Summary:Loki works at concocting the recipe from an ancient page written in Hieratic. This, brought to him by Ambrose and accompanied by Mira, proves not overly difficult. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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Loki's been a tad busy, but when is a God of Mischief /not/ busy? There's ALWAYS someone to prank, some scheme or other, add to that the extraordinary lifespan of the Jotun Magus of Asgard and the long view he has to take it is not really a surprise that he didn't get to reading the page that Ambrose gave him in any detail until now.
Only to discover that the Idiot Thief gave him the /wrong damn page/.
ALMOST, but not quite, Loki washes his hands of the man - two things keep him from doing it, first, The Deal. He struck a deal with Lena Snart and the terms of it have not been met. Second, the declaration of friendship from the Idiot Thief (He'll be Master Thief again someday, maybe).
A sigh, and then he settles by his scrying bowl and calls up an image of Ambrose. Once he's sure that the man is alone, a huge disembodied Loki head appears out of thin air before him, expression *not* pleased. "You realize you brought me the wrong page." The voice rumbles ominously.
|ROLL| Ambrose +rolls 1d10 for: 8
"FFFF — AUGH!"
The silver-haired Jackal in his blazer and slacks jitters on the park bench hard enough that some of his black tea spills, though thankfully not on his pants. That would have stung; instead, luck and skill has the splatters landing on the bench itself. He then blows a sigh before clearing his throat.
"Your highness, good afternoon." The Trickster's tone brooks a more proper addressing in Ambrose's mind than simply 'friend Loki', he raised on the fringes of Victoria's court. "It did occur to me, yes, that I had picked the wrong page from the bunch when leaving in a hurry as I did that day. The proper page is on my person. I was intending to stop by the store and exchange the two, if it is no hassle?"
He takes another more blase sip of his tea, attempting to appear as if Loki's sudden cranial appearance hadn't just scared him enough to accomplish both a spilling of tea and an awful stress at keeping the Bane from suddenly surging up. Regardless, he still keeps his regard on Loki-head's chin rather than look him square in the eyes. The nightshine of the curse is still bright in his own pupils, after all.
"Yes, good afternoon Master Atherton." Yup, Loki is a bit pissy about the mistake. "Yes, well, now would be a good time if you don't have any pressing matters to attend to. Perhaps sorting and filing important papers?" Ayup, it is pretty definite that the Trickster is /not/ in the more playful of moods.
Still, after a moment, he sighs and nods. "I understand, after all, people are flawed things, mistakes happen even with gods." A smile then. "Shall I summon, or will you make your way here via more conventional means?" Means that Loki the Annoyed is not in charge of.
"Master Talbot would agree that my mind is slipping in my age," offers Ambrose in bland British humor with the faintest wince about the corners of his cerulean-blue eyes. He nods, eyes still diverted at the Trickster's chin. "I am not but a subway ride away and shall be at your store within the half-hour." The promise is accompanied by him finishing his tea and screwing the metal tin cup-lid back onto the thermos. There's still some left within, but he leaves it as he rises and then is certain to offer a chin-tucked bow. "I shall be there soon."
And given the propensity of the subway system itself, Ambrose does make rather good time all in all — and he manages to feed the Bane as well, the better for it to lay quieter in his bones in the presence of the branded magician.
And not only that, but when the store bell rings at Cover Story, it's not just Ambrose, but Mira as well! The young woman in a cheerily-bright fuchsia peacoat and black leggings tucked into calf-high boots looks around the place, remaining by her father. "This is wonderful. It smells like it would hold much magic."
"It indeed does in spades," her father replies, smiling fondly upon his offspring. He looks up and away, calling out into the store, "Your highness?"
