On a street in Asgard

February 26, 2018:

Thor and Amora talk on an Asgardian street



NPCs: None.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Thor is out in the lower ends of the city today. He was, not long ago, with several of his friends, the group of them having a good time, talking and debating stories of the past: who was the greater hero, and so forth.

Now, though, Thor has split off from the others now - perhaps briefly, as the others wanted to enter a shop and Thor's attention had been pulled by several citizens asking him some questions. The questions finished now, Thor looks upwards, into the warm, beautiful sky streaked in golden clouds, taking a long moment to soak in the beauty of this area of the city.

Thor is dressed simply: a deep teal tunic with open throat and neck, comfortable and beautifully made linen colored leather trousers. He lacks his artifact belt, only in a simple one, and easy boots. A harness of leather is slung across one upper shoulder and his back, though it has no weapons in it at the moment. Some of his hair is loosely ponytailed, but much of it in front is in loose disarray against cheeks and jawline. He is dressed so simply, but nobody could mistake him for the prince of Asgard that he is: the way of standing, carriage, and the gleam of magical royalty inside all of that.

Amora will not stay in the Palace proper when she is summoned to Asgard for… Reasons…

Her meeting is to come in the morning at the Great Hall, so her place to stay and sleep is within the City Gates where Guards can keep a watchful eye upon the Witch of Asgard and possible 'trouble' she could be brewing. None comes, in fact it is a boring endeavor for the Eiharjar as they remain in shadows and Amora passes through the streets with no cares, the dress of deep jade hanging loosely from her frame, the drop of gathered cloak lined in wolf fur dropping from her shoulders to loosely carry the hood down her back.

Braids, waves, beads and golden decoration cascade over the woven fabric that is a laced pattern to keep bound over her with wraps through golden loops. With every step sateen and gauze parts around legs to reveal thigh high boots, woven with laces of a coated golden hue to match the sky as the sun sets in Asgard.

The bustle of citizens though, causes pause, a merchant cart paused at as Amora lands eyes upon Thor and they narrow into a glare that could shrivel an army and chill several Winters over.

The glass trinket in her hand she had been inspecting shatters.

Several steps are taken towards him, but then there is second thoughts, a look to the shadows and a pause. "Thor…!"

Nope, forget it, go big or go home. Amora continues her path towards him and in the distance her hand drawsback as if she would strike at him!

The Merchant is unhappy she broke the object she had been inspecting. "AH-HEM," the Merchant says behind her, in regard to the glass trinket. Trinkets aren't free, of course, and there are plenty of city guard that are around to be sure that the witch isn't ALSO a thief.

Thor has full time to drop his eyes from his daydream and turn them towards her. And, of course, to catch her full intention. He is the most well-trained fighter the trainers can produce, and he immediately and naturally draws a forearm up to deflect her slap to the side in a clean little rotation as if she were waving at him instead. The intent, though, is still clearly there. He'll catch her wrist if he can but not hold her hard: she can pull away if she wishes, or she can allow him to gently hold her wrist to the side.

"I'm glad you're back with us," Thor says gently, in a tone that really says, 'hey, I'm going to pretend things are fine in this public place even though you tried to hit me'.

Thor does look at her, and her emotional, glaring eyes. Such chill there! Not the emotion he prefers to see her wear, and there's some disappointment in his own eyes.

And Amora… Is no fighter, not when it comes to contact as such, and against an Asgardian son of the All Father, on that could cripple with a single blow, or a single -look-.

The merchant is ignored, as well as the shadows with guards that still when her blow is caught by a much larger hand, her own spread palm curling into a clench as the air passes between them and her gaze lifts his way to meet that gaze with an edge that 'could' cut - but doesn't, and only causes her teeth to grind lightly.

If the merchant persues her hand that is not held is extending coins for the bauble of a shattered Wolf Amora did enjoy, and then broke with the sight of Thor, who still keeps her raised hand in his grip, and yet does not return harm.

"For the next few days, yes. I did not expect the delight of your company," Her hand laden in rings, bracelets, and attaching chains rotates in his grip, fingertips brushing his fingers… Gentle to remind her of the past before Amora jerks her hand closer to herself, if he holds still he would likely be drawn with. "My Prince."

The final words of his title from her lips fall flat despite the feeble tone at her throat.

"Don't look at me like that…" She whispers.

