Summary:Ambrose goes to the Liesmith seeking a vision of what was stolen by his former friend, Oliver. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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NOTE: This log occurs before Threads of Fate
Sure, the wise thing to do was stay inside so soon after the incident.
The wise thing was to sit with tea and rest, to feed the curse when other members of the family offered, and remain behind the safety of Talbot Manor's wrought-iron fencing and seditious wardings accented by the Phurba's snarly presence.
But wisdom and pluck never combine well — or if so, they rarely do.
Which brings the front bell of Cover Story to ring. A light drizzle falling means that Ambrose only brings his dark long-coat's hood down now, once inside and out of the damp cold. He appears…really rather ragged and irritated, the latter at a good number of things — but being rain-bogged never helps.
"Lord Loki…?" he calls into the shop, his voice still in the volumes of the weary. The Bane glows balefully on within his pupils and despite youthful appearances, his hair remains the moonsilver-white.
Once Ambrose calls out, Loki steps out from the back room and offers a friendly smile. "Hello Master Atherton, you look…better." Which…considering he was almost dead the last time they spoke, is actually true, but the tone says 'are you okay' as well. "Would you care for some tea?" He asks, well aware the Master Thief can seldom resist such. Both for fondness and for the courtesy factor. So keen on manners.
A faint frown then. "Or do you need to eat?" If so he's perfectly happy to find a child molestor or rapist or the like to feed to him, isn't Loki thoughtful?
A faint smile shows for the faint frown. As he scuffs the wet bottoms of his boots on the entryway mat, Ambrose replies quietly,
"I supped on the ride in. The subway is a convenient source of life at all times and I have long become used to riding in the sardine cans. The curse takes a little from all rather than the bulk from one," he explains, looking up at Loki again. The shadows under his eerie eyes don't appear as deep, which makes the Trickster's earlier statement true: Ambrose does, to an extent, look better.
Healed? Not in the least. Walking wounded indeed.
"However, I would appreciate tea, yes. Have you something bold and dark? Spices, I think, something that would mix well with cream." He hazards a few steps closer, but not overly much. Respect holds sway yet. "I appreciate your generosity, my host." Slowly but faithfully, he places a fist to his chest and bows in courtly manners long since left to the time of Queen Victoria.
"Ah, a combination of take out, delivery and public service all at once, how very civic minded and efficient of you, Lieutenant." Pale green eyes are bright with amusement, which in Loki's case is always a very fine thing. The Liesmith /does/ see improvement, but not enough, not nearly enough.
And Loki's not healer enough to mend that wounded state. Sigyn might not be either, not even in their home where her power is greatly amplified.
"Of course, actually, I am going to be closing up tonight, join me upstairs, we'll see what might strike our fancy."
"Thank you, Lord Loki, I shall join you."
Ambrose does follow the Trickster God upstairs after he finishes his closing duties — the Jackal stood off to one side, balance heavily leaned on the front counter as subtly as he could manage — and as they move up the stairs, he replies to the earlier sentiments about subway snacking. "Do know the curse prefers efficiency to humanitarian efforts. It is my own discovery that keeps the body count in the single digits if at all. It has been some number of decades since I accidentally killed while feeding…for what this information might be worth." He's not nearly as quick up the stairs as he usually is, but British gumption begs to pull up bootstraps and arrive upstairs without complaint.
Loki inclines his head, quite regally thank you, to accept both Ambrose's courtesy, and his acceptance of tea upstairs. Manners, they just demand reciprocation! Either Loki didn't see, or doesn't acknowledge the leaning, though the pace he sets up the spiral stairs to the living area is a bit more sedate than he'd set in prior visits. The backroom is still a tease - so many precious things, all seemingly unguarded and left in almost haphazard disarray. Even the Bane would know better, of course, but — oh, SO tempting.
Once upstairs, Loki will take Ambrose's coat if he permits, and even goes so far as invoke a bit of his Fire aspect to help with any damp, or chill. "Bold you said, and dark - on hand I have a Ceylon that's a bit milder than the other two, an Assam and the strongest of all, but also sweet, a lovely Yunnan." He motions for Ambrose to have a seat in the living room. "Oh, would you rather something sweet, as in cookies, or something salty?" Caviar in this case.
Shrugging out of the damp coat is something Ambrose is happy to do — that, and visibly relax rather than begin to shiver when the Fire aspect comes into play. He wears a fitted silver-blue thermal long-sleeve and black fatigue-pants upon revelation sans coat. Rubbing at the bicep of one arm seems to be an unthinking hearkening to his previously-chilled state.
