8079/1000 Faces: Disirestablishment

1000 Faces: Disirestablishment
Date of Scene:	01 October 2021
Location:	Folkvangr
Synopsis:	Jane gets attacked by a disir and Angela gives it a beat down.
Cast of Characters:	Jane Foster, Aldrif Odinsdottir
Tinyplot:	1000 Faces of Death

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Jane Foster has posed:
Rain, ever the curse of a crisp New York morning, settles over Staten Island in a lazy shroud drawn only briefly. Patches of sunlight still peek through shadowy splotches, proof the cloud cover isn't nearly thick enough to announce Thor having a Really Bad Day. All the better for the first days of the Autumn Festival, a plainly named celebration meant to bring forth the best aspects of Staten Island. As if Staten Island can compare to its big sisters on Manhattan or Long Island, but look, it's trying, okay?

Friday and Saturday are turned over to the thrilling excitement of the Norse heritage of certain settlers, though the pitch in from the Dutch and small northern German community supplements an all around Scandi celebration. Not about IKEA here! Outside in the street, artists take over where cars would roam, and they proudly display their heritage in photographs, carved objects, pottery, and a lot of different treats. You can bet your boat there are pastries, cinnamon rolls, lingonberry jams, and other joys. Several groups arranged in front of the Folkvangr restaurant have pride of place for some kind of cooking demonstration being shown by women and men dressed in a much earlier fashion. There are all the classics of quasi-medieval cuisine of the period, though the scent of bread being cooked over a fire definitely draws the crowd. It's much better than lutefisk.

Sorry, Simonsson, it's just your luck no one wants lutefisk today. Cardamom buns and the beloved cinnamon rolls -- in advance of Sweden's cinnamon roll day on the 4th! -- are being whipped up and it smells great.

Jane happens to be in line to acquire some of those buns, with her a well-behaved golden retriever of sleek and lean lines. Someone gets lots of exercise, oh yes pupper does. Eowyn sniffs hopefully at the air, probably offended by the lutefisk but less so by venison steak served up with spiced apples and mushrooms being likewise prepared for lunch. "Come on, you know better. Don't I feed you good food?" the astrophysicist tells the dog. Happy tail wagging, Eowyn leans into the brunette.

Just in time for one of the pagans merrily hawking wares like a khajiit to go stock still and sway in front of her display of rather beautiful jewelry.

Aldrif Odinsdottir has posed:
It wasn't that Angela wanted to be here. That, noe could be assured, was not something she sought. This kind of thing is not for her and the people here are celebrating a culture that celebrated monsters. Monsters, at least, in Angela's mind. She's starting to wonder about the tales she heard of how terrible the Asgardians are but she certainly has been shown that they are insane at least. Doing things for honor and glory? What even is that. Where's the balance? THe purpose?

"No." Angela says to a person at a stall who offers her a chance to see his wares as she walks by and she doesn't even look at him. She's got other things in mind. A job. Money. A criminal who was due in court last week has been said to be seen in this area. Supposedly, he was thyinking he could do what he wants because his dad owns a Dealership. Whatever that means. So, she was down here looking for this child of a Dealership owner to bring him in on the warrant and grab a small bounty.

Jane Foster has posed:
The handsome collection of tasty food earns a crowd. Everyone likes bread, don't they? Everyone can totally enjoy themselves hiding under a tent, sharing steaming cups of strong coffee and chewing on lingonberry-slathered rolls or something heartier if they wish. Staten Islanders gather with typical interest, chatting with one another, not particularly bothered by one silly lady selling bracelets, rings, and shiny things. Are they even going to notice her when she collapses back into her folding chair heavily, breathing scudding in and out of her chest? Her face is pale, cheeks blotchy, mouth opening and no sound coming out. People wander by, wrapped up in their own tales. No reason to be concerned, is there? She stares past Angela's shoulder as the unusual woman goes by, barely able to blink.

