Summary:Ambrose follows through on Sif's suggestion to visit Loki at his bookstore. Loki, as always, amazes the Jackal with his magical skills. A friendship is agreed upon. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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The world of Loki Odinson runs very smoothly for long stretches. People are wrong to assume that every waking moment, he is causing trouble. His trouble can take years of simmering to properly cook up! Today, he is merely doing a trick, of making his store look like a Candy Store. So, when Ambrose arrives to where he knows Loki has a bookshop, instead, the shop has bright, bubble letters declaring it to be Candyheim.
It's been a task being light-footed in the city. The small canine, no more than twenty-two pounds at most, has had to skirt through alleys, scale fences, and hide for brief spates of time to avoid excessive interest.
As such, the cream-colored jackal sits in the shadow of a nearby awning and squints suspiciously at the candy shop. His large ears rotate forwards and back as he sniffs at the air around the place. The overhead streetlight glints in the small diamonds sewn into the leather slip-collar at his neck; the tag on it reads as MY NAME IS NOT ROSEBUD. Still…the Lady Sif named this location as the haunt for the Trickster God, and as such, she's given him no reason to doubt her thus far.
Once the latest clot of pedestrians pass by, he slips over to the door and scratches at it a few times. «Excuse me? I would like to come in. I don't wish to be petted again — please, I beg you, let me in,» he says in a warbling growl to human ears. To anyone with AllSpeech, it's crystal-clear in British accent and masculine pitch.
Loki comes to the door and looks down at the cream canine. "This is not my fault." He declares as he looks down. "I have not turned anyone into anything of late." Except for all the people who bought enchanted candy.
«Of late, is it? Duly noted, your highness.» Ambrose then attempts to slink past Loki's shins and into the 'candy shop'. He's clearly hoping to get out of reach of a trio of teenaged girls making high-pitched sounds of delight at him.
"Ohmygod, is that your dog? He's so cute!!! Can I pet him?" one of the teenagers asks, her grin big and hands clasped before her chest. The other two girls titter behind her, their phones out and ready to take pictures.
«Your highness, I beg you, spare me this,» the pale Jackal says as evenly as he can manage during his attempt to weasel away and into the store.
Loki looks at the girls, then slips inside after Ambrose and with a flick of his wrist, the candy shop becomes a rather boring bookstore again, and the door is locked. "How intriguing of you to meander your way here, like this. You could have come as yourself, but…let me guess…someone is hunting you down."
The chorus of juvenile 'aw' is abruptly shut off when the store's door clicks shut. Ambrose recognizes the interior of the bookstore now with the illusion having been dismissed. One can see the slide of his muddy-green eyes from the door and to Loki again — oh yes, he heard the lock slide home. Still, the canine takes up a dignified sit upon the floor, as proud and refined as a statue from the Egyptian pantheon. He's not going to display his nervousness about being locked in without good reason.
«Not at all. In fact, I'd…» He pauses, rethinking his initial adrenaline-seeking statement. «…reeeeally rather not deal with such a thing.» Boy, that was almost a foolish slip of the tongue for the adrenaline-seeking master-thief. «It was the Lady Sif who suggested you might benefit from seeing me as such. I presume you recognize me despite the spellcasting about my personage?» The Jackal tilts his head left and right.
"It took a bit, but…that night at the fairy hill…you mentioned something about this." Loki crouches down and there does not seem to be malice coming from him like one would expect if Ambrose were locked in. Still, that's what most would naturally assume! Instead, from Loki's perspective, it is the girls who have been locked OUT. "Lady Sif, hmmmm? Its strange that she should do me any favors."
The Jackal gets up to his paws when Loki crouches down to his level, but not to flee. Rather, wearing a rather human-like smile to showcase bottom teeth, the creature then extends a front leg and tucks the other to his chest. He then drops his head into a bow with his rump briefly in the air before he returns to his seated posture once more.
«Indeed, your highness, it is me, Lieutenant Atherton. Well-met yet again. I do not know that Lady Sif meant my visit as a favor, but more a…» The creature glances to one side and appears to muse. «Perhaps a parallel in existence?» He looks back at Loki once more, blinking. «To show you that you are not alone in your proclivity to change your own shape.»
Loki makes a soft hum of consideration and stands back up. "I see. Well, your shape is handsome. Can you turn into anything, or only this? Some shifters are locked in their form, like my Raven, Reno." He leans back against the counter and there is a distance about him, like he is purposefully leaving space.
«I thank you for your compliment.» The Jackal inclines his head as he might have done so in court over a century ago, raised as he was on the fringes of Queen Victoria's own gatherings. «I am fortunately kept to this form alone in addition to my usual human guise. Were I to be given other abilities, I…suspect I might take unfair advantage of these states and it would cast poorly upon me in turn.»
