1964-07-08 - Celebrations and Mead!
Summary: Lara shows at the Asgardian Embassy and Thor agrees to let her stay. Amora is not amused.
Related: Asgardian things
Theme Song: None
amora lara thor 

The trip to Helheim left the Asgardians bone and battle weary, in body and spirit. The wounds left few visible holes but still struck deeply, even in those at the fringes of the melee.

Thor endured a great deal and survived, as he always did, but still it was painful and exhausting and a great deal of his energy was sapped by the tremendous magics he'd channeled. A trip to Midgard was in order, to rest and cavort with mortals and give his spirit some time to recover from the phantom slings and arrows.

The Asgardian Embassy is more mead hall than office space, and the Asgardians are always using it. Wrestling on the roof, meals served almost constantly, sporting in all corners and crannies; it's a place to make merry revelry for anyone who has the fortitude to hang with Asgardians while they relax.

Thor's at one of the smaller tables, with a great spread of food laid out, and eating and drinking with a vast hunger. He slurps down mead thirstily, lounging back with little consideration of propriety as he revels in his survival.


Amora had taken quite a hit during the battle, though it could have been worlds worse. Still, the Enchantress had never been one to not take an opportunity to plea injury when she could. So she had followed along after Thor when the rest had gone off to their own places. The blonde had access to her potions now and could, realistically, heal herself to the full.

Amora sauntered into the room, wearing a dress that was more rumor than reality, wispy green silks that curled around her bare shoulders and trailed low around her neckline, and was slit up the sides high enough to be eye catching. How it managed to stay on her figure it was a mystery better left up to magic.

She slunk over to Thor, not so much as blinking at the free and empty chairs around him. Instead she went for his lap in a pause between bites and his grasp for his mead. "Darling," She breathed, throwing her arms around his shoulders to steady herself.


Nothing moves the heart to forgive like a near brush with death. Good mead helps, though, and for the moment, Amora and Thor's detente waxes pleasant. He makes room for her with one open arm so she can leap sidesaddle onto his thighs, and grips her waist with one brawny arm.

"Amora, you're … almost decent," Thor tells the blonde woman, with a cheery laugh for her dangerous attire. He pulls the plate closer so she can reach it and goes for his mead again, clearly medicating himself to completion with his own 'potions'.

"You look well and well-rested. I see you're feeling more whole and hearty?" he inquires of the blonde enchantress. He's dressed most informally, in a sleeveless tunic and baggy trousers with heavy brown boots on his feet. His hair's been cleaned and combed, and his beard trimmed of the rough accumulation of the strange flow of time in the nether realms.


Amora leaned quite happily into the space he offered her, snagging a handful of bread and cheese to nibble on as he pulled the plate closer. She turned to peck him on the cheek coquettishly, fluttering her full eyelashes as she did so. "Well, everything is covered, I am perfectly decent." She shot back, and grinned with those full ruby lips. She sighed happily, and with a wave of her hand, her own goblet of mead appeared. Golden and etched with runes.

"I am utterly exhausted, but my mind won't let me rest." She tsked and sipped at her own drink, then reached for a slice of red meat to nibble on with her manicured fingers. Manners in Asgard were different than most would assume for such an lofty realm.

"I have my concerns over the events, but I shall save them for another time."


Lara-El flies about the city almost all the time. From time to time, she helps someone in distress, or prevents some crime or another, or other similar things. Occasionally, she visits a place, such as the one Greek restaurant she recently found in one of the 'lower' parts of town… and, as she's chosen to do now, sometimes one of the 'higher' places, such as the Asgardian Embassy, where she recently encountered shirtless Asgardian men. Yes, -that- she remembers vividly, and that vivid memory spurs her to come down out of the sky at the entrance of the place, asking for Thor, Prince of Asgard.

In due course, whatever guard posted there comes in and over to where Thor sits, while Lara herself steps in and waits at the door. "A lady who calls herself 'Supergirl' and who claims to be a friend of the Prince of Asgard has come for visit", the guard says to Thor, before turning to head back to his post. Lara remains by the door with her hands on her hips as she takes in the grand hall she's been shown into, waiting to be invited to enter.


"Aye, many questions go unanswered," Thor says, frowning mightily. "The cause of such war still escapes me. The Elder Gods do not rise from their slumber without good reason," he remarks. "Lucky we were to set foot in their demesne and survive, but /something/ spurred them to move so blatantly against one anoth—"

He looks up when the guard arrives, brows furrowing. "Oh! Aye, Supergirl, she is most welcome," Thor says, slurring his words just a little.

