Summary:Ambrose braves a visit to Loki's bookstore to see if he can't rustle up more wisdom about the Finder's page about the invisibility ring. Are they friends? Is it possible? Only time will tell — and hopefully, nobody dies. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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Evening falls over the city with a blanket of cooling not necessarily chilly, but worthy of a warm coat. Ambrose arrives at the door of Cover Story in his long-coat with deep pockets and warm socks in his boots. Beneath this, a black thermal long-sleeve with navy-blue accents, close-fitting and one of the better inventions of the modern age according to its wearer. The front bell rings, he winces as he always does, but then makes sure to scuff off his boots after closing the door.
"Your highness?" Given it's after-hours, the master-thief feels it appropriate to use the title. Under his arm, a poster-tube containing a high-quality copy of the aged square of parchment listing a recipe involving scarabs, blood, and blessed water. Ambrose wanders in no farther than the front desk as is his usual habit and scans the interior in equally-habitual if mild wariness.
Surprisingly when Ambrose tries the door, he'd actually feel a tingle, and then it would *click* open. Temptation and a sign of trust both, that's pretty rare. Lena doesn't get that. Very VERY few do. The temptation is probably a very Loki thing to do to a Master Thief, and quite deliberate.
Regardless, warned by the wards and perhaps sensed by the Bane sigil, Loki comes down to the store front. He's dressed in a long tunic, and trews, very comfortable looking clothing from the late middle ages in green and black. "Hello Lieutenant." Greets the Magus of Asgard. "May I offer you some tea? I have a nice Rooibos I was thinking of…and my lovely wife has made a thing we just discovered, they are called 'snickerdoodles', ludicrous name, but they smell divine."
Very carefully, Ambrose puts aside the realization that he was just let in to the shop with little more than a push of the door's handle — that's a terrible, terrible temptation…and one he's absolutely going to mull over in the confines of his own home, warded and safe.
"I would gladly join you for tea and these…snickerdoodles." By the ghost of a dimple, he's heard of the cookies but never tried one himself. The tube is pulled from beneath his arm and held before his chest. "I've brought a copy of the page for your perusal, your highness, as we spoke of last I was present. I assure you, it is of quality — " Now Ambrose smiles his Cheshire Cat sliver of a smile. "I forged it myself."
"In truth it was Sigyn who discovered them." Loki says with a smile, and again…there's a brief hint of red in the core of his eyes, brief indeed. Eyes shift to the tube, and then Loki 'mmphs', and nods. "Well then, with such a master as yourself behind the pen and brush, how could even Loki dispute the quality?" A smirk, and inclined head with fingers pressed splayed to his chest just above the heart. "Come, Lieutenant, we'll have our tea and cookies, and see what I can see with this rite and recipe, shall we?"
And again, seeing that briefest flicker of red, Ambrose straightens a subtle quarter-inch in place. His smile falters but recovers easily enough, now dimpling more strongly as if to cover the slip.
"Of course. I would be honored and delighted of any further wisdom you may wish to share, your highness." As in, offer freely — by now, the Jackal knows better to ask because that's a favor. He travels upstairs with his host and inhales upon entering the abode.
"Those cookies do smell delightful," comes the amused comment as he walks over to the kitchen table. His coat he keeps on for the meanwhile, still chilled from his travels, and after popping open the cylindrical container, he spreads out the faux-page. It is an absolutely beautiful replica and only those of his age and experience or more in life would be able to tell it is a fake.
Still, he looks up into the middling distance and then to Loki again. "You are…of good health, your highness?" asks he, a note of tentativeness heard.
Knowing his guest's fondness for the warmth, Loki rather absently invokes his Fire aspect, the room warming to almost sauna heat as they enter the living area up the spiral stair of wrought iron. "Oh, I'm full of many things, advice is merely one of them." Loki says with good cheer. Not like he's unaware of his many flaws, the thing is…they're what defines him. Also, he's powerful enough that most just have to lump it. So there's that.
Loki grins at the observation of the cookies. "I think so too, and she baked a lot of them." Then again she does that, Asgardian and Jotun appetites being fairly robust! UNfairly some might say.