"Yunnan, please, and perhaps salty, to counter its sweetness. Why not enjoy both, no?" Loki gets an attempt at the Jackal's usual smile in his direction, those dimples still showing. The man then presumes to move to the kitchen table and seat himself with a sigh.
"If I may, I did arrive with the assumption that we might begin to make headway upon locating this lost…essence of mine." He looks levelly towards the Mage. "I suspect it may be used towards nefarious deeds and, more frankly, I wish it back."
He hits those last four words with British diction so cut-glass that each consonant sounds like a pebble on a tin roof.
The formerly damp coat, remember. Loki's fires do so very much help with the chill, and it is so trivial a thing for the deity that it takes almost no effort at all, merely a wish. "Excellent choices, Lieutenant." Loki says with approval, when he returns he's got a pot of tea steeping, and a tray of crackers and Beluga caviar all setup.
"Here we go, tea just needs to steep a bit." And then he listens to the request, and nods. "Yes, I can imagine you do, and yes…I think we can proceed, however, there's small caveat…in order to seek your lost lifeforce I needs must either use you as a conduit for the scrying, which might be dangerous, or else I shall need a sample of your remaining life force to work with." Which would be unpleasant. "The Latter more effective than the former, but either should suffice."
Ambrose can be seen to swallow. His eyes drop from the Trickster's face and to the bowl of caviar, its surface black and gleaming. His mouth moves in an aborted thought before he clears his throat and then glances up again. The Bane's balefire in the back of his pupils does vaguely try to echo the Prince's heartbeat in pulsing of the glow, given it has sampled of the Asgardian's life-force, but just as quickly, the illusion never was. The glow stills.
"I am no good conduit, I think, so it may have to be a sample. I ask that…I ask that it be returned to me, if this can be accomplished. I…may also require some assistance in…remaining calm for the duration of this scrying." Stiffening his spine further, he continues. "I have briefly seen what the enemy calls home. I do not wish the curse to strike out defensively should my control slip."
As in, if he has a bloody panic attack because of the trauma so recent.
Loki's eyes narrow infinitesimally when the Bane tries to heartbind him, but then Ambrose staves off the Magus of Asgard's ire by controlling it, damping it down. A faint nod of approval, and then Loki checks the tea, deciding it has steeped enow an pours for them both, guest served first. The tea is of the highest quality, brewing to a richly golden-orange, smelling sweet but very potent all the same.
"Mm." He nods. "Then a sample will be required, and it will be returned as best I can. Not knowing where the trace will lead it is possible that it might be consumed, if so, I can think of a source to replace it or three. Will that suffice then?"
A cracker is spread with the dark Beluga, and Loki savors it, and then the tea, taken plain.
Ambrose appears to be weighing options as he doctors his own tea with a dollop of cream. He knows not to add surgar or honey or else spoil the natural sweetness of the warmly-golden steeping. His tea goes lighter and opaque, but to his liking by how he sips and doesn't fuss with it further. The cream tempers the heat as well, so he takes a far larger mouthful. Relaxation takes a modicum of the weary stress from the lines of his body.
Loki knows well the succor a nice cuppa provides the master-thief.
"It will suffice," the Jackal finally replies on a breath. Again, he stiffens his spine and sits all the taller in the kitchen chair in defiance to the fatigue. "Thank you, your highness." This, a sure addition even as he reaches to gather and then appreciate his own cracker and caviar. By the faint smile on his lips as he chews, there are fond memories attached to the food.
Loki likes his just as is, today. Sometimes he doesn't. Mercurial god of mischief and chaos is mercurial! Surprise! He definitely enjoys the contrast of salty-cool, and sweet-hot. There is no question that a nice cuppa is a panacea for the nerves as few things are, Loki shares that. Of course he's equally happy drinking whiskey from a bottle or doing jello shots off a guy, or a girl with equal aplomb and equal enjoyment.
Loki really /is/ non-binary, in fact he's a try-sexual, he'll try (and probably has!) just about anything.
"Very good, then whilst you enjoy your tea there are some implements I'll need, excuse me, please, enjoy. I'll be but a few moments."
Ambrose nods, his eyes following Loki as he rises. "Of course, your highness, thank you," he murmurs. Hesitating to gather up another cracker, he still reneges in the end and swirls the caviar liberally on it before putting the whole thing in his mouth. A soft sound of delight slips through his sigh. Leaning back in the kitchen chair, he heavily lids his eyes and sips at his tea. It cleanses his palate while he awaits the Prince's return with the fine hairs on the back of his neck rising.