Jane is still in the line as it moves forward, Eowyn faithfully at her side in hopes of a scrap being dropped from the ovens. She's too well-behaved as a pup to snatch and grab, but she sniffs at everything. The dog's posture shifts on the fly while the angel hunts her criminal. Ears flatten and the golden adopts a more alert stance, looking about. A low growl starts in her throat as her black lips pull back.

"Eo? What's gotten into you?" asks the distracted physicist, tightening her hand on the leash just in case. She looks apologetically to the alarmed queuers along with her, and then kneels down to look past the dog's head and give her a reassuring set of pets. "It's okay, we can go." The ducking is all that saves her from taking an ephemeral axe to the chest, for the ruthless blade swings above the oblivious heads of those in line. It's held by an equally ephemeral woman in a hazy shade of bluish grey that wears armour hopelessly out of date to ever be fashionable.

The guttural "Ungnh! So you fight?" war cry rolling out is sibilant and savage. No one else seems to react whatsoever, but she's perfectly visible to Angela.

Aldrif Odinsdottir has posed:
A look over at the woman who is slowly dying has Angela suddenly caught off guard as she notes it and starts to move that direction when she spots something else. An axe going right for some seemingly random woman and her dog. Angela is dressed to not stand out. SHe has learned that being tall, red headed and powerful looking is already a thing that draws eyes. Her armor doesn't help. So, right now she's wearing a pair of loose fitting jeans, a simple T-Shirt and a jacket over it. However, when she spots this foe, a ribbon bursts fourth from a pocket on her jeans and waggles in the air.

"What is this?!" She asks and that ribbon races out suddenly to try to pierce the axe wielding spectre that just attacked someone seemingly at random. There's no balance there. Attacking seemingly without cause and risking the lives of bystanders is both foolish and without equality.

"Who are you? What do you wish?"

Jane Foster has posed:
Nothing about Jane indicates a reason to be hurling axes, since she lacks armour, the disposition of a warrior, and anything except fortuitous timing to drop out of reach to check on her dog. That backswing is enough to keep her down there, Eowyn's posturing and snarling at nothing sending the people in line scattering closest to them. Rather than stay with an angry adult golden close to people, she pulls the dog back and scrambles for open space found in front of the street instead of against a table or pressed into the art gallery.

Not exactly the wisest move, but the most honourable, avoiding harm to bystanders oblivious to anything but an overactive dog or a redhead with a telekinetic ribbon. Unfortunately for her, Jane's in plain sight of that larger than life woman with her axe in one hand and pulling a dagger with another. By all glimpses? It's one of the Valkyrior, albeit perfectly not visible to the average person. The fact she can blow right past one of the cooks to drive the point of her dagger through Jane's raised arms and leave a gouged line through flesh -- but not that sweater -- is something else.

It moves damn fast, though the ribbon intercepts right about the same time, slamming into the ephemeral axe coming down in a swipe. It's perfectly able to wrap around the haft of the weapon or the hand that holds it, though the disir wielding it is frighteningly strong. Mouth open in a rictus grin showing her teeth, she turns those black-blue eyes on Angela. "Oh, you will do nicely after this little morsel. Runaway from Niflheim, are you?"

Being stabbed? It sucks. Especially given the shock of pain takes a few seconds to register, and those seconds can spell the difference between life and death.

Aldrif Odinsdottir has posed:
Watching how this thing acts, how it moves, and frankly how strong it is has Angela suddenly realizing she's not dealing with just some spectre. She stops playing 'nice' and is suddenly beside the thing attacking Jane, "I do not," her speed has her speaking while she's moving and her hand is going for the throat of this strange ephermeral being, "but I am not runaway or niflheim or whatever." And her hand is attempting to chokeslam this being right into the Earth with a thunder that'd make Thor ask what all the ruckus is about.

