deemed | IC inbox

[She has traded her grown familiar stable for a cold, metal room aboard another gods be damned spaceship. Traded the comfort that had come from having a lord she respected and served for the life of a warrior without order. All because this "Hathaway" had promised her the one thing she could not do on her own, that even if she gave up her life she did not have the confidence she could see through.

So she trades her service like a common sellsword for the lives of the jinba in the village she herself had once betrayed. But while it soothes her guilt, it doesn't make it easier to sleep in this place that still unnerves her. Doesn't make her less lonely.

Maybe that's why she's at Odinson's door at this late hour. But it doesn't explain why she's two-legged, her long hair in a loose braid over her shoulder, barefoot in a simple robe with a cloth package in her arms.]

Odinson? Are you within?

[Awkwardly... she knocks.]

[Spaceships are nothing new, though Odinson misses the Oska castle and its hot springs. But the call to keep serving the timeline would not be missed, and he knew that Earth and the nine realms would keep. There were other heroes there, others who would keep it safe as he helped Hathaway find the shards.

The knock is a surprise, but he assumes it's his brother come to visit him late at night.] A moment- [He's shirtless, but that's hardly an issue for Loki.]

What can I do for you, L- [It isn't his brother, and his surprise is clear on his face. For a moment he doesn't recognise her, he's so used to looking up to her.] Hayame?

[Hayame isn't any more used to looking up at him than he is to looking down at her, and despite herself, she's still rendered somewhat speechless by the opening of the door greeting her with an excellently muscled and obviously bare chest before she even catches a glimpse of his face. Thankfully the height difference is not so great, (she's tall for a human woman, he's just taller), and all she has to do is tip her gaze upward, but the simple motion is... strangely difficult, arms clutching tighter on the package in her hands and practically squeezing it to her bosom. ... one that is decidedly larger than it was the last time they'd seen each other. Though that was not the medicine that turned her human, simply the fact that as an archer she tended to bind her breasts tightly to better shoot.

But she isn't here to fight.]

I apologize for the late hour... I meant to give you something, in thanks for your cloak.

[That he had ripped and ruined on her account, that first panicking and frightening day with two legs and no pants. Maybe it had been a poor choice. Maybe she shouldn't. But a slightly shameful slip of gaze down the hall one way and then the other revealed that she was a bit scandalized yet at the idea of being seen outside a man's rooms at night, and even though being in a man's rooms was technically more intimate...]

Might I come in?

[It didn't count if no one could see.]

Of course-

[He steps out of the way. His room is clean, weapons in one corner, a desk with a winged helmet and other assorted odds and ends in another. A book sits open on the bed where he'd been reading. His ripped and mended cloak lays over the only chair, which he promptly grabs to allow her somewhere to sit.

Curiosity stirs in him as to why she's here, on two legs. Odinson isn't a stranger to late night visits from beautiful women, and if she were a different woman he might make assumptions- but it's Hayame.]

You're looking steadier on two legs.

[Used to living in a single, hay-lined stall, Hayame has never thought the accommodations small in size aboard the Hathaway ship. Her sense of discomfort and suffocation came from the space outside, the lack of lengths to gallop, not their quarters... but when one puts a human bed into the equation, it seems small indeed, and nowhere to sit or stand seems a proper enough distance away to not remind her that she was in a bedchamber. In a man's bedchamber. In Odinson's.

A place she has slunk to in the middle of the night, like a secret lover from the stories of the nobility in the capital. That does not escape her.

Though he clears the chair, before he can finish she is already going to her knees, a motion that would surely have toppled her on the first day, but that she manages with only a slight wobble, a quick brace of her palm on the floor before she smooths her robe closed about her lap and places the cloth package down in front of her before she bows deeply, eyes closed, braid tumbling over her shoulder as she dips nearly to the floor.]

My growing ease in this body is in part thanks to your guidance, for which you have my gratitude.

[To admit the weakness had been shameful and difficult, but she could not neglect what must come after.]

Please allow me to gift you with a small token. It is the least I can do.

