taylor price

Product Placement

pixel skylines
h

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
No title available

titsay
almost home
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Sweet Seals For You, Always
DEAR READER
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

Discoholic 🪩
🪼
NASA
Sade Olutola
Misplaced Lens Cap
Stranger Things
Three Goblin Art

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
seen from United States

seen from Norway
seen from Russia

seen from Poland
seen from Italy
seen from Türkiye
seen from Austria

seen from Ireland

seen from Bulgaria

seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Italy

seen from Malaysia

seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia

seen from Norway
seen from Canada
@mynameisamora
Black Magic Woman || Wanda & Amora
"I would have to say that is a valid way to refer to you" Wanda replied with a half smile as she looked at the blonde. It certainly was an exciting way to get to know someone else. You could tell a lot about another person within the first few minutes and from what Wanda had seen of Amora in the past, she knew she was someone good to have around and get to know. Wanda hadn’t planned on this being her night, but she was enjoying it. She got to do some good and in the grand scheme of thing’s she hoped that the small deeds she tended to do know would one day make up for all the trouble she had caused in the past. Wanda knew she wasn’t a bad person, but she also knew she wasn’t a stable one either. It complicating thing’s more often than not.
The Scarlet Witch had been stuck in her head thinking about heavy topics, that at first she didn’t hear Amora speak up again. The brunette turned and smiled softly at Amora as she registered the other woman’s words. She shrugged her shoulders before opening her mouth to speak. She wasn’t the most exciting person on her own and it was why she came more to life around other’s. Her night wouldn’t have been very climatic. ” Honestly just walk around. I like to get out of the tower and just get some air. It can get a little crowded in there at times, so it’s nice to get away. Get a few drinks. Stuff like that” Wanda replied before laughing softly. There was always something happening at the tower. Some would say it was often too busy, but Wanda wasn’t always a fan of taking part and jumping into thing’s they were doing. “Depends on the conversation that is being had and what you would find interesting. I tend to just avoid certain thing’s. What were your plans tonight or were you hoping to save someone?”
"Where is this Tower?" The blonde questioned under the guise of what she had learned was considered the formality of 'small talk', not understanding the necessity of it but choosing to indulge regardless; making her appear more approachable to those that did not know her (or so she had been told).Verdant hues flickered briefly to her conversation partner before readjusting themselves to look forward, ensuring a shadow didn't snake out to snatch at her ankle or a stumbling drunkard didn't obscure her path only to leave the sorceress' being tainted by the scent of stale alcohol and strong cigarette smoke.
"Although I can relate to the notion of needing time for your own thoughts," the Enchantress continued with ease, contradicting her vocal statement as her telepathy prodded at the edges of Wanda's mind - the goal not to be noticed - not unlike the curious swimmer who would throw a stone to test the waters before even considering entering them. "I wouldn't wish for it in abundance, one may never know what lurks in the darkest corners of their own mind." The inclination of her head to once side sufficed as a nod of of knowing, the gesture itself lingering with a confidence that toed the line of arrogance; safe in the confines of her awareness.
"I can't say I had expected to do so," the reply emerged in response to the dark haired female's query about how her night would have panned out alternatively, glancing at the Scarlet Witch to observe her reaction before saying, "though I suppose, at least, I utilised my magic effectively." The Enchantress having to maintain control on the sarcasm that threatened to seep into her words, knowing that having used magic on those of this realm to teach them a bigger lesson (which, she would say, was very generous on her part) could hardly be considered a feat.
Temptation Taunts the Empty || Jamie & Amora
"Well, Amora the Enchantress, it sounds as if you’ve got quite the interesting story. I’d love to hear it, if we end up with the time." Jamie took another drink of wine, moving around in his chair a bit to get more comfortable as he looked at the beautiful woman. A darkly playful smile was on his lips and glittering in his eyes, and he raised an eyebrow right back at her. "You’re right. I do have a job in mind — so to speak.
"However, it may put us at cross-purposes. You see, Amora, I’ve a mind to take over the world. The entire world. I’m going to make it mine, to take it away from the people trying so desperately to enforce order in order to hold power, the ones who simply… Make it worse." Jamie gave a small, elegant shrug, smiling a bit more. For a man talking about taking over one of the most dangerous and resilient worlds in Universe, he certainly seemed casual about it — or perhaps just confident. Braddock knew that he wouldn’t fail, not if he truly tried; what was there to fear, other than himself?
"So, while you and I could certainly benefit from an alliance, I’m hesitant to propose one. After all, Amora — are either of us the sort to yield anything? If we can work together without taking from each other, then may the Fates help whoever we decide to destroy.” He chuckled, eyes falling half closed. “You asked how I began destroying a man’s soul… because while you may have magic in your hands, Madam Enchantress, I have reality in mine.” James looked at her again, meeting her eyes. “I hope we’ve no need to become rivals.”
Amora was clearly having a difficult time in this world, which Jamie could help with. He could help ease her time here, point her in the proper directions for the things she needed - and in return, she could help him when he needed it, help him move the pieces into place, help him take what he wanted… But he didn’t think he really needed to tell her any of that so bluntly. She was intelligent and, he thought, ambitious.
Theirs could be an alliance for the ages, but only if both wanted it so.
Across the centuries, there had been many who had endeavoured to capture the essence of the raw beauty which the Enchantress possessed though hey often overlooked the picture of innocence her appearance outwardly subscribed to would never quite fit the frame created for it. Once the dulcet tones of the Brit's wish to sample stories from her past played on her ears, lashes fluttered to fleetingly rest on the highest point of her cheeks as though humbled by the interest while a smile then prompted her eyes to open once more with the coaxing rise of the edge of either side of her mouth.
The smooth curve of her smile grew as the male announced his purpose, finding it a delicate mixture between amusing and partially admirable. "There are many whom have proposed an alliance to me previously, what would make you different, Jamie Braddock?" Amora's initial statement did not outwardly dismiss the suggestion that they could perhaps work together toward a greater purpose. Contrary-wise, it connoted her willingness to enter into a mutual agreement that would benefit them both were he to give reasons that she found agreeable, "I have little use for this realm as it stands, as you have said those in positions of power have served to make things naught but worse. I have little doubt you would be able to craft it into something more... reputable."
"No," she affirmed softly (once a brief pause had ensued) - the sole syllable having emerged from plush lips with a gentle exhale like a surfer riding a wave to the shore - "I don't believe there will be any need for such animosity to arise between us." Slender digits reached toward the dark haired male while she spoke, turning his resting hand over to expose his palm to her, an index finger tracing the lines the calloused skin with the ease of a patron perusing books on a library shelf - her mind lingering on the notion that Jamie could manipulate reality, ostensibly too stubborn to let it go much like a child clinging to its mother's leg on the first day of school - as though she believed she could feel his power by a mere touch.