"Yes, well, it is over and done with. Say no more, Lieutenant." There, see? All is (quite nearly) forgiven! And really, a half hour? That's hardly a blip to the God of Lies and Fire. He spends the time preparing the store to close early, and getting dressed for lab work. His attire a heavy high collared lab coat that would have been very modern in the 18th century, and a pair of round lensed goggles presently atop his head. Heavy leather gloves are tucked into wide pockets on the front of the shin length coat, and heavy boots of black leather adorn his feet. At his waist is a tool belt full of tools that are arcane, esoteric and in some cases inscrutable. He is the very model of of a post modern mad scientist.
As the door opens to Ambrose's touch, the Liesmith emerges from the back room, a little surprised to see he has brought his daughter along. "Good evening, Lieutenant Atherton, Kazimira. Welcome to Cover Story."
He motions towards the back of the store. "Please, follow me out to the back, and we'll get underway unless you'd rather take tea first?"
Ambrose glances over at Mira and then offers again the deep chin-tuck of a nod; his dark-haired daughter catches on and curtsies, hands tucked behind her back with her own chin demurely tucked. An observant creature, the Jackal's pup.
"I have had my tea earlier, though I thank you for the offer, your highness. Mira?" he asks of his daughter. She shakes her head, though she's brave enough to offer Loki a small smile, dimpled perfectly with the freckling on her cheeks.
"Thank you, your highness, but I'm here just for a little bit. I ran into my father on the street and thought I'd see what was happening. I know enough to know this is important business." Ambrose nods agreement even as he begins to walk further into the bookstore, intent on following Loki at a respectful distance. Mira falls into place beside her father, her hands demurely clasped before her stomach; her hands don't wander. Her dad's hands? These are firmly shoved into his pockets as well even if he takes a moment to side-eye a particularly interesting tome tucked behind a glass-paneled display.
NOPE. NOPE, DON'T THINK ABOUT IT, he chides himself quickly enough.
"Yes, in the park." The Tea that Loki Spilled, sounds like a song, poem or book title! Or maybe direct to video entertainment? In any case Loki returns Mira's smile, hey, she's cute! "Ah, well, fortune favors the bold, or something like that. I did extend you an invitation on our supply run, you are always welcome here." A moment to study the girl, and then he smiles. "And you're on the wards now, they will recognize you as a friendly." Or at least as a non-hostile, yes, there's a difference.
Answers given, he nods to Ambrose. "Please, follow me."
He leads the way into the back room, which if anything presents even MORE temptation, the small area used for high end negotiations, the crates of exotica, the oldest and rarest of his tomes, and books and art works here.
Past all that into a small walled in garden in high bloom, some of the plants odd looking - some of them outright alien. Reaching over his shoulder he draws Laevateinn, his broadsword, though it doesn't burst into flames, the runic inscriptions on the heavy blade of the broadsword deeply graven. It is very simple in design, a tool for /killing/, the lines clean, and elegant.
Loki walks to an archway that had the inside bricked over, and then starts an invocation - his fingers drawing runes of fire on the lintel at eight points and then he ignites the sword as he thrusts home into the stone…only it doesn't touch it, instead fire and light flares bright, and the doorway /goes somewhere/.
A lab. Turning, he once more sheathes the sword in…nothing, and it fades from sight upon his hand releasing it. A gallant bow. "After you, charming lady, and wily thief." His smirk in full bloom, the man exudes charm and grace and whimsy. In short - Loki at his most dangerous.
"Thank you, your highness." Mira continues dimpling even as she walks, pleased to have somehow earned herself safer passage into the store. Ambrose gives her a subtle side-eye even as they pass through the back room. He remembers well enough how she is due to be taught magic if she so inclines by this Trickster and his mystically-masterful wife.
Out into the garden, both Midgardians pausing, and both watching in semi-transparent awe at not only the flaming broadsword, but the chanting accompanying it. Mira tilts her head in maybe recognition, but makes no sound. Ambrose is eyeing the whole fire affair with the fine hairs on his neck rising. Fire in someone else's control is not a favorite event in his experience.
The invitation comes and Mira, still young despite having lived eighty-plus years, outright beams at the invitation. "Thank you, your highness," says she as she enters into the lab.