The Bane too rises to beneath his skin like a great white from the darkness of the deep, but he soothes it to quiet again with long-practice drilled relentlessly by Kent himself.
Loki really isn't gone very long, he actually had all the materials on hand for once so when he returns Ambrose and the Bane (Pinky & the Brain?) will see the supplies he brings. First, a large spherical crystal, about half again the size of a large softball. Second, a smaller crystal polished, and teardrop shaped. The second crystal is heavily graven with runes of alien design, definitely no Earthly tongue. And that's it. All he needs. The larger crystal is set on a stand, and the smaller set beside it.
A smile, then Loki returns to his tea and caviar until Ambrose indicates his readiness.
His guest pauses with tea cup at his lips when he sees the items at hand. Invariably, his brows meet in curiosity as he watches the spherical crystal and then the teardrop-shaped crystal be set upon the nearby surface. His gaze returns to Loki seated, lambent yet.
A swallow. "I…I am…ready to continue once I know how this process is to work, your highness," Ambrose volunteers as he sets the tea cup down. It would have given away the fine trembling in his hands; these disappear beyond sight into his lap to wring once before interlacing in control.
Finishing his held cracker, and his cuppa, Loki dabs at his lips with a fine linen napkin, and then nods as he sets it aside. "Very good, Lieutenant." He spends a moment just pondering how to explain, and then picks up the runed crystal. "This is something I made some time ago…the original was a creation of the lios alfar, the 'light elves', meant as a prison for certain types of spiritual beings. Non physical creatures in particular. My modified version is simply a reservoir that can be filled with energy, and depending on the invocation it holds different type. So…you'll need to manifest the Bane, and feed life energy into the stone until it burns red. Once ready I will place it under the crystal ball, and release the energy into the sphere while weaving my divination spell. Simple, really. You /could/ release the energy instead of storing but that has problems in potential I'd rather eliminate." Like the Bane getting snarky.
"Questions?"
"Um."
A quaint little sound quickly rounded up behind thinned lips. Ambrose continues measuring the crystals. "I…suspect the curse will not wish to spare what smaller portion it is able to hoard." His lips then pull to one side, frown downcast into his tea rather than at Loki himself. "It will require soothing which I am able to do, of course, but if I slip, it will strike." A soft, regretful laugh leaves him on a breath as he looks up. "Unless you managed to slip a soporific into the tea, I fully admit that my hand will need steadying. I am wounded, your highness. Any reaction would be nearly unhelped on my part."
There is apology in his words, just in case.
Slowly smiles. "Try to charm me, Ambrose." Glacier green eyes are intense, and should he comply the mesmer Loki invokes his power, his mind extending, soothing, as he softly speaks. "Be calm, Master Thief, let slip the pain, relax…remember your lover's embrace, breathe deeply of the rich aromas of Yunaan tea, of the beluga, feel your heart beating, feel mine, hear my words…focus on the sound of my voice…and let go your worries, your fears, your doubts…all will be well, Ambrose Atherton…"
Deftly, the Magus uses little but his words and mastery of hypnotism to place Ambrose and the Bane deep into a trance, assuming of course Ambrose works with him. Only then does Loki use the stone to take a small sample of their life force, the very least he can.
"…yes, your highness," murmurs the Jackal, a touch taken aback by the request. He tilts his head and squints briefly before he clears his throat, adjusting in his seat. Then, meeting those bright eyes which send a trembling down into his gut and set the Bane to hissing beneath his skin, he relaxes into the curse's insistence wishing to beguile Loki for his bright life-force.
For the short span of time, the curse succeeds: the Trickster God's heartbeat mirrors in glowing pulse, at least until Loki begins speaking. His words sound kind to Ambrose, gentle, soothing. Reality starts to melt around him like a watercolor left to the rain until all that matters is floating in this worry-less warmth surrounding him.
The keen attention from the master-thief softens and fades until his expression is entirely slack, distant, as if caught in a reverie. The Bane itself is subdued as an upturned shark itself, teeth and menace gone quieted in the face of its host sans nerves.
Life-force leaves him. The pain of it is muted under the mesmerism and a good thing. Without it, the Bane would have lashed and snarled in defense. Ambrose sits in the chair in utter detachment and beneath this in a low state of comprehension, grateful for the quiet imposed upon him.