"You must show me," the words underpinned by something akin to desire, the sorceress' need to make herself aware of all aspects of the arcane arts an insatiable thirst; easily rivalling that of one who was stranded in the desert for days. Emerald hues glanced up at him, retracting her hand from his, once content with what information she had reaped from the gentle caress of her finger across his palm, not feeling the need to elaborate that she did not necessarily need a demonstration at that moment (or perhaps in apprehension that she were the only other presence in the room), similarly not wishing to ruin the amicable atmosphere that embraced them like a warm blanket.
of fickle natures [skrull invasion] // zakir + amora
He couldn’t take his eyes off her, though if asked why, he wouldn’t be able to explain. It was more than looks, though she was clearly gorgeous with perfect golden locks, and eyes that were decidedly jewel toned, as if they were somehow more saturated than his own. There was something about her that was uncomfortable, something unknown and just a little wild. Enchantress brought to mind the Greek myth of Circe and Odysseus, and with the knowledge that Asgardians had much longer lifespans than humans, he couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps it was less a myth and more a true history - a sorceress of ages past seated before him at a coffee shop.
Zakir ran a hand through perfectly styled hair, but carefully so he wouldn’t ruin it. He needed the moment to refocus on his thoughts. Finally, he spoke, in a measured, not yet needlessly argumentative tone. “SHIELD was created as an intelligence agency to protect the world from impossible threats. By definition intelligence agenices do not trust and our loyalties are to a cause - not other people.”
As she let him settle into the seat across from her, deft fingers reached upward to work a braid into blonde tresses; splitting the hair into three sections before twisting and turning it in order to craft the desired style before securing it with a 'bobby' (she believed that was what they called hair elastics, at the least). The sorceress' shrewd gaze, the colour of the rolling hills, remained on his, their hue reminiscent of leaves that glistened under the sun's rays when sprinkled with early morning dew. The combination reminded her of the landscapes of Asgard; the flora glistening like jewels, worthy of the immortals that navigated them on a regular basis.
"If you do not trust those whom you work with, how can you be certain that you are united in the same cause? Loyalty is subjective, after all." Brows inched higher on her forehead like climbers up a cliff face - with a steady pace and certain direction - as she attempted to decipher his reaction. The sorceress not intentionally trying to start a conflict though finding herself curious relating to the intricacies of the intelligence agency. Slender digits curled around the ceramic mug of the tea in front of her, lifting it to her lips to take a sip of the hot beverage and leaving a decidedly red lipstick stain on the rim of the drinks container.
Temptation Taunts the Empty || Jamie & Amora
When Jamie came back with two glasses of wine and saw Amora dressed in the soft black sweatpants and black t-shirt, he smiled again. Once again, he found himself thinking what a beautiful woman she was. In another lifetime, he would have been doing his best to charm her, hopefully to charm her into his bed, and he would have been shameless in the pursuit of such an enchanting creature. In this lifetime, however, he had to content himself with simply enjoying her company.
Offering her the glass of wine, Jamie said, “A man slit my throat some time ago.. Not deep enough to kill me, clearly, and I’d already blinded him and was tearing his soul apart,” he shrugged as if it was of no consequence, then sat down on one of the comfortable, overstuffed chairs. “Still,” he said, then took a drink of the red wine, which was rich and heavenly, “it was a decent injury. I glued it shut, and was later healed of it…” Braddock fell quiet for a while, simply enjoying the calm heat of the moment. Amora was a beauty to behold, her ambition in attempting to unify the local gangs and crime syndicates was laudable, and the wine brought a tantalizing, full scent to the air.
"As for being prepared to deal with the wounds… mm, that I am. It is, I’ve discovered, a necessity in my — in our — line of work.” He took another sip of the wine, casually and comfortable lounging in the air, then met Amora’s gaze with a secretive sort of smile on his face. “As for you attempting to unify the crime rings… Laudable, but as you’ve clearly discovered, difficult. Criminals seem to have a bloody sixth sense for when someone isn’t quite one of them. You’re clearly not from around here, love, and I don’t just mean the wrong side of the pond.
"I’ve got several mafia, Bratva, and street crime contacts in my pocket, so to speak." And by several, Jamie meant at least half of the major players in town. He had been busy. "If you have some sort of plans in mind, something you need the underworld forces for… Perhaps it’s fortuitous that you and I met, tonight. I’ll have no problem delivering as many men and women as we might need, for certain endeavors. Provided, of course, that said endeavor is… Interesting enough for me to be involved in.
"So, darling. If you’d like the help of the ever-seedy underbelly… It seems you may’ve met the right man for the job. So, tell me. What is the job?”
His dark, beautiful eyes were practically alight with both his curiosity and his enjoyment of the night.
Soft fingers pressed against the fragile material, supporting it enough to be able to take it from him with ease, the red liquid sloshing against the edge of the container before it was silenced by the kiss of her lips. Glancing at him over the rim of her glass, emerald hues afforded him with their full attention until her glaze flickered down to the skin of his neck while he told her of his previous injury. "Have you not a scar?" The question was accompanied by a soft twitch of fingers, the gesture done as though the digits desired to test the theory for herself, unable to trust the low lighting that illuminated the room; competing with the dark night for dominance.
However, the focus of her thoughts did not remain on Jamie's lack of scarring for too long, lashes fluttered against her cheeks thrice in succession; confusion weighing them down while she attempted to blink it away."How did you do that? Tear his soul apart?" Ostensible innocence laced the inquiry she placed before him, despite it actually being anything but, thinking to herself that if she - the Enchantress - had not mastered this trick (or possessed it in her repertoire) when he had, then the dark haired male was worth her time.
The correction did not go unnoticed by the blonde, amusement flashing through the depths of her stare like a shooting star would through the night sky while the corner of her mouth twitched upward with definitive satisfaction. A brow lifted upon hearing him deem her actions laudable, taking a moment to conclude that she did not want to spoil the atmosphere of their current interaction by having to insult him for his choice of words (at least, not this time). She shrugged. "I have found it best to afford people with a choice, if they chose wrong, I reserve the right to take that choice from them."
"Is the notion that I clearly am not from here to my benefit or detriment?" Genuine curiosity could be found within the words that she spoke, finding herself honestly inquisitive as to whether or not her heritage was viewed as a positive or negative to those who were not from her home realm. "I am the Enchantress of of Asgard," she told him with a gentle inclination of her head as though to demonstrate it was the equivalent of reintroducing herself; for the Enchantress was a title which symbolised all that she had strove for, and earned, in her life time while Amora was her birth name, something that was given to her. "I was banished."
The offer was generous, the sorceress not needing to be familiar with the intricacies of this realm to be aware of that much. She found it odd; to be readily afforded with that which she needed (though was, in reality, something she knew was wise to have in order to be able to shift the blame were they caught) with so few questions. "It would sound to me that you are the one who has a job in mind," the woman stated - rather than asked - a groomed brow lifting expectantly as she took another sip from the glass in her hands. "Grand gestures are not my speciality," the comment vaguely cryptic, as well as being a partial lie, "I do believe there is a certain effectiveness to a sense of subtle chaos, however I do believe in order to impact on this city I must alter my ways."
