Happy Reunions

May 22, 2018:

Old friends reunite. For a given value of 'friends.'

The Fanciest of Fancy Restaurants

So fancy!


NPCs: None.

Mentions: Thor


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

The establishment was in one of the finer, more exclusive penthouse restaurants in the city. The kind that didn't have menus or price tags. It was the kind of establishment where the chef was some famous so and so, that had exclusive invites to. The finest of the fine. A piano played somewhere in the corner, a soft melody playing on polished keys that filled the room.

From floor to ceiling were windows, leaving a vast and expansive view to the dinners that couldn't possibly count more than a dozen at any given moment.

The rich scents of an open air kitchen wafted around, and fire from a brick oven could be seen over a polish marble counter. The staff walked about unhurriedly, sweeping away plates, pouring crystalline glasses filled with wine… Of course, to the mortals in the room, nearly all eyes were upon one busty, curvaceous blonde that reclined in the best seat. She wore a silken green mermaid styled gown, a sleeve hanging over her shoulder lazily as more than three different men waited on her hand and foot. She idly twirled a half filled glass of wine between her fingers, green eyes scanning the room in a bored and lazy manner. Amora the Enchantress. Witch of Asgard.. She was bored and idle, which was always, always, when she got into trouble.

Exclusivity. Finery. Cream of the crop. An establishment where the invitation list could likely fit on an index card. All of these things just serve to make places like this so much more coveted by the people denied access to it.

But then, things like 'rules of exclusivity' were always only concerns for those who cared to follow them.

There is a woman here, blonde-haired and - relatively - alone, save for her admirers and attendants. Relatively alone…

"Now that is a truly tragic expression to be wearing on such a fine evening."

… for a time, at least.

Within a moment, there is nothing but air in the seat next to Amora. Within the next, a man is sitting there like he had always been there — black haired, green eyed, wearing a nicely tailored, three-piece suit with a suitably green tie (of course), the rest of the privileged patrons of this place seem to pay him no heed — as if he had, in fact, always been there. Like he belonged.

Loki Laufeyson, after all, has always been a master of being places he is not meant to be.

"Let me guess," begins the green-eyed trickster, a friendly smile on his lips as he leans back in his chair. "You're thinking 'I'm terribly, terribly bored.' I would say you've brought it on yourself, dwelling in a place as dull as this," by 'this,' it's patently unclear if he means 'the restaurant' or 'Midgard, "… but I do dearly hate to wag fingers at friends." And here, he offers a smile, infused with a God of Mischief's charm.

"It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

The blonde was in the middle of sighing unhappily when that voice echoed in her ears and a slow, wicked smile traced over ruby red lips. She leaned forward, waving away her fawning followers. Much to their annoyance, and groans of human misery. But they left as their mistress commanded as she leaned forward against the white of the table top. She propped her chin up with both manicured hands, green eyes twinkling merrily with sudden amusement and good humor as Loki fully materialized before her.

"Tis a most unfortunate thing, in a long life, to be bored. Utterly miserable." She conceded, and leaned back with a wiggle of her fingers in Loki's direction. Expensive jewels clinking against each other on her wrist.

"But come now Loki, we both know you love to let other things wag rather than your fingers." Her voice was teasing and she crossed her legs anew as she leaned back more fully in her chair, shoulders set backward. She was preening, unconsciously, for the most part. Loki was a person, Loki was a 'friend' or as much of one as she'd admit to having. The golden haired goddess, looked more alive than she had mere moments before.

"It has been far, far too long, darling. How very nice to see you again, and looking in one piece too, I might add. Impressive."

Tis a most unfortunate thing, in a long life, to be bored.

"Truly, there's no more dreadful a cage," sympathizes Loki, of course.

"And I ought to know, I've had some truly imaginative ones built for me in my time! I think my favorite was 'strapped to a rock.' But! I suppose there's no accounting for the care one affords their family."

If there wasn't a glass of wine in his hand before, there is now. Someone else might be missing their glass, but, well — they don't -really- need it like Loki does. It sells the moment, you understand. Swirling the red contents in his grasp, he takes a testing sip, and makes the faintest face, the mildest scrunch of features. "I swear, Midgardians never know how to properly age things," laments the trickster, before setting that glass aside. "Ah, well. They try their best."

