6096/Re-View

Re-View
Date of Scene:	01 May 2021
Location:	Noonan's Sleazy Bar
Synopsis:	Two old compatriots find each other in a dive. One clears the dive. The other is depressed. Good times!
Cast of Characters:	Sif, Brunnhilde

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Sif has posed:
How do you get into a bar brawl in Noonan's?

The smartass answer is 'by walking into it'.

The smarter money, however, would add, 'while wrapped in tight red leather'. This is, after all, how Lady Sif decided she'd 'blend in' when visiting Midgard: wrapped in straps of leather that semi-randomly reveal her muscular, lightly scarred body. That still somehow doesn't give the right alarm bells to mortal onlookers. The 'do not touch on pain of, well, pain' message.

Thus it is that in record time, less than two minutes after she entered the establishment, a body came crashing out through the door, taking the door off of its hinges, without touching ground until a good three metres afterward.

And then another.

And then the brawl whose noises inside could be clearly heard now that the doors are missing spills out into the street, as a half-dozen leather-clad men try, and fail, to land a telling blow on the brunette in red in their midst.

Lady Sif has arrived.

Brunnhilde has posed:
Drink in enough bars and one is bound to run into an Asgardian at some point these days.  Away from her typical Hell's Kitchen haunts, Brunnhilde finds herself in this cesspool of a bar.  Hopefully she has reasons.

Brunnhilde knocks back most of her big bottle as she watches the BOOM BOOM of the 'shuffle,' "Just like home," fondly apathetic.  She's at the bar in a gray hoodie under a black leather jacket that's seen better days, some dark grey jeans.

Truth be told, Brunnhilde only had eyes for her drink, not for the person coming in starting trouble.  Those people are a regular fixture at the bars she dwells in; surely they came with the lease.  But just like a lazy golf spectator, she moseys to watch the fight with her bottle to watch when the first door comes off its hinges.

"I'd say you're stalking me but I think it's too early for that," Brunnhilde comments with a little smirk and a swig.  "You can do better than that."

Sif has posed:
"Brÿnhildr!" Sif enthuses from the core of six men surrounding her. She ducks as one takes a swing at her with a pool cue, stepping under the swing with astonishing agility and alacrity, before helping it along to smack two men on her opposite side in the face: one to the temple, the other to the jaw. Both men reel back from the blow and the one who took it in the temple doesn't reel back in, choosing (or, rather, 'choosing') instead to collapse into a chair. An occupied one. Leading to his rapid ejection and final decision to lie face first on the floor.

The other re-enters the fray knot, but is having troubles keeping track of which of the three Sifs is the real one.

"Well met, sister! I dropped by for a visit. Heimdall sends his greetings!"

She snorts at the implied critique. "I am not the mighty Valkyrie of the Valkyrior, Brÿn!" she says, going high in a jump as the man with the pool cue thinks to be 'tricky'. "I have to work when decide to fight without laying my own hand on any."

Ah. So that's her game. She's planning on clearing a bar without once laying a direct hand on any of the people in it.

She illustrates this by weaving away from a punch and then helping the person punching go over his balance point to punch one of his own in the face. Elbows to the back are apparently within the rules.

"Will you be partaking, love, or am I to be left to my own devices and we have awkward pauses in our conversation?"

Brunnhilde has posed:
Sip, sip.  Brunnhilde steps aside when one of the guys reels back her way.  She's got a front row 'seat' now.  "How-..."  Her face sours into a scowl.  "What like five hundred years ago?"  She can't even remember how long its been.

"Yeah?  Who is?"  Brunnhilde feigns mild interest as she knocks the rest of her liter back in one go.  For all the action going on, she doesn't even get a look, maybe a spare glance when she steps aside in the middle of it to let another victim pass.

"I'm getting there.  Send me one."  The former Valkyrior cannot resist.  "I prefer a more direct approach."  She leg sweeps one of the dazed guys as he stands to get his bearings which sends him smashing down to the floor.  "I don't know what you're talking about with work...No one else is here right?  This is just a little daily exercise?"

Sif has posed:
"Well yes, of course!" She's down to three in her group. "That's why I give myself little challenges like these. I can't directly lay a hand on any." She fore-head smashes the one immediately before her, shattering his nose. Again, apparently, given the crooked bridge it had.

Pool cue man tries again, and this time she just catches the cue. Single-handed. Then with a deft little move picked up from a stay in England a few centuries ago from some man named "Rob" or "Bobbin" or some such nonsense, she used the cue to send the man reeling toward the Valkyrie. "One incoming for you, sweetheart. Don't say I never share."

Her final foe is just cut down behind her with a swift smack with the butt of the cue.

"And once yours is done, my workout is complete. The entire place cleared without laying a hand on any of them dire..."

That's when the sound of a shotgun being pumped enters the conversation as the nervous bartender holds a gun on Sif.

Brunnhilde has posed:
Brunnhilde doesn't bat an eyelash at the violence, but this isn't even unexpected in a place like this with all of its characters.  The guy she swept is drooling on the floor, about to come to, but not in fighting form.

"I don't talk to people about your workouts," Brunnhilde shoots back to the comment on sharing as she grabs the guy by the scruff of his clothing and shoves him down, bowling him into some now empty chairs.  His impact happens a beat after her cue.

