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With the events of the May Day madness behind them, Donald and Amora retreat to her apartments. It's a short hop for the sorceress, even across oceans, but it does leave the craziness of the events most of a world away. Donald mops at his face with a corner of his tunic, but the fabric made by Amora's magics is clearly ruined, and he ruefully shakes his head. "Was that a typical May Day, or are we just fortunate to have witnessed a singular event?" He inquires of Amora, grinning at her roguishly.
*
Amora looked and smelled as fresh as a summer's day, not a single hair out of place as she stepped away from the magic that sparkled around them both. Yet perhaps, it was a sign as to how tired she was when she didn't change her clothes with a wave of her hand. Rather she bent, peeling off her heels and settling on the bar stool between the kitchen and living room.
Green eyes alighted on Donald and her lips pulled into a smile. "Hardly darling." She pushed her hair back, stretching her arms above her head with a soft sound escaping her. "A typical May Day is where you drink, feast, wait for the fires to burn down, and find a lover to jump over them with you. Then you enjoy yourselves and awake to Spring bird song. The veils between the realms here.. well, it's been flimsy at best since I was exiled here."
*
Donald moves towards Amora and rests his hands on her waist, listening, and when she lifts her arms over her head he stoops and kisses her gently. "You comported yourself well, my dear," he tells her, pride in his voice. He hesitates, looking almost ashamed. "I… had doubted you were really one of Asgard, at times. And with the strange shadow, I doubted even you. It is to my shame that I did. Your actions this last night were…heroic, Amora. You showed great courage."
*
As he moved in for a kiss, she seemed to meld against him. She returned his affection happily, her eyes fluttering closed as her arms made to settle over his shoulders as she tugged herself close against him. Always pulling closer to him, though this time it held an exhausted, languid manner to the movements. Her smile curled in the corners, almost preening, at his words.
"I am of the Aesir," She whispered, fingers crawling up his shirt front. "The dead are Hela's domain, and they belong not on Midgard's soil. Tis only fitting to send them back to her realm." She winked up at him, running her fingers over the ruined fabric of the tunic.
"Besides, you bring out the best in my actions.."
*
Donald's arms wrap around Amora to support her weight, so she doesn't need to cling to anything for balance, and he smiles broadly down at her. "You did well, Amora. I am most proud of you. And May Day is perhaps not a total loss, aye?" he inquires, chucking her chin affectionately. "We both survived, and fought well. That's a celebration well worth having, in my mind." He tilts her chin back and kisses her again, leaning into her with a gentle ardor behind the gesture.
*
Amora seemed more than a little pleased as his arms settled around her waist, and she leaned into them with a contented sound. Her frame tilted back as she kept her gaze locked upon him as he spoke. Green eyes glittered with her usual hunger, and proud shoulders rolled as if to make an humble gesture at his compliments. Her chin moved at his gentle tilt and his kiss brought out a more base sound from her rather than the chuckle that had started to form there.
Arms wrapped around his shoulders and she only leaned back when he ended the kiss, her back bumping against the countertop. "Aye indeed, a celebration very worthy. I fear, however I am simply too tired to remove my armor properly. I shall require your assistance." She purred, flashing him white teeth in her grin.
"And, t'would be remiss to not celebrate the holiday properly either." She winked.
*
Donald's brows lift, and he grins at Amora's provocative suggestion. "Remove your armor?" he inquires, jovially. "I can attempt to help, but you might have to walk me through some of the more delicate components," he inquires, playfully stepping even closer to her. "But if it's part of proper tradition and rote…. who am I to stand in the way of things?" he inquires, fingers tracing over Amora's arms and down her collarbone to try and find the clasps and buckles.
*
A hand rose, guiding his fingers lower than her collarbone to her side where several buckles and straps closed hardened armor too strong for Midgard's weaponry. She grinned up at him, fluttering thick eyelashes. "Oh aye, 'tis tradition. One of my favorites. Besides Midsummer of course." She rolled her shoulders back again in a faint mockery of a shrug, glancing off to the side and tossing her hair back. Her other hand rising to trace up his forearm to his shoulder.