Slender fingers made a motion reminiscent of a shrug, having confessed that she desired to do something on a large scale rather than small and, similarly, having crafted a few potential tasks though pausing to give Braddock a chance to offer his input.
smile and be a villain | Maximus + Amora
"I wouldn’t go as far as to call it a concern,” Maximus corrected with a lazy smile, taking to assume that her use of the word was in fact a silent hope that he did think about her welfare. The unfortunate truth for Amora was that he truly didn’t care about anyone else more than himself, although didn’t necessarily stop his thoughts from wandering towards the golden haired goddess from time to time. Tall heels on smooth flooring tapped like a metronome somewhere behind him as she moved further into the room, keeping to his periphery as though an animal likely to jump on him at any moment. He pondered over the possibility of her feeling threatened by his new status at S.H.I.E.L.D. - or maybe if his presence was merely irksome - but decided that the latter was entirely unreasonable if so. Surely it was a pleasure to be in his company after so long? He could have visited anyone, after all. At her somewhat dry sounding response, blue eyes flitted sparingly over to the miniature mountain of apples. “You went to Asgard to go fruit picking,” he observed, nothing derogatory in the statement but simply a tone of bemusement and mild interest that was quick to dissipate.
"This realm, as you so affectionately call it, is in itself an easy thing to grasp once you’re taught the details of its geographical structure… The complexities of mankind, on the other hand, is an infinitely more complex topic to understand." There was no need to ask where her curiosity for the topic came from; he found himself needing very little information to guess. A part of him pitied her, for she was quite clearly desperate to gain the attention of Thor Odinson once more, but it was only a minuscule amount of him that bothered to feel such emotions and so was easily ignored. The question as to his own being there was answered at first with a noise that sounded not unlike hnnnf, but was in fact him exhaling a burst of air though previously closed lips (huffing, he was huffing). “I have been banished from Attilan,” he replied, something rather blasé about his demeanour and attitude towards the whole affair, as though he’d simply been banned from the local supermarket as opposed to his home nation. In fact, he rather believed that being prevented from buying food would likely be even more of an inconvenience than not being able to visit his brother dearest.
"Which," he continued, gesturing as he spoke as though dictating, quite unable to keep still now that he’d shared that little piece of truth, "is exactly why working for S.H.I.E.L.D. is beneficial to me. It gives me something to do and… well… alright, I’ll let you in on the real meaning behind all of this side switching: there are far too many villains in this city. It’s disgusting. How are people like you and I supposed to stand out from the crowd when three out of every five people has - at some point - committed a crime of some sort." Maximus paused as if to reconsider his statement, amending it with a, "Maybe not three in five. That ratio’s a bit of an exaggeration. But you understand what I mean.” He certainly hoped she did, otherwise he was going to have to find another way to explain himself which likely would have involved either writing it down or acting it out, the latter of which he rally wasn’t too keen on doing. Admittedly excited to finally be telling someone his grand plan, he grinned flawlessly and sat down upon the couch Amora and her ‘business partner’ had previously been using.
"I’m not sure how you did it for quite so long, though." Blue eyes sought the Enchantress’ green irises and for a moment he found himself thinking about the land meeting the ocean; the might and power the came with water and earth alike. Realising he’d muted himself, the Inhuman shook his head and forced himself to explain his prior observation. "You know, change alliances between the so-called good and bad. It’s getting tiring, constantly having to try and prove that you aren’t about to turn on everyone and revert to your previous ways." Dramatically, he sat back, staring up at Amora’s ornate-looking ceiling as though the talented plastering would hold the answer. It didn’t, but the chandelier was polished in such a way that he could see his own reflection in it, which was just as pleasing. "Maybe I should have considered joining someone other than S.H.I.E.L.D. The police department may have been interesting given that they’re similar to Earth’s version of the Nova Corps. Not that their uniform is any better.”
"Does the fruit of this realm bestow the eater with immortality? Or does it gift the eater with any other abilities of note?" A single brow rose higher on her forehead, connoting that this was the window of opportunity she (generously) afforded him with to contradict her, tell her that had she missed something, allowing a beat of silence to pass between them before answering her own question with a confident no. It seemed as though blonde tresses desired to imitate the colour of the apples of which she spoke of, cascading over her shoulder into the waiting fingers that were the sun's rays while she turned to afford the Inhuman with a pointed look. "I fail to see why I should lower my standards to accommodate the sub-par products of this realm when they cannot compete with my previously conceived expectations." The sorceress knew that, technically, she was still banished for her home realm, though not having seen it necessary to keep in touch with those she would hardly consider friends, was not informed whether or not said banishment had been lifted. Boarders were subjective, after all.
"I beileve you under-estimate how simple man-kind are," she all but cooed, one edge of her mouth lifting as though the expression had been triggered by her own words. Amora not shying from her own acknowledgement, truly believing that all - immortal or mortal - who bore the title of homo sapien were not vastly dissimilar once the layers they donned, like intricately woven robe, were peeled back to reveal the base instinct that dwelled underneath. "In my experience, most find common ground in what motivates them, what they fear and what they desire." An emphasis was placed on the word 'desire' that connoted her own knowledge of the particular subject, the Enchantress aware that had those she had encountered not been fuelled by their primal urges that there was a chance (however slight) that she would not possess the array of powers she did now.
Brows inched higher on her forehead in tandem with the nod she afforded him with that lingered with approval, a beat of silence passing between them before she spoke again, having turned to face him; finding that she needed a moment to digest the information he had presented to her with a smile that was similar to the one the chef in an intimate restaurant would give when presenting you with a meal; it was proud. She could admit it was certainly one way to combat what her perceived as an issue - ridding the city of lesser criminals rather than endeavouring to craft alliances with them. A smile curled the edges of her mouth upward in response to the dark haired male's seeming excitement about his newly hatched plan. "I would have ventured they merely needed guidance. However, if I grow bored of those in my acquaintance I will happily transfer them into your custody." The grin her subtle smile transformed into rivalled Maximus', fixed on her features for but a moment before she expelled the expression with the air that circulated in her lungs, followed by a slightly more serious (though not necessarily wholly truthful), "I trust your judgement, darling."
For the minute that their gaze met, the goddess felt her breath catch in her throat, the air not seeming to want the burden of breaking the silence weighing it down. "I didn't," the confession came easily, though seemed to have been marinaded in a mixture of both confusion and a flavour of amusement. It wasn't a lie. The Enchantress had never committed to a side in a manner like her heroic and villainous allies respectively; her agenda was hers and hers alone, only pencilling in time to assist others when it benefited her in some manner. She had never given up her vices for some greater good, what those who fought on the side of the angels hadn't known hadn't hurt them. "They like to underestimate you, thinking that you can't change," the tone with which she spoke seemed to have been borrowed from a socialite, similar to the stride that carried her across the space between them. "All you need to do, is allow them to think they are right and let them remain on edge for a while longer. When they aren't on edge I do believe they take up too much room."
Long fingers curled against the leather of the back of the couch, having just pushed long waves from her features so they would not obscure her vision, allowing her to lean over the exiled heir. "You can join me for dinner, I won't make you don some silly uniform," the teasing was light, connoting that were he otherwise occupied that she would not (appear) aggravated, the emotion that had begun to wake from it's slumber in green orbs would have somewhat contradicted her words. While glancing down at him, the sorceress grew amused at the idea of seeing Maximus in one of the navy outfits she had seen the officers don while patrolling the streets before she found herself wondering if his new position meant that, in fact, he could not be seen with her. However, it was quickly dismissed owing to the fact that he had chosen to visit her here, though queried regardless with an 'Unless you have somewhere else to be?' glancing down at him while her hands before her gaze returned to him.
of fickle natures [skrull invasion] // zakir + amora
Zakir had the oddest feeling he should bow before seating himself across from the infamous Enchantress. Instead, he inclined his head respectully. He held a paper cup filled with a hot chai latte - the closest he could get to proper chai without making it himself, here in America. The agent brought the drink to his lips, taking in the ethereally pretty appearance of the Asgardian with calm, lightly hued eyes.
