To Alfheim and Beyond

August 20, 2018:

Atli and Sloane catch up


NPCs: None.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

"So you see, that's my plan."

The goat even looks somewhat dumbfounded, crunching on something it should not be eating in Sloane's living room. Perhaps it was given an entire takeout box. Or a bag of Legos. Is Sloane's remote accounted for? Drool spills from the beast's mouth as it seems to consider this plan, one Atli has been jabbering on about for almost half an hour to her captive audience.

"Is it not a good plan?"


The drawing is crude. Stick figures might be an apt description, though perhaps just a little better in shape and form. It's like watching someone with very good handwriting make an informal note. Perhaps it's all that divinity running through her veins. Whatever the matter, she has in fact inherited Thor's eye for art, something akin to a caveman painting scrawled there up on the wall.

Right on the wall. Is that sharpie? Clearly Atli had been working on this for awhile before Sloane got home, and the Goddess ambushed her for the very important opinion of the Child of Wehrsweir and last Scion of the Land of Boston.

"First, I wait until the Lord of Stars has fallen into a slumber somewhere upon his ship, and then I sneak into his chamber to retrieve the clothing of She Who Lays With Quill. While she is quite diminutive, it appeared to be of a stretchy substance. Now, thanks to having spotting this -" She holds up a copy of Mega Man X. "-at one of your Midgardian prawn shops, I now understand how to draw out The Mini-Man of Magnets and The Jellyfish Whisperer. I will simply wear the uniform of their hated enemy, and wander about their territory shouting their names as loudly as I can."

The pride in her eyes knows no limit, as boundless as the stars shine bright, or a black hole runs deep, or her infatuation with known terrorists.. well. Who knows how powerful that is. "Once they arrive, I will simply rip off the Raiment of Pryde, and present them both with a plan for revels that cannot be matched on Midgard: A ride on a flying goat to visit the house of The Dairy Queen, followed by a short jaunt to Asgard to show them around the armory. While Odin doesn't exactly know me, or know who I am, I'm sure it won't be a problem. I am told Heimdall sees all, and certainly if he had a problem with it he'd show up to say so."


The moment that comes after, just that short silence, is enough to furrow her brow. "Really…Is it not a good plan?"

It's the first time she's had a day off in three weeks.

When the door opens, the plans are on the walls, the goat is eating her remote, and then her travelling rucksack hits the floor. Sunglasses perched on the end of her nose, the Inhuman's eyes close and her head tilts back, sucking in a deep breath past fanged incisors. Don't freak out.

Sloane doesn't even *ask* how Atli got in.


The nuhuman sits in her favorite recliner with her legs drawn up, folded and crossed. Her thumbnail edges and ticks away at the strings of the electric guitar across her lap; a few notes to keep her brain from wandering into the thoughts of — wait, she's writing on her walls with a permanent marker?!!

There's not enough tea in the world for this.

'Is it not a good plan?'

Sloane closes her eyes, trying to run over the entire tale — and the images— in her head. "So, you want to find this Lord of the Stars and steal a lady's clothes. Then based on a game older than me, you want to wear it as a disguise and then … take them out for epic partying at the Dairy Queen and then hang a hard left and run straight to Asgard?"

Sloane's eyes list to the goat as though it would give her an answer through eye contact, then lull back to Atli.

"Could work. I'm sure Odin and that Heimdall guy would be *totally* okay with it."

"Ah, yes, I am glad you agree! And if that doesn't work, I can always take them to the Bathing Pond just outside of the Magnet Mansion. Oddly, none of the other children of the Man of Magnets seek to live in such a place. It mostly seems to be filled with children and people with odd-colored hair."

Atli stops here, raising a finger. "It has to do with melonans, you see."

The goat flops over, giving it's own answer to Atli's plan, and then with a frown the Girl of Thunder drops her marker to the side. Finally she too takes a seat, eyeing Sloane's guitar with a wary gaze.

"I should take you there, some time. In my many flyovers I have noticed a great number of women with red hair, so we should be right at home. Of course, I say this as if you have all the time in the world, which I am sure you do not. Tell me, what adventures wait for you on the horizon, as a SHIELDmaiden of Midgard?"