Ambrose faintly smirks, aware of the Trickster's shift in behavior and still wary enough to not look him dead in the face. "Yes, thank you," adds he as he too then enters into the space.
"One nice thing about travel through fixed destination portals - once they are opened transit is much the same as walking through a mundane doorway, though the destination, well, that's something else." Loki steps through after the pair, and the portal seals after him, probably why he went last.
"Welcome to my magical workshop and labourium."
The room is spacious, and clearly underground. "We're not in Kansas, anymore, Toto." He says drily.
The temperature a very comfortable seventy-degrees, and the paraphernalia a living history of 'alchemistry' for literally millennia - from crude granite mortar and pestle to modern Bunsen burners and even a mass spectrometer, and an old school 40x microscope setup. That there's a Tesla Coil off to one side seems odd - unless it is there for fun?
The entire circumference of the large round room is filled with books in shelving sunk into the walls. Hundreds and hundreds of tomes, stacks of scrolls, and several areas devoted to various spell and alchemical components not to mention several drawers and other bric-a-brac.
One might think that it would be the younger Atherton raring to stick nose into all of the myriad instruments and objects on display. Nope. Mira simply walks into the place with her hands still somewhat behind her back, a deliberate display of meaning no harm in a place full of delicate things.
Ambrose is entirely on the opposite end of the spectrum. His curiosity draws him over to the Tesla Coil in particular and he leans in close, squinting and then grinning, his dimples deeper and entire countenance twinkling for a few seconds. No wonder Kent loves him so; it brings a genuinely boyish light so utterly charming to the Jackal.
"What an amazing place." This is Kazimira over by one of the shelvings of tomes.
Ambrose pulls away from the coil and glances from her to Loki. "Indeed, it is a veritable Wonderland to one inclined to the mystical sciences." Kent might drool. "But here, the precise page in question." Reaching into his blazer, the master-thief pulls out a quality poster tube tucked into an inner pocket. No doubt it contains the yellowed page with its Hieratic script better detailing the nature of a scarab-based protective magic.
Loki watches their reactions, enjoying the delight and wonder they show, it renews his own love of the place to see their enjoyment of it. He's a showman, Loki is, and this is something he seldom shows to any outsiders, only he and his wife, whose lab this also is have seen it in recent years. Another nice thing about having a lab in a pocket dimension - with the right spells and the key (In this case Laevateinn), one can access it from literally anywhere.
The Tesla coil hums merrily along, electricity arcing between the two uprights as they flow upwards form the base. "I liked Nikola, he had an intriguing mind. A pity his enemies destroyed and discredited him, if his dream of free broadcast power had been realized this would be a very different world I should think."
Loki keeps an eye on Kazimira, normally if someone wants to kill themselves with something they don't understand he's not worried, that's just natural selection, but she's a guest, so he'll warn if she gets too close to anything dangerous. Accepting the page, he looks to Ambrose, and then moves to a desk before unrolling and studying it closely. "Mmm…so…this is not too horribly complex. I might need to jaunt out to get some supplies, but I believe everything we need should be on hand."
He starts going through the various drawers of components, and starts gathering them at a work area full of alembics, beakers, and so on, even lots of glass tubing, and a few more exotic things like several crystals floating there unattended, spinning in place, and glowing softly in a rainbow of hues.
Like as not, Ambrose would be a better candidate for natural selection, but the presence of the Bane to support his personal suppositions at immortality has him still rather fearlessly sticking his nose around the entire place. Granted, he still hasn't touched anything yet — give the man a cookie. He diverts back to Loki as the Trickster reads over the page and nods agreement.
"I did not think it too complicated as well, but my mastery is not in the matter of its concoction." His eyes too flick over to Mira, but she's behaving herself far better than her father in terms of risky behavior. She's simply walking sideways along the rows of tomes, reading their titles and quietly wondering at what she can't interpret.