[When you're a big man with a hammer, it's common for people to assume you've no cultural sensitivity. As much as he acts it, Odinson isn't completely unaware of customs around the multiverse. When Hayame goes to her knees he pauses, then comes to sit cross-legged in front of her.]

I'm honoured to receive it, thank you. [He'd rather tell her he has no need of gifts, that he helped her because she was a fellow warrior and he'd have done as much for any fellow companion, but it can't have been easy for her to come here. It would be rude to appear to dismiss it.]

[For all her bitterness, the rage that simmered beneath her nigh constantly, the frustration she felt with her situation... Hayame did not truly need much. Just an effort, something she could recognize as similar enough, and she was at least somewhat pacified. Just that he sat across from her as she was used to made her shoulders unstiffen slightly, allowed her to raise her head and unwrap the cloth to reveal a burgundy warcoat, the likes human men, warriors, commanders, would don for battle.]

I could not procure a cloak such as yours, but perhaps this... ?

[Though she had bowed her head, offered it up to him... it wasn't about subservience, and not even about apologizing or thanking him, not really. It was about respect.

(And perhaps, a small part of her thought, about the other reason she was afraid had brought her here.)]

[Odinson is not usually one to pick his words carefully, but he does now as he studies the coat. It isn't just that he doesn't want to cause offense, it isn't just that he knows Hayame has found it difficult here-

she's come to be important to him.]

Who wears such things, where you're from?

Warriors of esteemed rank don them over armor. Normally, one would have their clan's mark embroidered upon the back, but I did not wish to presume.

[She had hoped to one day fight beside such warriors, be commanded by a general wearing one like this, but perhaps finer, embroidered on gold threads with silk lapels. But that seemed more like an impossibility each day, and even the lord she had found in this place... now he was gone, (and she bereft).

Carefully she sits back up, legs still folded beneath her in a way she finds strange, sensation wise, and most unlike how she sits as a jinba, lacking the sensation of floor beneath her broad equine chest and belly, four legs carefully arranged. Despite its size, the human form feels heavy on human limbs- she finds a new respect for humans who can sit this way all day, gesturing somewhat vaguely at Odinson's... body? with a subtle color rising in her cheeks.]

It is worn over armor but, considering your... obvious strength, it may still fit well without.

[... his muscles.]

[That brings a smile to his face as he realises she'll never have seen his armour. Most of those with ALASTAIR had never known him before, when he was Thor. It gives him a renewed appreciation for their friendship and support. He'd hardly been at his best when he'd arrived on the team.]

I've asked for some of Asgardian make, actually. It's only recently I've gone without. [And the foes they'd fought here hadn't required more.]

Regardless, I'll proudly to wear it to battle. Thank you.

[Oh, of course. Yes. A sensible choice, really, she supposed, even if he was a god. At the very least... he was not human. She could hardly believe he was after the labyrinth, seeing him sitting before her now skin healthy and umblemished by the same acidic lizard blood that had burned her own flesh in a splashed arc that even now scarred her hindquarters, slightly hidden by regrowing dun coat. (Something she'd noticed, once she'd actually calmed down the first time she'd worn this human skin... all her scars were still there. Just... rearranged to fit the form.)]

It would honor me to see. And fight alongside.

[Fingertips gracefully alight upon the floor again for another, slightly less deep bow. She should go. Her task was done, the only reason she ought be here now complete, which would leave her little excuse to linger. But-

Her expression twists into uncomfortable war between two minds, to leave or stay, to ask or not, brow furrowing and cheeks ruddying further, elegant pose turning more awkward and... very small. She feels very small in this body, (without her lord).]

... there is. Another question I might pose. Only if you are not occupied- if so, I shall take my leave at once.

[The bow is returned, though his is shallower and less fluid. There had been a time in his youth that he'd chafed to bow his head to anyone. He still had his pride now, but it was not a stubborn one as it had been then.

The easy smile remains as he gestures about, indicating the room empty save for the two of them.] My company isn't in high demand. I'd be glad to help answer whatever it is you wish.

