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How does one seek the company of an alien sky prince?
How about a ball of ice containing the remnants of equally alien technology, a shard about the size of a man's fist, with metallic filigree and a crystalline substructure probably used for some purpose to transmit things. The ice won't survive long in the late summer warmth of a New York night, which is why it's left in a bucket of ice on the main table in the Asgardian Embassy with a big ribbon. The runes printed on it: "To the fairest prince."
«THOR» happens to be on the back of that ribbon just in case. Tricky girl.
The young woman responsible for that present sits on the roof reading a book, on the off chance the staff do not inform his awesome highness, Crown Prince of almost all he surveys, about her.
Long-legged and wrapped in her cloak, Scarlett wears the verdant leathers of the attire designed for her in Asgard, tempered against Vanir ferals and trolls. It's a statement piece.
Asgard's embassy /does/ have some security, so it's not as if Scarlett's hard to find. The bohemian magess is interrupted in her reading by the crunch of leather boots behind her on the roof, and then when she turns, Thor is there.
The big Prince of Asgard flashes her an easy smile, tossing the little ice sculpture up and catching it deftly. "For the fairest?" he asks, whimsically. "My mien is far from plain, but there are some who say my brother's fine features are more appealing," he says, before lobbing the device underhand at Scarlett.
"To what do I owe the pleasure, friend Scarlett?" he inquires, folding his brawny, bare arms across his pale blue sleeveless tunic. "I presume you have something which requires some privacy to discuss?"
One can hope the embassy has security for all it's one of the finest mansions in the city, a townhouse of ghastly monetary value. Alert guards are a priceless thing, as is friendship. Fine climes and good literary company pale next to the interruption afforded by Thor's arrival. She marks her page with her thumb against the side, not daring to dog-ear the volume.
Someone might hit her for that, and she might not care to think about the bruises implied from the landing. Her nose wrinkles slightly as she grins, her brilliant emerald eyes catching the sunlight in a phosphorescent shock. "You are the golden prince. I couldn't very well adorn it with something plain," she points out reasonably, her practice in runes showing well. Almost concerning perhaps, in proficiency. "Your brother once… Yes, he was, in his way, the night to your day. I have no reason to dislike the bright noon-tide sun nor the warmth you shine. You have an easy way about you that I would bottle somehow if I could."
Her kindness is a flower in bloom, responding in like. "Other than that we have not seen one another all season? Am I remiss in yearning for your presence, o Thor of Asgard?" That smile doesn't diminish a bit. "But, yes, there is something that may break Asgard's peace or call on diplomacy and I never want to put you on an uneven footing without forewarning. Also because I want to enjoy you for myself. Do you care for pear mead? I found some made in Iceland, and they were glad for assistance with… well, restarting time for some people."
"Careful with your honeyed words, friend Scarlett," Thor says, grinning down at the small mortal. "Amora might take exception to her ward being over-flattering of me. Jealousy bubbles close beneath that surface, sweet and still though the waters might currently be."
"I would welcome some mead, my friend," Thor says, and without any formality he drops to sit himself next to Scarlett, reaching for the icy beverage. "So, a threat to peace?" he inquires, throwing back a gulp and eyeing Scarlett curiously. "There are many such threats to Earth, but few threats to /peace/. Can you go into greater detail?"
"Would you have me speak slant when truth can be found? I say only what I believe is true, though if it will keep the peace in your household, I can refrain." Scarlett knows the blonde love goddess well enough to avoid stirring the cauldron without just cause, whatever that cause may reasonably be. Her feet slide along the slanted roofline high above the bustling street, facing the green heart of the city. The book lies tucked beneath her thigh, in the event it might slide away otherwise. With her also lies a satchel, strap linked to her waist, and she flips the overhanging protective sleeve back to reveal a pair of unremarkable bottles. For their like, not much chance of roaring drunkenness but the mead packs a punch.
She hands up the first bottle, and rummages about for a cup marked with a local brewery's stamp. "Few threats to peace except an interstellar empire deciding to come back to Earth to take care of trouble. Do you remember the assassination of the American president? The Skrull were one alien race revealed, the Aesir another, and the third…" No smile now. "It's the third, the Kree, who concern me. I've had an encounter with the Shi'ar, but they confined their activity to abducting me and a few friends. There have been multiple earth-based broadcasts to the Kree. And the Kree apparently answered, if you believe multilingual broadcasts."
