Summary:Ambrose briefly speaks with Loki about Bilgesnipes and Lena meets the Trickster God over tea. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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The presence of the Bilgesnipe made the social media rounds — "ALIEN CREATURES SPOTTED IN NEW YORK AGAIN" and "SANTA'S REINDEER INFECTED WITH HULK BLOOD?!" — but thankfully, no one was injured in the process of removing it from Central Park. Still, despite surviving it cleanly (and contributing little to the process but commentary and a spate of golf-clapping), Ambrose finds himself curious as to precisely WHAT that creature was.
Knowing of the Midgardian home of the Trickster God who had been present during the event, he makes his way there in fully-human guise. Black fatigue-pants are tucked into combat boots and a brown field jacket overtop a wine-red turtleneck means the Jackal looks perfectly mundane. The wrap of his black tassled scarf, old and much loved, keeps the wind from flirting with his neck further. Ignore the drag of lethe left in his wake as the Bane nibbles bits and pieces of life-force from pedestrians.
His entrance to the shop means the bell rings and announces him. There's a shadow of discontent across his face — he does so prefer to be stealthy, but he accepts his fate nonetheless. Curiosity leads him over to a glass cabinet containing a good number of old tomes. His ghostly face, five-o-clock shadow and all, brown hair tamed, looks back at him. He whistles softly to himself upon hazarding recognition of one of them.
"And wouldn't you be a pretty piece on my own shelf," the master-thief muses, suckling at one canine tooth thoughtfully. It seems he's actually letting himself muse over stealing from this shop OF ALL PLACES. But it's only musing in the end, given how his gloved hands remain in the pockets of his coat.
Shortly after the bell on the door announces there's a customer Loki emerges from the back of the shop. The Trickster is dressed in mortal attire, a black shirt, black tie, black pants and black shoes. Black black black, almost bleak but he makes it look good.
Having also sensed the magic on the new arrival, he is a bit wary until he sees up close. "Well well well, hello again, Ambrose." Loki greets the man. He can almost feel the itchy fingers, and really, stealing from Loki? Not the best way to ensure long life and prosperity, unless it amuses him of course. Still, the smirk offered is friendly enough. "Tea? Or something stronger?" Loki saunters over, and looks at what has caught the other man's eye. "Oh, yes. Very rare, I only have two copies." And being a cruel person. "Care to see it closer?"
Lena Snart slips in through the door just a breath behind Ambrose. Not one to linger, as he eyes the delicious things to steal from the building, Lena circles about the collections and shelves of her own accord. Rolling her shoulders, bundled in her own variety of black, the gothic looking woman with pale skin comes to a stop once Loki comes into view. She blinks, frost-hued eyes taking in the man's attire and stance for but a moment until the girl relaxes and sets her sights on Ambrose instead. With the chill rolling off the pitch dressed girl, one would think Loki may be meeting some distant relative.
Ambrose straightens from his minute lean-in towards the specific bookcase in question upon being addressed. He looks over towards Loki and schools the momentary startlement out of his features, bringing them to pleasantly neutral.
"Good afternoon, my lord." Apparently, that's how he's decided the Trickster God is to be addressed. Old Victorian courtly manners do die a slow, slow death despite the century and a half of life. He's still musing over the offer of tea verses potentially another drink when the offer comes to touch the book itself. Ambrose laughs quietly to himself. "Oh, no, but thank you. I was merely…window-shopping," he decides, his voice low and polite. "I shall…"
Movement in his peripheral brings him to glance over. It's young miss Lena. His lifting eyebrows betray him in both recognition and that she surprised him, having slipped in behind him.
"…take tea," he finishes with a smile pasted on his features as if he'd never paused in speech. It showcases those damnable dimples as he glances back at Loki.
As if he'd fool such a long-lived being.