Jane Foster has posed:
Jane slaps a hand to the wound, but the 'blood' that leaks out isn't red so much as threaded by gold and streaks of faint light that aren't particularly obvious. Otherwise 'girl trips and dog snarls' is just a sign of a confrontation with... nothing.

"Okay, let's stop the pantomime and get out of the way," calls a flustered organizer. "Ladies, please. If this is a mock fight, we have our entertainment figured out."

She truly has no comprehension of what Angela is able to do or how close that sharp axe comes to cleaving through the Asgardian's arm if not restrained. The disir clearly isn't expecting someone to match her, and those grotesque lips pull back to show a toothy maw that snaps and bites at Angela's wrist and forearm while they plunge into the aether of movement. Her body doesn't feel wholly manifested -- the disir is more spectral than not, her essence passed into and locked in, really quite gross. For Jane, it's another story: the weapons are and were perfectly hard, and she rolls away to the side with Eowyn barking and straining at the leash to defend her person.

"Medic," she murmurs to the nearest person while Angela craters the pavement and they probably bounce shards of tar and mashed up dirt high into the air. "Check others," she chokes out, because it bloody hurts, and the golden bracelet on her wrist practically burns in its lightning-shot response.

Aldrif Odinsdottir has posed:
Glaring down at the 'woman' that she has attacked, Angela kicks back away from the teeth and axe of this being before glaring at the organizer, "This is no show or mock!" She declares angrily and another ribbon bursts out as she pulls forth a blade from under the jacket and points at the crater she made, "Something is there and while you cannot see it perhaps you can see her blood." She points her blade back toward Jane's arm.

"Now, clear people away!" She declares and makes her fighting stance clear as she moves between the thing and Jane, shaking her head, "Others may be in danger but it is clear you are its target.

"It has attacked without seeming provocation. Why?" She asks, not looking back at Jane as she prepares to defend herself and Jane from this thing, "It seems to seek a balance of some kind but the attack has harmed others and that is no balance. What does it want?"

Jane Foster has posed:
Jane is certainly feeling the effects of the dagger, though probably grateful they didn't go completely through her arm and out the other side. Or not through the chest. The blood that spills from her carries an arc of power to it that the disir practically salivates at, never mind the damage already done. The effort to rise back up and thrash against Angela's ribbons and crushing blows is still there, driven practically by a violent impulse beyond reason. Anything to get her teeth around that tasty morsel. Rather like a shark in chummed water, she struggles and will lunge at either Aesir if given the chance.

And she intends to be given that chance even if it means totally stealing and robbing others blind. Kicking, hurling itself off a weapon? No big deal. Gotta take a bite of that flesh, eagerly so.

The brunette scrambles back up to her feet while Eowyn stands in a defensive position to protect her person from any that come near. The dog's disposition radiates protectiveness, and she barks once in warning at the dagger. Nope, doesn't like that. Neither is she alone, for any other hound around is equally perturbed or guarding their human, one sheepdog practically shoving a toddler back to his parents.

"I don't know." The voice is pained, no doubting that. "She's hurting--"

"Oh, I'll eat you, sweetling," gurgles the injured disir. "Such a treat, fool." It helps somewhat that the sound is almost projected mentally, since a crushed throat makes for no speaking.

Aldrif Odinsdottir has posed:
Shifting so she can glance back at Jane briefly without fully removing all attention from the being that attacked Jane, Angela listens and then glares at the being carefully. She shifts her blade around in a small arc that is simply to prepare if an attack comes and warn that if attacked she will move.

"It is like a wild animal. I can guess at what it is or was but I have no interest in letting it have its way." Angela starts to move, giving the thing just a hint of an opening to go for Jane or even herself. She's keeping her blade moving and those ribbons of hers dance about her form. She then suddenly moves in a strike that is damn near lightning fast. The slashing blade going down for a cut across the Disir's chest only to pull suddenly back mid-swing and then drive forward in a stab that pulls back with equal alacrity while her right leg leads with the thrust.

