Of Whom This Should Be

by The Incredibly Bored Wog

The smile, the hair and the laugh, all too cliche. But why does she draw him, so? Perhaps it is own imagination running wild. Or maybe he should simply step up and find out, but should he suffer the disappointment of bland? A sickness which even Asgardian women are afflicted with.

Chapter 1: A Failure to Receive Impressions

She was naïve, endearing and certainly attractive. Yet amongst the many mortals this one had a particular vigour which made him, simply… drawn to her presence. He was cautious of course, as many mortals failed to show consistency in what would originally seem like an individualistic personality. But everyone proved to be so weak. Mortality aside, being Asgardian irrelevant, even in Asgard they were all so boring – so typical. The patterns and reactions of these people were so easily predicted, and even those spontaneous in nature had a pattern in their life.

But this one… Her responses were erratic. Not to the point of stupidity or violence, but one of thrill. Never knowing which one you are to illicit. It was an open party, and an open building. Many were drunk, and luckily the majority managed to keep their underclothes on. Those who had them removed were promptly kicked out and for them the building was no longer open. The event for the party was irrelevant, the location, also unrelated (likely American… perhaps British? Beside the point!)

How to explain this girl, this one individual out of the many of whom happen to capture the attention of one who should be considered a deity? I mean, obviously the proportionate amount of cleavage helped but surely this was not the sole factor! It was the way she would… allow many of the other party guests to interact with her. She did not discriminate in reaction in regards to her audience. Some she would welcome with open arms, others she would simply shun due to her lacking bother to reciprocate the humour they'd associated with their open crudeness. Occasionally she would linger in solidarity, mostly with contentment, others with a drearier attitude.

In the common Earth-wear he'd created for himself through his illusions, he could barely walk pass a mirror without making himself swoon. Surely this would have the same effect on this particular mortal. It should have that effect on any mortal, really.

It wasn't the fear of her response, or being in the presence of an attractive woman, it was simply her not being to live up to this image he'd unintentionally created in his mind.

Although, he'd already made it halfway to her, across a dampened moonlit road, as he'd begun to think of actually talking to her.

And so it begins.