A little surprised by the second arrival, and her cold demeanor, though…that blink and study, yeah, not so cold as she pretends. Regardless, Loki smirks a welcome to her as she starts perusing the shop, there's SO many little treats about! Some very valuable antiques, most behind glass, though not all by any means. Of course the woman likely has no idea who Loki /is/. But…maybe she does, either way, she's pretty enough to draw the eye of the Liesmith.
Turning his glance back to Ambrose, Loki grins, after all he remembers the Victorian era, and far before. "Well, technically I'm a prince, but you may call me Loki, if you wish."
And then a soft purr to his voice as he opens the case, taking out an absolutely pristine Birds of North America.
There's not a lot of those in this good of shape anymore, pretty pricey book - a compilation of letters sent by James Audobon in 1820 to various subscribers as singles.
My lord? Loki? Prince? Right…The name alone causes the girl's eyes to roll before she glances to Ambrose once more and ducks between a few more shelving units. They clearly had something to talk about and she seems more than pleased to simply listen in, if at all. Her gaze skips about all those pretty things on display, lingering here and there on trinkets that seem to be plated, or at least dusted, with gold.
Admittedly, Ambrose is very torn between keeping half an eye on the errant young thief and admiring the book now outside of its casing within reach. Again, his tongue slips to curl over his canine tooth behind his teeth as he looks it over, quickly appraising its state and calculating its cost.
It's…not a paltry sum.
The master-thief's palms itch in his gloves and he very firmly keeps them in the pockets of his coat. "I suppose…Loki it shall be, given you know of my first name as well." A little laugh escapes him, airy in counter to his internal twinge. Damnit: Names have power.
"And…Miss Cold, if you could remain within line of sight, it would be best," he says, pitching his voice to carry into the darker depths of the store. "You do not know what you might find here." A very, very subtle warning laces his tone.
Oh, Loki is well and truly acquainted with thieves, being one himself. He is likely well able to recognize a more than casual perusal of his shop, and that he might be a 'victim' of theft? That's amusing as hell for the Trickster. He keeps an eye on the girl as well, of course. Still, he's holding up about ten to twelve, MILLION, dollars of book with great care.
That might also send up some warning flags for Lena, there didn't /appear/ to be any super special security on the case it was in, so either this guy is a fool or else he's more than he seems.
Of course it is absurd to think he might actually be Loki. Definitely crazy talk.
Loki nods to Ambrose. "Well, it isn't like we've not met before, mm? I thought we had at least an amicable relationship and history, tell me, how are your mate and daughter?"
It is NOT said in a threatful tone, he's genuinely curious.
A smile to Lena. "Miss Cold? Would you care for some tea, then?"
Hearing the off warning, Lena gives pause and looks back toward the two men. Quirking a fine brow, she shrugs and makes her way closer to them instead. Names were said, a book was on display, and tea was offered. Fun. Coming to stand next to Ambrose, just enough to make that creature within his body itch and paw, she gives Loki the once over for a second time (second over?). "Sure." She finally states with a heavy helping of apathy. "Might consider that book while we're at it." A pause, "And those old gold ice skates on the wall."
"Ah, they are…my mate and daughter are both doing well, thank you. I shall let them know you asked after them," Ambrose replies to the Trickster God, his smile remaining on his lips even if it has shrunk in intensity. "Indeed, I assume we are in good standing yet, you and I." Now he tries for more dimples and succeeds to an extent.
Turning slightly in place once Lena arrives next to him (and god, doesn't the Bane surge to the surface of his skin with draconian interest in the young woman's life-force, having supped of it before), he simply inhales and exhales restfully. With the reins gathered up to bring the Bane to check (it screels unhappily at being denied, ancient and loathsome force that it is), Ambrose adds on the tail end of Lena's response,
"She, of course, intends to pay for not only the book, but the ice skates in question. The tea was freely offered." Lena gets a significant side-squint.
The warning passed to the girl and her at least seeming to heed it almost draws a pout from Loki, he does so enjoy messing with people, especially people that do him wrong. Overdeveloped sense of revenge? Perhaps a tad. Okay, yes. A lot.