Still, the creature grins yet again, his tongue just tipping back the bottom row of pearly teeth. «A raven would be terribly useful, however. To have wings…hmm, I could accomplish much,» he says with a lyrical consideration in tone. «But I shall behave. I assume then, your highness, you may take the form of…anyone…?» Those wild eyes lock onto Loki and the large ears perk in plain curiosity.
"I am not sure I should explain my abilities to you…hunter that you are." Loki answers in a sly tone. "Since people believe and understand what they wish to. I can look like anyone…but is it shape shifting? Mmmm…a mystery." He sparkles in golden tones and then changes his appearance, by illusion, to look like Ambrose from that day in the garden. THAT's gotta be a bit surreal.
Surely the slack-jointed jaw-drop looks preposterous on the Jackal's canine form. His ears flick back flat and he stares. «Ruddy fucking hell,» the creature says, his words garbled even in AllSpeak by the animalistic bend of his current physiology.
Cautiously, the Jackal rises to his paws and slinks a few steps closer, his black nose twitching. «You've…» The sound of him scenting continues as he minces another step closer. «You've very nearly got it. Fuck me, but that is impressive, your highness.» He's finally close enough for whiskers to brush against what appear to be his own military brand of boots.
"Fuck you?" Loki-brose does a very un-Ambrose-like caress of his clothed chest and poses in a ridiculous manner. "You could literally fuck you." Then he laughs. The illusions that he employs are quite powerful, just as belief of the mind is. If the Jackal gets close enough to touch him, he does, and the leather smells like leather, though anything extremely minor, like the particular distribution of hairs on his legs, are simply extrapolated. If he were to get nekkid, there would be many more mistakes just due to guessing that Ambrose has a Celtic tramp stamp, instead of actually knowing he has one.
Ambrose pulls his snout away from the pants he swears up and down were left at home in the third drawer down of his dresser-drawers. A sneezing-snort sound leaves him and he flicks his ears out. Side-stepping a handful of times puts enough space for him to look up at…himself without craning his neck.
«That has an extremely Freudian ring to it,» he admits. Incredulous laughter sounds a bit more like a barking cough in this form. «And besides, I said you very nearly have it. The thing is…I'm not that pretty.» The Jackal's tail swishes back and forth as he grins a canine grin once again.
Loki makes a humming sound and, from bottom to top, transforms back into himself, a golden line crossing him. "Perhaps you just never looked at yourself through a Jackal's eyes. Perhaps from down there…you really are that pretty." He gives his shoulders a small shrug.
Ambrose tilts his head to one side. A single ear flicks back in what must be canine chagrin and he flicks his tail back and forth once to each side, twitch-swish.
«You are too kind, your highness,» he replies humbly to the Asgardian royal, for once not putting on an ounce of airs about himself. «I admit, you are fair of face yourself. There is no need to shift in your shape to convince anyone otherwise. Still…now you are aware that there is another of your ilk in the sense of shifted states of being. Perhaps you may consider me a friend if not an acquaintance in this.»
"Friends? I had considered you something of the sort, already. An ally, perhaps. I do understand. And you will have to forgive me if I am sometimes…distant? You see…you are…sort of my type. But, I have had enough of being attracted to people I can't have." Loki lifts his angular chin a bit.
«I do not blame you if you must put distance between us, your highness. After all, I am…likely the ruffian to your finery and a potential stain upon your good name. You see, I have been told enough times that I am nothing but trouble and I suppose I'm beginning to believe it,» the Jackal shares with another sly canine grin. «It only took a century. An old dog can learn new tricks after all.»
Ambrose glances to the windows of the store and marks the fall of the light. «Ah, I apologize, your highness — I must be going. I promised my offspring a game of chess and they must be thoroughly trounced. I cannot have their youthful funning of my age continue further. If I may?» He pads past Loki on silent paws and stands by the door, looking back to the Trickster god. «I have no thumbs and this is an issue when locks are involved.» He sighs, tail flicking again.
Loki knits his brows. "Now…why would you think I would less interested in you if you are trouble? That's what makes us friends." He grins crookedly. "By all means, and…speaking of your children, I would love to meet them someday."
A final thin smile parts the canine's black lips. «Then I suppose this makes us friends…and I just might bring my offspring by the store one day…you never know.» Allowed to slip out and onto the warmed sidewalk, the cream-colored Jackal glances over his shoulder back at Loki. «Be well, your highness,» he wishes of the Asgardian royal. Then, with a rolling lope, there he goes off into the night, headed home with more ease given the lessening of foot traffic.