"I think you’ll find that assuming anyone is friends is -" He bit his tongue before he could say stupid. “-simplifying the situation. Even these heroes must answer to SHIELD and we are not founded upon trust and loyalty.”
Groomed brows lifted expectantly once the agent paused, aware of the connotations that an unexpected sentence break had; her conversation partner wished to rethink their sentence structure, feeling it necessary to ensure that their words culminated to create a meaning that left little room for ambiguity. The sorceress allowed herself a moment to digest his corrected completed comment, her lower lip jutting outward slightly to afford her with a fleeting contemplative expression before her features faded once again into a neutral mask.
Elbows rested against the surface of the table, interlocked fingers creating a perch on which she could rest her chin while emerald orbs remained on him in a manner that was not dissimilar to the way a cat would regard it's prey; mild interest dancing in their depths though something darker lurking underneath, dormant for the moment. "Is that so? If your organisation is not founded on trust and loyalty then what is it founded upon?"
of fickle natures [skrull invasion] // OPEN
"For those who claim that their alliances are founded on the principles of trust and loyalty, it is incredible how quickly you are prepared to turn on one another." The airy comment had emerged on the tail end of an exhale, said as casually as though she were discussing the weather, with a friend, over coffee.
"Is it really that easy to rouse suspicion between supposed friends?"
Seven Devils | Loki & Amora
Loki was finding the plebian surroundings just as distasteful as his female companion. Not that he would have expected any better from the criminal underworld of this backwards realm. He had been observing the establishment’s patrons and decor with a decided wrinkle of his nose, not even remotely impressed. How did these thugs hope to inspire any sort of fear or respect if they chose to cavort in such nondescript environs? Of course he had done his share of business in dingy dens of ill repute, but somehow even the lowest hovel of Asgard was a palace compared to this squalor.
"I ask myself the same question constantly, Amora my dear," he replied. Clearly Thor’s fascination with Midgard would continue to puzzle them both. "But then, do consider the source. My brother may be renowned for the strength of his arms, but never for the strength of his brain." Smirking slightly, he added, "Which should be more than obvious considering how he has overlooked you for so long."
He watched as Amora sent the distasteful crime magnate on his way, amused by his indignant glare at her brusque dismissal. Ah, she did have a way with men, did she not? Lifting his glass to his lips, Loki took a sip of his drink. Swill, just like most beverages on this realm. He grimaced and set the glass back down. “Sully your magic? We are sullying ourselves just by being present in such a morass of vileness. It has been centuries since I’ve felt so unclean.” Sniffing in revulsion, Loki ran a finger along the edge of the bar and frowned. “Disgusting.”
Yes, he too had been hoping to find at least a somewhat competent criminal, thus he could not fault Amora for having been thinking so. Though they really should have known better for having such an expectation on this realm. “Nothing in Midgard is ever worth having high expectations. I thought you would have learned that by now. Still, I would have thought at least some of these buffoons would be willing to try and gain renown for themselves by assisting us. If even your feminine wiles are failing to draw them in, then we are in dire straits indeed.” He sighed and pursed his lips in thought. “How else could we go about this? Create recruitment posters and place them around the city? ‘I Want You for Loki’s Army’…or somesuch clever slogan? Isn’t that how Midgardians always try to attract attention, by hooking their audience with snappy advertising?”
The legato rhythm, tapped by slender digits, went unheard amid the cacophony in the establishment (the only remnants of the idle beat were the imprint of three fingers in the condensation of her glass) as did the soft huff that was huffed from her airway, having been triggered by the Tricker's comment about Thor having, supposedly, overlooked her while the edge of her mouth turned upward. "Why," drawing out the word, as though she wished to highlight that what followed would be a question, "Would I use my feminine wiles, as you call them, when the most powerful man in this room is already seated by my side?" Fingers curled against her palm, creating a perch on which to rest her chin for a fleeting minute, adding to the illusion of faux innocence created by the imperceivable widening of her eyes, long lashes dusting the highest point of her cheek in three succinct motions, before she righted herself and slid gracefully from her chair.
The already small distance between them was easily closed by her while the sorceress moved to stand behind the dark haired male, deceptively delicate hands lifting to rest against his shoulders while thumbs moved in supposedly soothing motions. A part of her knowing Loki believed the whole affair of associating with those beneath him to be a tedious procedure and believed she could aid him in assuaging some measure of the tension with the repetitive motions. Precisely painted lips drew level with his ear once she'd leaned forward, words a hot breath against the shell of his ear. "Well, dearest - rather than attempt to create a network of our own - I can introduce you to the members of my criminal network, after which we may return to my abode to bathe in an effort to clean ourselves from that which has sullied us and you may inform me how you have not overlooked me." The tone of her statement rose toward the concluding syllables, connoting a question, indicating that if he wished to walk away from her and spend the night by himself, she would not stop him.
The corner of her mouth curled upward into a small smirk of her own while she considered her own acquaintances (for she would not call them any more, nor less) and how the God of Mischief would react to them. Admittedly, she had been selective in choosing who she would associate herself with - not wanting to invest her time and energy in those who had skills which anyone could master - collecting a modicum of talent and cherishing them not unlike a magpie would jewels. Once she had arranged herself to stand on his other side, not caring that she had turned her back on the patron in the chair behind her, she lifted a brow; an air of challenge lingering about the gesture, though as a response to what she could not say. "Does that appeal to you, darling, or would you rather present me with a better idea?"
Black Magic Woman || Wanda & Amora
If Wanda had told herself that this would be the way she was spending her night, the mutant would have not believed it. She was a hero, but it wasn’t every day that you literally walk into a situation where someone needed to be aided. It also was quite surprising since Wanda barely knew Amora. She was aware that they were in many ways on the same side, but there hadn’t been many occasions where they were to socialize. In a way this was a good change, since it gave her an opportunity to get to know someone better. Wanda wasn’t always so positive, but she did like to be social when her head wasn’t being weighed down by her past.
She continued to walk along as she flanked Caitlin. Not many could say they were escorted home in such a way, but it was better to make sure the young woman was safe above all else. It seemed like the city was still buzzing with activity and that there was the possibility that walking home could be met with a few difficulties. It was that time of night where drunks could turn into monsters given the wrong combination of alcohol and impulse. ” First impressions are the thing’s that last the most, but as long as it is the kind of impression you give off it can’t be anything but good.” Wanda replied complimenting Amora on the grand display she had seen when she had walked into the alley.
