the tension. He turns that sterling smile on him. Er, oops?
*
Loki starts arrrrching his eyebrows up and up the longer Kai goes on with his impressive poetic lure to try to get Amora and Scarlett down here. He wets his lips and takes on a more sly expression, corners of his lips curling up. "I see…such a fine suitor to these lovely ladies. Ahh…I could be a gentleman and let it stand, or I could try my own lips at an entreaty." His green eyes dance, still looking at Kai, and then he lifts his chin and turns his gaze up to Scarlett and Amora once again, his tone suggesting that what he is saying his high romance, but the words say otherwise, "Surely, my ladies, you cannot believe such pomp and puffing. Were your feet to touch this ground, it would be mere convenience, since the path upwards to your abode is not obvious. Your presence here would not outshine the sun or bless this ragged rock any greater than it has been , already. However, if you do decide to come down from your perch, I can guarantee that two would become four." He pinches his lips together.
*
Duffel bag slung over his shoulder, Donald's trip home is normally an uneventful one. He's not well heeled enough for cutpurses to look at, and thugs and muggers look twice at his shoulders and height before they move on to other targets.
He comes up short at the sound and sign of crooning and poetry, brows lifting in mild confusion. A few onlookers are staring at the back and forth, and once Donald recognizes Amora— and Loki— he palms his face in disbelief, and starts looking around to see if there's a way around the little tete a tete.
*
Amora for her part, smiled prettily at her apprentice and Kai's flattering words, her green eyes danced with amusement. Vainity was too little a word for the pleasure that Amora had in her beautiful form, and hearing it confirmed in brandied sweet words? It was all the Asgardian woman could expect of others, and all she desired by and large. Her hand lifted to thread through her hair as she peered down at the bardic praise from Kai with a perfectly formed smile that looked fitting for a piece of exquisite art.
"You've a talented tongue for praise, my darling." She purred, and just like that, between one blink and the next she was standing before him. "You have convinced me." She fluttered her thick eyelashes, smiling still.
Yet that smile dropped at Loki's words, and that emerald eyed gaze narrowed, smile fading. Anger flashed on those beautiful features' of her's and she looked fit to rip out someone's organs with her bare hands, curled as her fingers were. "Two would could become at least eight in your case, darling." She muttered.
What halted the near brutual reaction? Why Donald's appearance. Her anger vanished and just as quickly, she was throwing her arms around the blonde with a happy sound pealing from her lips as she made to steal a heady kiss from his lips.
*
As bystander to the vibrant duello between golden-haired Enchantress and beatnik poet, Scarlett recedes into silence. The twisted metal spire she toyed with earlier ends up stabbed through the heavy weight of her coppery braids, arranged so the tapering ends will not scratch bloody welts into scalp or neck. Though she can wring prose to weep cascades of plummy ichor betwixt tender, expressive digits, her curious observation spares benighted words unwonted abuse and her accusations of grammatical harrassment. Loki has all the blunt force absent in the tentative cuts and playful barbs exchanged under a silky delivery, shattering formality to whatever ends. As ever, the girl picks up the shards.
"Through the front door, take two turns of the stairs and walk to the balcony," she replies. "However, I have no such airs. What space I occupy is not hallowed, and my very breath does not give life to flowers and sunlight." Frozen in place for a moment, her gaze trails past the dark-haired man to another figure, following Amora's gaze. That may make the fact she opts to jump down in a minidress all the more impressive. One moment, perched, the next, rising from a crouch. That happened rather fast.
*
Kai looks to Loki with a sly smile. "Pomp and puffing? My dear sir, I believe you wound me." Then Amora is before them, and before he can all but beg to draw her, Loki gives his entreaty and he's lost her attention. Loki has gained his, though. His brows lift in scant disbelief. He purses his lips, biting down on them to keep them firmly sealed. Not a word from the elfin one. Until Thor makes his way down the street. "Oh," he says lightly. "Look who it is." He tugs on Loki's sleeve in an attempt to draw him toward the front door. Quick, while the beauty's distracted and distracting! Escape!r
Except Scarlett has opted to join them instead. Kai pauses a beat, then tugs Loki's sleeve anyway. Even better! The place is empty and they might have snacks!
*
Loki doesn't move. He's rooted in place when Thor arrives and he stares at his brother, and in particular…how Amora hangs on him. It is an arrangement that he has had nothing to do with, and that disturbs him to no end. Amora…in control of a Thor. Hmm. The tug on his sleeve and the sudden leap down of Scarlett jostle his attention. He glances to Kai, then back to Scarlett, then again to Thor. "Wait…Kai…Scarlett…" he lowers his voice, concern knitting his brows. "I feel like this cannot continue." He balls his hands into fists.
*
"Amora, I— mph!" Donald says, as he's attacked by the blonde. He tries mightily to focus on the situation, but even without a lick of magic, Amora possesses that singular magic of all women and it takes him a moment to break away from her. He quirks a brow at Rogue, recognizing the woman, but it takes him a few moments to put faces with expressions and realize Scarlett's relation to Amora.
