1964-07-13 - Shall We Try Again?
Summary: Amora hangs out in Thor's bedroom, waiting for his return.
Related: None really
Theme Song: None
amora thor 

Days blurred together, as they always were wont to do. Between the Asgardian Embassy and Asgard itself, Amora flitted about. Besides one interaction with Bucky, in which she'd kissed the poor man and Loki and Kai had cheered her on, leaving the Winter Soldier a doting mess.. she hadn't truly mucked about with other men. Even in Bucky's case it had seemingly been to save the man from downing the rest of his mead, and when he'd finally passed out, she'd commanded a servant to see to his needs and had him escorted to a bed. Along with a potion for his hangover.

It was down right kindly of Amora.

Of course, now, she was back to her old ways of testing boundaries and acceptability. This time, she was sitting in Thor's room in the Embassy, perched on his bed. She looked right at home, reclined back against his pillows in a little slip of a dress. Oddly enough she sat there with a square of golden sticks, in which a stretch of blue fabric was laid. A delicate bone needle stabbed in and out as she embroidered a pattern of golden thread, which, as she ran out she plucked fresh from her tangle of golden hair. She threaded the needle and continued her work, such as it was.

It was late enough that she would most assuredly run into the Prince if he was still present in Midgard.


Bruised, bare-chested, covered in dust and mud, Thor enters the royal apartments with the look of a fellow having just had a go at the battlefield. He also arrives via the balcony, a manner of approach view Asgardians but himself could manage so easily; flying through the air to land with a heavy, soggy booted tread on the ancient tiles.

"Amora! What are you doing here?" he says, surprise writ all over his features at the unexpected pleasure of her company and appearance. His brows narrow a moment later as he realizes she's in /his/ suite, unbidden; then quirk expressively when he realizes she's in his bed— no, there they go down again, as he spots the embroidery in her delicate fingers.

"And why are you /embroidering/?" he inquires of her, moving to set Mjolnir in the little cradle appointed for that weapon. He takes a damp cloth and wipes it carefully clean with respect for the ancient weapon.


Amora glanced up from her work briefly, offering a smile at him, and it was warm and well contented as he entered. Then she did a double take at his state and blinked once, gently, setting aside her needle work. "Did you fight a golem or some such creature made of earth and soil? You are utterly caked in mud." She murmured, quirking a brow. And then she paused.

"I wished to speak with you, and well, you were absent and I was unsure when or where else you'd return to." She gestured to the room at large. Then promptly picked up her needle work once more. "As to my embroidery, 'tis to keep me occupied. You think I can sit still all the while and do nothing?" She murmured, and started to strike her bone needle in and out of the shimmery fabric. The scent of magic strongly wafting up from her, making it clear that her needlework was far more than just something pretty.


"Nay, 'twas sparring with Stormrider," Thor tells Amora. "She gave me a fair battle, but the footing was treacherous and we both ended in the cold mud," he explains, moving towards the showers at the far end of the suite; a low privacy wall is all the separation that his room offers from the shower area.

"A knock or note 'twould have sufficed most readily, too, Amora," he says, chiding the woman gently— "but as you are here, you may as well speak thy mind. What is it that concerns you?"


Amora did little to disguise her eyes fluttering over him as he moved to the far end of the suit and toward the shower. She seemingly became distracted by the sight of him for a moment, before stirring herself and turning her gaze back to her work. She cleared her throat, "Well," She stopped and started once more with her embroidery, and promptly pricked herself upon her finger.

A soft ouch followed and she kept the droplet of blood from touching her fabric by sticking it into her mouth till she was sure not to bleed on her work.

"I am concerned about the Council of the Gods, the other Pantheons, have they seemed to have settled? Is there any signs of war with them on the horizon? I know we fetched Kelda from the realms of the dead upon your father's request. Tis fit and right when War loomed.. but.. with Chernabog having been seen to.. is.. is all well, Thor?"


Water runs and Thor is silent, considering Amora's question.

"I cannot say, Amora," he finally admits, with heavy reluctance. "Were we all peers on Midgard, perhaps I could see more clearly. Odin only knows what passes in the rest of the Nine Realms; Hela's power in her own lands is nigh-unassailable."

"And what passes in the realms of the other gods is their own business. The authority of my father's scepter extends only to the Nine Realms; beyond that power is only as good as long as it is held."

"I know not, Amora, and I wish I had happier news save these grim prognostications," he says, before diving back into the waterfall.


