2013.09.02 - There's A Flying Horse On My Balcony

The Greenwich hotel is currently playing host to one Elsa Bloodstone, currently relaxing after a long trip from Boston. Her usual monster hunting raiment is currently being tended to in one of the hotels laundry areas, after a gentle request and a wad of dollar bills to smooth out the process.
Elsa is currently clad in a fluffy red bath robe with the initials 'EB' stencilled in a fanciful script across the back of the garment and a pair of matching slippers. A cup of English tea is grasped firmly in one hand as he emerges from the Greenwich Rooms kitchenette. It's just as well that she's used to strange occurrences, as visible through the open patio door is a vibrantly white winged horse, currently standing patiently on the balcony outside.
Elsa blinks, raising her free hand to point at the creature. "There's a flying horse on my sodding balcony. Why is this?" She asks, as through the universe could offer a simple explanation.
 
The horse really is exceptionally white, to the extent that it might have been scrubbed specially for just this occasion. The balcony is barely large enough for an animal of his stature, and while he's indeed waiting patiently - and incidentally appears completely unbothered by his position a few stories above the ground - he's also somewhat bored, and Elsa's by far the most interesting thing that he's seen so far, at least on this visit to Midgard. His ears prick up at the sound of her voice, and with only a little bit of rearrangement he's poked his head through the patio door and is looking at her with eyes that suggest a canny intelligence at odds with his equine appearance. He stretches out his neck to sniff a bit in the direction of Elsa's tea, then draws back and snorts to himself, shaking his mane at Elsa's question.
Behind the monster hunter, the door to the suite's bathroom opens and a tall, blonde figure steps out into the main room. "If you are waiting for a reply from Aragorn, you may be disappointed." The voice is confident, formal, and has a slightly Scandinavian lilt to it. "He is a fine steed, but his conversation is somewhat lacking." The horse - Aragorn, apparently - snorts again and ostentatiously pulls his head back out of the room, and goes back to watching the world go by outside. The woman, dressed in leather and steel, folds her arms and regards Elsa curiously. "My apologies. I did not realise this domicile was occupied." She doesn't sound particularly apologetic despite her words, which a spoken for form's sake. "However, you are no Asgardian, and neither are you dead, so you are not the one I seek." Already the tall woman's keen, ice-blue gaze is roaming around the room.
Elsa peers keenly over her cup of tea at the horse as it seems to exhibit at least a rudimentary intelligence. "Well, aren't you a smart little Pegasus Majorii. Sorry about the flying horse bit earlier, I haven't had my first cup of tea yet. Still it does beg the question how the hell you got there. Aside from the obvious, I mean."
As the bathroom door opens, Elsa whirls round, spraying her tea in a wide arc. "Well, there goes the bloody deposit," she murmurs to herself, then is shocked into brief silence as the figure emerges from the bathroom. Her gaze flicks to a nearby chair where her gun belt has been casually flung, pondering making a dive for her revolver. Its then that she receives an eloquent greeting, followed by an apology. *Asgardian. That explains...that doesn't explain why she's in my sodding bathroom!* Elsa mulls silently for a brief moment. "We're in Greenwich Village, darling. If you were expecting to find dead people in the bathroom you're in the wrong neighbourhood. Have you lost something? Or someone?"
Aragorn doesn't seem to be holding a grudge about Elsa's initial failings in taxonomy, as he's discovered the ornamental plant pots on the balcony and is munching away at their contents with every impression of deep enjoyment. If the tea hadn't seen to the room deposit already, Aragorn's late breakfast might have put paid to it on its own.
The excessively tall blonde woman doesn't flinch from Elsa's almost violently startled reaction, or the flying tea, but then she does appear to be one of the few things in the room not actually wearing some of it now. Elsa's pause allows the blonde's eyes to light on the kitchenette that the other woman emerged from, and she's already taken a purposeful step in that direction before Elsa's voice brings her up short. She tilts her head, a curious look coming into her eyes as she reappraises her host. "For a mortal, you are perceptive. I have indeed lost both someone /and/ something, as you suggest." Aborting her move toward the kitchenette and turning back to face Elsa properly, the blonde inclines her head. "I am Brunnhilde, first of the Allfather's Valkyrie and Shield-Maiden of Asgard. It is my calling to convey the souls of the worthy dead to their reward in Valhalla." Her words are formal, but her tone isn't grandiose. This is just the way she usually introduces herself. "It is unusual for one of the Aesir to fall on Midgard, and yet... I sense something in this place. As if a soul who should have been gathered long past is calling to me, and my sisters." Her gaze, which had again begun to rove restlessly about the suite, returns to Elsa. "Would you have knowledge of this?" She asks bluntly, though without a hint of threat.