The sounds of cars driving by and people chattering started to fill the air. She didn’t mind the silence, because Wanda while being social, never had a lot to say. She kept it short and sweet. It was more about the thing’s that couldn’t be said that intrigued her. Wanda smiled as Caitlin had been dropped off safely and she gave her a goodbye and expressed that she too could be called upon if needed. Sure, she hadn’t done any of the hard work, but she was always a willing participant in doing good. She told Caitlin goodnight, before returning her gaze to the blonde ally. “Me? I hadn’t had plans at all for the night. This was better than anything I could have done”
"I've been told my first impressions often leave others feeling rather enchanted," the blonde retaliated, an air of knowing lingering about the words she spoke while flashing the other woman a fleeting grin which allowed her a view of sharp white teeth that seemed brighter in contrast to the off-yellow hue of the street lamp. Once they fell into step, the staccato rhythm of their movements while shoes met the pavement transitioned into a smoother legato, having been broken when Amora stopped to kick aside an empty beer bottle that seemed to be a remnant of earlier partying with the group (or perhaps lone party goer) having long since moved forward with their night.
"What would you have done, had you not been involved in returning that little darling home safely?" The woman posed the question, allowing the underpinning tone to be one which was reminiscent of mild curiosity, while her telepathy snaked forward - like a reptile through the grass - sinking its fangs through the thoughts that were of importance to her while others were discarded from her path with ease until she had seen all she needed to. "Are those at the Avengers Tower not stimulating conversationalists?" Emerald hues widening slightly to create the illusion of innocence, inclining her head to one side in a minute gesture as though attempting to better hear whatever answer she may receive though - in reality - she did not expect the response to please her, believing the majority of heroic conversation revolved around morals and pertained to other topics that did not interest her.
mynameisamora the re-done comic icons from The Mighty Thor #14-16ish
if any other Amora rpers use them, please like or reblog this and give credit.
Read More
Temptation Taunts the Empty || Jamie & Amora
“Good to know,” Jamie replied, when Amora assured him that there was nothing to fear from anyone following her. He had watched with unabashed awe as she produced the bullet; now that was a magic trick. When she settled down to get herself more comfortable, her delicate but dangerous little hand closed around the bullet, Jamie opened a packet with nitrile gloves in and put them on. Looking down at her, it was impossible not to note how she managed to look so graceful simply by lying there. Her poise was just as charming as her beauty, her arrogance (and chagrin) the strangest compliment to her blood.
Taking an antiseptic sponge out, Jamie used it to carefully scrub the area around the wound, not wanting to introduce anything new into it while he got to work cleaning it out. That done, he began cleaning out the upper inch of the wound as well as could be done; he would have liked to check and see if any fabric had been taken in with the bullet, but her muscles seemed to have already closed up that far down, and so the only way he would discover any bits of fabric would be to slice her back open. That was something he wasn’t prepared to do.
“911 is a telephone service,” Braddock told her, smiling more warmly than he usually did as he watched what he was doing. “It’s for emergencies – medical, fire, criminal. In this country, one need only dial the numbers nine, one, and one into a telephone and it will connect them to the service provider… In theory. Assuming the phones are working.”
When he had the wound cleaned out to the point that he felt comfortable bandaging it – the standard being that if he would be satisfied with it on his sister, it was more than good enough for anyone else – Jamie put clean bandaging and dressing on her. He collected the bloodied things and threw them away, along with his gloves, then washed his hands again.
“All done, love. Though I’m curious, what’s the full story behind how you came to acquire such a lovely bullet?” He glanced over at her as he dried his hands off, then went to find some sort of alcohol for them to actually drink; it would be far more appealing than the alcohol in one of those cleansing sponges.
Soft material of the sponge moulded to the contours of her skin, cooling heated skin in what the blonde would have labelled as refreshing despite how lips remained slightly parted as a memento of the gasp that had died on her tongue at the initial contact. The chill was not unlike that of the small piece of metal that currently leached the warmth from the palm of her hand, fingers tightening sporadically against the mutated bullet which left half moon indents of her own nails that contrasted the otherwise flawless flesh once her digits had unfurled. Emerald hues remained on the small object, finding herself disgruntled that something so seemingly insignificantly minuscule could cause such extensive damage.
A contemplative frown drew her lips together and the goddess found herself wondering what degree of severity an incident had to be before it could be classed as an emergency in this realm, conceding after a moment, that it was best left to the side for the moment - perhaps fishing it from the pool of her thoughts, on a rainy day such as this one, for further consideration - thanking the dark haired man for his explanation with a gratuitous nod of her head. Besides, from her experience, there were enough feathered beasts in the city for the humans to avail of; were their telecommunication devices inaccessible.
"You have my thanks," she told him, the sentiment as genuine as it could be, confusion still lingering in what she'd said, almost imperceivable though still present, not unlike the taste of lemon in a maderia cake. It was a rarity, she had learned, for one to engage in an act of kindness without expecting something in return, part of the sorceress still expecting a request of a favour or service from Jamie, unable to quell the part of her that remained naturally suspicious. A soft huff was expelled following her expression of gratitude, once his question had played on her ears in a similar manner to the rain against the window; not demanding though merely wishing to alert to its presence.
The material that rested against the curve of her waist like the hands of a lover was soon rolled over her hip bones while she stepped from it, exchanging the garment for those that had been brought out for her and leaving the dress she had been wearing folded a top her heels neatly, on the floor, beside the couch. "I had, mistakenly, in hindsight, been under the impression that I could facilitate a coalition between to of this city's main gangs," the last word feeling foreign on her tongue, leaving an odd taste in her mouth that meant she needed a moment to remember herself before she continued, "They grew violent sooner than expected and I was an obstruction."
It wasn't entirely true, the bullet had infringed on her existence - not the other way around - having ensured that those in question paid for their mistake. She had been establishing a repertoire with the criminals of New York (the more intelligent, at least) who all operated in different areas of crime; the list covered but a modicum of activity as the Enchantress was not willing to associate herself with just anyone. It was not an option for her, to be a jack of all trades and master of none, so instead she had chosen to take the strings of marionettes into delicate hands and become the puppet master.
"It surprises me how readily those of this realm will draw their pistols in an effort to cease conflict," the woman mused, more so to herself than her company, never truly able to be empathetic toward the human plight; arcane arts coming to her with as much ease as breathing did. The angle of her mouth turned lob sided, teeth having snagged the edge of her bottom lip for a mere minute before vocalising the thought that had appeared at the forefront of her mind with the efficiency of an adapt teleporter. "It perhaps is not one of the most captivating stories that I could share; as I believe I told you earlier, I have experienced worse." The smile that followed balanced between a smug self-satisfaction and a warmth the blonde's interactions were usually devoid of, connoting she would elaborate if prompted.
"What of you? Have you garnered any wounds of note in the past? You seem prepared to deal with them, at the very least." A brow lifted in mild curiosity while settling herself into the seat she'd vacated, having presumed Jamie would have been accustomed to (either seeing or procuring) injuries due to his seeming calm when tending to hers.
Answer the question - and only the question. || Team Blue + Amora.
Just like she knew exactly what Shae was thinking, and they would all be interviewed, Jean caught the emotions that flickered briefly on Amora’s face. It was only a heartbeat and took a trained eye to detect, but Jean didn’t react. She knew where this line of questioning was headed, and if her instincts were right, she probably already knew what the answers would be. Jean was setting herself up, and she knew it, it was going to be thrown back in her face with a sting that would damn near rip out her bleeding heart. But Jean understood, because Scott Summers would always be her Achille’s heel. Whatever Brian had planned she had to stop at once, because his presence would upset the dynamics of the rapport that had been established. There wasn’t anywhere for testosterone to hide amongst women.
