251/Languishing away on Midgard

Languishing away on Midgard
Date of Scene:	03 March 2020
Location:	501 1/2 Hill Street
Synopsis:	Loki gripes about his situation, and Sif gives some options.
Cast of Characters:	Loki, Sif

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Loki has posed:
It appears that Loki has fallen, or oozed, into his current position. He has removed his shoes (and flung them somewhere, probably), in some emotional explosion. He is laying on his back on the /floor/ on one of the beautiful rugs, legs bent and crossed as they rest up on the couch itself. He's dressed simply -- one of his rustic pure white poet shirts, hair loose, arms showing expressively his frustration and dismay with how the world has treated him.

"My brother means to continue the torture /endlessly/," Loki announces as he senses Sif's arrival through the entrance.

Sif has posed:
"Endlessly?"

Echoed from the entryway, the mage's sentiment, as Sif steps through the front door (and overtop the sentry gargoyle once more, an animated stone lump on the stoop as it stands). She appears far more mundane this evening in her thigh-length dark peacoat and knee-high hunting boots. Closing the door behind herself, she takes a moment to divest of her coat. Beneath, a turtleneck in a deep merlot color long enough to fall past her hips. Her jeans, ink-grey, tuck into the tops of her boots, fitted nicely.

"I did not think he had the patience to do such a thing." So lightly does she note this as she walks over to see Loki sprawled like a maligned artist upon the floor. Her smile down at him is fond as she walks over and rests her hands on her hips, looking upon him. "Are you not cold down there?"

Loki has posed:
Loki lifts one hand near his hair, limply resting it near his ear. It's a truly epic drama-queen pose, and even includes a lackluster flutter of masculine lashes and a roll of emerald eyes towards the ceiling.

DEEP SIGH.

"/Endlessly/, for he is completely unaware and uncaring," Loki determines. His gaze flicks back to her with intelligent sharpness as she asks him that question. "I am never cold; no goosepimples dare grace my skin," he answers. "Are you cold, then? Is this a question such as asking if I am hungry, to convey that you are?" Loki quips, still in that same 'woe is me' drape, though his toes move a little bit.

Sif has posed:
"No, merely noting your current preference to lying on the floor. My fingers and toes are perfectly warm," the Valkyrie says even as she crouches down to one knee, all the better to attempt to brush fingertips along his brow and a black strand of hair away from his temple.

"Your brother means well, Loki... It may not appear as such and it grieves me that it is not obvious. He cares deeply for you." Her smile doesn't fade, but it does take on a knowing shade.

"Lady Heidi was intrigued to see you this afternoon," she says then, diverting to a potentially less loathsome topic for the Prince. "I did not expect your arrival. You remain masterful in your approach as always."

Loki has posed:
Loki observes her approach next to him like a relaxed cat. Whether or not touching him is a trap could be up to debate. He seems to allow her to draw the hair from his nose, though, to brush it back over temple. Loki maintains royal, regal tolerance even from laying on his back on the floor.

"I sent a vision of myself to him, all the way to /Genosha/ to point out how much I could do to help, but he would rather those people suffer, /I/ suffer, than to 'allow' me to even heal one stupid human," Loki vents.

He follows her change of topic, with a brief smirk and lift of one shoulder, drawing his hand more in towards his head, passing the fingers in a loose rub along his jaw. "Painfully limited on illusions, it's quite dreadful, but I /appreciate/ your compliments nevertheless."

Sif has posed:
"Compliments and observations alike, my good lord." Her words echo his smirk in tone, still gentled in the face of such a mercurial sprawling. Sif tucks that loose strand of hair back and around an ear before drawing her hand away; her forearms remain loosely crossed atop her bent rather than planted thigh.

"Were there any humans to heal on-site? I have been reading what Midgardian news has been shown and they do not speak of many survivors in this Genosha." Still, Sif's brows knit. "He refused your offered help? Only he? Or was he with others? I wonder at a bias in the moment in the company of his companions of Midgard. I too am privy to great sways of emotion," the Aesir warrior-goddess admits. "My loyalty is unwavering to those I claim as my own, but...there is a time for consideration nonetheless."

Loki has posed:
"Oh, he had Avengers with him," Loki gestures, as if to fan away a smell that did slightly offend his nostrils. He then lifts to prop his upper body on his arms, with a shake of his head to fluff his hair back out of his face, head still mostly back. He drums his fingers on the carpet with both hands silently, but his expression is mostly indifferent. He probably tired himself out with whatever tantrum-thing she missed. He's remarkably mellow.

"He did in fact refuse offered help, well knowing that I was not lying about my ability to do so," Loki snorts. "Something about not trustig me." There's a brief dance in Loki's eyes. He draws his legs down, in order to sit up and turn towards her at the same time. The mage is very agile. "But come, I would not suggest you seat on the floor," he scoffs, as if she'd suggested it, offering a leading hand to sit with him on the couch instead.

Sif has posed:
Sif nods understanding: Avengers, yes, the Midgardian group who single-handedly put a cork in the attack upon New York City. It makes sense -- no wonder the Trickster's nerves seem scraped over with a rusty knife. She watches him compose himself and remains on one knee, comfortable by all appearances in the crouched poise. No doubt she's done it more than once upon the battlefield in full armor and regalia by the ease of balance.