Had Amora been any other woman, she would've wanted to talk. To question and think about what had happened at the celebration. To try to figure and puzzle over the events and how Loki had accused her of enthralling Donald.
However the Enchantress was a creature of opportunity, and if that meant holding her thoughts for another time? She would happily do it if she was occupied with the blonde before her.
*
Donald grins and— a little clumsily— tries to help Amora out of her armor. Asgardian gear doesn't require the assistance of two pages and a squire to remove, but a second set of hands certainly helps. He follows along with her fingertips to undo clasps until the breastplate abruptly sags loose, and careful not to let the metal links tangle in Amora's thick blonde hair, he removes the armor from chest, then starts unbuckling her bracers and the pauldrons that accompany it. "Why is Midsummer your favorite, then?" Donald inquires of Amora, with a questioning brow.
*
A giggle of amusement, soft and delighted followed his movements as he unhooked buckles and clasps, leaving her in a thin cloth that left little to the imagination. She helped him where she could, or wanted to. Reaching up with her arms free of protective guards that, even without any seeming padding had clearly left not a mark on her fair skin.
Huzzah for the dwarf make armor.
She dragged her fingers through her hair, using her legs balanced against his to keep her more than steady on the barstool as she watched Donald from beneath a fringe of eyelashes. "Midsummer is the height of my powers here on Midgard and anywhere else. I am bound to wax and wane with the seasons. Festivals that celebrate things in my domains, such as passion, desire, and beauty. And many others that mortals attributed to me.. give me more magical power to draw upon. Mortal worship makes all of us stronger in a sense."
She reached up with both hands, a finger to draw along his jawline. "After Midsummer my powers wane as Winter draws closer." She winked, "But only if I take upon the seasonal magic. As I have had to here on Midgard."
*
"Fascinating," Donald says, with a teasingly dry tone. "Of late I've noticed I feel stronger in the presence of foul weather. Driving rain and thunder wake me up, give me… a sense of purpose."
He kneels down in front of Amora to help remove her greaves, the last bit of her armor, and gives her a playful, easy grin. "Perhaps a time will come for you to return to Asgard, hmm? Abandon this mortal time for a life of immortal power?" he teases her. "What will you do, then, once you're no longer bound by the rules of this world?"
*
Amora smiled, watching him. "Aye, 'tis usual for the Thunderer to be tied to the storms. You may hear the prayers of those that desire rain, in some places they see it not for years. But such things are rare these days. Most pray to the modern 'God', or their local legends. Few now sing the praises of the Aesir, though more than they used to.. part in thanks to the visibility others have shown recently.." She mused.
As he knelt down she hooked a playful eyebrow upwards. "Me? Return? I should desire to see my home again, aye.. but.." She sighed and reached for him, a glimmer of some emotion welling in her gaze. "I can only return with the All-father's blessings.. never mind that I would sooner remain here with you, than return to Asgard alone.."
*
Donald helps her shuck off the last of her armor, leaving her in the flimsy white linen, and steps into Amora's embrace reassuringly. "'tis a sorrowful topic," Donald apologizes. "I should not have said it. I'm sure many crave a return to that place," he tells Amora. "When the time comes, Odin will welcome all the Aesir and their devotees with open arms. I hope," he adds, wryly.
*
The Enchantress wrapped her arms around him, pressing a kiss gentle and warm to his jawline. "Worry over it not, darling." She reached up to run her fingers into the blonde, shorn locks of his. As if by doing so could grow them to a longer twine of gold.
"All exiles crave such a return, but few have reason to stay. You, bring such light and warmth and joy to my days here that.. I forget the time that has passed. In the Realm Eternal, days fade into decades into centuries easily. One forgets the passage of time as a mere occurrence. Here?" She smiled, and leaned her scantily clad figure against his.
"I have such great joys to count the days by."