But he sounds, at least, like it really isn't the thought that counts.

It's only then that those vivid green eyes turn to meet their matching pair, a glimmer of amusement to match Amora's own just as readily as his smile. Elbows resting on armrests, hands settled in his lap, the black-haired man languidly rests backward in his seat as his dark brows lift. "Me? Perish the thought! And if I did, rest assured, I'd wag only for the best of reasons." He looks just affronted enough to make it imminently clear he is not affronted at all, with the way entertainment dances in those green eyes.

"It has been a truly trying time, I won't lie," continues on the God of Lies, "but I've managed to keep most of my pieces in one place. Which is much more difficult in a place like this than you might think!" Green eyes roll towards Amora; a single dark brow lifts, just a bit. "But what about you? It's a strange sight to see you here — not that your presence isn't like a ray of sunshine on a dismal day, of course."

Amora picked up and sipped at her wine, a slow curve of her lips remained in place as she watched Loki over the smooth glass rim. She hooked a golden eyebrow upwards, a faint crinkle of good humor in the corner of her eyes as Loki brought up ancient punishments and long ago cages. Her own wine glass a mirror to his own, with a smooth amber colored liquid to his own blood red. She swirled it around again, the faintest hints of laughter on her tongue as he commented on the mortal's vintages.

"They haven't come far in all these centuries. Almost a pity. Slow creatures." She mused and sipped at the contents of her wine glass once more.

The false offense granted a chortle of laughter from her and she slowly shook her head. "I can imagine that you have had quite the terrible time here on Midgard, darling. You look utterly starved for good company and drink. I am glad to see, at the very least that you are still your usual silver tongued trickster. I'd have been sad indeed to see that you'd lost such a gift." She mused, she hooked her high heel clad foot up and down, scooting the empty chair beside her out of the way as she looked Loki over again. As if sizing the Asgardian up for something nefarious. Which was highly likely.

"I grew bored of Asgard. Some young man came proclaiming my beauty, and asking to stay in my presence forever. I turned him into a tree you know, but his family was rather unhappy with it. So I thought it time to entertain myself else where for a bit." Another sip of her wine.

"The real problem is they're both simply too slow and too fast. They linger in finger snaps of existence, like walking paradoxes." Loki Laufeyson's head tilts towards his left in a curious cant; the man taps the side of his cheek, pondering. "Well, who am I to talk? I suppose I know a thing or two about walking paradoxes!"

With that out of the way, the man rests one of his long, black-clad legs over the other as he leans his side upon his left armrest. Propping his chin upon his open, waiting palm, he takes that languid stance like the laziest and most content of cats, with the Cheshire's grin to match when his companion offers her heartfelt sympathies. "Oh, I don't know. I've looked upon this time as a learning opportunity. Turn over a new leaf! Learn from the mistakes of the past! This trip," exile, marooning in the void of space, whatever, "has been quite the revelation. I feel like a new me." He considers this for a moment, lips pursing faintly. "At the very least, I believe I have become thoroughly woke on the confounding culture of Midgard."

And somehow, despite how he otherwise talks, he takes to words like 'woke' without so much as batting an eye despite the profound absurdity of it.

Sized up for trouble, Loki offers only his encouraging words and smile in return, shifting so he may tap his fingertip on the rim of his glass of wine. "Well, they could hardly blame you for helping their son to settle down and finally put down roots, could they? Some people can be rather ungrateful when they get exactly what they want. Still, I won't look a gift horse in the mouth!"

And here, Loki lifts his glass, and the God of Lies' words and smile are so very full of promise as he speaks next, "You aren't wrong — I have indeed been in desperate need of someone who truly understands me. And who else in all the Nine or So Realms but you could possibly fit that bill, my dear Amora?"

Laughter, green for green in wicked gaze met Loki's as he told his tale of mortals and their too short to slow down lives and the ants crawl of their civilization. It was a strange dynamic, to be certain, and made them sometimes useful. However that was all they were in the end. Sometimes useful. Another languid sigh and sip of her wine as Amora drained the glass and set it down delicately. Considering how fragile everything was in Midgard..