"The couch is more kind to the joints," she agrees as she takes the mage's hand in order to be led to the couch. Seating herself, she takes a brief moment to bend down and unbuckle each boot to slide it off. No boots on the fine furniture per her personal rule. It leaves her socks on display: bright red cherry fruits against a white backdrop with black toes and heel. Presuming to scoot close enough that a shoulder might bump, the raven-haired woman gives him a curious look. "What else can you think to offer as aid other than healing the wounded, Loki?"

Loki has posed:
"It seems easier to just ask what problems /they/ see and then perform miracles," Loki answers with a derisive snort. "Not help off in the corner where nobody notices." Because he's not helping for helping's sake: credit is required. Mostly because that's what's going to also free him from his magical difficulty. Were it not for that? He may even have chosen to help, to amuse himself, or be heroic, or any number of things. Loki's mercurial like that, and can be fond of being worshipped for being merciful.

"I feel like they won't even tell me those, for fear that it might encourage me to make their problems worse," Loki chuckles softly. It amuses him, but there's something else there. He visually examines her, at the bumped shoulder, and changes position with one arm to sleekly manuever for a perhaps unexpected closeness. Loki likes to keep people guessing: he ends with drawing his face in close to her neck, forehead bumped to her ear, his breathing warm. "I want this over with." No lie in it. Loki does want his magic back. There's a frustration, but also a loss: for the moment, he's willing to cooperate. It may not last.

Sif has posed:
Long enough time has passed that the mage's closeness is unexpected, but not enough to make Sif flinch. She learned in the past that these moments of closeness are generally from the heart and a silent call for a soothing presence.

"I can imagine you do." Her empathy is simple, cut and dried, and she shifts her arm back around his shoulders in order to crook her elbow. It brings her hand up free to comb through his dark hair even as she leans her cheek against his hairline. "Were I in your position, I would wish the same," she murmurs. "But ask that they will see you involvement and commitment to giving aid, hmm? And the sooner you will be home to your creature comforts...though, I do like this place." Her face can be felt to shift as the Aesir allows her pale eyes to roam the apartment. "It has its charms."

Loki has posed:
"Not so much the comforts," Loki agrees. "This little house isn't so bad, no. Full of magical relics, and a library." There doesn't appear to be a library, but Loki's probably not lying that one does exist, even if it's not in plain view. He's a squirrel, it's probably hidden someplace. "I'm just...." Loki trails off, stretching his hands out loosely across her lap, only to then rest them back again.

"Bored."

'Bored' from Loki is perhaps the biggest warning he could ever give. It's like sounding the drums of war. Loki starts to find ways to entertain himself, and they are always related to his personal mischief. Sometimes more dangerous than other times, but if it's directed at Sif, she may not be entirely pleased about what game he may come up with.

There's trust there, though.

Sif has posed:
Fingernails comb yet along his scalp, slowly, almost tenderly. Sif lets out a slow, steady sigh to hear that they've reached the point where boredom has become one of the reigning and insidious elements of the Trickster's thought processes.

"You might show me this library sometime," the raven-haired woman suggests offhandedly. "But I did run into one of Thor's comrades today." Her free hand slides from her lap to rest upon his thigh, a familiar weight. "Natasha, she named herself. She was interested in knowing where this place was, I believe, while also harboring the intent of perhaps acting as mediator between yourself and your brother. She seemed to mean well, though I had no interest in divulging information after she informed me that she had not spoken to your brother yet. Thor dislikes attempts at subterfuge just as much as I do."

Loki has posed:
"Mmmmmmm. 'Natasha'? /That/ human put a rifle in my illusory face in Genosha when I arrived to offer my aid," Loki chuckles, highly amused. He doesn't sound offended, though. Whether he was at the time may be another thing. Or he's hiding it. "Does she /ever/ hate me," he hums, in a way of innocence that suggests that's funny as well: or that he clearly knows why.

"I also don't think my brother sent her. Not his style to /delegate/, or put his buddies in 'danger'," Loki observes. "She asked you where I am? I wonder what she thought that would get her. A meeting with me? Some more gun-aiming?" He's curious and interested: at least he doesn't seem bored.

Loki rests his head into her scraping fingernails, eyes closed, though one brow is still up, the prince bemused. "Library? Perhaps, when you seem to tire of the current decor," Loki teases her.

Sif has posed:
"I did not consider to ask after her own intentions. As I mentioned previously, I was not interested in further elaboration. I suspect, if you know that to be her attitude, of gun-aiming and ill intent, that she wished to see what she could accomplish as to trespassing into this place." There is a low undercurrent of defensiveness that slips in and out like the shadow of a leviathan deep beneath the ocean's blue. Another sigh and Sif directs the slow circling of her nails back behind his ear before working towards his nape.

"Oh? I am not to see the library so soon then? I might have to get bored," she returns as a light volley back in the direction of Loki. Her small smile might be felt against the darkness of his hair.