"SUPERGIRL!" he shouts, beckoning. No one pays him any mind. Mead Halls are loud anyway. "Come, join us! Amora, this 'tis Supergirl," he tells the Enchantress, gesturing from her to the young woman. "Supergirl, my most fair companion and boon friend, the Lady Amora the Enchantress," Thor says, making with the introductions.


Amora seemed to be idly reaching for more food at Thor's words. "Well we may believe Hela's premise that.." She broke off at the guard's entrance, her green eyed gaze narrowing faintly as her attention shifted to the woman in the doorway. She shifted to lean back against Thor, a hand steadying herself around his shoulders that reached up to idly play with the ends of his hair.

A thin smile pulled at ruby lips, and Amora set her goblet down to offer a wiggle of her fingers in a wave. "A pleasure to meet you, Supergirl." And she managed to put enough stress on the word 'girl' to make it plain she did not enjoy having the presence of the other woman in the hall just then.

Then she calmly picked up a grape from the plate, popping it into her mouth with a snap.


Lara comes in at Thor's call, and gives a bit of a half-bow as Amora's introduced. She then claims one of the empty seats right next to the head of the table, where Thor sits. "A pleasure to meet you, Lady Amora", she says as she sits, giving her own words no emphasis — perhaps to show that she really just doesn't care what someone else thinks, she's been made welcome and she's getting comfy, leaning back in the chair in which she's sat herself.

"This has the look of a great meal, such as a celebration of some sort?", Lara says, her tone of voice making it a question. She scoops up a stein of mead from before herself, to take a drink from it.


"Some caution Supergirl— Asgardian mead 'tis not for the faint of heart," Thor cautions the woman. "'tis well known for striking down unwary mortals, even those of prodigious fortitude. Sip it cautiously, aye?"

"We are celebrating the greatest of holidays— the day after victory is claimed!" Thor says, sitting back against the chair behind him. "We have survived a wicked foe and saved an ally long misplaced. 'tis a glorious day, and you catch us in our revels," he says, grinning at the blonde on his knee and giving her leg a squeeze.

"What brings you to the Embassy, friend Supergirl?" he inquires of the brunette, cocking a brow at her.


Amora made a faint sound of surprise as Thor settled back against the chair and she moved with him. A breathless, almost laugh escaped her as she settled back against him. Her figure curving languidly against him, even as his hand settled on her knee. She flashed him a grin, white teeth against lipsticked lips that pulled wide into a sinuous curve.

"Is the mead the aged one we brought down before or is it the newer one from Asgard's stores?" She asked, peering at Thor's cup and taking a sniff. "Ah, rose hips, must be the older one." She smirked and sipped at her own magically refilling goblet. Green eyes moving to settle upon Supergirl firmly.

"Aye, what is your business?" She tilted her head against Thor's shoulder, watching.


"A victory in battle? Surely my choice to visit today was well-timed, then!", Lara says, lifting her drink as she sits forward in her chair. "To your victory!", she calls out. "Would that I'd had a chance to enter into true battle again, myself", she adds, before completing her toast with a swig of mead. Then, with a glance into her drinking vessel, she says, "… I thought it felt more full-bodied, stronger", of the drink, then smiles. "It's a good thing I'm not mortal, then. As for what brought me, I was in the area and, remembering having been made to feel welcome here on the other occasion I happened along, chose to visit in the hope of such, once again, and am quite happy to again be so well-received."

"Although", Lara then adds, setting her drinking vessel down on the table before herself. "I had also hoped to make a request of the Prince of Asgard, if I might?", she goes on. "I explained my circumstances to you previously", she says, clearly directing her words to Thor. "I find myself without a place to call home… indeed, although my outfit mends itself and keeps itself clean, it is, literally, all I own. I would ask if I might, at least until I can find for myself a way to come about someplace else, ask the favor of quarters here, so that I might rest and bathe… and simply relax, from time to time? If I needs earn my keep, I will gladly do so."