Thor is clearly fine, the guards have no reason to even do anything. Obviously Thor can handle himself in this situation and others. Though of course they are there for any reason, or if he doesn't deign to sully his hands on whatever matter, they are ready.

The merchant is pacified with the return for the shattered piece of elegant art, and retreats… to clean up the little glass mess Amora made. Thor doesn't notice, he's paying attention to the sorceress. And chuckles a little as she explains the lack of delight for a little longer.

"I'll take it as a compliment that you wanted to anticipate just a little longer," Thor declares, in his WAY, that just declares things out to be now taken as fact. "As it makes no sense that you would avoid me," Thor adds, with a confused press of his eyebrows over pale eyes. He glances to her hand and lowers her wrist, letting her wrist go, but the hand adjusts to her upper arm. Not holding, but a mild pressure there as he turns, and there's that press to expectantly suggest she walk along with him, instead of standing there in an altercation.

"No sense at all …. Amora." The lack of titles is a very direct indication of a close of the gulf between them, a possibility of intimacy that could exist, depending on what she does with it.

No, there is no motion for defense, or offense any further. The hand that held out the coin slowly drops, drapes of fabric that form the cloak fold with it to pool behind her feet along the ground behind her.

Amora's eyes do not lower, not until he turns from her and his words almost cause the flustered heat to burn her ears in her frustration. The lowering of chin shadows the swallow of throat to keep her voice from cracking before she will speak again. A deep breathe in…

Any who paused to watch are now the objects of her eyes -scathing- path, narrowed in a challenge!

Everyone is about their business while his hand slides down from her wrist to her forearm, making her want to writhe away because deep inside… She doesn't want to, but somewhere inside she should.

The Enchantress doesn't ever do what she should, it has been years of pitting over coals to end up right back where she.. Started?

A low whispered curse to herself, Asgardian tongue sharp as she joins beside Thor in his walk. "No, no sense at all that I would avoid you… Thor," His name, it took a moment to emit but she managed. "None worth breaking more pretty little pieces over just yet." A glance away, along the narrowing streets as they walk.

"What brings you back…?" But that question and the weight it bears, means more than just the simple cover. Definitely not candy coated.

"Information," Thor answers cleanly, with his grant honesty, in this case. He slices right through all of the weights or MEANING on certain things, and just lays it out. Truth and justice and all that, lain bare in the sun. Subtlety, what? Nope.

"A mortal in a rather… bizarre little costume and arrogant manner - had some questions of me today. While I intend to give HIM no answers while he remains so foolish, collecting the real information for myself was well worth the time. …Or perhaps just an excuse to come back sooner than intended; Midgard has been frustrating as of late." Thor tilts his hand and shrugs a little bit. He doesn't see a need to linger over questions that don't actualy matter too much.

Thor adjusts his hand from the back of her upper arm, instead dropping the wrist: allowing her to take his arm if she wishes to do so, instead of steering her in a less polite fashion. Giving her the chance to appear to entirely be choosing to come, to those that look. And of course they DO look, for rather different reasons, between Thor and the Witch.

Thor shakes his head, "I think it is a special talent of those denizens. To be frustrating." She got him at a great time, really: bash the Midgard people time!

A pale brow arches higher Thor's way as they walk along the streets, his grip not wrenched from, but he could indeed feel the tension that sung along the Asgardian musculature of Amora when his hand slid to a more accomodating place.

It was like a tango, an untold story between the two, but expressed when she moves with his motion. Slender arm lifting to coil and encase the much larger limb of Thor's in hold that could further the dance… or break away. But The Witch does not.

"What /information/, my /Prince/?" Amora finally asks as they pass the denizens through the city streets, her chin rising slowly in a Pride… One thing Amora has never lost.

"But is that not the way of Midgardian 'Heroes'? Bizarre tight little suits?" A tongue in cheek question that has her glancing away, but only drawn back to tilt her head and look upward towards Thor as they walk. "What would he ask of you?" Her question though, genuine as well, when his tone cuts through the proverbial bull between them and gets to it - her words may be lowly uttered his way but the serious mannerism comes with her Pride, a righting of shoulders, and a straightening of posture.

Regal, even if they stepped into shadows, Amora was not going to shy back from Him, from This Moment and Exchange. Even her smile begins to show amusement at his final words. "Is that where you get it?" Her look now is sly with the smile upon lips surfacing fully.