Elsa's eyes flick towards the visitor on the balcony as he tucks into the handily provided greenery. "Oh help your bloody self, I'm not in enough trouble with the staff already am I? Just don't shit on the carpet," she says wearily.
Returning her gaze to the striking young woman in front of her, Elsa moves to take a fortifying gulp of tea, only to recall it is no longer in the cup. She sets the fine china down at the end of the counter as the Asgardian makes a beeline towards the kitchenette. As the blonde woman introduces herself, Elsa takes the opportunity to return the favour, actually leaning forward in a small precise bow. "Well, good morning to you, Brunnhilde. I'm Elsa Bloodstone, daughter of Ulysses Bloodstone, slayer of unpleasant things, drinker of tea and wielder of boomsticks. In no particular order." She falters, clearly falling short of Brunnhildes impressive titles.
At the Valkyries enquiry, Elsa quirks an eyebrow. "An Asgardian soul? I'm not really in the market for that kind of thing, darling. I'm more about putting restless souls or other general creepiness to rest, not keeping them around for novelty value." Her eyes flick towards her luggage trunk. "Still, /something/ must have drawn you here." Elsa crosses to the chest and flings it open, revealing a vast array of bizarre trinkets, books, nik-naks and other assorted bizarreness. "I don't do this for everyone you know. Just...try not to break anything, pretty please?"
 
Aragorn pauses in his greenery munching to look at Elsa with an expression that's as close as a horse can get to mild reproof, spoiled slightly by the rather sad looking plant that'd dangling from one corner of his mouth. With a shake of his head he seems to dismiss her warning and snuffles interestedly at the next pot along. A small, swiftly hidden smile is the only sign that Valkyrie herself is paying any attention to the byplay between monster hunter and horse.
What's not so well hidden is Brunnhilde's surprise at the formality of Elsa's greeting, but the Valkyrie has centuries of experience of Odin's court to fall back on so she's quick to recover. "Well met, Elsa Bloodstone. It seems we have more in common than I realised." She's probably not talking about drinking tea, it must be noted.
Brunnhilde gives a nod of understanding, an intrigued look in her eyes. "Indeed? I had thought Midgard more... mundane. I have no little experience of that myself." Still, despite her chattiness, her eyes are on the trunk as soon as Elsa's stray in that direction, and as soon as she opens it... "As you say." Brunnhilde murmurs, eyes fixed on the yellowed skull that's almost buried beneath the far more interesting items piled all around it. The tall Valkyrie strides over to the chest and drops to one knee before it, swiftly and efficiently clearing away the obscuring items and stacking them safely to one side, before withdrawing the skull. She looks deep into its empty eye-sockets for a moment. "You have been waiting a long time." She whispers. "But I am here, now."
She twists around to look at Elsa with narrowed eyes, but her expression clears of its look of suspicion instantly. "Were you three times the age you look this would still have been done long before you were born." She says in a slightly apologetic tone, and then explains, "Strong magics have snared the soul of a righteous warrior and bound him to this relic." Shifting the skull to one hand, she replaces the items she moved exactly as they were, before rising to her feet. "How came you by this?" She asks curiously.
Elsa isn't in the habit of playing poker, but if she was she'd probably clean house. She represses a chuckle as Brunnhilde takes her largely nonchalant greeting at face value, her face stoic. This is also helped by the fact an /Asgardian/, of all people, has just offered her a compliment. Instead she manages a simple nod and a "Thank you".
"I'm not sure the last time you visited humble old Midgard but these days you can't turn around without bumping into superheroes, magicians, aliens...all sorts of merry weirdness." Elsa watches with professional interest as Valkyrie rifles through her various hand-me-downs with a gentle hand. Her expression sours somewhat as the Valkyrie seems to find what she's looking for.
