calling_logs | VOLCANO QUEST!

And now-- [ A brief break as he takes them to the island ] --it's sandy.

We should've worn flats.

[ Time for introductions to the lava dwarves as soon as a short hike to their ornate doors is over and done with, and Ikol throws herself into the role of a doting wife with more than a few lascivious winks at the greasy, gross faces peering up at her unblemished bosom in between swooning over ST.

Her hosts seem quite astir when she doles out the same sultry look to eleven of them.

Dark as it is inside the volcanic mountain-home, her sight remains fine and she mentally catalogues the turnings while laughing airily whenever Storyteller needs to look especially commanding. ]

Alas. Maybe next time.

[ Not that there will be a next time, because every time Ikol flutters and sparkles at the dwarves, something shiny vanishes into Storyteller's copious pockets. And they keep moving, ever deeper into what he is sure that their unsuspecting hosts think is a veritable labyrinth of corridors, and Storyteller plays the ever more desperate husband, searching for just the perfect gift, each time his astoundingly attractive 'wife' carelessly rejects another treasure...

They try to hide it, but those pinched, unwashed faces - seriously, is good hygiene anathema here? - grow more and more acquisitive as they move along, to more and more expensive things, absolutely certain that they have a couple of big, fat marks here.

They could be more wrong, but not by much.

In a moment when Ikol is 'distracted' by some dwarven blandishment, he gestures to one of the other dwarves-- ]

--Look. I really, really need something very special, very unique, and very expensive to keep her happy. If your fellows can keep her distracted-- [ ha ] --perhaps you can help me... Surprise her? If it's a surprise, she won't fuss so much, just as long as I can tell her it's very expensive.

[ Why, she is thilled when a plethora of gruff, grabby little men surge around her dress to encourage her away from her husband, giggling like a schoolgirl as she blows Storyteller a kiss. See you shortly, darling. Then it's down, down, down the streets they go, with Loki seemingly (not at all) aimlessly trotting her way toward the source of the mountain's heat. The core, where any rare egg is surely being incubated day and night.

It's only when they try to physically force her legs to 'idly' stroll in another direction that she splits off from the illusion of a twittering, loose-moral toting wife, and under the cover of her shadowthread coat makes her way invisibly down that forbidden atrium. Wheedling through winding hallways (hating the heat) en route through more and more heavily guarded doors, she manages to trick a great number of dwarves into chasing more of her illusory selves off down the corridors, back the way she came, but unfortunately at the last gate a knife must be forced into the necks of two especially burly characters before the lock is picked and in Ikol slips ... to find a large egg wrapped in leathers atop a bed of coals. ]

Ah, bingo.

[ Now she just needs to get back out with it. One of Lorelei's portable portals would be really useful right now. ]

[ Fortunately by now, Loki has bought his gift (with demi-illusory fairy-gold, please, as if he would pay real money for this piece of... dreck?) and is now kicking up a very noisy fuss, Where is his wife?!

So high-maintenance. ]

--no, you, look here, I've paid good money, and now I want to collect my wife and carry on our honeymoon! I wanted you to distract her, not carry her off to your-- your-- volcanic love-shacks!

[ No portals are currently handy but Lorelei's stolen amulet of invisibility is, and it's this that Loki settles over the egg to make it vanish. Although she would risk a bit of superfluous magic to bring some duct-tape into the equation so the amulet definitely doesn't fall off its precarious perch, it would be a dead give-away if the dwarves saw some good old silver tape floating in the air behind her as she hoists a makeshift leather sling over her shoulders, so she refrains.

She might be walking a little more stiffly as she exits the holding cell-slash-incubator but her magic is strong enough that, unless directly touched, the guards and door will appear entirely normal; someone will get handsy with those fellows sooner or later, however, so she ushers the same illusory gown into place and scurries back up to her ...

Wow. That is one huffy, puffy husband. Flatterer. Also just the reason she's looking for to squeal and rush right over for a kiss. ]

Sweetie, this whole trip has been such a gift! I can't wait to come back with all my sisters so that they can meet these charming, strapping young dwarves! My, the beards I've seen today!

[ But look how she fans herself! It might be time to go ... Like now. ]

If only it weren't so hot ...

Darling! There you are! You had me so worried! My apologies, dear sirs, you know how these things can be... Thank you so much for wrapping this- [ an awkwardly-shaped parcel in his hand ] -by the way. But I really should get her out of here, before she faints...

[ He comes over, and rests a hand on the small of her back, just under the pool of palpable heat he can feel there. ]

Come, my love, let us go for a swim, and perhaps we can visit these fine gents again before we return home.

You always have the best ideas, my love. [ Is that yelling coming from below? Movemovemove. Waving to the dwarves as she lets herself be 'ushered' out, her smile stretches to painful proportions like Amora finally getting laid by Thor. Blergh. ] Thanks for all the fish!

[ Loki just laughs as they traipse away-- and the ground beneath them heaves and rumbles. Thank... well, Loki for the frankly bangin' boots they both have, or they may, might, possibly have been knocked to their very fine asses. ]

I suggest we pick up the pace. A good, brisk jog sounds like just the thing.

Last one on the ocean has to grow a beard.