"I— you two?" he asks, baffled. "Scarlett, I didn't realize you, and, er,… Amora…"
Then, there's Loki, and Donald's expression grows even more confused. "You, I know you. You're that Loki fellow who showed up at our church," he remarks, backing a pace away from the little entourage. "How is it you all know one another?" he demands, suspicion on his rugged features.
*
Amora releases the blonde from her kiss, but doesn't back away from him, merely hitching a golden brow upwards. "Darling, Scarlett is mine apprentice. I have told you this before..?" She crooned, reaching out to run possessive fingers over his shoulder as a glance was spared back toward Kai and Loki's personages with a warning glance. Vicious green illunminated her eyes, a warning barely concealed before she glanced back toward Donald.
"You didn't tell me that Loki appeared at church.." She murmured, head tilting to the side, her voice slow and soft. "To be fair, I have met these men previously at a bookstore. I thought not the need to speak of it." She hooked a brow upwards, trying to settle her head against his shoulder. Clinging to his person.
"Don't be cross with me." She pouted her full lips, and fluttered dark eyelashes up at him.
*
The redhead smooths her hands over her skirt, tugging lightly upon the hem to ensure its easy flow around her unmarked leggings. Without photographic recall and superhuman perception, nothing scandalous transpired upon the descent to the ground. Satisfied all is as it should be, Scarlett inclines her head to the two men pondering a break for the building she exited. Faint lines radiate over her brow, masks exchanged that likewise cast a tide over her countenance, washing away the concern under a transparent film of acknowledgement. "As you would, mes amis." Her soft undertone allows for little more than that.
A question has to be answered, as Amora already covers the fine points. She raises her hand lightly to Donald in a wave, fingers curled to her palm, wrist rotated. "One of them is a bookseller and I attend Columbia University. Reading is a passion. My other great sin of late is music, and we share that in common." A nod to Kai. "Rebels naturally gravitate together in Greenwich Village, and I seem to know everyone by two or three degrees of separation. How are you this evening?"
*
Kai eyes Loki, then lets go of his sleeve. "This isn't going to end well," he tells him. It's not so much a warning as his resignation to the inevitable. He may have the Big Blue Eyes, but ultimately, Loki will do Loki. He sighs quietly, then looks to Thor, his brow furrowing. "What am I, Clyde, chopped liver? Anyway you know I know him." He nods toward Loki. To whom he adds, low-toned, "Not sure it's in us to stop it, mate."
Still, it's not in him to harbor any great resentment, not over being looked over, given how hard he tries to be attain that state. He jerks a thumb toward Rogue and says, "She's Scarlett, only the swingingest chick in the Village. Everyone knows about her, or should. I just got lucky enough to hang out with her is all."
*
Loki takes a step so that he's partially covering Kai from view from Amora, and he jabs a finger in her general direction. "Do not think for one moment, /Amora/, that I am unaware of what you are up to with him. But, he deserves /far better/ than to be played with and ensorcelled like some…pathetic plaything." Black brow furrowed, his long legs take him into an aggressive stance, "You. Will. Fail. I will stop you from this…plot…to have Asgard wrapped around your little finger, pretty though it is." He gestures, boldly, and takes the occassional aggressing step forwards.
*
Scarlett's fair speech is returned with a short nod, and Donald gives Amora a Look. Promising that much will be said of this, later— as he clearly is blindsided by the redhead's presence here.
*THUNK*. Between Loki and Amora, a heavy hammer made of Uru lands. Nordic runes adorn it, the leather-wrapped handle looming towards the sky.
"Ware your words, Loki," Donald says, in a growl so low it seems to shake the cobbles. He steps towards Loki, interdicting his mass between the god and the blonde enchantress. "I'll not hold back as I did before, if you continue to threaten my Lady Amora," he says, staring impassively.
*
Loki's words draw glare from Amora, magic fluttering to life in that emerald gaze, yet she said nothing. A slow smile pulling at her lips as the hammer slices in the air between them. She steps back, safely leveling the blonde Princes' figure between her and the dark Prince of Asgard. Her arms wrapping around her middle as she rolled her shoulders back in an utterly satisfied look turning her molten anger away.
"I could no sooner ensorcel him, than you, darling." She murmured, eyelashes fluttering. A hand rose to push blonde curls back from her features lazily.
"And let us not throw stones in glass houses, Loki dear. Keep Asgard safe from me? My plots? Let us not forget what has occurred not so long ago. Hmm, or have you truly forgotten still? I have done naught wrong." Green eyes lift toward Donald and her smile warms, honestly. "I have done all to aid, my darling.." She purred.
*
Betimes when caught between quarrelling powers, the path of wisdom beckons to walk stealthily into the backdrop and await the opportune moment to pounce or slip away.
How sharp those claws, o Donald Blake.
How cruel those fangs in your hunter's smile, o Serrure.
