Well she's not lying

Vikings. Well, with all of time open to her, it figured she supposed. She looked around the open plain, musing on what she was meant to do.

“Look at her skin! So fine, she must be from Asgard!” one cried.

“Well…” Sylvie said. Then realized why they could see so much of her skin, and blushed. Her back was mostly bare; only the flimsy bra strap crossed it, the cool near-night air making her skin almost tingle.

One of the Vikings reached out; Sylvie took a hasty few steps forwards. She looked around again, uncertain.

No sign of the TVA yet. She didn’t know what that meant.

Too many people were looking at her, and she didn’t want to enchant in front of people. For the time being, she seemed safe here, somehow. No point in jeopardizing that immediately.

“Can you help?” a Viking said.

“With?” Sylvie said.

She took a couple of steps back again. Her blush really wasn’t going anywhere. She swallowed, arms crossed tightly, accentuating her cleavage even more.

“We did not mean to land here,” he said. “Our navigator led us astray, and our ship ran onto group we cannot lift it from. This land, it is small, and barren – we will not last the winter if we do not leave, but we have not the strength to return our ship to the ocean.”

“Please, did Loki send you?” another shouted.

“You could say that,” Sylvie said, slowly. “I am certainly very close to Loki.”

A ragged cheer went up through the crowd. She took a few steps back.

No TVA, still. She wondered about that; if these Vikings didn’t last, and some looked hungry already, then there wasn’t much variance she could cause by being here. At the same time, if she didn’t save them, they might not welcome her for too long.

Blending in seemed her best chance. A little peace, time to catch her bearings, use their good favor to pick up a coat or something.

“Let me see the ship,” Sylvie said, and set off without them, just wanting to get away.

There was a small encampment on the beach; she heard the barking of dogs from it. A few fences had been set up from roughly hewn wood, pens and training areas for the sailors to keep in safe. As she neared, she realised how close the longship was to the shore; like they said, they’d accidentally run aground it seemed. They didn’t know this area.

She couldn’t help but look over her shoulder again. She always expected the TVA to show up.

“What manner of clothing is that?” a Viking said, hurrying to her side. “I have not seen its like.”

She glanced down. Yeah, jeans probably were ahead of his time; she remembered what Jessica had thought of them as. A far cry from furs.

“From Asgard,” Sylvie lied. Well, they believed that, no point overcomplicating matters.

And there were more people ahead of her. Okay, prove she was some divinely sent whatever, spin that into being gifted a shirt or whatever it was these people had, and avoid earning their ire with enchantment. If the TVA wasn’t going to find her here, it would be a nice place to hold out for the time being.

“Rejoice! We have help, descended from Asgard itself!”

There was a bellow from a Viking. That figured, drawing more attention to the flushed Sylvie.

“I don’t need all this attention,” Sylvie muttered.

“Nay! Do not be so modest! What hosts would we be if we did not celebrate a miracle?” another declared.

His beard bristled like it had muscles of its own. Sylvie fought the urge to react; how had she lived among such pomposity for so long?

People were drawing closer, men, women, all in the same archaic garb; they were whispering among themselves. Even having not seen her entrance through a portal (though some Vikings were noisily regaling their fellows with that tale), she apparently looked outlandish enough that they didn’t question it.

Some commented about the strange material of her pants. Others, more loudly, were talking about her breasts. Face hot, Sylvie let her arms move a little bit higher; they’d slipped down for a bit to show off more of her cleavage. This bra really was not good enough.

“Is it true? Are you truly here to save us?” a voice from the new crowd of watchers said.

Sure, why not? It probably wasn’t as grandiose an answer as they wanted.

“I am,” Sylvie said. “In return for an offering.”

Did that sound right? There were more murmurs, more cheers, and at least less vocal appraisal of her chest.

Honestly, the ship didn’t bother her. She was hardly Thor, but physiology was physiology, she’d passed as Asgardian for years (and apparently centuries in another life), she had the strength to back it up.

If nothing else, it afforded her an excuse to look away from the Viking camp and stride out over the shallows. Her bare feet left footprints in the wet sand, and left the bottom of her jeans damp. Back to the Vikings, she reached their ship; then looked up to see a couple of people already aboard.

She closed her eyes. Not enchanting, but it shouldn’t take much of a push.

Or…

She glanced down; she could see the rocks that were blocking the ship’s removal. The ship couldn’t move with its prow on water. But…

She removed her TemPad, angling it just a little, and tweaked the settings. A portal opened for a second under the ship, dropping a load of rock on the spaceship she’d lost her shirt at. Hopefully they’d appreciate it.