Eyes of green almost glow when she mentions the book AND the skates. "Really? You're a woman with expensive tastes." He says with a bright laughter lurking in undertone. He offers her the absolutely precious book to peruse if she so wishes.
After all he has one more in his collection.
To Ambrose. "Of course we are, I actually rather like you, Ambrose. I hope I haven't given any other impression…" A narrowing of his green eyes. "…or is there something I should be concerned about?" The tone is still friendly, but the expression hints that that could change. And yes, the Liesmith is listening VERY carefully for any falsehoods now.
A soft laugh at the clarification from Ambrose. "Oh, naturally." He puts the book away again, and Ambrose might feel the magic of the wards flare briefly as he closes it, and then Loki goes to fetch tea, leaving TWO super thieves alone in his shop.
Lena Snart accepts the book, gives it a sniff and gently brushes gloved fingers across its pages. She turns, and turns, delicate and careful, even something looking Ambrose's way in some dare to take it from her. "Perhaps," she answers Loki regarding her taste. "Sometimes you just have to get what you know someone you care about would adore." Offering it back, she pulls her touch away and lingers. Then, Loki slips away.
"Christ. You don't usually go full yellow in front of others like that." She chides, glaring at Ambrose side long before moving to wander around once more.
Erring on the side of caution, especially when under the regard of those jade-green eyes, Ambrose replies delicately, "I have a deeply abiding respect for you, Loki."
He watches the book be placed back into safekeeping and the shopkeeper disappear into the backroom to fetch the proffered tea of earlier. Once he's more certain they have a moment of relative privacy, Lena gets a look nailed between her shoulderblades brightly-carmine in a flaring of temper from the Jackal.
"You have NO idea whose abode you just stepped into, Miss Lena!" His consonants hiss as an angry mongoose might; Rikki-Tikki-Tavi, ahoy! "Did you not listen?! That is Loki, the Trickster God! The God of Lies! You do not — " Catching himself, Ambrose cycles through another round of breathing before he swipes a palm down his mouth. "Be mindful of yourself, I beg you."
"So, he's lying about how precious these things are? They're nothing but tricks put here to swindle others?" She questions, eyeing Ambrose down even as his protective rage kicks in more than a little. "I can respect that. Honestly, I only came in here because I saw you walk in. You were doing a different step than your normal swagger. I've seen it before, you're worried about something." A glance back at the skates, she sighs. "Pitty. Sis would have loved those…not worth buying, sure as hell not worth stealing."
Loki returns with a tea service, also antique, fine white porcelain and the cups of course have gold trim. After all, the girl has a fondness for gold it would seem. He moves to the main counter, and pours. "How would you like it, Miss Cold, Ambrose?" The tea is a hearty black tea, a jasmine it would seem. Loki pours his own and clearly takes it black.
Once the guests have stated their preferences he smiles and pours and preps for them as well.
"You do have a good eye, Miss Cold. The skates you singled out belonged to Anne of Austria." You know, the Hapsburg lady from the 17th century? Yeah, that one. "She was actually rather fond of ice skating, little known fact." Now, by his tone Lena might suspect he /knew/ the woman, that's the sort of familiarity, Ambrose or his beast inside would be pretty sure of it.
"They're of little value however, a pittance compared to the book, as I have no means to prove their authenticity. Just their age, and such."
While Loki is in the back, Ambrose continues to bicker. "I am not — !!!"
Again, the Jackal checks himself and pulls his composure back together again. Easily enough done, this, given he lives with a man whose unspoken day job is to rattle the snarky master-thief right back. More calmly, he continues, "I am not worried. I am pragmatic. And your sister has more pragmatic skates in turn, I am sure, given her standing." The slip of knowledge about Lena's sister comes bourne on his brief fritzing of temper.
Oops.