Loki has posed:
"I might let her in. For fun," Loki replies playfully, picking up on the defensive quality of her tone. "Let you eat her," he snickers, turning his face towards her slightly - and actually presses a kiss to the side of her neck, against the heartbeat there. He would enjoy setting up something like that: though since he's talking about it, he probably won't do it. It wouldn't be a good /surprise/.

"Both of us bored? Hmm. Misery does prefer company." With a laugh, another kiss is added, then he relaxes, settling his shoulder in, and reclines there with her, without any apparent motive to direct anything in any direction.

Sif has posed:
There is, in fact, a quick moment of Sif-spluttering: she puffs a short, quick airless huff through pursed lips and pinks just a touch on the back of her neck. Always astute, Loki, and she's grateful for the gentle kiss impressed at her pulseline. It keeps the worst of the blush from spreading into more full view.

"I would not //eat// her," the Valkyrie mutters, barely audible, though her scrunched lips are now very clearly avoiding shaping into a chagrined smirk. More of her weight relaxes against Loki in return now. Briefly, her cheek lifts from its resting place upon the mage's silky hair as she again scans the place.

"What else have you hidden away in here if there is a library I cannot see?" she asks, interest clearly piqued by the idea of more secrets available to be revealed, like sifting sand for flecks of gold.

Loki has posed:
"Augh, do you know how frustrating questions like that are when I'm stuck not lying?" Loki growls. It's truly got some teeth in it, some actual annoyance, but it isn't specifically at HER. Just that he wanted to list a bunch of nonsense and see what he could get her to believe. And that's not happening. Damn it.

"I'll tell you: very." Loki bites her neck a little harmlessly, but doesn't do more than that. "There's a library and a warded space where I can travel easily from, or project illusions. It won't look interesting to you. The small library you'd like, I think, though any of the books are cursed heavily, and I don't feel like spending all my energy removing those defensive wards... so you could look without touching."

Sif has posed:
Rolling her lips shut, the Valkyrie tries to remain completely solemn in the face of his spike of irritation. It's when his teeth graze at the tendon of her neck that she breaks in a titter of sound unhelped.

"I do promise to keep my hands to myself in regards to your library. I do not wish to incur any curse." Nobody really does, in general, but Sif is solemnly sincere in this assurance. She even holds up what appears to be the Asgardian equivalence of the Boy Scout Promise, four fingers rather than three, leaving Loki's thigh momentarily bereft of her palm's heat. This returns soon enough along with a gentle pat-pat. "I need not see this library now or soon. I am content in this here," she then murmurs, pressing a kiss to his hair. Her eyes slide shut and her poise can be felt to truly unbend.

Loki has posed:
"Tell me, heroic lady Sif," Loki asks, moving his hand near her lap instead to curl around her waist across her front, relaxing. "Were you in Thor's place, what /would/ you think would be most beneficial to this Genoshan situation? Where /is/ the best attack point? My most obvious inclination is to delve into those that did it," Loki comments. "But again, limitations clearly arise..." His magic is limiting him there. "I'd rather sit here than walk into deeply dangerous areas without my magic: a fool I am not."

A smile flickers. "For now, here---" A kiss to neck is added, "Is most clearly my best choice."

Sif has posed:
"Mmm...you spread compliments upon me like butter upon bread..." It's not a murmur of complaint in the end at all, more an acknowledgement of her title and Loki's accolade. It ends up half-muffled against his dark hair as it stands before Sif curls her head to one side as if to grant permission for further kisses upon her pulseline.

Her words are a touch dreamy. "I would...yes, strike after the ones who caused the desolation. This was not the work of one being alone, not at this scale. Speak to your brother about what he knows of any further clues of identification and weave your magics subtly. Set traps, mark any who you think might lead you back to the mastermind... Mine is not a subtle approach appropriate for those ruins. I am the sword which falls once the guilty are revealed."

Loki has posed:
"Eh, sounds like Genosha and those problems /can/ wait," Loki snickers, though he certainly heard her. He'll think over his procedure, no doubt: which means he may actually do something about it. A lack of chatter doesn't mean inaction, not with Loki.

Instead, he draws the conversation towards additional compliments. "Though /do/ mention when your sword is about to fall," Loki requests. "As it is not going to be aimed my way, I think it might be quite an enjoyable sight. Perhaps that is something I can do for you: illuminate targets out of the darkness." He draws his head back to look at her and meet her gaze, his own emerald eyes containing a twinkle of a game.

Sif has posed:
Dark lashes blink lazily once as she feels the separation of his lean against her neck. Sif then turns and meets that verdant gaze with her own of cool ice-blue. Oh so slowly, her lips lift at the corners even as those pale eyes half-lid again.

"I do not deny that my heart greatly desires the next opportunity to fight for a worthy cause...and no better than one of protection of Midgard's people. By all means, designate the targets once they have been proven enemies of both the people of Genosha and Asgard by proxy, and you will see me at my most skilled upon the battlefield." A hand reaches up to attempt to brush a strand back behind his ear. "You would be doing me a kindness. I am, in my way, my own agent thus far, and bereft of a manner to aid that would be acceptable to those involved."