Asgard - Illyana and Alison

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Alison finds Illyana terrorising some perfectly -- well, normal Asgardian men, and takes her away from it all, whether she likes it or not. Set the same night as this log.

Illyana hated the places where Asgardian men took themselves of an evening. Smoky, candle-lit fire-traps with sticky floors and the overwhelming scent of cheap mead -- there was nothing that put her in a worse mood than when Hel sent her off to do her bidding after suppertime. A little consideration was all she asked for -- not, for instance, going into a potentially dangerous situation blind after spending all day trying to feed Garm, the
guardian of the underworld. If she hadn't been before, she was now sure she didn't like dogs.

"Get out of my way," she told a flimsily-dressed serving-girl witheringly. The girl nodded, eyes fixed to the floor, and Illyana took a very brief moment to feel sorry for her. However, now was not the time to get involved in saving the serving-girls, who were, at least, paid. Although she'd scanned the place beforehand, a petty tyrant's petty, ugly little mead hall, she couldn't seem to spot the petty tyrant amidst so many of his own large, ugly, loud, and drunk kind. She grabbed the serving-girl by the shoulder just as she was about to leave arm's reach. "Wait. Where's the mayor?"

"The mayor, ma'am?" the girl quavered; Illyana rolled her eyes. Except for Hel, and that tolerable girl she'd met at the Enchantress' palace, the women of this dimension were, as a whole, very irritating indeed. (Not that Hel didn't irritate her, but one had to -respect- a queen, even if she was a pain in the arse.)

"Yes. You know, the one who owns this village?" Maybe the serving-girl was braindead. That would account for the confused expression...

"He's just over there, ma'am," the serving-girl said, pointing briefly to a short, stout man who had obviously had quite a lot to drink.

"Hel thanks you," Illyana said, because she didn't much care either way.

The girl went white.

She strode up to the mayor, who, now that she could see him up close, was swaying uneasily back and forth, caught, she suspected, between a hangover and another glass of cheap alcoholic beverage. She stopped just short of him, one hand on a hip, knowing that she at least looked competent. That was what practicing in front of the mirror did, after all.

"What can I do for a pretty girl such as yourself?" the mayor asked grandly, eyes fixed on parts of her anatomy they were very strictly not allowed to be fixed on. She caught his gaze violently, not for the first time gritting her teeth against just beating the bloody bastard to a pulp for the hell of it. "Lookin' for some work, mayhap?" he added, with a gap-toothed grin. People were falling silent as the news of Hel's servant's arrival spread across the room.

She looked at him coolly, leaned in as far as she could manage without being overwhelmed by the stench. Hadn't they invented baths yet in Asgard? "Not if you were the last man in any realm," she said very quietly, and with a sudden unexpected notion grabbed him by the collar, dragging him up to his unsteady feet. "So," she continued conversationally, aware that men were drawing arms as she spoke, "we have a problem, don't we?"

The problem with grunts was that they were so stupid as to be predictable. She knew the second someone raised a hand to her back -- mostly because they were all so drunk that they made noise. There was a flash of light, and her sword was an inch from the idiot's nose. "Gods and ancestors," he breathed, backing off, and she smiled. That was more like it.

The mayor was trembling. "Who are you?" he demanded hoarsely.

"I'm Hel's emissary. She's pissed that you haven't been holding up your end of the bargain, and I'm here to make sure you stay with your contract from now on."

He was really scared, now; she suspected that the sword had more to do with it than she herself, but really, in a way, that was almost better. "I don't have to. Hel has n-no authority here." He looked at some of the men -- large ones -- and motioned abruptly.

She rolled her eyes, dropped him, kicked one in the stomach, another in the face, and smacked the third one with a chair. Drunken idiots, the lot. They went down hard and stayed down, even without the threat of the Soulsword at their throats. Within ten seconds she was back to unfortunately holding the mayor by the collar of his shirt. "Now." Her smile was not nice at all. "Are we going to have a nice chat or are we going to have an unpleasant chat?"

"I d-d-don't have to listen t-to you!" God, she hated men who stuttered.

"Unpleasant it is. Do you value your fingers?"

"My -- fingers?"

There was a small crack that echoed through the silent hall, and the mayor howled, ending with something that was a less pleasant equivalent of "screw you". "I've only got -- so many fingers," he shouted at her, clearly too inebriated to remember the exact number. This was almost -funny-. Except in the way that it really wasn't; not that she was opposed to breaking men's fingers, but she was getting dirty, and someone had spilled mead down the leg of her jeans, which, despite multiple washings and scrubbings and fits
of temper, were not doing too well after so many weeks of wear. "The men of Balderstag village are stronger than to break for some little girl.