"Normally I would deliberate and stew on the matter," Thor tells Lara. "But, you find me deep in victuals and lusty companionship! We celebrate life today, and the spirit moves me to a vast largess. The Keeper of the Embassy will have terms and words for you, I'm sure, but aye— you speak with a warrior's spirit and you need yet a place to rest your head, for a time. Tell the Keeper you have my blessing, and he'll find you a bed under our roof as you search out your home again. Let it not be said Asgard's hospitality is wanting!" he roars, hoisting his mead.

The dozen warriors in the mead hall all hoist their glasses and roar a response, making the windows shutter with their agreement.


Amora for starters, did not share Thor's amusement, nor high spirits at Lara's request. Rather her lips turned downwards in a faint sneer, green eyes narrowing on the other woman for a long moment as she kept her spot on Thor's lap. She held her tongue, however until after the cheers at some what quieted. "Be advised maiden, that you shall be at risk. For the games of Gods turn ever onwards and even we know not where it shall go. There was war on the horizon, but the battle was won. Perhaps enough to stave off the war as of yet. Perhaps not." She whispered. Then sipped at her own goblet of mead with a sip.

"But I am certain anyone who is greeted by his highness in such a manner has the ability to protect herself." She fluttered those dark eyelashes as she spoke and smiled.


"I am trained as a warrior by some of the greatest such to ever exist, and have fought alongside others known as the 'World's Finest' of heroes. If there is a war coming, whether it come to warriors of Themyscira, or Asgard whilst I am enjoying your hospitality.. and perhaps afterwards as well, I will stand to fight for those who are in need of my protection", Lara says. "Although… at the moment", she says, directing these words to Amora, "…I would relish the opportunity to get better acquainted with a lady of obvious sensibility and style. Might you be so gracious as to help me find garments such as yours, which are proper for relaxation and celebration? I'll still look a chamber-maid by comparison, I'm sure, but your dress looks so very comfortable by comparison to my own outfit. I'd be honored if you would at the least consider my request." With that said, she lifts her mead for another drink of it.


Thor's face manifests a bit of exhaustion at Amora's tight rejoinder for Lara, and he exhales silently when the blonde lets so much acid into her tone. Amora, always, flirting with the edge of propriety— so much more the noble than Thor, who never mastered the art of the subtle barb.

And then Lara shows off her own sense of decorum, and Thor -stares- at Lara for a long moment— then bursts out laughing, loud and booming without self-censorship.

"Aye, 'tis most fair speech!" Thor says, roaring in laughter as Lara gives the blonde such uncensored flattery. "Come, Amora, be not so frosty to the young lady— it seem she's seen your fine nature for what it is, and asks you encompass her with the grace of your bright benevolence!" he tells Amora, goosing her with the hand on her back. "Have you not it in you to show her some kindness and dispense some of your hard-won knowledge?"

He looks back at Lara. "Amora is well known as the finest dressed and most fashionable of women in the Nine Realms," he tells the Amazonian girl. "Few in all the realms match her sense of style, for they lack the grace to go with it."


Amora started to look ready for another barb when Lara's compliments follow and leave her utterly blank faced and perplexed. Then Thor was laughing and goosing her back and she squeaked softly, utterly thrown off balance. She blinked repeatedly at the young woman and shifted, taking a deep gulp of her goblet to fill the silence. Her mask of haughty smugness had utterly collapsed and she used the moment behind her goblet to gather herself.

She recovered quickly then, dragging a hand through golden locks that curled and tangled around her face. "Certainly." She managed, and then glanced back to Thor and lightly thwapped him on his shoulder. "I am known for far more than my fashion, Thunderer." She smirked.

Then without further preamble, waved a hand in Lara's direction. "Do you formally agree to wear a dress born of my magic and summoned upon you here and now?" She asked dismissively arch of her eyebrow, it was clearly some formality that the Enchantress was following.


"So long as I can return to my current attire at need and when I wish it, yes", Lara replies to Amora. "… my father and mother had this suit made for me, and it is dear to my heart as well as very useful. I would retain my bracers, regardless, however", she adds. Then she smiles. "… and thank you very much for your efforts, I'm sure whatever you summon for me will be grander than anything I've before worn." She sets her own drink back down on the table and rises from her chair, as if she thinks it's necessary to 'make room' for whatever's about to happen, putting her hands on her hips as she stands with her feet spread about shoulder's width… and then nods as if to signal readiness.


Amora heaved a sigh and nodded once before she muttered a few words and with a gesture of her hand, green magic leapt to life on her finger tips. She held it up to her lips, and blew against the green light. Just like that the power jumped and sparkled around Lara, swirling in glitter and smoke of lime green and deep verdant hues that flashed once and were gone.

