Like Fire and Powder | Closed

“…of course, the bilgesnipe did not stand a chance at that point, between my hammer and Fandral’s sword.” Thor had fallen in step beside the red-haired woman that he could safely say would have given Sif a challenge. It had taken him a few times of mistakenly calling her “Arachnid Woman” before she, with a humored smile, asked him to call her by her real name. Thor knew he lacked the general knowledge in how Midgard worked, but the more he was exposed to it, the more he learned about the people who inhabited the realm and their traits. Still, it did not stop them from treating them like an alien, when on the surface, he was not so much different than them, just raised in a different environment.

“Sounds like an interesting fight,” she supplied as they strolled through Avengers tower. They were in the large building in a city that was called New York. Thor didn’t know what the Old York was like, but he certainly enjoyed what he’d experienced of the new one. Especially after they’d rid it of the Chitauri, which had damped his impression of the Midgardian metropolis quite a bit. The device Natasha had, called a cellphone, let off a few chimes and she offered him a nod as she held the small, grey communicator to her ear and strode away from him. Thor merely paused as he glanced around the corridor, taking in the Midgardians that had clearance to this building, these Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., as they were called.

His gaze found the dark brown Migardian liquid he’d discovered to be known as coffee, in what they called a ‘Break Room’ off to the side and a sly grin curled his lips. For what the Midgardians lacked in the typical beverages that Asgard had, Thor thought this coffee drink surpassed most of the non-alcoholic kind. The God of Thunder was given a wide berth as he entered the room, most of the mortal women eyeing him, which had grown to acknowledge, but otherwise pay little attention to. He was certain if the tables had been turned and he were a Midgardian, he would be in awe of an Asgardian in their midst—especially when he was dressed in his full regalia; red cloak, armor, and all.

Thor grasped one of the disposable cups from beside the coffee and poured himself a generous helping of the liquid. If he were to be sitting through the “Man of Metal’s” discussions over the general welfare of the realm he was deemed to protect, he would need something to tide him over until he was given the opportunity to down a few stronger libations. Once he’d fixed himself the beverage, he stood off to the side, leaning back against the counter. He caught the gazes of a few women off to one corner and offered them a nod of his head and a smile before tipping the coffee into his mouth. The women erupted into a fit of quiet giggles, which had him grinning into the cup.

---

’You, Freja Njordsdottir, have betrayed the express command of your king-’ There was a shuffle of Einherjar on either side of her and the feathered cloak she wore—the one she used to traverse the realms—was ripped from her back as were the shackles which bound her wrists. The Vanir woman merely settled her gaze forward, not finding it within her to stare at the All-Father or withstand what she would see as unfair anger toward her. Golden tears streaked the goddess’ cheeks silently, lips trembling ever-so-slightly. ‘You shall not return to Vanaheim, nor shall you spend the rest of your long days here in confinement in Asgard.’ It was at these words Freya’s gaze shot to the one eye Odin had leveled on her. ‘You are unworthy of the realms from which you draw your powers. I, Odin Allfather, cast you out.’ Odin brought Gungir down upon the polished floors of the royal hall and Freya felt her body pulled backwards with great force and prisms of light surrounded her before it all went black.

Freya jolted awake with a sharp gasp of air, the book that had been grasped in her hand slipped to the grass beside the park bench she’d been lounging across. Wide eyes swooped frantically across her surroundings before she managed to have it all sink in. She was in New York City, in Central Park. It was early morning. Dragging her tongue across her lips, she let out a soft sigh, cupping a hand over her eyes for a few moments before righting herself to pick up the book from the grass. There was this sense of emptiness that weighed in her chest and an overwhelming feeling of homesickness lingering about.

Pushing her long, messy strawberry-blonde braid over her shoulder, she collected her things from the bench and placed them into a large satchel of things that went with her everywhere. Freya preferred the park when it was quiet and she was sure that it was about to get a bit louder now that the world around her was waking. The small dwelling she’d acquired a few decades back would be a nice respite from what sometimes seemed like a hateful world around her. For a being like her, a banished Goddess of Love—among other things—it broke her far more than being separated from Vanaheim forever to see Midgard become what it was.

The woman stopped beside a particularly beautiful purple flower. It was Anise-Scented Sage and it’s aroma was as enticing as the pungently violet petals of the blooms. Freya glanced around her, to be sure no one would give her a verbal thrashing for stealing the flower, and reached forward, hastily plucking a few lengths of the flower and stuffed them into the satchel at her side. For all it had, New York City lamentably lacked apothecaries or merchants that sold the dried flowers she required. The nature of the public gathering place had drawn her in initially, but she’d quickly realized that outside of winter, it flourished any floral ingredients she needed.

Jeanne had always been a special being. From a young age she showed signs of immense talent. Her tagline is, "anything you can do, I can do better. " Which is true, for the most part, as Jeanne has the ability to replicate any course of action that she sees. Her photographic-like memory aided her while she was growing up. Her parents celebrated the accomplishments she had made, even those that weren't always legal but ended up being her parents gain. At the age of 14, she graduated from M.I.T. Since then she had plans of becoming an Olympic athlete, she had even began training, but her plans then changed when aliens fell from the sky and attacked New York. That was when everything in her life changed. The media didn't give much information as to how it all started, all Jeanne knows is that she lost one family member, only to gain another she never asked for. Now she's there for answers, for herself and the being behind the curtain.