"I'm sure that's true," she said agreeably, reaching for the next finger almost casually. “We'll just start over when we hit the last one, how's that?"

That was the moment a somewhat limp and entirely unidentifiable vegetable bounced off the side of Illyana's head and landed on her shoulder, before slowly sliming it's way down to land on the floor. The one who had thrown the poor over-boiled green thing (for lack of a better word) was leaning on the table, head propped on a closed fist, practically radiating boredom. As Illyana turned to look at the source of the flung produce, the culprit waggled slim fingers at her idly before getting up. A stray grab from a nearby sot, more reflex than anything else was met with a very kindly applied elbow-in-face greeting, not really slowing down the leather clad figure until it stood about three feet away from Illyana. The now clearly identifiable woman - earning a brief ogling look from the mayor before the pain of broken digits distracted him once more - starting tapping a foot impatiently.

Illyana blinked. And then blinked again. "Miss Blaire?" she asked, squinting suspiciously like she wasn't really sure it was her. There was a moment where she looked completely befuddled, taken aback by surprise. "Did you -- did you just throw a -vegetable- at me? I'm kind of in the middle of something here," she added, unable to sound apologetic.

Oh yes. Alison could see that. And finger-breaking mafia wannabee princesses weren't approved study material on the school curriculum as far as she was concerned. Even if the man was a complete pig. She took a step closer and then paused once more, shifting her weight, still tapping her foot with an unmistakable 'I'm waiting for an explanation
young lady!' air about her as she crossed her arms and gave Illyana a stern look. Even though she was entirely thrilled at having finally found one of the students stranded with her here. Her fingertips joined the dance, tapping on the folded arm lightly, in a patient and steady rhythm. If you exorcised the baseball field, I will be having words with you, young lady. As soon as I can talk.

Oh, the silent treatment. Great. Very mature, Miss Blaire. "I'm doing the goddess Hel's bidding because I'm bound to do it by some very powerful magic," Illyana explained, looking less like a wannabe mobster and more like a resentful teenager by the minute. She took another look at Alison's expression and went on. "He deserves it, anyway. Do you know how many concubines he has? I'm doing the world a favour my making sure he keeps his bloody hands to himself. Not to mention the way he ignores his contracts." The mayor, sensing opportunity, made a move to run and Illyana pushed him hard back into his seat. "Stay," she commanded sharply, for once thankful that Hel had cast that clever translation spell she'd found. Even if Illyana herself couldn't tell the difference between her Norse and her English, clearly everyone else could.

Alison on the other hand, didn't even bother to look at the mayor. She narrowed her eyes at Illyana and carved a small sigil in the air out of light - a baseball that looked benign enough until she added teeth to it and eyes that glowed red. Ok. Fine. Binding spell. But first - babseball. Exorcism. Better say you didn't, kiddo. Magic or no, I'm booting your ass out of here if you did. The baseball snapped its teeth at Illyana before fading in a swirl of light. The people around them went very very quiet at this - obviously, the woman who had stopped Hel's minion was some sort of witch. Or something. The tapping went on, metronome like in its regularity. Alison had developed an awful lot of patience in the past weeks. Until she decided she wasn't inclined t be patient, anyway.

This was weird. Was Miss Blaire sick or something? "The baseball was a demon?" Illyana guessed blindly -- and was then struck by a big ol' stick of enlightenment. "No! No, it was actually not a demon, and no, I didn't exorcise it! It was a normal baseball and I did normal things like hit it with a bat and . . . " She suddenly looked very miserable, and even younger than her almost sixteen years. "I didn't exorcise it or cast a spell or anything, and I'm still stuck here," she muttered.

Narrowed eyes looked at her patiently for a moment but the miserable teenager look was ummistakable. And it reminded her of seven year old 'yana pouting at her endearingly and was she ever not letting Illyana know that. Not in a million years. A hug seemed like pushing it and there were people watching and she wasn't sure how Illyana of
now would react so she just uncrossed her arms and stopped tapping her foot, nodding once in calm acceptance.

"And also," Illyana added plaintively, recovering just as the silence in the room stretched to breaking point, "when I said 'adventure', I didn't mean 'adventure'. I have been massively misinterpreted." She put her hands on her hips, looking back at the pale, shaking mayor. He was cowering, which was appropriate, but Miss Blaire sure did complicate simple things. She slid her eyes back over to the woman, weighing her options. "So, I'll just finish up here, and then we can talk?" She paused. "Or I can talk, and you can listen, since you seem kind of quiet?"