Jean stood with her hands crossed behind her back and stepped away from the table so that Brian could see her orders clearly. Her wrists were locked and her fingers stiff, and with a gentle mental prompt, she made sure he wouldn’t step foot inside the room until they were done. The band on a chain that rested next to her heart gave her strength. Jean swallowed thicky, but her features still didn’t change.
"If Loki doesn’t interest you, then perhaps you’d do well to take a page out of Thor’s book, Amora? Time means everything to him right now. Jane Foster. Do you know her? Who am I kidding, of course you do. She’s human, you know. The love of Thor’s life, her days are fleeting, but he has given up the throne for her. He has given up everything for Jane, to be with Jane.
If you want to share intimate details with us, be my guest. We’re all big girls here. But let’s get one thing straight, waste my time and Jane’s life will seem significantly longer than you’ll ever anticipate.”
Jean turned to Shae for a moment and frowned. She was in an awful hurry to get through this interview. Jean didn’t know if that was how she worked, there was no harm in being thorough, but she was cautious with her own thoughts and actions. She couldn’t afford to take anything for granted, and noted every little tidbit she could. Total recall of her memories was going to become handy at some stage during the day, because Jean was determined to find out who was under the effects of the Skrulls latest attempts to infiltrate S.H.I.E.L.D. She had a duty and she was going to see it through to the end, and they would be doing it her way, whether the team liked it or not.
The agent shifted her weight back onto her heels, unable to keep quite still in such a sterile atmosphere where one telepath reigned supreme against a veritable goddess from another realm who occupied the steel chair behind the table as though it were a throne of Asgard. She tilted her head back til her hair just brushed the lower part of her neck and rolled her eyes straight toward the ceiling. For fuck’s sake. Here was the best lead they’d had in two days and this so-called Phoenix was allowing the blonde to preside over this interrogation room and spit Shakespeare in the Park at them. These interviews shouldn’t take more than five minutes at the very least, in Shae’s mind- not with a telepath like Grey on their side. All she had to do was take a little waltz around the inside of someone’s mind, check to see if they were running a bit more cold-blooded than usual or whatever the fuck, and be done with it. “Sounds like you’re evading the question, Asgardian,” Shae cut in, shrugging her shoulders and moving a bit in place.
Finally, she exhaled shortly, the breath passing loudly through her nostrils and she turned toward Jean, leaning in to the taller woman and turning away from the blonde, catching sight of her own reflection in the mirror and glaring into it fleetingly before she spoke. “This is a waste of our time and resources. Can’t you.. I dunno, move this along?” she hissed, stepping away and pulling the tablet out again while the mutant started talking about other Asgardians of note. Shae almost rolled her eyes again. Not that she didn’t trust Jean to get the job done, but playing Amora’s games was exactly what the Enchantress wanted. They could be interviewing everyone else on this floor in the time it took to get through one game of cat and mouse with Amora and Jean. She tapped hard on the tablet’s screen and brought up their list of potential suspects and their files. The agent soon grew impatient with these as well, folding her arms back across her chest and letting the tablet sit snug between her arm and torso (and sidearm).
“Entertain us with any details you’d like,” Shae drawled, rolling her shoulders and settling her gaze on the blonde, the corners of her mouth twitching like she was trying hard not to smirk. “There’s at least someone in the vicinity that’ll be entertained by them,” she continued, giving the mirror a brief (and mocking) glance out of the corner of her eye. “But trust me when I say that Ms. Grey is not one you’d like to mess with. Do us all a favor and confirm your true identity, Amora,” she said wearily, tapping an idle fingertip against the surface of the tablet still grasped loosely in her hand.
Certainly, Jean’s deviation from her previous stance served to catch the Captains attention, and he leveled his gaze at the mirror as though he were trying in vain to bore a hole through the very panes that separated the hero from the rest of his team. Each movement was predominantly calculated and he observed with narrow eyes, his gaze ceased to waver and he stood at attention like a soldier following his orders. Perhaps this meant that he could retire for a cup of tea and a jolly good biscuit, the food he had been served upon the tea trolley did little to satisfy his appetite. What was it that a chap had to do to scramble up a decent sausage?
Perhaps, he lamented, being present for the detailed procurement of Amora’s latest worldy fling would put the wind back into his rather dosile sails at some point, yes, he found that he did rather like the idea of listening to the sordid tail she would no doubt spin like a web of fine silk that unwound from her creative spindle. What he would not give to be able to settle into a heavy back chair with a pint in his hand so that he might enjoy the moment at ease. Their had given her orders, but surely that did not mean that he had to be denied the pleasures that he sought.
He would do well to observe the interview being conducted by the concluding members of his Team Beta. He had heard far and wide of Darcy’s escapades, he was spoiled for choice, certainly, the fairest of women to tickle his fancy. But if he was not needed here, he had other team members to aid, files to complete, and tomes that would further furnish his knowledge where the Skrulls were concerned, he could bide his time with far more creative outlets at a later date. He had been set to task and to wander off course would upset those in the know. Agent Wiley was already chomping at the bit. With a resigned sigh, it was that Brian found himself retreating from the sight of those he had staunchly observed as part of his duties to S.H.I.E.L.D.
Chin tilted upward momentarily, gaze remaining firmly on the auburn haired female (whose hair seemed copper under the lighting of the interrogation room), the goddess lowering her head once more when she was seemingly satisfied with what she had seen. Behind a closed mouth, her tongue ran across pearl white teeth in contemplation while needing to exert control in efforts to regulate her own breathing pattern so as not to convey the aggravation that had leaked into her blood stream, triggered by Phoenix's words. The vocalised assumption that the brunette mortal was the love of Thor's life furrowed her brow, wondering vaguely if she had afforded this woman with more credit for her intelligence than she was due.
The stretch of sinewy limbs that allowed her to stand was calculated, done in tandem with Jean as to eliminate the possibility for the woman to attempt to intimidate her by looming over her (had she remained seated). Irises shifted to the brunette, a brow lifting while answering the question with an eerie calm despite it not having been directed at her, "No need, I will," the inquiry with the intent of speeding up the interrogation having carried over to the sorceress in the confines of the small room enough for her to be aware of the impatience that slowly began to fill Shae's being, affording the agent with a bemused look before she continued. A dangerous smile curved into full lips, slender digits moving to rest on the underside of the table momentarily before the Enchantress upturned the furniture and sent it flying through the one-way mirror, shards falling like sharp raindrops that gathered in strange puddles on the floor.
A slight nod was given to her company, as though to suffice in place of asking if that were enough confirmation of her identity to assuage their doubts, leaning forward in an, exaggerated, curtsey before turning on her heel and teleporting out.
Smoke You Out || Spider-Man & the Enchantress
Peter was fairly certain he was close to figuring out how to disarm the device when it simply vanished from his hands. Turning, he watched as it reappeared in the Enchantress’ hands. Everyone’s friendly neighborhood Spider-Man was starting to get tired of this whole ‘real magic’ thing. He would have happily taken Mysterio’s cheap illusions and special effects any day of the week. Magic was just something that the wall crawler couldn’t wrap his head around. “Hey, I wasn’t done with that! No take backsies! You know, a big purple dinosaur once said ‘Sharing Is Caring’.”