The Liesmith studies the forgery, uniquely - divinely even - qualified to appreciate fine artistry when he sees it. "Remarkable. Had I not been told, and without the original to compare, even I might have thought this the real one. Well done, Lieutenant." A pause at the query about his health, and a brow quirks.
"I am, thank you for asking. Do I seem unwell?"
It takes a brief moment of gathering courage and then Ambrose's eyes rise from the forged page, but only after securing it from rolling upon itself with the empty tube atop it and a…pack of gum from his pocket at the bottom edge.
"I have been alive on this green earth long enough to observe a good number of things which tend to qualify for the supernatural. Your highness, to someone as myself, you qualify for this term in the purest of ways." His lips rise at the corners in a smile almost self-deprecating…almost — it's long habit yet again of social mimicry and chameleon-like behavior. He's attempting to mask the chary curiosity. "I have seen twice now a…likeness of my own quality in your eyes, a…" His graceful fingers gesture vaguely towards his own face. "A ruddy light, not too unlike my curse. Granted, I may be simply unobservant and this is a regular state for you," he admits in good manners, still doubting it in his heart.
And so very sneakily, as delicately as he can manage, he brings forth the Bane as smoke from a low burning fire to again take a measure of the Trickster's aura. It's…is it different? Even the curse is uncertain.
Stealthily as he acts, the Bane is noted, Loki's eyes locking on the Master Thief and irrefutably sanguine in the depths of the pupils. "Do. Not. Do. That. HERE." He growls, whole body tense and muscles rigid - normally he's much more relaxed but in this state? Just how buff the Lord of Lies is shows very well, even in his Jotun form it is seldom visible his sheer physical power.
Not so at the moment.
His eyes close, his hand having clenched into a fist that ruptured the teapot he was about to pour with, scalding tea spattering down, over his hand, puddling on the ground. "You are not unobservant." Loki says with a far less…raw…tone.
How those glacier-green eyes shift in personality — and how still Ambrose goes, as this might bring him to invisibility without the ring he left in Kent's safekeeping back at the manor. So very carefully, he swallows as he pulls the Bane back into the depths of his bones as tightly as a startled clam-shell.
He then risks diverting his attention to the mess of shattered china and steaming tea upon the flooring. "My apologies, your highness. I see it is a matter of great concern," he says almost breathily overtop the thundering of his heart. "Is there…aught I can do to assist you in this matter?" Cerulean-blue eyes rise to look Loki in the face again and though he tries his damnedest, his soul-wound won't allow for the total extinguishing of the coal-glow in the very depths of his pupils.
"No. It is for me to apologize, Lieutenant. You caught me off guard." Loki says, voice rough as he fights that red-glow back, eyes returning to normal. Only then does he note the broken china, the mess. A moment to look at the tea, and it freezes, then vanishes, a dustpan and broom appearing to sweep up the shards of the pot.
Mess dealt with he looks to Ambrose again. "I too have been been…cursed, though mine is not quite the same as yours." Loki admits.
A moment to straighten his tunic, and then he sits, a new pot of tea conjured, though it will need to steep. "Great concern, yes. I learned first hand just how high the stakes of this conflict with Oliver, and the Silverwolf, and Garam Masala." Gurim. "Is."
The tense wariness in Ambrose's frame only begins to melt once his host has seated himself. There is a small sector of his mind impressed by the ease of clean-up; at his house, it would have taken towels and then a broom, probably accompanied by a low grumble in some ancient language.
He finds his voice again, still restrained within stiff British composure and spine. "I ask pardon if this is overly nosy, but how did this happen…?" There's no helping the hackling of fine hairs on his neck to hear of Oliver. A mist of amusement still flickers through his face as he seats himself before the forged page, weight adjusted moreso to the edge of the furniture. Garam Masala indeed, heh.
More delicately, the Jackal adds after a brief scratch of blunt nails along his jawline, "And…I suspect this curse wishes something of you in regards to my person…?"
Being a Jotun, and a mage, has some perks. More often than not magic is used sparingly, but he really did not feel like doing things the much easier way with towels and the like. Loki will sometimes spend greater effort in the pursuit of results than is needful, often more than is wise, though this is not the case here. What vexes him is the pot, he liked that pot!