Oh, there was a definite air of peevishness about Alison at the last comment. Her eyes narrowed further and sparked with annoyance. She gave the mayor a contemptuous look and then reached forward without warning, neatly pinching Illyana's eartip between her fingertips. Hard. She leaned forward and tugged a bit as well, until she and Illyana were almost nose to nose. I can't talk. Obviously. She ghosted the words, not a sound coming from her.

Illyana managed not to squeak in shock. "Okay, okay, I get it," she said irritably, stomping absently on the mayor's foot as he began to creep off his chair. "Are you sick or something? Can this wait until I've shaken this guy up a bit more, or are you on a time limit? Because Hel's going to be mad if this guy keeps not paying tribute or whatever it is he's neglected to do, and one thing you don't do in this dimension is piss the goddesses off, okay?" She was more annoyed that she'd let her unhappiness slip in front of so many people than she was about Hel's stupid errand, but one does not admit those kinds of things. She paused. "Are you going to let go of my ear now?"

Lips thinning in annoyance, Alison shook her head firmly. No, they were leaving right now. A few shakes of her hand, still firmly holding on to Illyana's ear - now that she had her, she was uninclined to let go - pressed the point home. However, the mayor was treated to a rather withering glare from Alison and she pointed at him for a moment before letting her hand aim a bit lower. A sizzling sound followed and when the mayor looked down at his chair, smoke rose lazily from the wood. A few seconds later, a block of the chair slowly slid out and fell on the floor, leaving a neat hole in the chair. That said hole was just a few inches below a particularly tender part of his anatomy was not entirely coincidental.

The mayor yelped, staring at Alison for a few moments. Then, he shouted, "Witch! Witch!" at the top of his lungs -- and the room buzzed with babbling frightened citizens. Ambassadors from Hel were one thing, but a witch? Rumour spread like wildfire throughout the crowd, which seemed less and less friendly by the minute.

"She threatened the mayor's -- "

"She's a devil sent by Loki to send a message to Hel through her emissary!"

"She's going to kill us!"

"She's going to eat our babies!"

"She's going to make us eat our babies!"

"Look at her b -- " Thwap. "Sorry, honey."

"They think you're a witch now," Illyana translated unnecessarily, glancing uneasily from side to side and batting irritably at Alison's hand. "If you're not going to let me pound some sense into him, I suggest we might choose now to leave. We can continue our conversation outside. Well, I can continue it, and you can do interpretive dance or something, I guess."

Instead, Alison grinned and snapped her fingers, the sound carrying with odd loudness through the room. A loud, whuffling sound resounded from outside, accompannied by an odd type of screech. Soon afterwards the doors creaked inward and then snapped open, allowing a huge scaly snout to peek through the main doors of the hall, inhaling and then
exhaling slowly. Grinning cheerfully as the petrified townspeople stared at the dragon-like snout now in their midst (the barmaid fainted most dramatically) Alison trotted towards Frank, conveniently forgetting to let go of Illyana until they were halfway there. 'Oops' she mined at the girl, waggling her fingers cheerfully at the mayor before thumping Frank's nose a few times, far too pleased about the whole thing.

Alison had figured out quickly enough that a witch with a dragon actually earned her a Hel of a lot of room, in them thar parts.

Illyana glared at Alison, rubbing at her ear and casting a glance at the mayor, who was now dead white. Ten more minutes, tops, and she'd have been done. "I'm not even asking where you got it," she said, rather than voicing this opinion. "Is it safe?"

A firm thump followed once more and Frank slowly withdrew his nose, Alison turning only to wag an admonishing finger at the mayor before trotting outside. In the dirt she carved out the words "Frank! D'uh!" and then stamped it out once Illyana had read it. She waved her arms at the lizard now a dragon to get him to manoeuver his way towards the road. Moving with surprising silence for something so big, Frank obediently trundled off, huffing now and then, tongue darting out to scent the air. Alison paused, turning to look at Illyana - clearly waiting for her to come along.

"The lizard?" she asked incredulously, after sorting out that she didn't know a person named Frank. With one last look at the scene behind them, Illyana followed, biting the inside of her lip -- more on her mind than Frank, but even in Asgard dragons were rare. The other thing was... an issue that she could probably solve for herself, and she wasn't scared of trying, no way. Not her.