"Wake, Ambrose…but wake feeling rested, refreshed, at peace. There is no pain, no loss, only peace. When I snap my fingers, you will *wake*." He does so, and then holds up the glowing red crystal as proof of success. Before he starts his divination, he activates a myriad of ward spells, and then places his hand above the crystal ball as he places the crystal beneath it.
Sonorously he chants in Jotun, a harsh sounding language - deeply guttural - that makes German sound mellifluous, even spritely by comparison. And then that crimson energy is released into the sphere as it glows first pale silver, and the burnishes to sanguine, the energy passes through it, and much emerges at the top, his hand deflecting it back to Ambrose, though barely half is returned.
Inside the crystal there is a sudden flare, and an image of where the other life force is…
But it is so nice to linger here, the gentleman-thief thinks at a far, far distance to himself, his own thoughts echoing like a drop of water in a cavernous room. Still, up Ambrose rises from the muzzy, relaxed state and more animation returns to his features until, with a short sniff, he seems to fully return to himself. Blinking in short-lived confusion, he centers upon the crystal pulsating with borrowed life-force.
It worked — and it wasn't uncomfortable. The Bane still does a once-over of its host, jealously concerned as to his state, and finds him only lacking but for the smallest bit of life-force. Ambrose fortifies himself and shuddering nerves with two-thirds of his tea in one fell swoop. He's silent as he watches Loki work, curiosity overcoming the dread of what will be found. When the portion of his life-force is returned, the Bane is soothed for it…inasmuch as a curse can be as such.
Within the crystal's flare is the void — a brief window in a place blacker than black, where light goes to die — defined by what it is not and what it lacks but for the stygian wills that somehow persist — how to find something in such a vast nothing?
Strung as tight as a bow-string with echoes of a previous horror-fest of a viewing, there's the sharp CRACKLE as Ambrose's grip on his teacup overcomes the container's build. Large shards fall to the table as do drops of blood as the Jackal stares at the crystal, his breathing rapidly increasing and the Bane beginning to flare in sympathetic concern.
"AMBROSE." Loki's voice is thick with command. "Remember the peace, remember the beating of your heart…" The words this time uttered with authority, not soothing but demanding he control himself. "It is enough." He whispers.
Loki breaks the spell, and then swiftly builds an image of the spot, burning it into teardrop crystal, the runes eradicated as the Magus sears the image of that other place into it instead.
"It is done." Exhaling, even fatigued, something that Loki rarely shows, the Odinson lets fade the spells, and then offers Ambrose a fine linen handkerchief to bind up his cut hand.
A moment later that teardrop stone is set on the table before the Master Thief.
Like the slap of a cold, wet washcloth to the face, Ambrose jerks his attention away from the imagery of that Place Between. It centers on Loki with his gleaming green attention and the master-thief shudders once in sympathy to adrenaline's kiss to his nerves.
Closing his eyes, he nods tightly and then opens them to look down at his hand. He can feel the pulse of his heart in the cuts on his palms and though the blood should probably bother him, it grounds him all the more in the present. Like a blanket thrown over a fire, the remembered peace helps all the more, until concern is merely wisps of smoke rather than a conflagration.
"Yes, it is done," he rasps before clearing his throat. British sangfroid is tapped and poise slowly floods back into his body. "Thank you, your highness," he breathes in sentiment from the depths of his person as he takes the handkerchief. It blots the worst of the crimson spattering on the broken demitasse and plate beneath it; the Bane is quick to close and wipe the scars on his palm when he focuses.
A glance from the teardrop stone to Loki is brimming with question. It gets voiced: "Am I to keep it?"
"You are to keep it." Loki confirms. "After all, your very soul made it, mine was the will, yours the template and binding force." A stone originally from Alfheim. "This can be used in two ways, but only once. You can with a skilled sorcerer or walker of the ways have it forge a path to the destination…this will be swift, direct…but it will also be as subtle as an avalanche, and very very noisy. The other option, and you can only use one or the other - is as a guide to same sorcerer or walker of the ways to find a path, this is much harder to detect, but will be slower as you walk the path to the destination." Loki nods then. "It is not a precise fix, but it should be precise enough, once you get near that which was lost you *should* be able to sense it yourself. It is the best I could do, I suspect there is some urgency."
A smile then. "So…rest, if you can, speak to my Son and His Raven, if you would forge onwards Loki offers his aid for the final journey and whatever lays at the end."