Loki's return has him assuming the poise and mask of polite neutrality again. He even moves to the counter at the redolent scent of the jasmine tea — it makes his innards quiver; such memories are indelibly attached to the flower's scent, from perfumes worn by lost lovers as well as assassins. "Black, please," he manages nonetheless, swallowing through a dry throat. He listens silently to the history of the skates, sipping at the steaming brew, and the Bane seems to metaphysically consider the nearby Trickster God more carefully now. It might recognize a more ancient magic even than itself.
"The fuck do you mean 'her standing'?" She never spoke of her sister to the Jackal, at least not to her knowledge. Perhaps in 'sis' or 'sister', but never in regards to her standing in her specialized sport. Even as Loki stands there, pouring tea and commenting on gold and skates, Lena's icy gaze is locked on Ambrose and her expression is anything but pleased.
Feeling the gaze of the Bane, Loki returns its regard on the same plane, it wouldn't be very obvious to anyone without magic - but Ambrose would surely be acutely aware of it, and Lena might well spot a golden sheen to Loki's eye a moment. "Black it is." He pours the man's tea, and then looks to Lena, apparently oblivious to the glaring going on. After all, it isn't HE that's on the receiving end of it.
"And how would you like yours, Miss Cold?" His manners are impeccable, he's the consummate host it would seem. Tonight at least, who knows what the morrow may hold?
Poor Lena. Ambrose just…doesn't respond to her spoken question or to the glower drilled into the side of his head. He's fully aware of his slip — denial is, in fact, something other than a river in Africa.
He's also critically aware of the Asgardian mage's attention in passing. It brings the Jackal to become incredibly still, as if he might disappear by dint of lack of motion alone, and the Bane simply curls indolently in its host's blood. While Loki goes on to prep Lena's cup of tea, the master-thief sips at his own tea once…and then deeply, taking its volume easily down by half in one fell swoop. His tongue is now burnt: oh well! A tendriling of Bane-bourne and -borrowed life-force will heal it over just fine later.
Clearing his throat, he then speaks. "Loki. I came in to ask you as to what creature that was in the Park yesterday. I have manuals of my own to peruse, but would prefer to know if it has a name in your Asgard."
Lena Snart lifts her hand, declining the tea all together. "No thank you, God of Lies." She murmurs, lowering her hand before stuffing it into her pocket. Pulling way from the pair, the youth heads for the door. Thankfully, even in her rage, she doesn't slam it with her exit.
"Well, it seems your young lady friend had a bee in her bonnet." Loki observes while watching her depart. "Cute, but very angry it seems." A smirk then. "Not that you're lacking in cute."
Loki sets the teapot down to sample his own. "That creature? Oh, it was a 'bilgesnipe', this particular one native to Asgard. Foul brutes, but with proper preparation the meat can actually be tasty. Do /not/ eat them without that prep, however, they're rather toxic."
He rises then, moving to an obscure corner of the room, taking out a book from a case very well hidden by shadows, he returns and offers it. "Do you read ancient Norse?" He asks with a smile. "I loan you this book as a gift between if not friends, at least people who are friendly with each other."
Ambrose will never admit aloud how glad he is that the shop door isn't slammed shut. He rubs at one temple even as he sets his half-finished tea upon the counter's top, regard downcast at least until his vision closes off.
He does allow himself a quiet little snort of a wry laugh. "Thank you, Loki, you are too kind," he murmurs as to the compliment before he looks up at what the shopkeeper is doing. When the book is proffered to him, he gives Loki a disbelieving look.
"I…do not read ancient Norse, no, but I know someone who would be an apt translator," he explains. Respectfully, he then takes the book into his gloved hands. "I shall return the tome as soon as I have my answers, cross my black little heart." Kid-skin leather makes no sound as he even goes about drawing an X over his sternum, criss-cross.
"Thank you, Loki, for your gracious hosting and your time as well as your loan-gift." There's even a slight bow, though Ambrose never drops the Trickster's eyes. "If you'll excuse me, I have…something I need to go clarify." Such a sigh put-upon to follow. With that, he then excuses himself from the shop with the intent to speak to Lena…at least, after the book is safely stowed away at his house.