"The Kree," Thor says, with a mighty frown. "Aye, we know of them. An ancient race," he admits. "They claim to be as ancient as the starts, but 'tis perhaps merely propoganda," he concedes. "Violent, warlike conquerors— brutes all," he explains.
"We ran them roundly from these systems some millennia prior, at least— my father's sire did," Thor amends. "They've not had the audacity to reach these stars in fifty centuries, at least. If they've returned, it bodes ill for us."
He looks at Scarlett. "How is it you came to hear of their return?"
"Ancient indeed. From what I understand of their origins, their empire left their homeland millennia ago. Probably hundreds of millennia, which sets this little planet looking outside its atmosphere at a particular disadvantage," says the bohemienne, her mouth tightening slightly in a colourless smile. "Violent, obsessed, and analytical are three ways I should describe them, yes. Brutes to have no place in their culture for the finer arts outside combat."
Her opinions on that being fairly well established, she cups her fingers around her knee. "I think some proof of their activities happened last year. This warning may be an independent action on part of some hidden Kree exile or a failsafe left behind. Opinions are merely that without hard evidence, which is sorely lacking. However, given your much broader insight into celestial events, you are my first stop."
Also, trust; that goes without saying. While Thor sits, she remains disturbingly still. "The Kree attempted a genocidal campaign very long ago. I am bound to one of those survivors, many generations removed. Lady Crystalia's kin, as it would happen. Remember the spacesharks? Related to that."
"The Inhumans— yes, I recall them well," Thor says, frowning and nodding at Scarlett's explanation. "It is unlikely this is a single rogue Kree, whatever troubles you are facing," he tells her, after thinking it over. "They are intensely militaristic. Authority is the bedrock of their social hierarchy. To rebel against a senior is to invite not merely censure, but execution— bloody and immediate," he warns her.
"So if the Kree are returned to these worlds, we must anticpate they have returned in force— and with the authority of their leaders. This might be a mere precationary scouting force… or something much more dire."
"I was in Greenwich Village during one of those messages. Every radio and stereo in the area lit up, calling out in languages. Not enough for me to translate which, English most certainly. And they mentioned Hala. I know what Hala is," Scarlett replies as she turns over another mental card to see what comes up in this play of theirs. "The Inhumans, yes, have a serious problem for their people. Normally I should not like the idea of revealing them but your previous arrangement with Crystal and mine allow two points of contact. You're also a fast friend, so there we are."
Her shoulders roll slightly under the sleeveless coat she wears, the only movement allowed at the moment. "Violent, a strong central hierarchy, and someone used to unimpeachable authority guiding them; have I the right of it?"
"It is best defined as a caste system," Thor agrees, nodding. "Everyone knows their role, and their role is not to be exceeded except under strict circumstances. Once a warrior, always a warrior. Only their priests are held in higher esteem."
"Still, they have strong obligations of duty. Fraternity is important, family obligations. To guard and shepherd parents and the community. Even a religion based on obedience and protecting the community."
"But all able-bodied Kree serve as warriors unless they show an aptitude for engineering or some science. Theirs is a culture with little use for art," he frowns.
"Priests?" Oh, that draws the skald's attention as if Thor dangled a golden apple over her nose. "They do not worship gods, do they? Or is there a philosophy they follow, rather akin to the Japanese who held martial culture in reverence? Either way, I shouldn't be assuming they will have a remotely friendly response to us on Earth or you."
She otherwise listens and digests the details given unto her, carefully pinning down each precious bit of lore in the vacant holes of her understanding. For that purpose, she nudges Thor with her arm in affectionate regard that won't set off alarm bells Amoraward. "Duty, family obligations, and community would make them not terribly different from us if they were not prone to conquest on a scale I cannot comprehend. Essentially we have no idea whether this is an advance force or invasion. There is nothing we have as an advanced warning system beyond the Moon, I have to guess. Does that mean we go skyfaring again?"