Jeanne tilted her head to the side some as she scanned over the N.D.A. Nothing had came up when they did her background check, or else she wouldn't be sitting here waiting for the man with the eye patch and trench coat to come back. Signing her signature, Jeanne placed the paperwork on Nick's desk before rising from her chair as the other walked back in. Nick extended his hand towards her and welcomed her to the team. After leaving his office, Jeanne now found herself traveling the halls of Avenger tower. She had asked Nick of she could meet the Avengers, stating that they saved her younger brother. A false note that was included in her history.

She rounded the corner where the break room was located. She could hear giggling from within, causing her to arch an eyebrow out of curiosity before she pushed through the double doors. When she found the source of it all, she couldn't help but to roll her eyes inwardly as she passes the women and the object of their desire, and made her way to the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water.

Death. A horrible occurrence that always has unpredictable events. Sometimes death can push people a part, due to jealousy of product placement determined by ones will. Guilt. The list goes on. Guilty is what Loki currently felt in that moment. He felt he was the cause of his mother's death. Feeling that if his hunger for power is what got her killed. The male sighed lightly as he ran his hands over his face. Loki is on a "probation period" a means to make up for the bad things he had done previously. The thought of someone practically telling you how to live caused Loki to chuckle to himself, and shake his head. "I'm not that ba-" Loki started aloud but then stopped mid-sentence as it would be a lie that even he couldn't believe.

Part of his probation duties is to fight along side the Avengers when a extra hand is needed to help. The turn of events were surely something else. Loki never would have thought that one day he would be working for the same people who wasted his time by foiling his plans. Loki bit the inside of his cheek as he stared at the ceiling before releasing a forceful breathe and sitting upright. He then looked across the room at the guards. Since his capture, S.H.I.E.L.D. felt the best place to hold Loki was at a undisclosed safe house. He was confined with chains around his ankles and hand cuffs that were specifically made to inhibit someone's powers."I have to relieve myself. " He said. The guards gave each other a look before one of them walked over to Loki.

After Loki's feet were freed, the guard stayed put, watching his every move. Loki arched an eyebrow before smirking some. "You should take a picture. It will last much longer." He stated. The guard rolled his eyes before grabbing the door knob and closing it. Once inside, Loki went to the door and turned the lock slowly as to not make a sound. He then glanced around the room, spotting a single rectangular window perched directly above the bathroom sink. "Now or never." He whispered to himself.

Loki was now free. His next mission, to find his scepter...

The God of Thunder enjoyed the reactions that he could pull from the Midgardian women. While he could pull similar reactions from the women on Asgard, the women on Midgard seemed to trip over themselves in his presence. Not that he was by any means interested in any sort of romance with one of them. After what had happened with Jane Foster, he wasn’t sure if he could stand to go through something like that again. By his standards, MIdgardians were weak—with the exception of a few—and their women were even more so. Then again, he supposed he was just used to Lady Sif and how resilient she seemed to be.The fear he had felt throughout the whole ordeal with Jane and the dark elves and realizing just how fragile they were was enough to make him realize just what a mistake it was for letting his relationship with Jane go so far.

No. Thor would not fall for another Midgardian, no matter how much it hurt him. Now that he was teaming up with the Avengers, he had far too many other things to worry about than if word got out about his romantic interest and some evil force attempted to use it against him again.

He finished his first cup of coffee and immediately stepped back over to the coffee pot and poured him another helping. Drawing himself up to his full height, he slowly turned to leave the break room, but a woman standing near what they referred to as a ‘refrigerator’. Thor lifted a brow as he glanced over at her. Something about her was giving him pause, but he couldn’t exactly figure out what. His lips pressed together for a moment, almost imperceptibly, and his eyes narrowed slightly in thought.

Thor brought the nearly scalding liquid to his lips and took a sip of it before slowly making his way over to her. Perhaps, after speaking with her, he’d be able to suss out what exactly it was about her that was pulling him in. His boots came to a stop just beside this refrigerator, eyes swooping across the room for a moment before landing on the woman.

“Hello,” he said, offering her his most disarming grin. There was a beat or two as he let his eyes slip between both of hers. “I don’t believe we have met before. I’m Thor, God of Thunder.”



She supposed the flocks of tourists that were descending upon Central Park wasn’t too unheard of, especially in the ‘City that Never Sleeps’, but Freya couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed that she didn’t get to spend more time without unwanted company. Freya supposed that was she ended up with when she picked one of the biggest cities on Midgard to live in. Sparing one last look at the small violet blooms before her, she drew in a deep breath of air before turning to leave.

Freya looped a thumb through the strap of her bag as she made her way back to the minuscule corner of the city that she’d carved out to make her own. It was no Vanaheim. Nothing would even come remotely close to her home, but she knew there was no chance of her being able to get back. Not with her banishment nor with the stipulations of it. No place on this miserable realm could ever replace Vanaheim.

The dreams she’d been having were a reminder of it all. How it had felt to have everything ripped from her. How it had been unfair—at least, in her opinion. Thousands of years she had spent settling down in a place, staying for a certain period of time. Whenever the Midgardians started to grow leery of her agelessness was when she would pick her belongs up and move. Years easily became decades, decades faded into centuries, and before she knew it, she had faced down a millennium in the realm. To compound the issue, there has once been a time when the Midgardians had revered her, had fallen at her feet and pleaded with her to bless their marriages, their relationships, their romantic endeavors, and their children. Now, she was a mere myth, reduced to being referenced in heavy metal music and in the occasional pagan circle.

Slipping her sunglasses on as the sun began to crest over the tops of the taller buildings, Freya faded into the throngs of tourists as she leisurely made her way back to her small apartment.