It was a small comfort when the Asgardian sorceress disintegrated the detonator, but Amora’s words rang true. If she was properly motivated, Peter was fairly certain that she might level half the city before she needed to catch her breath. The ashes flew by him, carried on the breeze that now blowed through the large holes in the museum’s walls. It was clear to both of them that his jabbering banter was pointless. He didn’t stand a chance against the Enchantress. Then again, that had never stopped him from picking a fight before.
“You think so, do you?” He let out a little chuckle, shrugging his shoulders. “Take it from me, lady, the Misses isn’t very fond of you. I’m pretty sure she’d be happy to know that I’m here to clean your clock.” There wasn’t much left to say. Peter just took a deep breath and leapt toward the golden haired harpy with superhuman agility. He threw a flurry of blows at her, putting everything into his swings. A spider didn’t have a prayer against a god, but it was damn sure going to be an inconvenience before the end.
Once the first punch from the web slinger had been allowed impact against the line of her collar bone, the blonde disappeared in a swirl of luminescent green magic that carried her to the other side of her company, managing to secure an arm around his neck before the very fibres of her being reformed completely. Time had prompted her to view events such as these with a sense of beauty that was unfitting for the situation, able to exert her strength over another being - quite literally, holding someone's life in her hands, being able to restrict breathing (or cut it off completely) with a controlled contraction of her elbow - for she was no warrior, nor bore the honour of the name shield maiden, but wore the title of the Enchantress like the crown that would one day rest atop golden hair.
"Don't move." The command was enunciated with voracious vowels that were contrasted by sharp consonants, painted lips parting in concentration while the sorceress resisted the urge to squash him like the bug he was there and then triggered by a thought that had snaked forward from the recesses of her mind. However, her intonation had implied that were he to try anything either, that there would be repercussions; thus the Asgardian did not waste her breath in telling him such. "The next time you wish to cross me, bug, I won't be as generous." While contemplating her next words, the fair haired female inclined her head slightly to one side, the hero missing the flash of verdant energy that flickered across her irises, "Me having garnered dislike from an insignificant red-headed mortal does not infringe on my being when I could crush her in my grasp like the slug she is." Slender digits turned friendly, grip loosening while her fingers trailed across his jaw, moving lower until they ghosted across his pulse point, the deviation from the normal rate triggering a smirk.
"You're either with me or against me, and if it is to be the latter I would suggest you stay out of my way," adapting those as her parting words, the spell caster disappeared in a spiral of emerald coloured magic, leaving Spider-Man amongst the rubble.
Answer the question - and only the question. || Team Blue + Amora.
Agent Wiley, Shae, she had to remember that, she hadn’t worked with the woman before. She seemed to know what she was doing, and Jean didn;t sense any hostility, she was a welcome addition to the team, hopefully her interrogation skills were well polished and ready to get to the bottom of this matter. Jean didn’t always play by the rules, but the rules didn’t always apply to her, espeially in situations like thise where she could use her powers without an invite. Amora, Jean knew Amora. There was no doubt about it, she could be a cunning woman, but she didn’t lack class, she had an air about her that was unmistakable. She was expecting the Asgardian to lash out, but she’d also reel it back in. Psycholanalyzing was a strength Jean was grateful for, suddenly she didn’t feel so overwhelmed by her position as team leader. She had to exploit Amora’s weaknesses, but Amora wasn’t human. Jean had to find the right combination of circumstances and experiences if they had any hopes of pulling information.
"Well, we don’t really appreciate our realm being invaded by people who know better. From what I’ve heard, Odin wasn’t exactly pleased to hear that his son had tried to take over Earth. Can you really blame us?"
Jean began to lay the foundations, starting close to home. It was give and take, a tug here, a pull there. Behind them Brian was watching through the plate glass viewing window, if he was anything like Betsy he could stay there for all Jean cared. The room was void of distractions, Jean knew the facts of the case, and was familiar with Amora’s background. It seemed like the logical place to start. The questions would be basic, easy to answer, they were looking for anything that stuck out as unusual, that didn’t fit. Jean and Amora were similar in their interests, they had similar powers, and experiences, Jean could draw on this as a baseline of normal behaviour. Right now Amora’s body movemebts didn’t prove much, that apart from her little outburst, she was comfortable.
"Amora, can you recount for us your actions over the past twenty four hours."
Jean smiled and tapped her thumbs against her arms, she hoped they had coffee, good, strong coffee, not like the junk they sold at Starbucks. She took a moment to glance at Shae, if she was bored, she wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding it. She probab;y had her own prefered method of obtaining information from a suspect, but for now, this would have to do. In reality, they were all within her sights, Jean wasn’t about to discount the fact that any one of them could be a Skrull in disguise.
"Just remember that today, time is not your friend."
The brunette’s eyes narrowed, staring down at the tablet in her hand that now displayed not one but three files side by side. Amora the Enchantress, Asgardian with known ties to the trickster, Loki. She’d been nothing but a thorn in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s thick sole since her arrival on Earth, it seemed. Jean Grey, Phoenix, a high-level mutant telepath, which caused Shae to scowl even more and attempt to lessen the thoughts that ran wild in her head- not like it’d matter. She thought of Betsy and her knuckles went white over the edge of the device, her gaze lingering on the final file- Brian Braddock. She lifted her head and turned it slowly, casting a narrow-eyed glare at her own reflection in the two-way mirror. Supposedly the good Captain was observing the interview. God knows why. She rolled her eyes and turned back around, fully facing the blonde who seemed, well, thrilled to be here. Amora had greeted her like they were old friends and Shae was sad for a moment without really knowing why- they had been acquaintances once. Better then than now, she supposed. Shae continued to scowl when the Enchantress suggested that they befriend the Skrulls instead of hunt them down like the creatures that they were.
Jean made a wonderful point- why should they be so quick to harbor extraterrestrial beings when most (if not all) of them came to Earth with ulterior motives? “You’re close with the trickster, are you not?” Shae piped up, looking back down at the device and scrolling through one of the three files on the screen. “You’re lucky that S.H.I.E.L.D. simply let you remain here after the destruction Loki caused. Consider that our expression of goodwill. We don’t take alien invasions lightly, Amora.” Fingertips drummed along the back of the tablet and she shifted back on her heels, listening as Jean skillfully guided the interview.
“And please be explicit. Any holes in your story will be regarded with suspicion. We don’t have time to sit and pander about. Anything that strikes us as unusual will be noted. If you are who you claim to be, it’s in your best interest to tell the truth- no tricks,” Shae cautioned. The Enchantress was a wild card- she had her own agenda that was, as far as S.H.I.E.L.D. knew, entirely separate from that of her Asgardian cohorts. It unclear whether or not she sided with them (thought most of the time it appeared as though she operated completely independently). She looked back down at her data. What was it that had drawn S.H.I.E.L.D. to this woman in the first place? What was the key factor in determining if one was or was not a Skrull? Why hadn’t they all been interviewed? As far as she knew, they were all suspects. Her brows twitched toward the center of her face and she lifted her gaze, her head still bowed over the tablet, and studied Jean, who bristled with confidence and raw power. It would be an easy place to hide, behind the mind of a telepath, she thought. Her eyes shifted to Amora, who sat atop her chair like a throne and had yet to answer the question.
