7152/Double Redheads, Double Trouble

Double Redheads, Double Trouble
Date of Scene:	31 July 2021
Location:	Near Angela and Sera's Brooklyn Brownstone
Synopsis:	Angela meets Maxima.
Cast of Characters:	Maxima, Aldrif Odinsdottir

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Maxima has posed:
Some may regard the human world of Earth as Hel, others might see it as a bizarre little backwater world beyond the edges of civilized space that for inexplicable reasons is inhabited by an exorbitant concentration of powerful individuals, but regardless of how exactly they see it such individuals find themselves here all the same.

In this case here is New York, home of both Angela and Sera's brownstone and the dwelling of one Scott Lang. The latter an individual nobody would suspect a world conquering galactic empire owed favors to, but such is indeed the case. It is Lang that Maxima first turned to for help in trying to understand the ways of Earth.

Now, following her most recent visit to his dwelling, Maxima has found herself at loose ends within the city of New York. There's no work at the moment, least not for the upper echelons of the Justice League, and still no luck in finding a worthy genetic legacy to combine with her own. That clock remains ticking and she can almost feel the glowering eyes of Empress Zeenith upon her.

So it is that she has wandered into a neighborhood familiar to Angela where a certain Brownstone house stands. With nothing to fight, the warrior princess lazily floats down the street outside in her armor* (*metal space bikini), unsure of what to do with herself at the moment.

Aldrif Odinsdottir has posed:
Truth be told, Angela has come to loathe her home. It is ostentatious; excessive in ways that are completely at odds with her austere preferences. But it had been the place that Sera wished to live, and that made it the place that Angela needed to maintain. It is the millstone around her neck; a huge, empty space which feels more each day as though it is a tomb in which she will suffocate than a home in which she might be comfortable. Heven was a brutal place, a suffering realm, but it was also her home. It was where she had struggled and fought to find some measure of acceptance. And now she has nothing and nobody. Cast adrift in a realm of ants.

Ants who seem determined to test their luck.

A heavy door suddenly CRASHES into the ground in front of Maxima, thrown with such incredible force that the heavy oak splinters immediately. Should she care to examine the cause of this interruption to her monotony, what she sees is truly a sight to behold.

Angela stands towering over a cowering locksmith. The woman's eyes are glowing, her body wreathed in writhing ribbons as though they were agitated cobras looking for the moment to strike. The strange weapon in Angela's hands is certainly impressive in its own right as well; a double-bladed scimitar which she is pointing down at the workman as she speaks. Her tone is carefully controlled. She does not shout. But the cold fury in her voice is all the more menacing for that.

"I know not why you tamper with my dwelling, Mortal, but you shall desist. Speak your reasons quickly now, lest I presume you mean me and mine harm and send you on to your maker."

The workman certainly doesn't look as though he were expecting the door of the home to almost decapitate him before being confronted by this terrifying woman. He had best hope that his stammering and obvious shock wins him some form of mercy, though there is nothing about Angela which suggests that is likely.

Maxima has posed:
The sight of the crashing door certainly draws Maxima's attention, but not nearly so much as the raw emotions nearby. The fear, the anger, these stand out far more to the powerful empath than a mere wooden door flying through the air and crumbling before her.

Lazy drifting interrupted she turns her attention to watch the spectacle unfolding outside of the brownstone house. Still not deigning to touch the ground, she floats over in that direction now. "The victor in this Trial by Combat is clearly decided, submit while you still have your life." Maxima tells the scared man on the ground, as if this is helpful. The way she says Trial by Combat is not the flippant joking manner that most people would use but more akin to the seriousness of something that is actually legally binding and a perfectly natural way to settle disputes.

"For what cause do you do battle?" The tall powerful space redhead asks of the other tall powerful space redhead. "Has this man wronged you?" Her tone is more curious than urgent, she is perhaps not the heroine this poor locksmith was hoping for.

Aldrif Odinsdottir has posed:
The locksmith glances back at the approaching Maxima, and it seems as though he decides that this is indeed a situation that isn't going to go well for him. One tall and terrifying redhead is bad enough. Maxima might not be 'terrifying' yet, but she clearly has the capacity to become so. He grabs up his toolbox and begins to back away. "The landlord sent me!" He protests, "Said you'd be out and I should just change the locks."

This revelation does not do much to soothe Angela's irritation. She is deeply annoyed by this turn of events; but what might be more interesting to a notable empath is the fact that this woman is not anywhere near as angry as one normally ought to be to threaten mortal harm. She was entirely sincere and earnest in the threat; she would indeed have followed through had the locksmith persisted in his task. But this is just one more mild annoyance woven into a tapestry of frustrations which have assailed her since she found herself on this pathetic world.

"I told the last peasants who dared darken my door. If he wish to dispute our bargain he may do so himself."

Angela's attention is finally drawn to Maxima, and she lowers her blade. "This place was the prize for completing a hunt far beneath my worth." She states, "Now it seems this Lord of Land regrets his decision, and send his minions forth to vex me."

"He's terrified of you!" The workman blurts as he backs off, "Now I've seen you, I can't say I blame him!"

Angela doesn't even dignify that with a response. Instead, she can't help but notice that Maxima is... well. Closer to her than to the other mortals she has seen on this planet. "You do not look to be a local." She says, "I am Angela, Heven's Mistress of the Hunt. From where do you hail?"

Maxima has posed:
Maxima watches the exchange taking in both sides. On Almerac sometimes it is necessary as a member of the warrior caste to arbitrate disputes between the lesser castes. A dispute between a member of the warrior caste and the lesser castes like this craftsman though is unheard of, it makes no sense. Trial by Combat is the Warrior's right and the non-warrior would surely lose badly.

The declaration that Landlord sent him causes Maxima's eyes to narrow. "You do the bidding of another? You would champion this Landlord in a Trial of Ownership and fall in his place?" She seems utterly serious, enough so humans might just assume she is insane ...if she wasn't floating six inches off the ground and wearing a metal space bikini anyway.

"Enough of this." Maxima declares imperiously, holding both of her hands palm up. There is a swirl of energy in each palm as her telekinesis gathers stray energy molecules molecules from the surrounding environment and begins arranging them, chaining them together to form new matter. When the process has completed an ingot of seeming 1kg gold bullion is held in each of her hands. "I am feeling generous. Humans value gold right? Take these to the one called Landlord and tell him to be content or he can face me in the Trial of Ownership for all that he possesses." The ingots are simply dropped in front of the locksmith. "And do not think of double crossing me. I have seen into your mind, I will find you no matter where you run. So take my gift and convey the message properly."

With everything seemingly resolved, at least in Maxima's mind, she turns back to Angela. "I hope that takes care of things and they will trouble you no more. I am Maxima, Crown Princess of the Imperial Bloodhouse of the Almeracian Empire. And yourself? You are more like one of the Almeracian Warrior caste than one of this planet's 'humans'." There is some disdain in the way she says it. No matter how much Kal-El may lecture her she still finds it very difficult to have much respect for such a weak species.