[How he reminds her of something, when he smiles. Of days when she had been free, when she had learned what that even was, taught patiently by a strong and gentle hand. Precious, all too short days. It makes her feel even smaller, even weaker, in a way, and yet at the same time... comforted. Things she could not nor might ever express in words, struggling even now to find the proper ones for what she came to say.

What she came here for.

But all that she manages at first is to look away from that smile, down at her human legs, her hands, her damnable chest, mouth opening and closing uselessly before the world come out.]

... my lord has gone. Returned to his world, and to his duties.

[While she remains, shamefully hoping that Hathaway will keep their promise. That even if she can never go home, never see it... that at least those jinba, those orphaned young ones and their guardians, Koume and the foal just beginning to round her belly, Kohibari, who she had once despised for his armlessness, Matsukaze, who she had once hunted... (Matsukaze-)]

...

[She meant to say more, but just that little took so much.]

[If she were another, he might know better how to comfort her. An embrace, a hearty word, a touch of his hand to her shoulder- he has other friends to whom he would do these things and they would know he stands with them.

But he can empathise with this. He knows how he would feel to be without Loki here, now they have reconciled.]

I mourn your loss. [There is no rush, nothing to gain in pushing her to say what she wishes. He's patient.]

[The silence which she knows she ought fill with words, with explanations, stretches on, heavy on her shoulders and her mind. A loss. Yes, it is a loss. To her, it is a death in all but corpse, because his world is not her own, and surely... surely they would never meet again. There were very few people in ALASTAIR she had cared even an iota for... and now, one is gone. One sits in front of her.

And she finds herself afraid. And-]

I-

[And lonely, so lonely aboard this ship in the deep black, surrounded by technology that confounds her and people who confuse her, and her fingers curl anxiously, impotently into the thin white robe she had worn to visit him, something that might imply something to her culture and perhaps not to his, she's never sure, and-]

I do not wish to be alone.

[It comes out a shameful whisper, afraid to see lost respect in his gaze, for so weak a thing so plainly said.]

... I cannot.

[He recognises the sentiment. He hears the echo of it in Loki's words on the last mission. He thinks of his empty hands and that day on the moon, of Mjolnir who had turned her back on him. Even now, there is a fear in him that he'll never hold her again.

Again, he is awed by the strength that mortals show, facing down these dark fears that bring even gods to their knees.

And this woman... he fought her when she tried to end her life and repaid him when his stubbornness landed him in peril. Here is a shieldmaiden who could teach Asgard's fiercest about what it meant to be a warrior.]

We have fought alongside one another and shared cups alongside one another. We'll neither of us be alone so long as the other is here. [While he doesn't know of any significance to her robe, he has no missed she's come here on two legs rather than four. That's something he's avoiding reading into. Their first meeting had shown her very sensitive to some matters.]

[There is no condemnation in his tone, no dripping disdain, no sharp rebuke, nothing of the things she had grown up expecting at even the slightest hint of weakness. To prove herself a warrior despite her sex, she'd had to be twice as strong, twice as hard, twice as ruthless, twice as cold, twice as honorable, beyond reproach, and those habits are difficult to shake. But a growing part of her, the part that had tasted freedom, despised it. Wanted to break it, to ruin what had made her valuable to those who would own her.

Cautiously, she lifts her head to regard him, something new and confused on her features, torn between desperation and resolve.]

I do not mean... in battle, or in cups.

[Though those were some of the memories she treasured most highly of her experiences with ALASTAIR... that wasn't the sort of comfort she meant.]

... Not this night.

[Though she colors in ingrained shame to say it... she misses how her lord had so casually laid hands upon her person despite her boundaries, how it had felt to feel a hand upon hers, how it had felt to be held. She misses how heavy Matsukaze's hands had felt on her shoulders, how Yubari's tail had flicked over hers.

... how good it had all felt.]

[Something shifts in his posture, in the way he regards her- not sizing her up as though she were a piece of meat, but... aware now that there's more to what she'd led with.]

In Asgard there is no shame is asking, nor in needing or wanting. [He can be more direct, but it's hard to miss the red in her cheeks.] Ask, Hayame. I'll do as you direct.