“Any day now,” Shae prompted, straightening again and letting her arms fall to her sides. They didn’t have the time to waste on interviewing one person- half of their team was here! Talk about a waste of resources.
Perhaps, the splendidly quiffed blonde deduced, Miss Wiley had rather suddenly conjured the ability to read one’s mind, her gaze turned in his direction and her eyes bored through the window quite thoroughly. Brian was chuffed, he would delight in toying with that one. To ruffle her feathers would be not a chore, nor a labour, rather an amusement that he would gratify him so. And what lovely lips she had. He refrained from making an obscene gesture, ‘twould do him no good as the glass before him deflected light from a straight path by refraction, altering her viewing pleasures significantly. He chuckled and the agents milling about ceased their actions momentarily to observe his antics. “It’s an inside joke,” he informed the closest, Greg, his security tag supplied. “Inside joke, do you fathom? No? Then perhaps my humour is far too proficient for your level of comprehension.” The gent scowled before he took his leave.
Skrulls, Brian reasoned, perhaps it was merely as case of misplaced shapeshifting extraterrestrial’s gone mad. No, Skrull’s did not simply muck about with human’s thus so. They were deviant’s, committing crimes and leaving destruction. They conquered planets and later left them abandoned when the inhabitants had all perished. He was quite sure that they did nothing without a purpose, and Phoenix would have vested personal motive to question them after the Shi’ar trial.
The list of known Skrulls was lengthy, it was any wonder the top brass did not have young Theodore Altman on the case. Observing Amora, he did not think her out of the ordinary, but the Skrulls were shapeshifters, they would immitate and infiltrate. They could gain access to any organisation in order to acquire secrtet information. Virtually nothing could stop them, nothing but DNA could identify the difference between inter-realm visitors. That train of thought gave Brian a rather splendid idea. Amora needed to do little more than come into contact with something they could confiscate to in a bid to retrieve a sample unknowingly redeemed. He would formulate a plan to have a cold beverage delivered to the suspect. Let it not be said that the good Captain did not rally for his troops.
Jean's query, despite the rhetorical nature that hung about it like a fragrance would its wearer, triggered the defiant raise of her chin that fleetingly exposed the confusion the comment had evoked while it shimmered in emerald orbs. Thor? The initial thought furrowed her brows and turned the edges of her mouth downward, contemplating what had been said before lips parted slightly, expressing the oh of understanding that she dare not say aloud, while sculpted features relaxed accordingly. She'd meant Loki. Word of his endeavour to commandeer Midgard and have those who inhabited the realm kneel before him had not escaped her; it may have only been a whisper on the wind, the rustle of leaves in a forest or an errant thought that fluttered at the edges of her telepathy as gentle as the wings of a butterfly but it had been there all the same.
Arms, which had promptly crossed themselves over her chest, tightened their grasp momentarily - as though seeking comfort from her own embrace - before loosening their grip enough to be considered comfortable. Loose blonde locks cascaded across one shoulder as the sorceress inclined her head contemplatively, affording herself the luxury of the time the red-head told her that she did not possess to consider what was asked of her; expelling a sigh ostensibly laced with mild annoyance as she was prompted by Shae to afford them with an answer. "Time is relative, darlings. What is an hour, or a period of hours, to an immortal like myself?" She asked with a raise of her brows (falling quickly after they had been lifted, in a manner not dissimilar to a person climbing a ladder who was forced down when their foot missed a rung) while her tongue ran across the front of her teeth, clucking against the roof of her mouth, as though disapproving that they did not understanding, thrice in succession before she fell silent again.
"However, I can tell you that I spent the evening in the company of another, if that's of any relevance. Am I allowed to gloss over that or would you care for the more intimate details?" Carefully chosen words were done so to express her feelings on the matter, a brow arching challengingly while the edges of her eyes crinkled slightly, narrowing fractionally, waiting for an answer before she continue; having quite literally given them an inch, and not much more, as she not deign to pass up the opportunity to toy with her current company - like a cat would a mouse - quite so readily.
Another set of 100x100 Amora the Enchantress comic icons that I’m sharing with mynameisamora. If any other Amora rpers would like to use them please let me know and give some form of credit.
Read More
Carry Me || Amora & Bruce
Bruce had to think about that for a moment. He bit his lower lip, uncertainty momentarily creased his brow, and his dark eyes seemed to grow heavy with the weight of memories long since dismissed, but never forgotten.
"I suppose…. it’s safer," the physicist allowed, thoughtfully. "Physically, emotionally. Just better for everyone involved. I can’t really stay in any one place for long, and it’s easier to be on my own. Can’t take ‘em with me, and it’s less painful to go when you don’t have anyone you’re leaving behind…" There was always someone, though. A patient, a storekeep, an old widow who’d given him a spare room. Bruce’s heart was too big, and too empty for him to ever truly shut people out, and he always wound up carrying someone with him as he walked away.
He smiled ruefully at Amora and winked at her, tapping the side of his nose knowingly. “Ah, but that’s the thing. Just because you don’t like something, doesn’t mean it’s any less a part of you. Though you’re right, it does help to have friends you can toss into brick buildings without breaking. Though I can’t say there I have all that many… Friends like that… well. They’re either with you forever, or they get sick of playing the chew toy, and decide they’d rather not be your ‘friends’ very much longer. That’s usually when the chasing starts. Or when someone decides I’m too dangerous, and tries to stick me in a cage, or murder me in my sleep.” He picked up his glass and drained it, expression hardening ever so slightly as he did. He put it back down, and let out a sharp bark of laughter, shaking his head. “But then, what more can you expect, eh? People are stupid, and scared of just about everything that moves. It’s disgusting. But that’s the way the world turns. Fear is a fantastic motivator.”
Slender digits reached out, curling around the calloused hand that rested closest to her and holding it in her own as she listened to him. A soft smile, laced with understanding, uplifted the edges of her mouth, affording him the courtesy of allowing him to finish before speaking herself. "You have me," the words a soft reassurance, the sorceress rubbing comforting circles on the back of his palm with her thumb in an absent minded pattern. "I dare say I've endured worse than being thrown into brick buildings and, unless you deign to tell me otherwise, I believe I have not been broken yet. I also don't mind being chewed when occasion calls for it," her features contorted into an amused smirk, tightening her hold on his hand fleetingly; only for a moment to bolster the mild jest in her words.
The proficiency with which long fingers crafted carefully cultivated words was evident; concealing them with sure brush strokes of vibrant colours that sheltered the observer from their true meaning, framed in gold to distract from the falseness beneath the many layers. It was little more than a game to her, the queen, gathering pieces to stand before her - pawns, to be used at her convenience - then discard them once they had served their purpose, not thinking to afford them the slightest chance to cross to the other side of the board before she herself could. The only aim was often to win (for what was there for her in losing?), what exactly she desired to claim as her prize for being a victor remained ambiguous, even to her, whether the title itself would be enough - as to be dubbed victim would not be acceptable, in any realm - or whether it was something else she desired to mark her eventual crowning glory.