1964-07-16 - A Reunion of Winter
Summary: Karnilla and Kelda meet in Asgard.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
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kelda karnilla 

Behold, the hour of dusk when the softening pitch of the skies overhead dilutes the soft robin's egg tinture to a smudging of rose petals and shy cereus stamens. Awash in the glittering gold that grants the city its fabled moniker, Asgard's heights and spires are a triumphant celebration to the fading of the sun in the west. Long shadows have yet to gather, and the hour is very well advanced indeed in celebration of the summer. Bells and instruments lend sweet music to the air for, given the auspicious occasion, someone finds reason to celebrate with an open-air party.

A broad balcony provides the ideal parapet for the maiden clad in the wine-dark raiment and a glittering circlet far and away different from her usual crown. The fold of her gown wrapped over her head might even conceal the proof of the Norn Queen's identity from prying eyes for a short time. She has no real reason to hasten in any direction that she shares with others, though the guards stationed hither and yon might truly wish to consider if they want to cross blades with her.

A respite from the sound — that's all she asks at this point. Her charge is left to his devices, safe as he is surrounded by the cohort of palace guards and those enamored with his latest tale. The warrior-mage walks away from the table, the smooth steps fluffing up the diaphanous layers of her dawn-blue robe, enough in number to keep from impropriety. It isn't her job to act the seductress, no, not here and now.

The fading light of the sun glints from a delicate torque at her throat and a collection of bracelets at her wrists, all containing some element of sapphire and tourmaline within the reddish-gold of metal foreign to Midgard. This will do, yes, this balcony. Passing between the pillars, she finds her peace at an unoccupied length of the handrail. Within her hand, a crystalline glass holds a liquor with unparalleled clarity. This isn't mead, no — this is distilled moonlight of Asgardian ilk. It seems the Lady Stormrider intends to get well and truly into her cup this evening. She stares out across the shining city and beyond, seeming to search for something. Glancing aside, she makes brief eye contact with one of the guards of the mysterious visitor and grants him a nod, implying that she means no harm. As if she could cause any within the palace walls and reach of Frigga, much less Odin himself.

"A fine night to you," she murmurs, before turning her attention back to the horizon.

The night hour summons the Norn Queen. Here the secrets whispered by lovers and uttered in alleys and gardens resonate the strongest, bewitching her with their gossamer feathers brushing against her senses. Underlying currents pulse heavy-handed for her liking, an inescapable consequence of standing too close to the source of the All-Father's well of power. She'd paint with a lighter hand and finesse than he, a difference of some significance.

A pause on the strand above reveals that hint of a revel down there. Everyone in their finery, lighter than normal, reveals expanses of skin and faces turned up to the glowing lanterns. Happiness is a simple, powerful drug. Euphoria feeds the senses and bathes Karnilla when she allows herself that pause, a bystander basking in their reflected merriment. Kelda has her cup; the dreaded sorceress has something quite different, an appreciation for the currents stirring into new forms and paths before her very eyes.

It doesn't taste nearly so good on the tongue, but fine for everything else. Her mouth puckers at the sour note of a brewing fight, and she sighs. Asgard, where the men fight like trolls and the women have to make the best of it.

"It is proving to be," she utters, her shoulders dropping back and head tilting up. There's no mistaking her when meeting her gaze: no one else has the tapestries of fate writ large in their very eyes.

Swallowing her taste of the ice-fiery drink, the warrior-mage looks over when it's not a masculine voice to answer her, but a feminine instead. Ah, not one to stay within the shadows of her guards, this one. Upon meeting those depthless eyes, the Asgardian is captivated — for a passing second. Flicking near-white lashes, she averts her gaze to one side as she gives the other woman a deep nod.

"Forgive me, my lady, you deserve better than a simple greeting. I am Lady Kelda Stormrider, current Shield-Maiden to his highness, Thor Odinson."

Captivating night dances around in lazy perturbations, the upwelling of lava or the turbulent atmospheres of the gas giants. It's a slow dance coloured within the sheen of countless lights hung around the city. "I require nothing of the sort. Your choice is another matter." Her fingertip skims an oval around her face, catching the contour shaped by raspberry material woven fine as a dream. It longs to catch on her ear, the point of her chin, and has no opportunity thus.

"Kelda Stormrider, yours is a very long path indeed to us." It could be a boastful statement, if not plainly obvious, and thus the sort of statement right and properly hers to make. "He is well in need of such a thing, in these times where currents stir and no one seems to know what to make of anything. Pity the Aesir, mm?"

Another blink resolves the need to say something. Casual manner does nothing to disguise the pride. "You meet the Norn Queen. You may call me Karnilla."

"I did wonder if you were of the Norns, your highness. It is an honor." Those glacially-hued eyes dare to rise back to the Queen's face, but no higher than the delicate curvature of the woman's chin. "I express little surprise in hearing of the length of my path, though I also admit it gives me trepidation to consider it. It has been some time since I joined the festivities of the Palace…as you may well know." The faint coloring on Kelda's cheeks is no brighter than the cherry-blossoms of Midgard, washed out as much as her skin and pale-flaxen hair.

Karnilla's hand runs over the rail and supports her for a pinch, albeit unnecessary. The sinuous bearing she adopts unconsciously is more for comfort than seduction, at the passing moment. Darkness distilled down to the plum shadows of her barely visible hair reckons on crushed grapes and rich wines served for the pleasure of the royal court.

"Nothing but parties and delights through the summer. You need attend one to have gone to them all, unless one of the ladies pops off her tuffet to have a whirl with the ball." With an idle smile, she says, "You might try one yourself."

Kelda keeps her formal stance, the straight-laced no-nonsense air granting her respectable presence before the Queen. On Midgard, she would make a formidable nanny, to be certain. She nods, still not daring to meet those eyes full of answers to questions desperately dreamt over. What is the lesser of the two evils, not knowing or dealing with an answer you never wanted? The warrior-mage prefers, in this moment, to remain naive.

"I may if my duties allow it. His Highness is minded to explore what comes of the unsteady currents you spoke of earlier. At another time, I would have been inclined to join him further for feasting and drinking, but now…" She consider her drink before sipping at it, her lips budding about the crystal glass's curve. The ice-fire is welcome once again. "I have a mind to be elsewhere. I doubt he will notice my absence and he is safe."

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