Though she arched a brow at Loki's usage of mortal slang, she barely felt the need to comment of it. Whyever anyone would be 'awoken' to the the nature of Midgard's cultures was beyond her ken. Or interest. Still Loki did know a good pun and she appreciated it with all the hook lipped smile that she could possibly muster. Eyes in the room remained locked upon her, mortal men held their breath as she spoke, more than a few seemed incapable of moving in her presence. But that was nothing new.

His promise and admittance to her proclamation that he needed better company brought another chortle of bell ringing laughter to her lips. "Oh good. I would hate to think that you went on to have some fun all on your own Loki. Whatever else could I do to stay amused on my own little vacation as it were? These mortals are fools, and far too easy to use for anything all that interesting.." A mortal man came up, refilling her wine glass and setting down a plate on a golden platter stacked high with various delicacies, more than a few truffle flakes littered the plate, and a smatter of gold dust. The most that mortal 'fine' dinning could prepare.

"Tell me, is your brother here.. on Midgard, or has he finally lost his infatuation with them?"

"Go off on my own, and leave you to suffer in all this perilous pabulum? Perish the thought."

Says Loki Laufeyson, who truly thinks about the needs of others, so very sincerely.

Shoulders lifting with this proclamation as if to shrug the very idea of such a thing free, the trickster god takes the way the ambiance of this place has comfortably settled into its new status quo quiet worship of Amora in good-humored stride, like someone well-acclimated to the way the Asgardian has about her. Instead, he just tries to take another sip of his wine, before a frown etches upon his lips to preface him simply setting the expensive glass aside as if he couldn't be bothered to even put in the good faith effort of entertaining it as good taste.

"Ech. Well, anyway. We'll just have to find an appropriately inappropriate way to make your time here more worthwhile. One wouldn't want to waste a well-earned vacation, after all! Such things are truly too rare to be squandered." Green eyes lazily roll towards the server, considering the plate of delicacies stacked like a mountain of decadence upon a fundament of gold. "Ostentatious," he observes, before turning his gaze back to consider Amora anew.

Tell me, is your brother here..

"Oh, who knows?" is his first, ambivalent proclamation. "Midgard has always held his fancy with this realm for as long as I can remember. Like an awkward teenager with a crush." Of course, Loki does know whether or not Thor is actually here. One can never be too careful. But regardless…

"Don't worry. If he's not here now, no doubt he'll come bulldozing his way back into your life inevitably, as he is wont to do."

Amora eyed the plate briefly, ignoring it for her part other than to vaguely be aware it was there. Her gaze otherwise lingered upon the Trickster at her table. Beauty and lies always went together so well, perhaps that was why they were so naturally inclined to cause mischief of one sort or another. Regardless of messy things like 'trust' getting into the way of things. Of course, Amora could find out where Thor was easily, the magic to spy upon the golden Prince of Asgard was simple.. but well..

When one could ask Loki, things were generally more entertaining. Plus, well, at this point it was likely just expected that she ask where Thor was. She sniffed once, rolled her shoulders back and reached up a manicured hand to run long, green painted nails through golden locks.

"I'm not worried, Loki, darling. Merely wondering just how much fun we might have on this little mud ball before he or someone else comes to pester us to stop it or some such nonsense."


Such an unnecessary thing, between friends.

The inevitability of asking about Thor is almost like their equivalent of talking about the weather, at this point; invariably it'll come up to fill the time with whatever deeper implications might come with it, and sometimes, a heavy dosage of storms and lightning will follow. As is simply the way of things. Loki, of course, takes it in good stride — of course — swiping up his drink once more but not yet taking a drink as he straightens out in his seat and considers the green-clad goddess.

"Oh, I'm sure we'll manage. After all, when something is important, you make the time for it," assures the adoptive Odinson with the flash of a pearly white smile. "So we'll simply have to make all the time we need for the things important in life before some hammer or another thoughtlessly bowls its way through. And I'm sure you can find ways to turn that into opportunity all its own."


And so, he lifts his glass, and leans in towards Amora. To extend it. In offering of a toast.

"So, let's enjoy this evening thoroughly, and then we may make all manner of merry and mischief. Magnanimously, of course."

A toast to tales yet to be told.

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