As Brunnhilde explains the nature of the object, Elsa's eyes widen in genuine horror. "Oh good lord, that things occupied?!? Christ, that's bloody terrible!" *Not to mention I've changed my clothes in front of the sodding thing before now! Hope you got an eyeful you cheeky dead git,* she adds silently. Elsa takes a step back and raises her hands in a mortified gesture. The astute might notice this takes her a /little/ bit closer to her revolver. "Oh God, no, it's nothing like that. Look, there was this silly little Armageddon cult in Fairfield I gave a bloody nose to on the way down from Boston. They had this in their horrid little collection. I thought it might be something important so I grabbed it. I haven't had a chance to have it properly..." Elsa steps forward and wiggles her fingers over the object. "...looked at, if you follow. Can you help the poor sod? I mean...the noble warrior?"
 
Elsa's reaction gets a second slight narrowing of Brunnhilde's eyes, but it's only for a moment before she decides that Elsa's distress is genuine. It helps that she's utterly unaware of Elsa's abilities as a poker player. "I fear so. The... occupant, as you might term him, has been kept here for many mortal lifetimes. The only mercy is that I believe he must have... slept, or I would have felt his call before now." She glances again at the trunk. "Perhaps one of your other... souvenirs? Awoke him." As she looks up again, she smiles a little wolfishly as she notices where Elsa has come to stand, and gives her head a firm shake. "Do not worry, Elsa Bloodstone. That you have already meted out retribution to those responsible warms my heart." Yes, that's definitely a fierce smile she's wearing.
As Elsa steps forward, the Valkyrie allows the finger-wiggling with no more than a quizzical look. "I can." She says with absolute conviction, and without warning there's a long, heavy sword in her hand that wasn't there a moment before. Taking a step back to gain a little room, Brunnhilde uses the blade to make a small, precise cut, little more than nicking the skull, and smiles. "It is done." She looks at Elsa. "Dragonfang has many uses." She says, shrugging her shoulders as if that explanation makes everything clear.
Stepping forward once more, Brunnhilde reaches out a hand - the sword has vanished as swiftly and mysteriously as it arrived - and takes Elsa's wrist in a strong, warrior's grip if she allows it. "I must go, and see our friend to Valhalla. Already I am in your debt, Elsa Bloodstone, and would be more so if you allow me to take this." She weighs the skull in her free hand. "The soul has been freed, but still I would return his remains to the Realm Eternal." Once that is said, though, the solemn expression on Brunnhilde's face abruptly dissolves into a grin. "But once that is done? You would do me great honour if you would tell me of the bloody nose you gave to this cult, over several flagons of mead at the very least. It sounds a worthy story."
The façade breaks somewhat as Brunnhilde explains the nature of the souls imprisonment and her shoulders slump in visible relief. *Well, at least now I know I haven't been perved on by a dead Asgardian,* she ponders quietly. "If I'd have known I'd have stuck him in front of the telly a couple of times. Before finding proper mystical assistance, of course." As the Valkyrie provides a theory as to why this soul woke up all of a sudden, Elsa looks thoughtful. "Most of its harmless to be honest, though I did have something of a dimensional jaunt recently. Maybe there was some form of residual energy? Tricky business that." She peers at Brunnhilde at mention of the cult. "Oh, retribution was meted, don't you worry, darling." As was about four blocks of property destruction, but they had it coming.
Elsa's eyes widen a little as the mighty sword Dragonfang is unsheathed, fearing for the state of her hotel room if the blade were to be used in anger. She casts a professional eye over the sword as it passes through her field of vision, the dragon head pommel catching her attention. As the Valkyrie applies it gently to the skull, Elsa looks on expectantly. "Oh. That's it then. Jolly good. Better luck next time dear," she says offhandedly to the skull.
Elsa gladly takes the shield-maidens wrist, mirroring the gesture, suppressing a wince at the impressive strength Brunnhilde exhibits in her grip. "Take it, I insist. I don't think I'd be able to quite look at it the same way again. Tell the poor sod I'm sorry he was kept in a box for so long and that most of his previous owners can only eat through a straw now." Elsa's eyebrows raise a little as Brunnhilde expresses an interest in her past exploits. "Well, you can have all the mead, I'll settle for a pot of earl grey if its all the same to you, darling. It's been an unexpected pleasure." Elsa turns and watches the Valkyrie mount her steed and fly off into the mid morning sky, waving awkwardly. When that duty is discharged, she sets about making a replacement cup of tea, glad that Aragorn has seemingly left the hotel rooms carpets unsullied.
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