Alas, it has never stood for Scarlett to completely withdraw. Not when a peacemaker and diplomat by nature, which brings her quietly away from Kai and Loki, palms outstretched beside her in clear indication of no harm. "Whatever differences lie here, Mr. Blake, I bid you not speak words now that may give cause for regret later. Not all is clear-cut as it seems." Quiet in tone, she does not cajole or wheedle. But she steps in their line of sight, possibly to annoyance of all. "There may be discord, but nothing that calls for this conflict."
A faint spark of citrine ripples across her auroral gaze, too surreal a green. In Aesir, the request is simple and direct: "«Midgard is my home. Quarrels would threaten its people again. Please do not.»"
*
Kai slips an arm around Loki's. It's Greenwich Village, he can perhaps get away with a little more than he might anywhere else, bringing himself into proximity with his, ah, very good friend. He doesn't try to put himself between Thor and Loki this time, but he does shift a little so he's not entirely behind the latter. "Time and place," he murmurs to the fallen prince. "If there's evidence, we'll gather it. If not, the lady has nothing to worry about."
*
Loki lifts his chin, proud, defiant, the sharp angles of his face made moreso by the light streaming from the balcony windows above. His eyes are beyond Thor, fixed on Amora with challenge. And then THUMP. A glance to Mjolnir, then Thor himself. "There was a Loki, but he /died/." He glances to Rogue, "I am sorry." That comment seems meant just for her, and he lifts his voice again, "People have a lot to say about me…but that is not me. Those memories are not mine. I know who I am. And I have a brother…and /together/ we have long defended the golden realm." He diminishes then, recognizing that he will hardly be allowed to escalate things now, without having to fight so many more than he wants to. Kai's voice draws him finally to take a step back, and then he turns to walk away swiftly. He is the first to flinch away from the standoff. Lightning blows though. And he has no idea what Scarlett can do besides jump in a miniskirt and that was impressive enough that he /assumes/ its more.
*
Donald stares at Loki and Kai until the two withdraw far enough, then stoops and retrieves the hammer. He flicks it on his wrist with an idle, familiar gesture, and turns back to the women— though he keeps an eye on the two fellows yet.
"You did not tell me Scarlett was your apprentice," he tells Amora, gesturing at the redhead. "And you," he admonishes Rogue, "made no mention that your teacher was -Amora-." Clearly, he's more than a little irked and feeling as if he's been the butt of some manipulation by the two lovely women.
*
Amora's lips peeled back into a silent snarl at Kai and Loki's words, Asgardian hearing such that she caught all spoken. Green eyes narrowed and she held up a manicured finger in their direction, power dripping from her voice.
"You are the God of Lies. Of Tricks and Tales. You tell a story to change yourself as you desire. But you cannot escape the tales of your past, they carry the weight of death and blood. I name you the false prince. The traitor of Asgard. The one who blinded Heimdall, the destroyer of the Bifrost, one who sought to slay his kith and kin. Lack forgiveness binds your memories back, for this trespass this night I forgive you." She breathed, her hand falling as her gaze swung back toward Donald, her form deflating.
"For I have changed by love's true will, and give myself to its splendor wholly. I am innocent of aught you accuse me of, Trickster." She called, even as he retreated. Her gaze returned to Donald, and she went to him, attempting to slide her hands up his chest and to wind around his shoulders.
"I beg your forgiveness. I was remiss, darling. Please, blame not Scarlett."
*
"I have nine of them this semester, though three are in more permanent roles," Scarlett murmurs, the words chosen easily. "Though in my lady's case, whether my studies with her are divulged is by her consent, not mine. Forgive me for failing to disclose that, Mr. Blake. I left it up to her to speak to you about, given you are closer to her than me right now." A stitch of language with telling possibilities, all said and done. A blink colours her gaze back to normal, or normal by her standards, though the capricious hue of her bright eyes is never settled.
To some degree, the shining distraction Amora and Loki provide make it so much easier to conceal her own self with a liar's glib tongue and a deceiver's grace, lessons learned the hard way. "Together, you have done greater deeds than lore will ever recall. Dead or lost or found. The skein of the Norns brings you together again and again, but you surely know this already. I merely speak the obvious." A pained smile thrown over her shoulder to the men and Amora gives little vantage but for her usual sunniness, proof enough how skilled she's become in flattening the tangled welter of emotions. And how not? Her mind is a crystal labyrinth, a kingdom populated by the full stretch of experience. "Good night."
*
Kai erks as Loki turns to go and, attached to him, Kai goes as well. He looks over his shoulder at the others. He's hardly the nefarious sidekick. He's got the kind of face a mother would love. Even a thief mother rotting in an Asgardian prison. As the distance grows, he looks to Loki and, as an afterthought, lets go of his arm, the better to pretend to be his friend, just his friend. "You… blinded Heimdall?" he asks. Then he waves a hand. "Never mind. You don't owe me an explanation for anything."