"A ginger convention, eh? — wait. You mean melanins?"

The cherry red and white guitar's a little on the older side, from the scuffs that suggest use and age; the strings are fresh but it definitely looks like something that has sentimental value— and the fact she keeps it at hand by her favorite seat probably speaks volumes on it's own. Her hand falls to the amp it's jacked into, also next to the seat, clicking a few dials. There's a bit of white noise from the large, expensive-by-Midgardian-standard headphones set on top, and then the notes carry from light strums.

She looks briefly distant, jaw setting. The phrase 'magnet mansion' quickly leads to her squinting a bit.

"I've been to Dairy Queen," she says, the grin joking and sarcastic. A few more notes dance off the strings and out the headphones. "Though I don't know if …"


It's the height of the blackout; the final battle against demon-possessed power armors and all manner of horrible things.

A ripple in space-time preceeds the mighty goat Toothbender exploding through the hallowed halls of Asgard. On his back, Sloane L. Albright, Agent of SHIELD, bearing the weight of the mighty Jarnbjorn in it's javelin form and screaming in horror from the sudden journey through the Nine Realms.

She rides straight through Odin's throne room. And, just as quickly as she arrived, she's back out before the goat hit the wall.


Sloane shakes her head. That couldn't have been Asgard, could it? "Toothbender took me for a wild ride once, though."

A few more notes and chords drift out. "Nothing just yet, other than paperwork. I've actually got some downtime for once, but I can't take that for granted or else I'm going to get five feet out the door and then get called back up for a mission."

"Verily, I believe he may have taken something from your table for a wild ride as well."

There is a slow lean, and Atli reaches for said table and deposits a trio of gold coins before frowning at the goat, who lashes it's tail as if to say 'I know what you said about me, and I don't fucking care.' He will, of course, agree to Sloane's assessment of their journey by nudging a horn against her leg in a manner far to gentle for a creature of his size.

Finally Atli leans back, her hand brought to her mouth in quiet contemplation.

"A very good start to a song, young serpent. Perhaps we shall go to Asgard together sometime, and you can play for.. well, whoever it is there that's in charge of music. In saying this I realize that… no no, Melonan. Like a melon. With an AN at the end. I'm certain that's what Princess Lorna of the Magnet People said, the other word sounds made up."

The squinting derision of her entire face comes off as a scowl, and she waves her hand as if to dismiss the whole matter. "This does remind me, however, how the Magnet people do like to look after their hair. Perhaps, and I know we have spoken about the sanctity of your scale oil before, but this mission.. you see, a gift of something that might coif Pietro's glorious locks may just help my chances, Sloane."

This is where her gaze trails off into the distance, as she imagines Pietro rubbing scale oil through his hair. Another thought strikes her.

"Do you think he might let me braid his hair antennae? Hmm. OH, you should come by the hangar sooner than later, no matter your answer. Rocket and Groot no doubt miss you."

Already, the agent is trying to mentally catalogue what she left on the table, twisting to look back through the apartment before sighing. Toothbender butting up against her leg is met with a sigh, and a friendly pet of the horn and the space-goat's brow.

"You have gods of music on Asgard? — I mean. Probably. I'm not up on my Norse mythology, though with this job I probably *should* be," she says, shaking her head.

'Princess Lorna of the Magnet People.' Her mouth tightens into a flat line, her eyes … almost matching the shape. Pietro's glorious locks.

It's written on her face: Oh Atli, don't be getting involved with weird magnet-obsessed supervillains… and — oh. Oh dear. Oh my.

"Do it. Braid those hair antennae. Do it with my blessing."

"I— probably should. Go, I mean — not just to the hangar, but I really do need to get out of the city for a little bit. And not, like, on a quinjet, some where nuts. I… pwhew, I … actually, I don't think I've had a vacation since I started working for SHIELD?"

Sloane squints, fiery orange eyes turning toward Atli. "Does that make me lame? I mean I'm still this young."