"No, you have a right to know." Loki is thoughtful a moment, checking the new tea, deciding it needs more steeping.
"Patna, this goes back to that. To the wishing stone. When we freed Kali, the Silverwolf showed up to taunt and blather drivel along with copious amounts of spittle." A faint curl of his lip. "Well, he didn't actually dribble, but the drivel was thick."
A frown then, he decides not to mention the /thing/ clinging to Astryd, that's not his tale to tell. Well, maybe — bah, not now. The moment of conflict never shows on his face, though it is plain that Loki is thinking about *something*. After a moment. "There were strands of fate, some from the Otherspace, the Void. Sigyn's delicate touch with such things, with threads made her the best choice, and so she unraveled them…at the last there was a surge, and something attempted to brand her. She was able to avoid that, and invoked feelings with Kali that freed her, but…I was marked, e'en as the threads were snipped, I was marked, though not perhaps as strongly as would have been the case with a full brand, I cannot read it." His hand touches the back of his neck.
And then his gaze settles with ponderous intent on Ambrose. "Not your person, the power of the Bane, apparently the curse /I/ have been 'gifted' hungers to finish what Oliver started."
The Jackal's eyes fall to the new teapot as its contents are checked. He can be patient yet for properly-steeped tea — it is a soother. That, and he's not about to get fussy or even appear the least bit overly eager before his host at the moment. His ruddy-glow pupils then rise to Loki again. One forearm ends up rested on the table, the other anchoring elbow on the surface as to better rest the angle of his jaw in his palm; a finger straightens up before his ear, the remainder folded under his cheek.
His throat works. Patna — again. There is some evidence of relief to hear of the Death Goddess freed, though his face darkens quickly enough to hear of the brand. Keen eyes slide from Loki's face and to his hand's motion towards the back of his neck.
When the drive of the Trickster's curse is explained, the immediate reaction is, perhaps surprisingly, a faint huff of laughter. Amusement? Dread? Rue? Who knows. "And yet another sally to gain the fucking thing," he spits before another chuckle escapes him. And then another. His laughter turns into something almost hysterical as he drops his chin, the better to run fingers through his moonsilvered hair. "Oh-ho, oh-ho, a moment," he wheezes, then blinking up at the ceiling as if he'd brought himself to tears. "It is — it is not funny at all, truly — oh, fuck me, ruddy fucking god — " A wipe at the outside of one of his eyes and he then sighs shakily. "Damnit all. There must be a solution?"
Loki's fussy too, tea needs to be done -right-. Harrumph!
As Ambrose looks, Loki turns and reveals it, the mark on his neck visible but unreadable to anyone but Sigyn.
Display done, he nods. "Yes. I'm filled with hunger for the power of the Bane. I can manage, but best not to tempt fate, mm? Even the ruddy gaze is enough to stir me to take…" A moment to search for the right word. "…rather final action."
A shake of his head. "No, it is not even a little bit funny, unless black humor steeped in bitterness is your thing." A pause. "It has been mine on many occasions, over the millennia." Loki admits. "As to the solution…I can't think of one." A hand raised. "Not yet. Research into these elder beings is needed, as it stands right now we're working with a dearth of information, we've a void of knowledge of the Void dwellers, and that gives them significant advantage."
Ambrose's indeed bitterly-humorous air drops like winter slush from a sun-lit bough as does his regard to hear that his gaze alone is tempting. Loki's collarbone is now the most appropriate point of 'eye contact', apparently. He nods before glancing down at the page before himself. A fingertip taptaps on it.
"If I may, the Finder mentioned how, in the far distant past, the cultures of the Fertile Crescent once combated the Void-being. Here is proof of at least relative success, this recipe in defense. I have…another venture as to offense, but it is…as the saying goes, if wishes were horses." His smile is barely anything at all. "I risk much, but who would not for their family? Regardless, your highness, you might delve into your tomes from this era, or perhaps…"
He again laughs faintly and uncomfortably. "Perhaps you might attempt to speak to one of the gods of the era, should any have interest in sharing information. I am half-tempted to do this myself, but…" Palms lift. "I am but a thief and a repository for the magical equivalence of cocaine, apparently." He still doesn't meet Loki's eyes, his gaze lifting no higher than the Trickster's chin.
