|What: Amora appears in Jane's room, stating she hates the place...|
A simple, run down hostel room is all Jane can call her secret base of the moment. In here, there is the bedbug ridden bed with its rough bedsheets, the window is held shut by a grate and the nightstand had obviously lost his drawers long ago. However, here Jane had set up base. The table was occupied by her laptop and the small electronics toolbox as well as a circuit she was working on, her bag resting on the end of the bed. Besides the smell of dirty motel room, the molten tin from soldering and ozone from the running laptop creates the base of the room's smell.
At this time of the day, Jane sits at the desk, the hot soldering iron in her left hand.
"This is pitiful." A female voice, somehow MORE than an ordinary human voice - richer and with a depth of sexuality that puts phone sex operators to shame - speaks from nowhere. Amora appears in a billowing cloud of green mist. "All your talent and this is the best you can do? Surely you can secure the gold to make a true home?"
It is not a turn of the head that is first as the voice comes from nowhere, it is pulling the soldering iron away from the work, and then point it towards the invader. Only then she turns her head, the hot metal forming a pityful weapon against whoever was that, but she had it in hand. "What you know about talent? You invade my temporary home and all you do is insult me?"
"I know you should be in a place that reflects your genius." Amora says. She makes herself at home, summoning a throne to perch upon and a dark elf in a French Maid's uniform to pour her a glass of wine. "Preferably in a place where insects aren't leaping up and down on your mattress."
Jane Roe snorts as she stands up, unplugging the soldering iron but keeping it in hand, peering at Amora over the tip with the silver tin on it. "Says who? I work with wat I got, and I got not much more bucks on hand than this. And obviously someone in here is a mage with a liking for the weird. Really, a black-skinned elf in french maid costume? Didn't thy have any Night Ones from Shadowrun in store where you ordered that one? They would be at least fluffy with a thin coat of fur.
Amora's lips curl into a smile. "Very well. When you are ready to ascend to a higher level of existence... one in which you aren't covered in welts due to bedbug bites... you may speak my name. Goddess Amora. You may pray to me and I will answer. Once. Because I am nothing if not generous." And with that, she and the elf and the throne and the wine... vanish.
Jane blinks on that, checking the place where the woman just vanished, before she prepared herself some. Getting to her bag she pulls out her tonfas, placing them on her desk before putting the electronics away into a box. Only then she sat back on the creaking chair, leaning back a moment and running a short search on the name without touching the keys. No, it simply starts to show the results on the screen as she thinks the commands. "Goddess Amora you said? Curious name. Asgardian I think." Or rather her search engine tells, but she isn't facing the laptop.