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Loki staggers in the light and gasps of the fresh air. Malekith is asking him a question, but it takes him a few moments to gather himself after the unexpected shift. "What happened? Where were we…and what was coming? Is it following you? No one seemed concerned…and then everyone fled suddenly." Burning with questions, it seems!
"It's that noxious festival your folk love so much. Midsummer." Malekith curtly waves his hand about. He brings the point of the cane down and slides the cloak off his arm, examining the moon-stitched hem. A good fluff opens it up to wave around his shoulders, and settle in place with a kind of satisfactory weight. A bit of posing in front of a window at the back of the balcony satisfies his need to assure he's the most glorious of creatures ever born into perfect svartalf bastardry. "They probably all went to worship a bonfire. Primitives. No wonder the Aesir bother taking Vanir to bed, they're supposedly wild enough to bite." The sharp grin becomes a collapsed, harsh line. Reminders of time flowing away from him.
"Hurry up and pick one. I've already arranged it in case Loki Bifrost-breaker has ethical qualms." His mouth turns down and a manic light fades over his light. "Pick one. One. Any one. One, and one, and one."
Loki rolls his eyes and then reaches up to pluck a rose-colored metal ring off one of the hands. "So, she gets a crown and a ring? What does the crown do? Seems…strange…it being bound in ice as it is. Beautiful though. Your people do fine work when you choose to stop trying to fight everyone. Are you turning a new leaf, though? With this marriage?"
The ring selected from those in the hands of the statues leaves a gap where was one before. It likely won't even register to those who pass by on their way to more exciting places.
Malekith all but explodes into motion once that is done. "Questions, questions. You'd think you never set eyes upon someone who stopped time for you." He waves a finger, and snatches up his staff. It goes well with the dark cloak setting off his curiously segmented countenance, black and white, the silver and black embroidery rich and fine. "I give her a ring for marriage. The frippery's a family heirloom. How it seems I already told you this." The cane spins and he jabs the floor of the balcony. "Now may we begone before my teeth rot of the saccharine joys of the children? It's positively unbearable. The ice is nice, and in a trice, keeps the sparkle better twice. My paramour awaits." Eyes narrow. The mask settles into place, white and oblique. "The pieces, please. Supposing you mean to officiate? You are a prince. It would be fitting."
"You want me to marry you to your mysterious lady?" Loki squints his eyes, thoughtfully. "I see no reason why not." He hands over the ring and the crown to Malekith, though he's frowning from the lack of all answers, "Stopped time for youself, perhaps. Not for me. I am not even sure what you want of me." He exhales though as he looks around the festival, following the dark elf throuh its maze. "I wanted to take Kai to this. No thanks to you…seems we will miss it."
"You'll have forever, what have you to worry about?" Malekith tugs on the clasp of the cloak and assures it lies perfectly across his shoulders. A light pull and he properly looks as dashing as a phantom about to steal off and find his sweet Christine. "Gifts first, man." He holds out his hand for the headdress and the ring. "I recover my fair lady. You attend and do however you do for matrimonial celebrations. Speak some slick verse. Curse me and declare her miserable for all survival. Invoke that queen mother of yours, as that might be suitable." Before Loki hits him, he adds, "The marriage goddess. Whatever be done, it needn't belabour the point. We have things to do after that don't involve you." The curve of that grin under the mask is so wide, it gives the colour to the tone in ways that don't take much imagination to imagine. Because triple-jointed pleasure elves are a thing.
"Do it quick, you'll have time to jump a fire."
Loki just…cannot get the answers and Malekith talks a lot like an elf he knows. He does hand over the objects to Malekith, then looks around for anyone that might be the dark one's lady love. "I can certainly make the ceremony brief…and…I am worried that he is somewhat fragile a moon elf and you are not known for your kind jail cells."
The jewel on metal pieces he treats like common junk. The ring, Malekith clutches in his fist without any certainty. "Good. You marry us. Then you go about your way. You'll have been there." Sentiment on the dark elf's part? It accounts for the sharp, short chuckle. "Then go do your festival. My guests are pampered, I'll have you know."
It takes him a few seconds to gather himself back to proper levels of madness and charm. He glares over his shoulder at the balcony window and then gestures. A few arcane motions and the gateway opens in black shadow again, wavering to being. "Once more into the breach, and off to my lady."
Loki still follows him, even if he'd much rather just summon up that bow and fire an arrow through his mask. Patience. Patience. Maybe Malekith really has fallen in lust with some pretty little thing and just wanted some Asgardian royalty to make it all official-ish.
The Boudoir
The gateway winnows through the dimensions along the World Tree. This time the ice is every bit as cold, the darkness impervious, and the glistening sheen of the darkest of golds rushing over Loki still trying to rip the oxygen out of his lungs. But forewarned is forearmed. Or something.