"They sought information about moving between realms and realities. What we are capable of," Thor explains to her, folding his other hand across her slim fingers that curled around his bulky forearm. Just briefly, a physical showing of his approval to her that she did what he wanted, and was therefore rewarded: she looped her arm over his, and got that quiet press of his other hand in answer. He is distracted, though, and none of that will feel terribly intentional. It just /is/. Thor is physical, he acts. Thinking things over (and over and over and around) is more her area!

"You suggest that my father is not the king of all that is ever frustrating, that I did not obtain the trait there?" Thor says in a deep, warning tone, but he then cracks a little and laughs, a grin appearing with a glow to his face. "I think it is something universal. And I am certain that I was far more frustrating to the mortal than he was to me."

He… Not, /They/. Amora caught that much, but it is the *least* of what she caught when her pressed a touch, almost a /pat/ to her hand when she curled her fingers lazily over His forearm.

Reward Pattage? One brow rises and then both furrow as she focuses upon the gesture, her own fingers curling in, almost like a feline with a clawed grip. But before claws could *prick* his skin from the golden rings that enforce her nails…

Thor's laugh brings her a pause. A sound that bellows through the narrow streets, and casts a sudder along her spine.

Amora's eyes close, and her own jest had been caught by him and taken in such stride, it surprised her. But let the Seeing /Eye's/ son lead the blind Witch around a corner and Amora is pivoting upon booted heel to come face to face with Thor. Einherjar or no. Guards, 'Shadows', Amora has One Chance to be brazen and she takes it. "Be careful…Thor.." His name still hard to pass her lips and have a tone that lacks venom as it does right now!

"You do not know what your 'frustrations' cause among the mortals, we may need them." As his hand had taken to pat over hers she did the same to Him. Her hand rests atop his like a game played as children where the top is the Winner! But her fingers thread between his and her head lowers slightly though her eyes never leave Thor's in her light bow to only place smiling lips over one of his knuckles.

His 'pat' had offended her, but his words… Concerned her… Now… Perhaps.

"Your Father is the King, but 'his', All Frustrating, is left to His Queen, Bless her Soul." Said like a prayer as Amora regains posture and glances around them.
"You…. " A shake of Amora's head and those braids fall back over her shoulders where the Wolf-Lined cloak rests over the edges. "The Realms need blessed and I am but a simple Witch." The back of hand rises to her forehead in exhasperation and yet from serious to /jesting/, every motion and action played a part from Amora to Thor.
"You make me need a drink." Honest to the core.

"You choose how to react to me. I am how I am. I am not in control of that. /You/ make /you/ need a drink," Thor replies to her, with his own brand of honesty in return. It isn't angry, or anything other than a similar exhasperation to her own.

Thor's expression, should she check for it, has a bit of narrowed eye amusement to it, challenging her. Perhaps even deliberately poking to rile her up. It's a common response to her applying her nails to his skin. But he let her put her hand on top. For now. Maybe. Her lowered lips towards their woven fingers made him lift one finger just after her 'kiss' there, brushing her chin with the back of that index finger.

"However, were it me, I would be complimented. For a drink we can certainly have," Thor decides. "And I am in a good place with the most powerful Midgard heroes and protectors. They have welcomed me into their most honored group eagerly, their League of Justice, as they well should. I am well placed to act, should I wish or need."

"..And I am how I am.." Amora echoes his words back to him as his narrowed gaze meets her own, their eyes almost a mirror as well in their challenge to one another if not for differing colors. Her green to his blue.

Amora intended to fully pull away, but the lift of his finger brought her a heartbeat of pause and as if without intention her eyes almost closed, her head tilted into the touch, a feline motion to brush the line of her jaw along that uplifted finger of his, pausing as it is left just beneath the pillow of her lower lip….

Daring, her eyes flash back at him, teeth in her smile that parted as if she would bite down instead of enjoy that touch further.

No bite comes, her lower lip grazes the skin of his finger just before she rises. Letting him have that moment… Maybe…

"Ah, so now I am graced by the Prince of… Justice… is it?" Amora steps back beside him, no release in the mutual hold as she looks from him down the street. "Please, lead the way as Thor of the League graces the Witch of Asgard with a night of drink and tales of his Humans in tights!" Her words remain low, but her returned laughter is evident.

Her concern is bitten back, witheld for another moment if had between them, for now, she *wanted* that moment, even if brief..

And yes… Thor makes her need a drink, no confusion there!

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