Amora seemed to fall silent for a moment, considering Thor's words. Her brows furrowing as she glanced back at him and then back to the embroidery upon her lap. She picked it up once more, the needle ficking in and out rapidly, as she sunk back into her work for several long moments. Finally she continued when she knew Thor's head wasn't directly in line of the fall of water.

"Chernabog was angered because of Loki's past actions in announcing the Aesir's existence to Midgard. It gave Hela a boost of souls and worshippers. It will continue to do so. He wasn't wrong to be angered by it, it goes against the treaty." Amora was well educated, part of growing up in Karnilla's court, even if she did not demonstrate it often.

"But as his attacks negated that," She sighed. "Thor I fear that our continued official presence here on Midgard might rouse others to his side. I know not, I merely am aware that it might. Though the Greeks now walk the streets more or less freely. I saw a greater Gorgon the other day and Hercules is here in New York. Never mind your half Amazon in Supergirl." She murmured.


Thor gives Amora a frustrated look. "You worry at your thoughts like a dog chasing a tick," he scolds the blonde enchantress. "'tis all but speculation, and poorly informed at that. A warrior might miss the enemy in front of him if he focuses overmuch on searching the trees for archers," he points out.

"For now Chernabog has been soundly scolded and Hela manages the dead once more, as it should be; but to invite more speculation before evidence presents itself…" He shakes his head and emerges from the shower, a towel hanging to mid knee around his waist and scrubbing his hair vigorously with the other.


Amora huffed a breath, her brows still furrowed faintly. But she lets the topic drop, even as her gaze swings back his way when the shower halts the watery torrent. She paused in her needlework once more, looking quite like she forgot what she was going to do. Then she blinked repeatedly, black eyelashes fluttering before her turned her gaze back to her design. It was a twisting, looping design, with several runes hidden in the geometrical shapes. All done in the gold of her hair, that had transformed into a silky thread when it had been sewn into the shimmery silken fabric.

"And what about your brother?" She asked after a moment, "He is still wanted for his crimes. Though he arrived here disguised as a mortal some days ago with Kai. He continues to appear greatly changed… I am sure the All-father is well aware. Think you he'll be content to leave Loki here on Midgard?"


Thor seems to not observe the nuance of Amora's embroidery— such magic is a lost cause on him. It's likely he doesn't even observe the thread spins from her hair, not from her hand.

"Again, I cannot speculate what my Father desires," Thor tells Amora. "Loki upon Midgard is mischievous, but he dotes upon Kai, and Kai upon him. Perhaps some years away from the burdens of the crown would do him well— to focus on happiness and contentment such as he desires, instead of plotting and scheming his way through life."

"Amora, what is it you truly came here for? Mere idle banter is hardly your way, and this… strange posture you've adopted is most unsettling," Thor says, stopping at the foot of the bed to gesture at her with a vague flip of his hand towel.


Amora settled her embroidery down with a sigh, tilting her head back to look upon him as he flipped the towel idly in hand. She seemed to become lost for a moment in thought, silence settling between them long enough to be of note. Then she looked back to her embroidery and picked it back up. The bone needle flicking in and out of the fabric once more.

"I wished to know.. are we.. have we returned to our usual habits once more? Where I am held at arm's length save for after victory and when you're in your cups? I have .. no qualms per say if that is what you wish, Thor. I shall take what I can, as I always have. I merely.." She pursed those full lips of her's, keeping her eyes upon her work. She seemed honestly nervous nearly.

"I desire to know. That is all."


Thor exhales heavily and sits on the bed near Amora's feet, looking at the middle distance of the room with his eyes long out of focus.

"I know not what to say, Amora," he concludes finally, shaking his head. "Time and again we've wrangled. We bicker and fight and spat, often it seems over the most trivial of things. You the jealous one, I the fool. And made all the worse when we reverse these roles."

"Part of me would say it best if we cleaved ourselves apart completely, to let the dust settle and perhaps make a decision in the clearer light of day."

He turns to look at her, real confusion in his features that softens with affection. "And yet for all my talk of self control, you know how perilously thin that thread swings at times. Snapped by the merest of gestures or words, and aye— in the aftermath of victory and survival, I think you must concede with /both/ seek the comfort of the familiar," he remarks. "We rush about like the only two firegnats in a bottle, bumping into each other irrevocably whether we intend to or not."


Amora shifted as he settles on the bed beside her feet, and she firmly sets aside her needle work. She shifted, twisting her frame around so that she could stretch out on the mattress before him. Her hand propping up her chin as she watched him, listened evenly and with a calm attention. She didn't seem too troubled by his words, and reached out a hand toward his arm.