Tea finally steeped to Loki's satisfaction, he pours for them both, this the rooibos he promised earlier. The tea is a red bush herbal, loose of course, and the flavor is coconut and custard. Actually quite rich and soothing, and not at all as bitter as the topic at hand, it also goes very nicely with the soft cookies, the 'Snickerdoodles', sort of a sugar cookie kissed and wrapped by a cinnamon sugar hug.
"Mmm…I take it this lovely forgery of yours is something I can keep?" Loki asks, relieved that the Bane glow is not staring him in the eyes, it ratchets down the tension nicely, especially with the soothing process of pouring tea, the comfortable habits of courtesy.
A slow nod. "My wife had some ideas about such, about dealing with other deities who might in fact themselves be…emigrants of the void that insinuated themselves into other pantheons. This is no trivial thing, however, care must be taken as I am sure you can grasp."
Uttering a murmur of gratitude, Ambrose accepts the newly-poured cup of tea. Its scent is beguiling and gentle, and when he sips it, he can't help the sigh and further lessening of tension in his frame. Granted, the chariness isn't entire gone, but a nice cuppa puts a dent in it. He reaches to pluck two Snickerdoodles from the collection on the plate for himself before he glances up at — no, not at Loki's face, at his chin. The oblique angle doesn't allow for the ruddy flash of the Bane still.
"Yes, infinite care. I have learned well of the need for diplomacy when dealing with the pantheons of the gods." There is, of course, the slightest sprinkle of tease to his rather serious words. A sip of his tea gives him reason to lick at his lips. "Mmm, excellent tea, your highness — and indeed: if you wish to keep the page, you may. I am intimately familiar with its contents after having forged it."
A wan smile appears as he considers the Hieratic script again. "I believe I know what I shall do of this information. It is foolhardy, but then again, I will not be alone attempting it."
Aplomb restored, Loki chuckles. "Indeed. I have heard, allegedly, in fact — been *told* that deities can as a whole be a fairly perilous lot. Supposedly. In theory." He is own tea is sampled, then he adds just a bit of honey, and tries it again, 'mmm-ing' softly, a fractional nod to show approval. There's very few things as soothing as the simple pleasure inherent in a nice cup of tea. A couple thousand years ago he would have scoffed at the very idea that tea would be worthy of a Prince of Asgard! MEAD, that's the ticket.
The teasing is of course something of a constant.
Loki cants his head at a faint angle. "Really…you have a plan? Do tell." No really, DO.
The shifting of the Trickster's head is one of those subtle lures for looking up and into his eyes proper. Ambrose barely resists it, one side of his lips twitching in a self-remonstrating smirk.
"I've always a plan, your highness," he firstly says, smooth and congratulatory of himself. "This one involves your son and his Raven as well as my own mate. It…" Composure fractures just a touch as a flitter of true, nearly primal concern works through his face, makes him glance off to one side of their space. "I must return to a place very…haunting to me, wherein I will be able to pair my curse and this very ring, the better to utilize what Gurim seeks against his own machinations. I suspect there will be difficulties, but when are there not when one dabbles in ancient magics such as this?" He again smiles ruefully as he taptaps once more at the forged page.
Loki can't help it - beguilement, teasing, manipulation - they're his very life's blood. Even when he knows better, he simply can't help trying to entice, at least not for long, anyway.
"Remember Ambrose, thou art mortal." Loki comments dry enough to concern a native of Death Valley. After a moment. "I take it you do not wish to gift me with more of the details?" Truly, Loki expects that Ambrose would have already were he so minded.
Moving on, he rolls up the scroll. "I will study this and share any findings, Lieutenant. If you have need of me, you needs must only call - and I will hear so long as your will is to speak /to/ me, not -of- me. I will be listening."
A lift of the tea cup in salute and agreement both to the Trickster's reminder of Beetlejuice-like summoning. "I am grateful. If you've any wisdom to share with me, your highness, I am but a phone call away — or you may reach to my mind as you have before." Ambrose then wince-smiles down into his cup.
