688/Mornings in the Woods

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Mornings in the Woods
Date of Scene: 31 May 2017
Location: Unknown
Synopsis: Summary needed
Cast of Characters: Loki, Mercy Thompson




Loki has posed:
No rush exists for her to rise from her slumber. No one interrupts and certainly no alarm clock angrily buzzes to urge her to rise out of a comfortable cocoon of blankets and thin sheets woven from spindrift gossamer and starlight. The grin, that cannot necessarily be helped, any more than Mercy can possibly lament the state of breakfast or her hair or the colour of the sky outside.

Pink assures either dawn or dusk, and the quality of the shadows slanting under the trees could indicate morning. Certainly a bit of dew rather than frost on some of those evergreen needles is a chance encounter if she dares to brave a guess. "Am I expected to apologise for so delightful a sight? You are on your own if that is the case."

Cruelty is absent, the tease spliced freely through the statement. Loki idly shrugs a shoulder, looking back to the siren with her fascinating inkwork and a few other intriguing qualities besides.

He goes to fetch a cup of tea, carrying it to her, which happens absolutely never in his world. "Do not grow too used to this." A warning, full of dark fire and shadowy humour, settles in. "I come here less than I should want."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The light outside will be considered and with an altogether internal shrug, Mercy will decide it's morning.

Yes, definitely that.

It's enough to allow Mercy to bring her gaze back to Loki, especially when he speaks. Amusement can be seen in her eyes and heard in her voice, as she returns, "No need to apologize, no." His words accepted for what they are, a compliment wrapped up in a tease. While she propped herself up by one arm, she now moves to sit up more fully, pulling those covers and sheets around herself to allow for some modesty. She's not all that body shy, not when she has disrobe to become a coyote.

Just in time too, for that cup of tea to be delivered just so. Surprise will brighten her eyes a moment, as she offers an automatic, "Thank you." She'll carefully cradle cup and saucer, as she considers the man's words and finally she'll offer both sincerity and humor, "Coming to this place? Or being brought tea?" Comes her gentle tease, before the sincerity follows with a careful wave of her hand, "And I won't take it for granted."

Loki has posed:
The answer is definitively both in the absence of an answer otherwise, one which is not provided by the god. Other than his cryptic smile, he offers no indication of even intending to respond to her the may Mercy might wish. Some truths are best when shrouded in twenty metric tons of mystery.

Shyness is clearly absent between the two of them, but when Loki can summon up clothes or melt away into another shape, possibly inanimate, he need not worry too much. The heat of the morning isn't great, though the temperature is on the slightly cooler side, still comfortable enough for tea and avoiding the creation of a hamster burrow. He leans over to pull a cup to himself, and brings the brew to his mouth once she does. "Well, my lady, you appear to be less the worse for wear. Perhaps a bit malnourished, but nothing a suitable chase through a dell would not compensate for." The lift of his grin ignites some unearthly bright light in those terribly green eyes of his. "Assuming you have a taste for adventure, of course."

Might as well just swing that hook.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
No answer from Loki.

Perhaps not all that unexpected and something that will likely be pondered by Mercy. Though at another time. For now, that offer of a run is neatly grabbed by Mercy, as she says, "Hardly malnourished and besides, we still have cake to eat." A grin twitches her lips upward as her gaze briefly flicks towards that lonesome cake box. "But yes, let's go for a run. I'm all for adventure, and it'd be nice to see the rest of this place." Now her gaze is back upon Loki as she adds, "I know what form I'll be taking -" Coyote, of course, "- What form are you going to choose? Bear?" She asks, a tease returning to her voice as she considers the man.

And while she doesn't necessarily drink much tea Mercy will finish the cup he brought over to her. Then she'll slip to the edge of the bed, intending to put the cup and saucer back.

Loki has posed:
No answers; that naughty god. Loki will keep more than a few secrets for himself. Can't blow all the allure in one go.

Loki smirks at the cake in its box, the thing as worn and withered as a wedding cake slice in foil presented at a golden jubilee. No one wants to devour that, now do they? Or perhaps it's perfectly maintained, time a funny thing in other realms. "Food first, or will you be licking chocolate from your chops while you send bits of crumbs tumbling in your wake?" he inquires, considering clothes and the bed and the desk in a long sweep of those leaf green eyes. He sips the tea, still hot enough to scald. "A different form? Hm. Possibly a red elk, a goshawk, myself? I'm apparently told you are quicker and faster than all the wolves and beasts of the forest, so it may be in my interest to select something else. A cliff strider seems an unlikely addition."