But ooh. Crystals. Ambrose is drawn to them like a moth to a flame and it's incredibly apparent that he wishes to reach out to touch one of them — boop. But he does not given Loki is so nearby. "I thought the interpretation of the protective properties read as an unguent," he shares, taptapping on the corner of the yellowed page. "Which may behoove us all. One might increase the efficacy if one used the very ointment itself to draw on one's skin with a protective sigil, yes?" The silver-haired Jackal still glances over at one of the nearer spinning crystals, this one seemingly made of spun water, achingly pure and refracting in rainbows.
Noting Ambrose's distraction, Loki grins. "The Wuxing - the Five Agents or Five Elements…a lot of terms apply, according to the Chinese philosophy - Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal and Water. What I like is how they all interact and affect one another. So, Sigyn and I made that model to represent them." A smile to Kazimira then, "Young Miss Atherton, would you care to try your hand at influencing the stones?"
Turning back to Ambrose, he nods. "Definitely meant as an unguent or salve, though…I wonder if we could render it into an ink, and thus use it in tattooed sigils, instead of less permanent ones?" He ponders. "Though I suppose that might have occurred to the originators too, and they opted for the less permanent version, so perhaps we should resist the urge - though - that's not VERY fun, now, is it?"
A 'mmrf' sound as he ponders. "The idea of using the the unguent as a salve is actually quite inspired, that could very well amplify the potency greatly." A chipper grin. "So…to work!"
Humming to himself, Loki dons his protective goggles, and starts the process of mixing up the salve. "This shouldn't take more than an hour or two."
Mira glances over at being addressed from reading at one of the tome titles written in proto-Norse. "Ah, um…I can certainly attempt it, sure. I've never done magic before…ever," the befreckled young half-Aesir admits as she wanders over to the display. Her father keeps a vaguely concerned eye on her until Loki speaks to him, drawing his attention back to the Trickster.
"I did not think of a tattoo though I hazard you are correct. There might be something in the unguent that would not bode well so permanently. I…I wonder of adverse affects if permanently applied." A supposed hour or two of work is acknowledged with a nod. He glances over at Kazimira again, he himself with arms crossed remaining by the table at which Loki works, though a respectful distance from the mage if not the process.
Mira leans in to look at the collection of crystals all hung in midair and somehow all balanced at their distancing and angles. "They're very pretty," she admits, looking back at the two men. A shrug is given to Dad; Dad half-smiles back, his own shrug more subtle. Yes, Dad agrees that he has no idea what to do with the crystals.
As he works Loki nods to Mira, eyes hidden behind the dark lenses of his goggles. It is perhaps telling that the nearly immortal God is wearing protective gear, might make one wonder if poking at some of the stuff here in might be bad, mm? "Not to worry, Kazimira…just take a look, and then sort of let your eyes defocus, relax…" Ambrose will feel the power of the God's mesmerizing voice, but it is an aid to focus, not a bid to usurp the girl's will.
Still, *deadly* smooth, this one.
Should she comply and relax she might start seeing little 'strands' of light joining the five sets of five stones, the light almost like refracted light on a spider web, but pulsing between them in a very intricate pattern.
To Ambrose, he nods. "That was my thought too, some of the components are not the safest substances there are, far from it. Permanent application, even /prolonged/ could have consequences…" A smirk. "…uncontrollable rages, for example. Or listlessness and apathy that can kill, perhaps a full psychotic break…hard to say. And that's not even considering the damage to the flesh and body, I'm merely speaking of the psychotropic effects."
Absolutely deadly smooth. Ambrose recognizes the tone of voice from the saga of the Thought-Piercer needle and recovered memories. The fine hairs on his neck lift. He quickly glances over at Kazimira, who seems to be squinting now at the display of crystals.
"One would hope that any of us need not wear this unguent any longer than necessary," he murmurs, frowning at the eclectic process occurring within the Trickster's hands at the work table. "Still, if it is a mundane madness to counter the chaos and insanity of the Void beings, I suppose it might be quite effective. One cannot go mad if one is mad in the first place, yes? And a gun is still deadly if aimed even half-blindly."