The teleportation gate enters a room decidedly fragile. Elegant, in a way, as cages so often are. High windows offer glorious views of an ethereal forest and thin minarets adorned by unbelievably frail bridges here, there, and everywhere. Throw in a few mountains and the shining sea for a pitch-perfect postcard. Might as well say 'The Real Eden' somewhere. A pretty young woman with long white hair styled in the manner of all posh elves everywhere sits patiently upon a settee staring out over the view. Her braid hits her ankles. It sounds charming until one realizes - and Loki's a keen fellow - that a chain is woven through it, dampening her power. The door is locked and utterly absent of a handle.
"Forgive me, my lady! In all the realms, who could praise such beauty?" With a bow, absent mockery, the dark elf bends at the waist. "I pray we can bring joy to your face and brighten the aspect of the day. I do have but one trifling delay. Loki of Asgard, meet my dearest Aeli."
|ROLL| Loki +rolls 1d20 for: 10
Loki can put two and two together well enough, though he's a bit surprised at the surroundings for the girl. Elf. Not a dark elf, either. Interesting. He looks at Malekith, then nears one of the windows to look out the expanse of woodlands, "It is just like a romance edda…" He comments as he gives them a moment to compose themselves. "This is much better than I expected, Malekith."
Aelsa isn't going anywhere fast, given she has the range roughly of a room to scour with her footsteps and that dress has a rather tight mermaid effect going on below the knees. She doesn't quail when Malekith announces himself or shows his blue-on-black face. Loki does cause her to start. "Are you here to remove me from my captivity?" The question goes to the Asgardian prince. Her height is not significant, but she has all the dextrousness of her people. Probably even more. "He has promised when we are as one, no force will hold me here any longer."
"And I /do/ love the little savage from the bottom of my blackened heart," Malekith chimes in. He isn't quite to stalking her, but he offers her hand to raise Aelsa to her feet. She takes it, though the tug on her braid by the spellbound metal makes her frown. Another reminder. "In honour of such a happy occasion, a mere token that could not outshine your great beauty. A forsaken bauble of my people." He holds out the jewel on its metal frame for her to slip into her hair, and gives Loki a nod.
She is busy settling it into place, clear-eyed and bold. "It is. I will not be mocked for my choice. He is mine, as I am his."
Loki draws in a deep breath and then turns to the unlikely pair. Probably a little politics involved, but…he sees no real reason not to give them what they want. Plus…he can empathize with the woman's predicament. "Take hands…" Realizing he needs a rope or a ribbon, he turns towards her dresser, and looks through the baubles there until he finds a white ribbon long enough. Then he comes to stand in front of them. "Are you ready? Last chance…" He flicks a smile at them.
"Of course. Skip to the good part," Malekith insists. Truly. The ring is in hand, poised to slide on a finger. Aelsa's, not his.
Aelsa in turn offers her hand, calm as the light elves tend to be. It's a bit odd to see a dark elf so dapper, but this is hardly common. The woman tips her head, looking up to Loki. "Be happy. I do."
Loki will not be deterred! He will do this right, he doesn't care! He steps forwards and wraps the ribbon around both their hands, "By the Allfather, and my right as Prince of the Realm of Asgard, you are wed." There is a pause. "Now…traditionally…an entourage would make certain that this union is consumated…"
The room shakes and begins to crumble.
Malekith and Aelsa stand side by side. She is a good few inches shorter than him, though her lustrous braided hair and his disgustingly mingle as they watch the Prince of Asgard unite their lines: dark elf and light elf, Master of the Hunt and the caged heiress. Her eyes are mild and terribly clear, like peering into the heart of a forest pool fed by a spring.
Malekith has actually bothered to remove the mask, and that leaves one more thing before he's totally handfastered and incapable of anything. That rose-coloured ring that Loki picked out he has to hold in his dominant hand, and fit onto her left ring finger. Aelsa presents her hand. The band slides on, and there, truly, they are utterly precious. Or horrifying and awesome in their way. Malekith offers a grin. The ribbon winds and weaves fates. It links their hands. The light elf sighs, and leans against her new husband slightly, as the stone on her brow glitters and her hand bears the marks of oath and promise. "I swear my pledge to Malekith."
"And I swear my pledge to you, Aelsa. Witnessed by Loki Odinson. Now, my dearest fetching savage, we're going to take you out of here, and go have a real party." Thank you ever so much, Loki. Oh, how wonderful Loki. He doesn't forget to raise their connected hands to the Prince, and offers a low laugh. "As if I haven't one of those, good man. But let's be gone. Ljosalfgard is one of the dullest spots in the Nine Realms, and that includes the bloody mines."