While Mercy returns her tea, he slips from the bed and proceeds to an armoire disguised as a tree. Honestly, it must seem so. He plucks open a door and glances inside, pulling out a pair of boots at the very least.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The cake box is considered, but not for long as the coyote offers that very typical grin of hers. "No, let's go run." She says simply, even as she places the delicate seeming cup and saucer back upon the tray. Her clothing will be given a glance, but at this point putting her dress back on will be more hindrance than help, so the most she'll do is gather the few things up and neatly fold them in a neat pile.

She's a good polite guest, after all.

Once everything is settled the black-haired woman will turn her attention to Loki, as she considers his options. "Yourself? I can't say that crossed my mind -" She adds, her tone holding a curious note to it, before she all but laughs. "Oh, throw my words back at me, sure. They were boastful, weren't they. Perhaps a little conceited too."

Shaking her head, she'll continue to watch Loki, even as he opens that tree-closet armoire. The light padding of her feet will likely be heard as she approaches from behind, intending to possibly peek inside. Coyote's are curious, after all. Or is that nosey? Possibly nosey, yes.

Loki has posed:
It isn't a tree at all, the curious cabinet, but merely appears so given the illusions wrapped around the place. The interior contains a selection of various shoes, and coats, ranging from tall boots to short, comfortable loafers. Leather is a decided motif. A faint gilding dances on the air, hinting at the interior brackets decoratively applied to create the shelving. It seems reasonable enough there might be internal gears that swivel through the different layers, assuming he has more shoes than the average woman has cosmetics. A string of delicate strands winds along the door in classic Norse knots.

He pulls on his boots while standing, carefully balanced while Mercy sniffs out the different intrigues of the room. He pulls the boots up and then one quick cheat restores his clothes entirely; black trousers, a loose green shirt almost white that billows around his shoulders and rests open at the neck. A coat might be called for, but at least he can manage looking casual. "They might be. There shall only be one way to find out, my lady, and that's by chasing you down through the trees." He offers a transparently amused grin, white teeth utterly straight and perfect.

All the better to devour you with, my dear.

"I could throw a good many things at you, but I would rather not diminish your forming opinion. Fresh thoughts are so very hard to come by," he adds, a roll of his shoulders nothing short of carelessly arrogant and easygoing. "By sea, then, and the cliffside path is fine today." The wall that was apparently only glass easily wavers slightly, the scent of magic strong.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Whether tree, cabinet, magic, or a combination of all those things, Mercy is still quite interested. Her gaze will take in what clothes there are and other baubles that might be seen. It helps form something of a picture of Loki within her mind; not that she hasn't formed an opinion about the man, but she knows there's much missing.

"You put my closets to shame." She'll finally admit with another light laugh, even as she steps back slightly when he begins to dress. Though there's some cheating there, when he restores his outfit. "Hmph. The theme this day -" Relatively speaking, since she's not quite sure what day it is back on Earth, "- is still being underdressed for the occasion." Not that she really cares, as she slides an amused look to Loki.

Then just like that, where a naked woman was standing before, a four-footed coyote now resides. Those golden eyes of hers will reflect amusement even as she cants her head upward to him.

The wavering of the wall will catch the coyote's attention now and she'll turn her black nose towards it. Then with a click and a clack of claws she'll move towards that same wall. She doesn't yet exit stage left or anything, as she turns to wait for Loki. These are his lands, after all, and she's not stupid enough to go pellmell outside. Not until they get to a nice place to run, at least.

"YIP!"

Comes her call, which roughly translates to, 'Ready if you are'.

Just one yip said that all, yes.

Then a second, "YIPYIP!"

Again the translation is pretty simple, 'And we'll see who wins this chase'.

Loki has posed:
The coats and the shirts, pants, baubles, jewels, and occasional weapons are all stored about in different places. He needn't help himself to a special staff or anything on the front of daggers, swords, or the like. If he has need, Laevateinn will be there, flashing out of the ether to his call. Certain benefits of the Odinforce upon the wayward Prince of Asgard.

"I have a need for proper attire," Loki answers that jibe without the slightest bit of concern. He likes clothes, without question. Content at his state, he has not an ounce of shame anywhere. "Underdressed for the occasion of roaming about. Yes, I think I may just stay exactly in this state. I can understand you, my lady coyote."