"We have our faults and strengths. As all do." She offered softly, "Perhaps more pronounced in our kind. But they are there. I do not.. I do not expect more from you for accepting the joy of being alive with me.. after the battle in the realms of the dead. For t'was.. a dreadful thing indeed."

Her eyelashes fluttered repeatedly, as if by blinking she could reorder her thoughts. "I merely.. thought perhaps we should talk of it. Rather than my merely .. continued assumptions and failures boiling up to some breaking point which bubbles over and gives us no cause for enjoyment at all." She shifted on the bed, retracting her hand.

"…I am …" She exhaled, "Trying to be better."


Thor reaches over to squeeze Amora's hand before it slips away. "Admittedly, this is a most peculiar aspect of you, Amora," he says, with an easy chuckle. "To plan and consider, to think ahead and ask questions in anticipation of bad answers instead of expecting good ones."

"Aye, you /are/ doing better, and I have resolved— in my way— to try 'better' as well."

He purses his lips, looking to her. "Perhaps then, we shall aspire to wisdom; your bed is yours, and mine is mine, and there must be respect for those low walls. But… I shall not merely ask of your company when revels or drink overtakes me," he assures her. "Your companionship in /any/ form is most welcome of late, and that is a basis for something far deeper than mere huddlings of the breast."


Amora glanced back to him, her lips twitching faintly as he squeezed her hand for a brief moment. She shifted, sitting up on his bed as she folded her legs beneath her. "I can find no fault with any.. of that." She murmured, tilting her head to the side, allowing her blonde hair to spill over her shoulders.

"Though, I still very much enjoy those times of drink or revelry." She added after a moment's consideration.

"Tis our own faults, but I find no fault in enjoying it. As I assume you do too." She murmured, her voice soft as she plucked at the sheets of his bed. "But I shall.. attempt to lay more respect upon your bed and such."

She pursed her lips, "Though I will not likely remain on here at the Embassy if otherwise. I prefer my quarters in Asgard. Having spent so long here without being able to return." She sighed, and glanced back to him. Her brows crinkling.


Thor laughs at Amora, shaking his head— his shoulders roll and he tilts his head back, merrily booming his amusement at the ceiling overhead. "Aye, well as long as you concede it takes /two/ of us to find solace in each other in the midst of our cups, I suppose I can concede the point," he grins, shaking his head at her. "Aye. Aye, I enjoy your company, Amora, and even our bickering serves as more spice for the resolutions of the following night," he assures her. "'tis our way to spat and make up, lusts inflamed and memories diminished by good drink. Perhaps, -that- is what we should aspire towards," he says, turning to face her slightly. "A resolution that does not demand stiff mead and wines."


Amora held out her hand, flipping her hair back over her shoulders. "Very well then indeed. I have no qualms with such a resolution." She hooked a golden eyebrow upwards. "Plus I think, it shall prove a more entertaining time if we are not in our cups. No?" She fluttered her dark eyelashes and grinned.

"And I shall make you a further promise. I shall try to keep my jealousy under control. I shall not harm nor threaten or scold a woman unfairly in your presence. As best I can. I reserve the right to be so if I think it merits it. But I shall take your word and attempt to stop myself if you ask." She murmured.

"So long as you attempt to soothe my ego from time to time."


"Soothe, yes, but I'll not overfeed the beast," Thor tells Amora, with a twinkling in his stormcloud blue eyes. "Then I promise to bite my tongue and not break the arm of any man who offers you his affections," he tells her, inclining his head slightly. "Though I promise not to flirt outrageously in front of you as long as you spare me the gory details of your trysts," he tells her.

"Unless 'tis a woman you take to bed, and in that case you may consider me a most thoughtful conspirator and congenial ear," he adds, flicking at her bare, upturned kneecap with a playful swat of a fingertip.


Amora flashed him a grin as he spoke, "Very well," A pause, "Though I adore it when you become so very jealous." She murmured, leaning closer to him. At least, until his fingers ran over her kneecap. She tittered, and squirmed, swatting at his hand with a half hearted attempt. Her ruby lips still pulled into a smile.

"I shant have need of trysts if you manage to keep me well contented." She offered after a moment, wiggling her eyebrows with a wicked glint in her eyes. "T'would cut down on my jealousies as well." She added, tilting her head to the side.

"Of course, if you desire other ladies I know several nymphs and sprites that would be more than happy to grace our time together." She offered a sly look toward him, her lips still held in that sultry smile of her's.

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