Meanwhile, Mira can now only just see the finest strands of the connective lines between the crystals. "Wow…" she breathes, her Tanzanite-blue eyes both distanced and focused. "It's really beautiful. They're all balanced?"
"Oh, that's very good, Kazimira…you have the gift. Or at least enough of it to see the bonds." Loki keeps working, his attention never diverting from the alchemy, this is a relatively simple concoction in a lot of ways. 'Relatively' being the operative word, indeed, all alchemy is only 'relatively' safe, there's always risks even with the simplest of formulae and procedures. "Yes, they're all balanced, and remember that the elements to the Chinese were not ever just one thing, but a system, each of the components a state, in flux, and interrelated. Can you see that?"
Loki smiles faintly as he works, to Ambrose the Trickster laughs a bit. "Oh yes. Madness is a sort of defense - consider the Berserk, by entering a sort of mad state of rage they became impervious to iron, to pain, and far stronger but the price was their self-control, their ability to differentiate between friend or foe at times…power always has a price, there's always balancing factors." That last bit applicable both to this project, and magic at large, and stated for the benefit of both Athertons in the room.
"I think I can see this…?" A novice note of questioning in her reply as to Loki's question, but then again, Mira has nowhere near the satanic levels of pride present in her father. Ambrose again gives her a vaguely concerned look, all paternal suspicion for a thing he himself cannot see in the least. It all comes from her mother's side, this ability; Ambrose is responsible for the dimples and derivative of Bane-power.
"I have become more and more aware of late as to the fine art of balance in great power." For all the Jackal's reply to Loki has a faint nuance of dry humor, there is far more rueful understanding.
Indeed: the warding creature of Talbot manor, the god-maiming Phurba itself, had been commanded to spit him out the last time he attempted to better wield the balance of the Bane and Anti-Bane braided into his golden ring.
Mira giggles quietly as she looks over at her father. She knows what he's referencing. He merely arches a theatrically-prompting eyebrow and smirks, inciting more giggling.
"It is a start, young lady, a very auspicious one. Now…here's the real test." Loki steps back to let some stuff brew, toil and bubble in a small cast bronze cauldron. The goggles lifted to rest on his head once more, glacier-heart green eyes seek tanzanite blue. "Close your eyes, but try to hold the image of what you saw just then…listen to the sound of my voice, feel the beating of your heart, sense each breath you take, feel the strength of your muscles, the vitality of your life…and then /listen/…"
Again, should she do as instructed, if she has the talent for it she'll /hear/ the crystals, all twenty five of them *sing* to each other, and then she might even feel the tenuous energies surging between them all with the song and the light as carriers and conduits for it. And /that/ is stunningly beautiful.
Once more he shield his eyes, still paying heed to Kazimira's efforts and ready to shield her should anything go wrong. Moving back to the work table he looks to Ambrose. "Yes, I imagine you have. Power is -always- something to be respected. Even in small amounts, if applied well, power can be dread." Of course Loki doesn't know about the bane-twain and the balancing act they need, not yet.
In relative innocence (but oh, Ambrose has warned her more than once about the plain trickiness of a Trickster God), Mira meets those so-green eyes and nods, apparently readily accepting the tutelage offered to her. Her father stands by, he too ready to throw himself in without a second thought in the case of any trouble. It can be read in the set of his body and the natural shift of his arms out of their crossing, the better to remove her from danger.
Her eyes close and she frowns in concentration. Is that… Still with dark lashes shuttered, she tilts her head. Is it…? The rest of the laboratory falls out and ever so distantly, she can hear what sounds like ethereal chiming in different tones — a continually shifting state of harmony as brilliant as the banner of the aurora against a night sky. Her brows lift as her mouth falls open. "Oh…!"
"Do I ever know well of the finer application of power," the accursed master-thief agrees, having once been the stooping terror from the shadows in Kent's employ in Shanghai.