When she goes to all fours, this is proven perfectly well, though obviously she can understand him in English. It goes both ways. Her yips mean something. Totally unfair benefit of birthright. He goes walking after her into the greenery without, a forest that holds a mixed deciduous and evergreen carpet soaring up to the sky. Long leaves and spreading boughs give a fine amount of shade from the pearly sky, deepening to blue hues nearer the sea. The drop-off was not visible from within the palace -- and indeed, it's a palace, even if cunningly concealed within the woodlands in a series of open arches and airy retreats, like something out of a naturalistic Gothic fantasy, crossed by a few bucolic elements.

Those cliffs are amber bright, shot through by mic a veins and falling away to a chalkier hue near the bottom where the beach is awash in powdered sand and the occasional outflow of rocks. Water seethes upon the offshore reefs and boulders barely visible beyond surf white veils.

The narrow path skimming along a carpet of greenery where the forest retracts from the ground. There are game trails, assuredly, and the rolling grounds hint at a long shore to chase.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Yes, the benefits of having All-Speak, it must make it easier for Loki to navigate vast worlds where the potential of thousands of languages exists.

And it makes it easier now, as Mercy offers a faint chuff of breath to his words.

'Good.'

She had the vague notion he did, by some of what he's said, but it's good to know for certain now. As soon as the two are outside, Mercy will put nose to ground and start whuffling around. There's the smell of woods, earth, dampness and due, as well as unknown wildlife and not to mention magic. That's a constant presence upon her senses, not just her nose. Before they trot too far away, Mercy will turn her gaze behind them to get a better view of the place Loki brought them to. She'll stand there a minute as her coyote gaze takes in the structure behind them. Then it's back to Loki, as she offers a quiet coyote yip. 'A lovely home."

And while she could talk, all right yip, more about the palace behind them she doesn't. Not when there's so much to explore outside. So many familiar scents in some regards and others completely alien to her. The game trails are considered as is the other paths available, and finally she'll tilt her head to Loki.

'Shall we run?' Is her question, stated in the language of the long-legged coyote.

And even with that question, Mercy finds herself already edging towards the rolling grounds, where that lovely stretch of land might be found.

Loki has posed:
Does she need to ask? They're out here, after all, stretching legs and paws in the grass. Dew gives a hint of the season and the warming air promises to be more than balmy once the sun is high. Already teasing hints of tantalising heat shimmers in the distance, and the rays of sunshine breaking through the jade canopy have a buttery quality attracting little jewel winged insects.

There are scents familiar enough to a coyote's nose: deer of some kind, ubiquitous small game in a furry body, and perhaps the larger, damper coat of a predator here and there. None actually approach too near to the palace, if only because of the wards.

If one can call it a palace, an open air configuration meant to vanish into the trees when one moves so far beyond. Small doughty copses hold firm against the sea breeze, and where the grass reveals itself in tough, salt tolerant tufts, there are a few wildflowers in pinks and blazes of orange and sunny lemon to boot.

All of this is simply part of the exploration. A bite into the cliffs gives a private cove below where they might run, and he follows her with inimitable patience, taking in the fresh air and the clear skies. How many dawns has he witnessed this way?

"Run how you will, my lady, and I'll seek to keep your tail in focus before you vanish into the scrub," he announces, almost laughing. The mood of what to be hasn't set upon him yet.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Keep tail in view. The sound that leaves the coyote is more human than animal, as she offers the faintest of amused snorts to his words.

Still, it is good to stretch your legs, and that's what Mercy intends to do. For a little bit, at least. With quick sure-footed steps the coyote will meander down the path that leads towards that cove. Her nose will inspect the clumps of grass, the scents of animals and even the scent of herself and Loki. Her ears will likewise swivel to and fro as she catches the little sounds of animals, insects and possibly some inert reptiles looking for a warm spot. All of it will be soaked in as the coyote moves with almost silent foot-falls towards the protected cove.

Once within the sheltered bay, Mercy will pause in her travelings. She's simply taking in the area before her, the ground that leads into sand, that eventually leads to water. Then with a yip, the woman is moving like a streak of lightning. When she said run, she meant it. It's both something to burn off any excessive energy, because let's face it the 'morning after' is always tricky to navigate, but also to stretch her four legs that have gone unused for several days now. Her paw prints are easy enough to follow as she streaks across the sand, her form a russet and gray blur (in her mind at least), as she dashes in a fairly straight line.

It's only when she gets half-way across the cove that she'll skid to a stop, paws dancing to turn herself in a light circle, to see where Loki might be.

Then, if need be, she'll wait for him to join her.