"Your meal is cut short today, monster. You have create a debt you cannot pay."

Jane Foster has posed:
The thing that attacked Jane truly has no concept of self-defense, its hunger and the fresh ichor on the air too much to resist. Almost driving itself into a frenzy, the disir is more berserker than callous, harsh warrior, and every bit as savage and dazy. The vicious cut that rips open the shade's jellied being sends a scream of pain radiating out, and the jewelry maker, several pagan dancers, and one child all clutch their ears or sway on the spot. Jane winches, forced up to her knees and then her feet despite the urge to drop or simply run. Not a choice, not when the redhead is bearing the brunt of that vicious clawing and kicking, dagger still wet with her blood.

Worse than blood. One needs a body to bleed, after all, and neither the disir or the astrophysicist are playing wholly truthful on that part. The disir strikes back as she's impaled, hurling the dagger at shocking speed right back at the woman holding her captive. It may be a last ditch effort, but that risen howl of pain and exaltation radiates through the aether. The sound sends a chill up the back, riddled as it is by some awful, slavering form of joy. Victory. Worse.

"Too late for that," hisses the disir, plasmic goo rolling from the wounds in her chest, staining her teeth.

Aldrif Odinsdottir has posed:
The vicious and monstrous thing throws a dagger with a speed that Angela isn't used to and so when she moves to block, all she can do is get a dagger into her arm for her troubles. She glares at the thing and then at the monster that is attacking her. She isn't enjoying this by any stretch. This thing has no proper fight in it. A wild creature that jsut needs to be put down. That is all Angela sees and with it wounded, she does the only thing she can think to do.

"This has to end and now." That scream harming others, causing her own ears to give a wince. She steps in dangerously, her ribbons going for stabs through both shoulders of the thing and she attempts to take its head, then and there.

"Fall monster, let this madness end." She swings her blade with a brutal efficiency of a trained killer. One who does not hesitate to take life and unlife from beings that are deserving.

Jane Foster has posed:
The disir doesn't sag to the ground. It doesn't lie there, spasming as the blood leaves its body. She -- for it's very much female -- doesn't even have the decency to leave a pretty corpse. Instead, Angela is confronted by the thing evaporating into a swirl of shadows and stained darkness. Its essence retreats into the Astral Realm, or whatever God-forsaken corner of reality that spawned it. The dagger stings like a bitch and burns like ice, but remains in its semi-phased state even after the angel of Heven bludgeons the damn disir to death.

Undeath? Quasi-death?

The vicious stabs have left the ribbons wet and sullied, though not exactly with blood. It's a far less enjoyable state than that, an encrusted plasmic goop that hardens quite a bit unless washed off.

Medics are few but not that far between. Happy Harbour isn't far and Staten Island is a small, close-knit place compared to most of New York. Getting those to patch up alarmed children or the rare person who needs medical attention for breathing and heart problems is assured. Jane grimaces as she sways on her feet, watching the disir vanish to Angela's blades. "I'm sorry," she says, breath tight, face pinched. "Thank you for intervening. That..."

Aldrif Odinsdottir has posed:
"I do not know what that was for sure but it is not normal." Angela states and pulls the dagger from her and throws it hard into the ground. It implants to the hilt. She then flicks off her ribbons and blade and slides it away. She looks to Jane again after this, shaking her head.

"Do not thank or apologize to me. Make it equal." She states simply enough and then starts to move away, "Take care of this situation on my behalf so that I might leave. I have other things to attend." She looks back at Jane, "And find out what that thing was. I am curious. Then we are equal and balanced. I will find you again for this information but for now, my target has left." And indeed he has. The punk who's dad owns a dealership has fled from here and she has missed her payday and her target. So, a moment after her words are done, Angela simply seems to shimmer and disappear. There's movement but it is insanely fast. There's even a brief clap of what sounds like Thunder after she leaves. The only evidence left are two imprints into the ground where she was standing.