Mira then frowns again, wincing. She murmurs, one hand rising to her temple, "It's…getting really loud." Ambrose quickly steps away from Loki to grab up his daughter and pull her away from the crystals.
"Shhh…nothing to fear, Kazimira Clara Atherton, Ambrosedottir. Child of Vanaheim and Midgard, you are simply new to this power…relax, let it drain from your awareness, follow my voice back to yourself." And then he claps his hands sharply together, his strength such that even with gloves on the sound is sharp and immediate, and it will very likely break the girl out of her trance state even as her father holds her close.
A smile from the Trickster. "See? Hear? Feel? It is all the same…all connected."
Ambrose gets a smile from the man now, and it contains approval of his need to protect his daughter, and understanding of that awareness of power. "Power is in and of itself - nothing. It is /nothing/ without control, and the will to use it. A dagger can be far more effective than a greatsword if applied properly. Control, control and *speed* are what truly matters most of the time. Now…control, speed AND power working in concert? THAT is something to respect."
A little jolt in Ambrose's arms and Kazimira comes back to herself. She blinks a few times in apparent confusion before realization and recognition returns. "Gods," she again breathes, her hand trapped against her father's chest so that it remains available to rub at her temple. "That was loud." She sighs a laugh, proof of being absolutely fine all things considered. The headache won't linger for long.
Ambrose isn't letting go of his daughter, not immediately. His lips press to her dark hair before he looks over at Loki. A flash of pure warning brings a bright spark to his red-pupil'd eyes even if they are stubbornly averted to the Trickster's chin still. Still, he seems to force himself to relax, metaphorical hackles leveling out. "Foolish is the one who does not respect it, yes. Self-control, true thought, and calm: these lead to strength and mastery of power, or so I have been informed by my mate. Perhaps by the time we meet at blades, I will have accomplished such a thing."
And Loki now gets an absolutely charming grin, all devil-may-care delight at this prospect.
"It was." Loki laughs softly as the girl complains about the volume. "Intentionally, Kazimira. Don't worry, the head pain will pass swiftly. My students hardly ever stroke out or explode, so there's that." Yes, he is teasing. No, Ambrose is not likely to find it amusing — and that's fine, that will square the ledgers for the wrong page! At least in Loki's books it will.
Yes, he noticed the warning flare, and this is perhaps answer to it.
"It sounds like your mate is very wise." Loki observes. "Myself…I sometimes have 'impulse control issues', it has gotten me in trouble a time or few—hundred." Yup! Loki is smirking at himself now too, so at least he isn't so full of himself that he can't laugh.
Loki /grins/ then. "Oh yes, that dagger duel, perhaps something to hold off on until things are dealt with regarding your friend Oliver."
Loki gets another Rikki-Tikki-Tavi-red glare from the Jackal for his funning at student troubles. Mira doesn't seem overly bothered by it, given she's still on her feet. She does press palms against her father's chest to insinuate that he should release her from his protective hug and after a second of giving her a once-over, Ambrose does. Plucking at her coat to straighten it, the younger Atherton gives Loki a deep nod.
"My mother always said magic can be fussy. I'll look into my father-in-law's books at home to see if there's any wisdom there in about."
"Or ask him," Ambrose notes. "Kent does do magic. Though, yes, your highness, I agree. The duel must come after Oliver and the Void are dealt with thoroughly and with finality. I would be remiss to attempt it in any less than my full vim and vigor."
"I have to go though, I'm sorry," Mira shares. "I was meeting a friend for coffee and didn't expect to stay this long."
Ambrose nods. "I will walk you to the door." Loki is given another deep nod, this echoed in a curtsy by Kazimira. "Thank you again, your highness. I will return soon to see what your mastery has assured us in safety against these Void beings."
Having too collected the OTHER page safely back into a spare poster tube, Ambrose then makes to depart with his daughter, leaving Loki to his finessing in alchemical creation.