She quickly closed the portal, and stumbled, landing flat on her butt at the sudden surge of brine. The ship rocked, and started to drift back; Sylvie quickly scrambled back to her feet, with an irritated rubbing of her hands to try and shake off the sand. Some sediment was clinging to her back.

Still, she heard the cheer from the Vikings.

“Loki! Loki! Loki!”

She tried not to scowl. Explaining the truth of things would probably just confuse them.

“It is a miracle!” a Viking cried. “You have delivered us! Name your offering, divine messenger, and take word of our fealty back to Asgard with you.”

Yeah, that wasn’t happening. She opened her mouth to ask for a shirt, then paused, trying to figure out a suitably over-the-top way of asking for it. A cloak of their clan perhaps? Or…

She saw orange flashed suddenly. Her eyes widened.

If the Vikings being marooned here meant her presence wasn’t causing variance, then if she’d freed their ship to let them sail away…

Stupid mistake. She gestured wildly, thinking quickly, baring more of her bra to do so. She was distracted, so much so that she missed an elderly, more wizened woman approaching behind her.

“Your help in battle!” Sylvie shouted. “Those are enemies of the gods, in return for your freedom, vanquish them!”

A cheer went up. They reminded her of Thor, spoiling for a fight without sense. Still, they’d distract the TVA (and if by some miracle they won, she’d hardly complain).

For a moment, she was distracted. And then she felt a hand wrap around the strap of the back of her bra and pull; Sylvie yelped.

“A treasure from Asgard!” the woman behind her declared, as she ripped Sylvie’s bra off of her. The straps, it seemed, had been rather damaged.

Sylvie jumped, her breast suddenly bouncing free in the ever-darkening air; though night was upon them, the fires lit by the Vikings ensured there was a very clear view of all that looked back and all that were passing her of her rather gifted chest, her pale pink nipples hardening in the cold.

She snatched her arm back from gesturing to cross it over her breasts, though it didn’t hide the curve of the underside, and if anything it just accentuated her cleavage.

Her other hand, she used when she turned to try and grab at the wise woman.

“A holy relic,” the woman said, gleefully. “This will bring us great fortune. Thank you, O messenger.”

“That wasn’t a gift,” Sylvie growled. “Hey! Give that back!”

The woman moved away; it was hard to enchant her if she couldn’t get close enough to touch.

And then Sylvie heard yells from behind her. For a moment, she made the mistake of faltering, looking back; more orange portals had opened as the Vikings fell upon the TVA. Pruning sticks were good weapons, but the Vikings had larger numbers, and more battle-relish than sense. The TVA had apparently called in reinforcements.

There were mad barks as the Vikings set their hounds on them. A few of the soldiers even slipped through the portals; well, that ought to cause a bit of chaos.

Then Sylvie looked back, and lost sight of the presumably holy-woman, her bra claimed as some religious relic.

Bring her arm back in, Sylvie began to move away. She didn’t want to open a portal this close to the fray, especially when she was still in the middle of the crowd. She started to back away, letting the Vikings’ swords do their work.

She stumbled over the sandy ground as it gave way to mud again, now wearing only her jeans and the navy panties she’d taken from Hope. Around her, a war cry went up.

“Holy one! Join us! To arms!”

“Yeah, no thanks,” Sylvie muttered. Then, louder: “I will work magic from afar!”

More cheers at that. She rolled her eyes.

She backed away more, just breaking past the most distant parts of the small army. While they kept the TVA off of her, she hurried back up the hill; better to open the gateway out of sight.

Then she heard barking. One of the hunting dogs the Vikings had brought with them was coming after her, apparently trained to hunt any stranger. She quickened her step, fishing for the TVA in her pocket.

She reached the top of the hill, but the hound was gaining on her. She risked looking back over her shoulder.

She held the TemPad in her hands, leaving her breasts to bounce freely as she ran, not that she had much choice about that. New destination, somewhere hopefully quiet… Praying, she prepared to open a portal.

The dog headbutted her, catching up, making her thumb miss the button. She stumbled, then quickened again, opening the portal as the dog lunged again.

It couldn’t bite through her skin. It could, however, come away with a mouthful of denim; as Sylvie fell through the portal, she felt the back of her jeans tear; the garment was still intact, but there was now a ragged hole right over her ass.

The portal sealed up behind her, leaving the Vikings to keep the TVA off of her, leaving her separated from her bra and the back of her jeans. Awkwardly, she stood up, looking back over her shoulder. She muttered something to herself, annoyed; the boyshorts were exposed, the tightly-hugging fabric over her pert cheeks, and a strip of pale skin just below them to make it clear to even a casual glance that her panties were exposed.

And she’d hoped these clothes would last…