[ 'Brisk jog' or 'flat-out run', both apply as she races down the mountainside toward the shoreline as the rumbling beneath their feet surges throughout the island. When clouds of ash start to pump from the tip of the volcano, she hopes the dwarves have been harnessing safety-measures and expends the rest of her thoughts for herself (and him) during a mad dash for the sea. ]

I definitely didn't do anything to piss off an actual mountain, just for the record!

[He keeps pace with her, deliberately, despite his longer legs.

See how much he loves you, Ikol?

There's a deep, long rumble behind them as they hit the water, and a dry crack as one side of the volcano splits open. ]

--faster?

[ Thanks for not leaving her to die alone as lava starts to broil over the top of that big old rock, buddy. Means a lot. ]

Er, maybe.

[ Look, she's just. Already going pretty fast, okay? And she got a little magic-happy back there, she doesn't want to push it with teleporting anywhere else. And the egg is stupidly heavy even by godly standards, what a fatass magical dinosaur baby.

Help. ]

Edited 2016-06-05 23:53 (UTC)

[ Right. She's still recovering, and he hasn't expended nearly as much power as she has.

So he just loops his arm around her again (and maybe it's narcissistic, but damn she has a nice figure), and trusts that she can anticipate his next move--

--which is to say, teleporting them both away from the volcano. ]

Eep!

[ She hops with him on their next step, landing at a slowing-run wherever it is he takes them. At some point during their race from death-by-lava, Lorelei's amulet of invisibility must have dropped off the egg, because there it is in its sling on her back in plain view. Aww. She liked that toy. ]

That was a tad more dramatic than first anticipated.

I didn't know it would make the volcano go off... I suppose it is narratively appropriate though.

[ The thought is entirely too pleasing, even as the now-distant mountain continues to pour ash into the sky, which will undoubtedly find its way to hover over Nightmareland and Shadowtown, and possibly some of Adventure!! as well. ]

[ Storyteller, always one for the meta. Her hand finds his arm, giving a squeeze as Loki straightens and sees the ash-cloud. Oh, no. As much as she would love to be irresponsible, setting a good example is more than anyone ever did for her ... ]

We have to stop the smog from reaching the shore. It's cloudy, we can stand up there and enchant a strong wind to blow away the fallout from the volcano.

It has to go somewhere, though. Might as well be somewhere that'll appreciate it.

[ They'd eat it up over there, in the Cities of Gloom, Goth, and Noir. ]

They didn't ask for it and I'm not dealing with three sectors' worth of pissy ghouls and third-rate sorcerers. You don't know that they'll relish our mess, before or after a bunch of angry dwarves go knocking on their doors with our description because they figure someone will be willing to turn in the jerks who ruined their Sunday washing, so.

[ Capturing his cheeks between her hands, she plants a kiss on him to get him to focus, ending it would a loud smack of wet lips. ]

For me, lamb?

[ It's certainly enough to get his attention, to draw his mind away from the narratives it can spin this into, and he smiles at her. ]

All right. We can send it elsewhere. But maybe we should leave the egg at home, first? Just in case.

[ This would be the ideal point in time for someone to try and steal it from them, or for it to take a precipitous fall into the cold, dark ocean, or. Well. ]

Thank you. Yes, let's dump it while it isn't waking up.

[ Her arms wind around his neck, forehead stuffing into the curve of his neck, and there she sighs. The heat from the egg is distinctly unpleasant and her clinginess is a different breed to the silly flirtations of before, needier as she inserts herself into his personal space like she knows exactly how to fit them together like a jigsaw piece. ]

[ Good thing, because he does too, the lines of their arms and legs and bodies all meeting and matching in something terribly like a whole. He tips his head to press his nose into her hair, breathing in the familiar scent, and wraps his arms around her, nice and cool and siphoning some of that heat away. ]

Egg in the safe room- [ of course they have one ] -then back up there to take care of the ashes. And then back to Her Majesty with the egg. Perhaps some food somewhere in there.

Sounds like a plan.

[ What she really wants to do is strip down and cuddle in bed for a while, to reassure herself he's here with her and that having slowly-returning reserves of magic doesn't mean she's defenceless or has to suffer through it friendless. When they get home the egg is deposited in their safe room and Loki returns to Storyteller's side, pumping herself up mentally for the last batch of magical prowess she needs to perform today. Weather's easy, it shouldn't be too difficult, even if ST will be picking up some of her slack. ]

Alright, let's go and save some cities.

[ That. Is an excellent idea, and is what they will no doubt be doing, just as soon as they do everything else. Because as usual, Loki has to do everything, because nobody else seems to realise it even needs to be done.

He offers his arm again, to teleport them both. ]

Not that they'll appreciate it; this is all for you, gorgeous.

How lucky I am to have you.

[ Under allegiance to me, she thinks, going with the teleportation. It lands them in the clouds where their boots instantly flare up with green magic to give them support. The ground looks ... very far off, and the bloated cloud of ash is nastily close. ]

I'll go left, you take the right.

And I, you.

[ He sees the same things she does, thick black ash crackling unpleasantly with lightning, wafting uncomfortably hot breezes at them, ew. He nods. ]

Right back to the volcano?

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