Summary:Ambrose shares tea and information about defeating the Void-creatures with Loki as well as shared enthusiasm for their future duel. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
Related LogsTheme SongNone |
  |
It had been some time since Ambrose's shadow had graced Cover Story's entrance, but lo and behold: there it is, sliding across the door even before he reaches for the handle. There's no avoiding the bell and, as usual, the Jackal with moonsilvered hair grimaces to hear its tattle-tale jingling. He's in a light-weight field jacket in a beige shade, far lighter than his dark fatigue pants and worn combat boots; beneath the coat, a merlot-red turtleneck, warm against the grey chill of today's spring weather.
His pupils still hold the coal-glow of the Bane within them as they scan the immediate vista within the bookstore. Clearing his throat, he lingers by the front counter with gloved hands in his pockets.
"Prince Loki?" His voice sounds…a little stronger today, more crisp, if still hollow beneath. Recovery from his soul-wound has been steady if slow.
Loki is actually in process of completing a sale, a well dressed man with an obvious bodyguard signing a credit slip as he takes possession of a rare book sealed in plastic. "Thank you, Mister Laufeyson, a pleasure as always." The distinguished gentleman is given pause by the new arrival, but…this is New York, glowing eyes aren't /that/ uncommon a thing.
The guard is less sanguine, eyeing the new arrival.
Loki looks over and for a brief moment /Ambrose/ might see a flare of red behind the prince's eyes, which is a tad off-putting, before the Liesmith smiles. "Ah, Lieutenant Atherton, good to see you. Just a moment, if you'd like, have a seat, there's tea steeping and cookies." Of course there are.
"Thank you, Mister Laufeyson." Unfailingly polite (as a front to cover that he TOTALLY just referred to the bookstore owner as some member of foreign royalty), Ambrose names to the man as such. He dares what could be a vaguely challenging if faint smile in the direction of the bodyguard, but then drifts to one side to circumvent the front desk and its occupants as an unspoken intent to not cause any trouble for the man.
It brings him around a display and he pauses, back to the front counter, to frown down at it. Had that been a trick of the light in the Prince's eyes…? The Bane is touched upon and the curse sniffs the wind, uncertain just yet about what its host is concerned about.
"Alright," murmurs the Jackal to himself (and his curse) before he continues on towards the sitting area. Inhaling as he pauses by a chair, hands on its back, he sighs out appreciatively. The steeping tea does smell delightfully soothing.
Well, Loki /is/ a prince, and he's using his own name, so…it probably isn't a big slip up, the man didn't seem too upset either way. "Of course, Lieutenant." He turns a twenty-gigawatt smile on the gentleman completing his purchase. "As always, an honor, Sheik. I hope you enjoy your copy of One Thousand and One Nights." The man pats it with care, eyes bright. "I am astonished you had such a fine copy, worth /every/ penny." A glance over his shoulder to the guard. "Claude, come." And starts out the door without once glancing again at Ambrose. If Loki isn't worried, he won't be either it seems.
Loki follows them to the door, then closes for the night. "Well, that would pay the rent for some time…if I paid rent."
He moves to join Ambrose. "Good evening Lieutenant, sounds like you're feeling better." The tea is a simple, true, honest Earl Grey, and the cookies the humble shortbread. But…is ANYthing Sigyn bakes likely to be 'humble'?
Awaiting his host by the chair, Ambrose continues to leave his hands rested on the back of the sitting chair as he watches the…Sheik, was it? — fascinating — leave the store with his purchase. The kid-skin gloves are soft and supple as he idly ripples his fingers from one pinkie across the span of digits to the other, a run up invisible piano keys.
"I should hope so. I remain a mere pall of my usual state, but…it is no surprise now to me," replies the man to Loki. Only now does he decide to seat himself and with a near-silent sigh of relief. Whew: it was still a task making his way here, subway notwithstanding. He gladly takes a cup of Earl Grey and sips at it, mien relaxing.
Loki settles into his own seat once he joins Ambrose, and nods. "You lost a great deal, Lieutenant." Loki needs a moment to control some darkling urge, masking the effort with the seeming ease of millennia of practice as he doctors his tea. Apparently he's in the mood for some cream and a bit of honey.
"So, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?" Eyes of green are their normal hue, perhaps it was a trick of the light. He /seems/ normal enough.
Again, the master-thief notes some faintest element of different behavior in Loki and pauses in lifting his tea cup to his lips. Still, he makes no comment of it as the Mage appears to continue on without further showcasing of any odd behavior. Only after Loki asks his question does Ambrose speak.
"I claim reasoning in my visit through there still more to be done of these…creatures from beyond. I recently spoke with a being called the Finder and she was able to tell me of a recipe from what appears to be one of the earlier dynasties of Egyptian rule. It contained scarabs and Lady Astryd mentioned there might be a few of these insects at the Embassy…?" He meets those green eyes with the low ruddy light of the Bane still in the back of his pupils.
Mm…he does generally take his teas straight, but…cream and a bit of sweet are pretty common for Brits, and there's little as archetypical of the UK as Earl Grey!
"Scarabs? Yes, I do believe there might be some. I surely haven't any here, but even if they are not present in the embassy I'm sure we could manage to gather some at need." He looks interested, attention fully engaged. "So what are they to be used for? Some sort of banishment? An attack of some sort?" A hint of wry. "Snacks?"
Ambrose huffs a laugh at the idea of eating one of the ancient insects. "A snack, no, not that I am aware of, though…fairly, the script on the page I currently possess is a recipe. Rather, it is presumed to offer a form of protection against the efforts of the Void-beings. The Finder mentioned to us that this is not the first time humanity has dealt with incursions from beyond."