"And I mean no disrespect, but…given this plan does involve my curse in great and likely overt presence, I would not risk your discomfort." Or his own person, given he's seen before what the Wrath of Loki appears to be. "I count us befriended and, as such, do not dare to discomfit what few friends I claim."
It becomes too much to resist and counter to Midgardian behavior. Very briefly, Ambrose glances up at those glacier-green eyes — but only for a split flickering second. His attention returns to the Snickerdoodles quickly enough. A bite of one and he makes a soft, pleased sound.
"These are…delightful. Might I take a handful home to my mate?"
"I don't know how much 'wisdom' I might have to share, but I am willing to impart what little I do possess." Loki grins then. "In truth I can be quite impulsive, aye…even on occasion have I been called 'rash', though it is hardly to be credited, I assure you it is true."
Smile fading, he sighs softly. "No disrespect was given, Ambrose, Lieutenant Atherton." Yeah, Loki Wrath - NOT something one should court.
The claim of friendship stills the Trickster. His focus, his -gaze- quite a tangible thing. "Few would be bold enough, and fewer still foolish enough to name Loki their friend."
And then the Master Thief glances, albeit briefly ere he asks for cookies. Quietly, Loki motions to the floor beside him. "Look." Lo and behold - there's a bakery box just out of direct line of sight, white cardboard, the box held shut by simple string. "Compliments of Faithful Sigyn, Ambrose."
Ambrose, not 'Lieutenant', not 'Lieutenant Atherton'.
Ambrose turns in his chair to see the sudden presence of the white bakery box by the chair; there is an instinctive, hard-earned jolt of surprised checked by lack of true threat and his mouth rounds briefly.
"My thanks, your…" The Jackal then seems to fight with himself. Eventually, a wry grin aimed at Loki's chest follows. "My thanks, friend Loki," he says properly. "If I may, I am bold and…sometimes foolish, yes, but I believe courage is only foolish if one suffers for it — otherwise, I have deemed it bravery."
A beat and he adds before he sips his tea, "We did discuss pairings not so very long ago." Since his were apparently brass.
Loki loves his little tricks. Oh yes, he very much does. The almost start - that's applause.
"Bold is something I enjoy, Master Thief." Loki says with an amused tone. "But…tread carefully, I can be a quite prickly about respect." As Lena found out the hard way. "Bravery, more than any other thing save honest stupidity has killed more people than war." The concept of war, not just /a/ war, ALL war.
At the last, he barks laughter. "So we did, Ambrose. So we did. I sit — reminded, more than corrected."
A brief moment to savor cookies and tea, to enjoy company, and then he allows. "We'll try this 'friend' thing, see how it goes. Hopefully you will not regret the decision." Hopefully LOKI won't either.
Ambrose hums thoughtfully into his cup as he drinks the last of the tea. He then sets down the empty demi-tasse and lifts a hand gracefully in a semblance of a shrug, his eyes remaining upon the divot of the Trickster's neck.
"I believe we are capable of coexisting as comrades. I am brave enough to attempt it. I have lived so long and…Fate is nearly done with me for the next half-decade, I believe — nearly done." He chuckles tiredly to himself, taking a moment to scratch at the faint frosting of five-o-clock shadow along his jawline.
"But, allow me to depart. I understand I am due back sooner than later. I was allowed but a short while to attend upon this errand and if I do not return soon, I shall be lambasted with the Look. I believe you know of it, this 'Look'." He rises to his feet and stoops to collect the bakery box, intending to depart after further thoughts from Loki.
"Ah…the look, yes, I know it well. Indeed, after twelve centuries of tumultuous marriage, my own fault of course most of the time, we have evolved an entire language of 'Looks'. Very nuanced." Loki is absolutely sincere in this, well, in as much as one can ever be certain with any Trickster.
Still, they DO seem to be uncommonly good at understanding each other, Sigyn and Loki. One-point-two millennia, even with the road being rocky, is going to teach a thing or two. Consider, steel wasn't really a thing when they were wed! Not on Midgard anyway.
That's a VERY long time.
"If you wish, I can send you home as I have in the past?" Should the offer be taken, so be it—once more into the breach, if not, then Loki will watch as Ambrose takes his leave.