[He loses nothing in the offer and perhaps, in giving her that command over him, she'll be emboldened to say what she really felt.]

[It isn't what she had expected him to say- but then again... she, who has never been touched by a man... how could she even begin to guess? Once it had been expected of her. She was not yet sold. She was to be a warrior at best, a broodmare at worst, but she was no armless treated like a slave to use as a lord wished. She had seen whispers and blinks of that training, and once sneered at the armless inducted.

And here she is, lordless, in heat, cursing her weak nature and female body... and wanting just a taste of what it had felt like when Ninurrta had struck the knife from her hands and embraced her so tightly, what it had felt like when Matsukaze had brushed the tears from her face.

Tears that nearly bead at the corner of her eyes now, in frustration with needing to express herself so plainly.]

I do not wish to direct you, I wish-

[Unbidden, her thighs press together, her hands clutch at her arms, tight, inhale sharp to try and force the words out.]

I want to feel something, even if it is in this body-

[To be rid of the thing that had once been part of her price.]

Forgive me- [Those were the wrong words, perhaps. But then, his strength was never in those.

He stretches his hand out to her, invites her to take his open hand.]

[What is there to forgive, when she is the one who does not know what she is doing? When even now she isn't sure if she's doing something foolish or not, but has managed to force herself beyond being able to turn back. She can hardly claim to be good at words herself.

Hayame shakes her head to deny the apology, biting into her bottom lip until she forces herself to release it, to look at him properly.

To carefully, shamefully lean forward until she eases out of her seated position, shifts her weight weirdly to her strange human knees to slip forward and bridge the small gap between them. Reaches out, fingers hovering above his.

She hadn't been able to bridge the gap between them, before. But she manages to now, slips her fingers into his palm, curls them, clasps his hand and presses it to her cheek.

It was so warm.]

[As he has learned more about Hayame, come to respect and enjoy her company as they fought against Zymandia, Odinson had always tried not to touch her unless it was first invited. It had been hard for him- Asgardians weren't guarded with their touch and neither was he.

It feels good to stroke his thumb on her cheek.

He seeks out her other hand with his, to bring it to his face. Instead of mirroring her, he presses his mouth to her palm. It lingers a moment, then he kisses her wrist, just as gently.

If she doesn't pull away, he'll close the distance between them even more and bring his mouth to her neck next.]

[It is the first time since she was taken from her world that she has touched someone of her own volition not in anger. Her lord had been kind, and gentle, and he had reached for her... and she had accepted, but never initiated, too respectful of the boundaries of sworn sword to risk it. She has grabbed, hauled, punched, kicked, corrected, slapped, shoved, thrown...

But not a touch like this. Never like this. Even her own brother's face... she can't recall ever being able to freely run her fingers over skin like this, feel warmth and strength beneath her hand.]

Odinson-

[His name, strangle whispered as she wars with herself not to close her eyes, not to flinch away on instinct despite the pleasant warmth and the twist in her stomach, biting into her lip again, fingers tightening on his hand and half nuzzling against it, any other words she might have planned to say vanishing when his lips reach her neck and she forgets how to breathe.]

[Thor had always preferred loud, strong women who gave as much as they got in bed, making sex as much a fight as actual fighting.

But this- quiet and careful and gentle beginning -this is also good.

When he speaks he does not draw back, his voice a quiet rumble as he speaks against her neck.] Did you feel that? [He sounds almost amused- but happy rather than mocking.]

[Hayame is a strong woman, and many might be surprised to see now how she shirks and flutters, half afraid of feeling what is she desires to feel. But she has been fighting all her life, and the battlefield... rather, the one covered in violence and death, has always been her design.

Not this battlefield. (Not yet.)]

I-

[She has to say something, she ought to apologize for inexperience, for the fact that her fight was with herself, but his mouth at her neck makes her feel altogether...]

Y- yes?

[Ticklish. (She can't laugh, how could she laugh right now, it would be entirely inappropriate-)]

post ALASTAIR, pre Hathaway mission surprise action

oh myyyyyyy

dat late night

mmmm hmmmmmmm

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