This revelation apparently requires a sip of his own tea. He frowns before reaching for the small cream pitcher to add a dollop to his steeping. Now it is appropriate by the quiet hum he makes after another sip, tongue slipping to swipe his upper lip.
"I wonder if it will produce a salve, a tincture or a potion. Most interesting." Loki looks to the Master Thief as he adds cream to his tea, and then smiles again. "I should like very much to see the recipe, if you have time and are so inclined to share it." He admits, but…Loki loves him all forms of magic, and then some. One more thing to make him the least Jotun Jotun what ever Jotuned. Along with that whole 'fire god' thing, so very common for a frost giant! Even a runt.
"You've mentioned this Finder person before, as I recall. Reliable, yes?"
"Of course. Next I visit, I shall bring the page along for you to read over. No doubt you might have thoughts on the recipe itself or its ingredients," says the master-thief with subtle charm in his undertone as he recognizes the Trickster God for his mastery in magic, something Ambrose has never once managed.
He nods and continues: "I believe her to be reliable, yes. What she asks in return for something found has been fair if…risky in my experience — but what boon is truly a boon without some effort to garner it?" His shoulders shrug and he smiles with enough force to showcase dimples, his youthful looks still present despite the silvery hair.
"Excellent!" And that delight in magic shines through…as well as helps the Prince of Lies suppress the desire from the brand to do some fairly -lingering- things to the injured Bane. For now. Darned extradimensional horrors from beyond space and time, so inconsiderate with their alien machinations!
"Perhaps you might introduce us some time, I don't mind paying fair value for value received." Loki is not and never has been even a hint of a suggestion of a ghost of cheap. Well, not in a long time, anyway. Sure, he enjoys to haggle - that's FUN, he doesn't generally care too much about 'winnning', it is the game, the contest, that matters.
Ambrose nods, now leaning into the comfortable plush backing of the reading chair in a rare show of true trusting relaxation before the Trickster God. Whether or not this proves to be wise will show one way or another; for now, the Bane remains low in the man's bones, kept close and quiet at risk of showing and potentially offending his host with unintended threat.
"Of course, your highness. The Finder, from what I can tell, comes and goes according to her whims, but she has ever been found along the boardwalks of the island and along the ocean. Most recently, I encountered her in the tackle shop…named the Master Baiter." For all Ambrose shares this as if it were just another title, his ears faintly pink. Oh, Victorian prudery still affronted by such outward innuendo.
Loki ponders the comfort and ease the Master Thief shows. It is funny, really, how few people would be able to do the same while knowing that it is the Liesmith in the seat opposite them and having some small inkling of what that means. This while remembering Loki's considerable ire when Lena was accursed by the righteous anger of the God of Trickery…well, the Norse God of Trickery, there's others.
That's a significant, albeit unconscious gesture on Ambrose's part and one that serves him well as Loki uses that feeling to help keep the hunger for Ambrose's power in check. Contract and genuine liking are powerful aids to Loki's not unsubstantial reserves of willpower.
Loki laughs with delight. "Oh, that's a splendidly suggestive and lewd name." So…his humor can be a tad sophmoric, Loki then winks. "Still, no substitute for the real thing, mm, Lieutenant?"
Dimples show again as the Trickster God laughs. It does take years from Ambrose's face insinuated by the hair color — that, and it brings more humanity back to those eerie Bane-glowing pupils. Then comes the wink and the retort and more pink suffuses both ears and now his cheeks to some extent, even despite the immortal state of golden tanning he holds from his long-lost youth in the desert regions.
"I…yes, there is no substitute in comparison to the tedium of fibercast rods and line tess," replies the absolute SNOB of a Brit. Fishing to him? Booooooring. He still flicks his brows and sips at his tea, visibly attempting not to find amusement in the whole twist of conversation because manners.
Loki flutter-flutter-fluters his lashes. "Oh, I /love/ nice firm rods, and good lines. Of course the more modern rods do seem to have a lot more…flexibility than was common in days bygone." Loki's grin is SINnocence itself as he sips his tea, affecting (badly) such virtuous purity. Clearly intentionally…Loki is *nothing* if not a consummate actor, after all.
He takes a cookie then, eating with obvious relish, though not at all lewdly.
"Forgive me, Lieutenant, I always seem to tweak at you, I apologize if it makes you uncomfortable." A smile then. "I look forward to our duel, I hope we can finish this other business soon, and get you back to snuff so the contest will a true measure of our respective skills and abilities."
Admittedly, Ambrose does manage to swallow his bite of shortbread cookie, but it is with some effort for the continued vein of conversation. He manages a laugh, at least, behind the hand holding the cookie with a crescent shape for the nibbling.
"I am not offended. I…am aware of my upbringing and how it lingers in my own behaviors," he allows, still smirking rather wryly to himself. "Though yes, I do look forward to the duel as well." Despite the lingering malaise of his soul-wound, one can see the prideful lift of the Jackal's chin. "I suspect you will find yourself properly surprised at what I can accomplish given I have quite a pair…of daggers," he adds almost impishly.
"We are all of us the product of our upbringing, of course." Which comment, though true, is a bit scary considering Laufey's Son's origins. Eyes of glacier-heart green regard the Bane, and then he laughs at the sally. "oh, braVO, Lieutenant. Brass are they?" That pair.
Ambrose nods, his expression theatrically solemn.
"Of balanced weight and grand quality as well," he opines, then smiling into his tea cup. A big swallow of tea and he sighs, more serious now. "But yes, the duel will be a thing to remember. Tell me of how you were taught?"
Surely the Jackal's curiosity earns him an idea or two, but not too many — both are far too canny to reveal too many secrets before they come blade-to-blade. Indeed, this will be a thing to remember. For now, tea and cookies and surprisingly easy conversation.