And a dress just as beautifully cut as Amora's sprung to life. A deep blue in hue and vaguely Grecian in cut. The fabric, however was the same gossamer thin silk that looked to have been spun of spiderwebs and it was so catching. Where Amora's draped low around her neckline and shoulders, with two slits up past her thighs, Lara's was a hair more modest.

A chiton like drape swung low around Lara's neckline, pinned in place at her shoulders by curving brass dragons or snakes in a vaguely Norse design. A full skirt with only a single slit up the side and all was belted around with a matching belt of spun and woven gold. Even the shoes matched, a sandal that tied up her calves with ribbon of gold.

On the seat where Lara had previously sat were her previous clothes, folded neatly.


Lara's hands rise, her bracers still on her wrists as the magic ends, and she smiles brightly — it's clearly not a 'courtly smile', but a genuine one. She turns one way then the other, looking down at herself. "This is… wonderful!", she says, almost gasping the words out. It's clear that she's stunned by the dress itself, perhaps also by how it was brought into existence. "Thank you!", she says, stepping over towards Amora and Thor, aiming to… hug the enchantress.


Thor clears his throat when Amora heaves a perilous sigh, hastily directing his eyes in a more appropriate direction. And then she works her magic to clad Lara in silken whispers, and after a thunderstruck moment, Thor forces himself to find something across the yard to stare at politely while the two women get the clothing situation sorted.

"Most become attire," Thor tells Lara approvingly— but not too approvingly, mindful of the blonde woman still sidesaddle on his burly thighs.

"As I remarked, Amora is a beauty of no equal in the Nine Worlds, and her sense of fashion is just as unsurpassed. Well done, my dear," he tells Amora, giving her cheek a quick, reassuring kiss.


Amora blinked in surprise as Lara came up and embraced her. The blonde goddess sat there stunned for a few seconds, before belatedly patting Lara's arm and leaning back into Thor's figure. Especially as he pressed a kiss to her cheek.

Her smile returned, and it was not quite the same biting, cutting smile as before. And she waved off Lara's thank you with a wiggle of her fingers. "I am pleased that it suits. Do have a care not to spill too much on the silk. Tis spun by the spider-elves in Alfheim. Their silk is incredibly strong, but stains easily." She murmured, glancing toward the Thunderer and letting her eyes rake over his features.

"It's incredibly soft to the touch though, wouldn't you say, my prince?" She asked, tugging his hand to press against her waist again.


Lara picks up her clothing to set it on the table so that she can sit back down… and the one warrior sitting next to her somehow found his chair to be closer to hers than it was a moment ago. Perhaps distracted by the dress she's suddenly found herself wearing, she misses the 'my prince' part of what Amora said, and says, "I'll do my best to take care of it, I promise! I've never worn clothing this -soft- before!", as she actually puts her hands on little drape that's hiding her bosom — technically touching the tops of her own breasts, but she's clearly not after feeling herself up as opposed to simply touching the silk itself.


A broad grin crosses Thor's sturdy features, least of all because Amora pulls his arm closer to her waist to encircle her again. "Aye, 'tis what a cloud might feel if it 'twere woven to fabric," Thor says, reaching for the mead once more.

"It is a costume most fetching, friend Supergirl," Thor tells the brunette. He passes Amora back her own drink and then takes his, and hoists his flagon at the two before throwing back a gulp.

"You will find such hospitality echoed in spirit if not in practice here," Thor assures Lara. "We are not all magi of Amora's singular talent, but we aspire to her expertise, and we make up for it with earnest compassion," he says, grinning wide at the woman as she examines her new gift.

He squeezes Amora's waist with clear praise for her kindness, a subtle gesture perhaps missed by all but the ravishing blonde.


Amora grinned at Thor as his arm wrapped back around her waist and she leaned in close to whisper in his ear just what other things he might enjoy that are equally as soft. Her arm slid back around his shoulder as she accepted the goblet with that same lilting grin upon her lips. Then her gaze swung back toward Lara briefly and back.

"Mortal fashion is so very boring by comparison. So very limiting in their cuts and styles." She sighed as if greatly put upon. "The dress is your's Supergirl."