At the cocking of the shotgun, Brunnhilde glances to Sif sidelong before smirking at the bartender.  "Why do you want to go and ruin a lady's face?"

Sif has posed:
Sif stares a moment at the bartender before dismissing him and walking up to Brunnhilde. The bartender does not like this in the least and brings the gun to bear on her up close. Which is a bad mistake since the result is that he finds his shotgun suddenly moving backward quickly, taking him with it, smashing into the shelf behind him.

The shotgun goes off as his hand reflexively clenches from the impact of several bottles of top-shelf booze (they got the NORMAL grade of Wild Turkey instead of the fake stuff!) but accomplishes nothing more than making a loud noise and putting a sizable hole in the ceiling.

Sif hugs Brunnhilde, smacking her back hard with a pat that would dent a Chevy. 1960s-era Chevy before the invention of 'crumple zones'. "You're looking good for a dead girl, let me tell you. How are things?"

Brunnhilde has posed:
Brunnhilde tilts her head slightly as she watches Sif summarily dispatch the bartender.  Her expression falls flat when she sees one of the bottles tumbles forward to smash onto his head.  "Wasted."

The former Valkyrie is hugged and clears her throat a little grunt after the smack to her back.  "Yeah, well, she /is/ dead," she says with a shrug.  "Same old same old."  Twice Sif has run into Brunnhilde looking to pound down some drinks.  Though she is Asgardian, so some of that is just par for the course.

Finally the woman gives Sif a hearty squeeze, though stealthier than Sif's greeting.  "I never got to ask you what in Hel are you doing here?"  She hops over the bar to rescue a bottle from falling.  Priorities.

Sif has posed:
"Oh, I thought I'd go slumming and see if I could figure out again what fascination this place holds for you and the Princes," Sif says, shaking her head at the bottle save. For her own part she, too, hops the bar, but just takes a bottle from the part of the shelf that didn't get shattered. "I mean Prince Thor I understand. He's got a little bit of mortal crumpet stashed away and he's doing one of his tedious bouts of infatuation."

Sif looks Brunnhilde up and down. "But you, darling, what is it about this dismal hole that has you so fascinated. I miss going out on hunts with you so we could show those full-time courtiers how to get down and dirty while having fun. There's just ... no more excitement. We go out. We find the troll or giant or whatever it is we're hunting this week. We slay it. We go back. That spark you bring and you bring out in me. It's just not the same without it. There's no ARTISTRY in the kills anymore!

She bites off the top of the bottle, spitting away the glass shards and drinks from it. She makes a face and stares at the contents. "People drink this stuff? MORTALS survive it? It's filthy!"

Which doesn't stop her from guzzling more.

"And then we get the big mystery. And my main reason for being here. Prince Loki. He's spending a lot of time on Midgard and tongues are wagging. I'm here to find out what he's doing. Really doing, I mean."

Brunnhilde has posed:
"Of course he does," Brunnhilde unscrews her saved bottle, sending the cap flying.  Then she saves its contents from any other customers, so to speak, when she tips it back to down at an alarming rate.  "Oh yes.  I'm so fascinated."  She reaches up to rubs at her eyes, still holding the bottle in her other hand.

"It's been centuries.  That person you knew?  She walked away from her post.  She left her remaining battered Valkyrior behind.  She failed.  And she's dead.  I don't want anything to do with it all."

Sif's verdict on the alcohol does give Brunnhilde another smirk and a little shake of her head.  "You're such a tourist...It slowly kills them, but they like lots of things that slowly kill them even when it is killing them quickly in the end."

"He's here?  Great.  Well good luck with that," the former Valykrie lets out a single amused noise before turning to peruse the selection.  "Can you get that one for me?  I don't feel like jumping."

Sif has posed:
"Certainly. What are friends for?" Sif looks askance at Brunnhilde momentarily. "We're still friends, aren't we Brÿn? I really hate losing friends to anything but battle. I find it disruptive to my balance."

Hopping the bar again, she grabbed the bottle Brunnhilde mentioned, then its twin. "To see if it's truly as filthy as I thought at first," she says with a wink. "Anyway, I'm afraid I must be going now. I have to make enough noise to get Prince Loki aware of my presence so he can stalk me and I pretend he took me unawares."

She hands the bottle to Brunnhilde but keeps a hold on it when the latter takes it, to say more seriously. "When you're ready, let's talk. I've got a few decades of slumming to do here at least. Just ask Heimdall where I am and do your little trick to show up. Knock first, though, darling. You never know who I might be entertaining."

With that and a jaunty wave, she heads out of the bar, tossing her own bottle into the air and catching it. "Heimdall, take me to another place I can make noise!" she calls out.

She vanishes in a puff of multicoloured light while sirens audibly approach from the distance.

Brunnhilde has posed:
"You were supposed to have already lost me."  Brunnhilde squints slightly.  "Were you some kind of epically nuts hold out that thought I was alive all this time?"  As for Sif's balance, Brunnhilde doesn't give her any peace.

"You get a taste for it...especially when you're trying to pay rent."  Brunnhilde takes the bottle and makes short work of getting it open.  She doesn't say anything, but Sif does get an inscrutable look.

"I'll think about it," she mutters after Sif poofs.  Then she grabs some money from a couple of pockets to toss on top of the bartender before walking out.  The shatter of glass can be heard through the swing of the door as she tosses the now empty bottle over her shoulder.

"Would be nice to have some decent booze."