What can be said of such encouragement, except that the thought of getting to manipulate Pietro's hair is a thrill untold. Literally so because she won't repeat what she's thinking. Of course, as glorious as that all is, Wanda's hair presents it's own opportunities. Perhaps something with flowers, and… well. Her mind doth wonder to the glory that is the twins, fierce warriors fighting for a noble cause. The stuff songs are written abou-

"Sloane. You are a well-traveled bard of questionable parentage but with a noble soul. You must craft for me a song for Pietro and Wanda, perhaps you could even perform it from upon Toothbender's back. I.."

But then come's Sloane's concern, a crisis not quite mid-life. More like a crisis of youth.

"The first few hundred years are always the worst, Child of Wehrsweir. And I haven't seen you limp at all."

So no, of course Atli does not think her lame.

"But that aside, do not ponder such things in the midst of this, your years of utmost glory. Remember, no matter how vile your mother may have been, you are not some demon serpent from the great beyond. You're a hero now, and hero's don't get to take vacations. Not as such. But we can certainly take a trip to Asgard or Alfheim or wherever you would like to go. I imagine the Sea-elves of Alfheim would indeed like to meet their distant cousin, Sloane of the Brightscales."

That's right Sloane. You have a new nickname.

"I haven't written a song—"

Since Terrigenesis. Sloane frowns a little, glancing down at her guitar, then letting her thumb trace back and forth across the string, letting the tactile sensation of the wire run along that hand for a short time. She's played, for sure, but just with her headphones on the best she can manage and pumping the tunes straight into her own head. Her drumkit is packed away in her closet, since it's a little rough to play in an apartment wing like this, and —

— a song for Pietro and Wanda. Those names… Her mouth draws into a tighter line, glancing down and producing a pick to more cleanly pluck and strum a few more notes out. "We'll see."

Before the creases grow too intense in her frown, her head lifts. "Few /hundred/? — Atli, I'm not gonna live /that/ long. … I don't think… I mean — Inhumans are … I still don't get a lot of the whole…" A nebulous gesture, "/thing/."

See the universe? Visit a planet with sea-elves? /Sloane of the Brightscales/? A few quick strums punctuate her next thought, "Brightsc— I. … Yeah, you know what, that sounds like it'd be a really cool trip, Atli."

"Then it is decided. We shall prepare for such a trip within the next month. Perhaps Fair Rocket and Wise Groot will want to see the Seavault of Athurian, said to contain some impressive weapons. Rocket always does love an impressive weapon. We can all go together. Who knows, perhaps you will meet another scale-person who could help you write your songs, as scale people do."

Is that what they do?

The fire-haired Asgardian rises, straightens her vester, and adjusts the sword at her back. "I will update your superiors at SHIELD and make sure they understand you are needed at Alfeim. I am sure they will be fine with it once I explain the situation."

Oh yeah Atli telling Peggy Carter and Nick Fury what's what should go well.

"Come Toothbender, we have taken up enough of the Brightscale's resting time. She must be given respite to collect scale oil for the twin's hair."

At the door Atli stops, turning to regard her long time friend and adopted half-monster, and offers parting words, a balm for the soul. "Do not worry about the time you have left, my friend. You see, we can always find a potion that can extend it."

Her beaming smile is entirely to serious, and she's moving out the door with a big, giant, onory goat in tow.

Maybe it is what they do! Though she isn't sure if the sea-elves are really the right people to ask — when it comes to space, Sloane's adopted a policy of just shrugging and hoping for the best. It's helped her so far— even in those times while she's tried to steer Atli's antics toward being at least a little bit less drunken, disorderly, and destructive.

Sloane sets down the guitar, rising up to her feet while Atli makes for the door, Toothbender in tow. Hands falling onto her hips, she gives a lopsided grin while taking a deep breath, waiting for either an explosive burst through the wall or a dimensional tear through the Rainbow Bridge to lead to their exit, but instead she just … goes right out the door.

The weight of things that Sloane Brightscale has yet to consider fully still hangs at the back of her mind, but having a weird friend is enough, sometimes.

… That, and wishing she were a fly on the wall when Atli Wodansdottir bursts into the offices of Peggy Carter and Nick Fury requesting a level 3 Agent for a matter most important in Alfheim…

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