Lara is still all smiles. "Thank you so very much!", she says, beaming at Amora. "I'll go speak to the Keeper about quarters, so that I can put away my other clothes", she suddenly says, getting to her feet and gathering up her neatly-folded outfit in both hands. Stepping away from her chair, she glances about and asks, "… where might I find him?", she asks of no one in particular. Of course, she suddenly has a few volunteers from among the warriors at the table, likely other than Thor as he's got a goddess in his lap. Smiling, she happily accepts an offer of a guide and heads off to be taken to the Keeper and then to her room.


Thor waves Lara off— a bit too besotted to rise— and grins up at Amora when the young woman departs. "I think you have a new admirer, my Lady," he tells the blonde woman, sipping the last of his mead and setting it aside on the table. "She seems most earnest and impressed with your skill and sensibility. Think it so farfetched to welcome a student to your folds?" he inquires, teasing her with the hand on her waist. "I imagine you'd find her a most pliable pupil, given time."


Amora reached up with both hands to run over his chin and to his cheeks, breathing in deeply the scent of sweat and mead that came off him, along with that inherent scent of ozone that was so uniquely his.

"Mmm, nay. I have an apprentice in Scarlett. I have not the time to take on a second. Much less one with Greek blood in her veins. Their magic behaves differently my darling. If she desires clothes, I have no trouble in seeing her properly dressed." She murmured, "And if she wishes for less clothes, well that is entirely her choice." She shrugged, a roll of bare shoulders following. She shifted on Thor's lap, tilting her head back to look at him in full.

"It has been some time since I had a lady lover after all."


"As it suits you, my Lady," Thor tells Amora, not remotely shocked by her proclivities. His hands rest on her waist and leg, nearly spanning the diameter of her slender frame with his callused palms. "Still, your kindness is most admirable."

Blue eyes twinkle mischievously. "And if you seek to show her further kindness, I shall not dissuade you, of course," he tells her, chucking her chin gently before putting a kiss to the corner of her mouth.


Amora flashed him a wicked grin, and her arms wound around his shoulders once more, tugged her closer to him if at all possible. She shifted slightly on his lap to maintain her position, her skirt moving back to leave her thigh bare beneath his palm.

Dark eyelashes fluttered as he chucked her chin and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. Which she turned her head into, seeking to steal a much more full and deeper kiss from him unless otherwise halted.

"You have fought, you have won, and you have feasted." She murmured against his lips. She breathed ever so gently against him, "Tis now time to celebrate the return from the Realms of the Dead with a celebration of the flesh. No?" She practically purred.


On his best day, Thor can resist Amora's charms. Buzzed on mead and the thrill of survival, and combined with Amora's sensual poise and the heady rush of her kiss, Thor's as pliant in her hands as any mere mortal.

"Aye, my Lady," he tells her, grinning at the woman. "What better championing of life?"

He stirs against her leg, examining her from brow to decolletage, then back on her features. "Shall we share such a celebration together, then? In my suite, or your quarters?" he inquires, fingers spanning from her collarbone to the nape of her neck.


Amora sighed, her lips pulling into a wide smile. Where did her goblet go? Likely vanished back to whatever magical realm she'd summoned it from. All that mattered to her at the moment, was that she was finally getting the attention and affection that she desired. She practically glowed with intent, her fingers raked lightly against Thor's scalp and she leans in toward his earlobe to blow a teasing breath there before she whispered.

"Your suite is closer." She murmured, leaning back to flash him another heated smile. It would seem Loki wasn't going to be the only one getting what he wanted that night at least.

The Enchantress was utterly engrossed in the moment, in basking in the warmth of Thor's grin and lustful gaze. She was in her element and it showed.


"Aye, 'tis," Thor laughs. He rises, carrying Amora in one arm as effortlessly as a bag of flour, and hauls her on his hip towards the residences.

"Thor! Go you to tend your fields?" one of the Valkyriaj hoots at him, and the mead hall erupts into roars of laughter.

Thor, as shameless as any Asgardian, hoists Amora higher and laughs. "Aye, 'tis a stern duty— but I go to it most diligently!" he declares, fairly tossing her over his shoulder to carry her from the mead hall. Someone starts up a bawdy tavern song and the revelry follows Thor and Amora to the Prince's suites, which are smaller than his rooms in Asgard but no less properly appointed for the Prince of the Eternal Realm. He sets her down once they are behind closed doors, grinning down at the blonde enchantress before stooping to kiss her again, pulling her close against him.


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