6110/Gods go to Church

Gods go to Church
Date of Scene:	02 May 2021
Location:	Grandenetti Cathedral - Chelsea
Synopsis:	Sif tells Loki she's spying on him. He naturally lets her stay at his place.
Cast of Characters:	Sif, Loki

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Sif has posed:
The lady stepping in at night does not look like she belongs, yet somehow looks like she's at home. Let's deal with the first part. Ladies going to church don't generally dress in tightly wrapped broad leather straps that leave flashes of flesh visible between their bands at unexpected locations. They don't have a large knife sheathed in the small of their back. They generally don't wear tall leather boots with kerb-stomping soles and no heel. And they definitely don't wear a colour scheme that can be summarized as "battlefield sanguine".

On the other hand the way she walks in makes it seem like she thinks she owns the place. Long, solid strides, with no hesitancy. Her eyes take in the place in a casual sweep once, then twice, before she picks her destination and walks up to it: the altar.

The night duty priest timidly approaches, getting a withering stare from the woman and, inexplicably, he turns away and goes to a corner to sit and watch nervously.

"I must say, the grandness of this building comes close to matching some of the smaller public buildings in the outlying townships," she says out loud to nobody in particular. "Who knew they'd gotten so clever here?"

Loki has posed:
Signs and portents.

It's not hard to follow the trail, when one actually actually understands what that trail is. Bars cleared by women, and other various and sundry goings on makes an appearance more obvious, again, when one recognizes the signs. And once that is done?

The next step should be easy.
It's not an immediate entrance, following the footsteps of the warrior maiden. It takes fifteen, twenty minutes before the great door of the nave opens once more, allowing entrance to an assumed penitant.

Dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, dark in color with flecks of green, the gentleman in question has his hair combed back and off his aristocratic looking angular face. To the poor box in the entry, he sets a golden coin before entering fully. Like his Asgardian counterpart, he doesn't enter in humility, rather in confident steps. The beauty of the architecture, however, is not lost on him.

Neither is the strangeness of Sif's presence in this, the Midgardian house of 'God'. That religion that eventually took their believers from them.

No sign of the cross is made upon walking up the center aisle, no obeissance given, no taking to a knee when he settles into a pew, watching Sif with a ghosted smile that does, indeed, reach his eyes. No prayerful manner or mien for him.

"No room for pyres. Sad, really."

Sif has posed:
Sif doesn't even turn around. "Your Highness. I'm pleased to see you." See, apparently, with the eyes in the back of her head because she's still looking over the statuary and friezes. "There's a certain primitive talent here that could, with a few centuries honing, make works of true beauty."

Now she turns, focusing her eyes, which she uses skillfully as weapons like she would use the dagger behind her, letting their blue reflect in the church's discreet lighting. "I'm happy you got my message. I've had reasons to come here on ..." She grins at a private joke. "... business and was hoping to lock you up." She feigns a surprise at her 'error', covering her mouth and widening her eyes. "Look, of course. Look you up. I have no idea where that other word came from."

An amused smile flirts with her lips before being banished to the æther. She approaches Loki, at the last second drawing her dagger before going down on one knee, head bowed, dagger presented. "Your Highness," she repeats. "I am, as always, at your service."

Only a small amount of irony dripping from her voice with those words.

Loki has posed:
Loki remains in his seat, no glance spared for the timid priest that remains on the sidelines, no concern for any other parishners that may be settled. "Beauty? In its harshness. The belief that if one doesn't worship here, there is," and here, the smile quirks a little more, "hell. At least we reserve that for poor deaths."

When Sif turns, she'll find the green eyes are upon her, his head canted slightly, the smile still in place. "I did." The error in speech gains a soft chuckle, and he doesn't speak on it, even if the slip certainly does seem deliberate.

Loki watches the approach of the Warrior Maiden, she who had been tasked by Odin to stand beside the Princes, to guard and in some cases, keep counsel. Loki takes the dagger as presented, the brief ceremonial duties dispatched, as it were. "We thank you for your continued service, Lady Sif," is returned in court tones, "and we welcome you."

Irony? What's that?

The dagger, then, is returned, laid out upon flat hand, handle facing Sif. After all, the weapon is needed for said protection, right? Even ceremonially.

"Have you yet seen my brother? I should wonder if he'll accept your service, as he is still so very enamored with Midgard."

Sif has posed:
"I have not had the pleasure yet," Sif says, accepting the returned dagger and returning it to its sheathe, ceremony completed. "And truth be told, I'm glad I was found by you first. It shows again that your mind is sharper than his. You decoded the message in record time, even tracing the line to this church. Bravo."

She lightly taps her hands together in a simulation of applause.

"But also, I am compelled by honesty and integrity to tell you that my business here relates to you. I'm to protect and serve, naturally, as always. But I'm also intended to keep an eye on you, Prince. Your interest in Midgard has been noted and it has raised... curiosity."

A sly, lopsided grin spreads over her face. "In your brother this is also noted, but understood. He has that mayfly that he has become besotted with." That hint of jealousy in her voice would make the target of that jealousy's blood freeze if she heard it. "But you, this is different, my Prince. People are growing concerned. So, since I'd mentioned I wanted to catch up on developments in this realm, I was tasked with watching you."

A light shrug.

"It's not exactly onerous duty, my Prince. I assume you have plans within plans within plans, that you're always plotting something, and I ensure that it doesn't harm the Realm. That is all. The rest of the time is my own."

Loki has posed:
"Oh please, it wasn't hard. We've known each other long enough," and he lets the thought hang in the air. They've fought side by side, they've laughed, feasted and hunted together; Loki is pretty sure that while he can't necessarily //predict// Sif, he can understand her.

To that end, then, Loki accepts her words with equanimity, a single nod of both understanding and acknowledgment underpinning the gesture. "Thank you for your honesty," finally comes after a few heartbeats of consideration.

"Midgard is the place where I can do the least amount of damage to the All Father, you know. There is no way to create a war between the Realms from here." There's that ever present hint of a smile that plays upon Loki's face as he says such. "But the main reason I am here is to aid my brother in his quest regarding .. that woman. She, apparently, has managed to have her soul removed and not brought to either Valhalla or Hel. It sits in limbo. And with her," here, the younger Prince turns to his almost lifelong friend, "is a touch of Uru metal, like that hammer. How she received it, I know not, and why she is able to retain it?" Again, Loki shakes his head.

"Here, on Midgard, I have received access to studies that I haven't seen in my work, and... they're interesting, even if unhelpful." Yes, it probably is right to be at least a little concerned with Loki's movements on this Realm.

The last bit, however, does gain a laugh. There's no bitterness held within, nor is there any resentment. Sif's words are a statement of truth, actually, and he inclines his head, allowing her victory. In the next moment, however, he rises from his place. "You know I have many reasons for what i do, and I always have reason." Which makes him dangerous. "Sometimes, even I don't know what they are. They do show in time, however."

Sif has posed:
"Yes," Sif agrees. "That they usually do. This is why there is some consternation." She winks at Loki. "And why I've been sent to spy on you."

She gives the cathedral another once-over, taking in its crude glory.

"So when are we off to your home?" she asks, extending her arm to the cathedral door as an invitation. "I will need a room of my own and your word there are no sigils or watch runes or such that can be used to watch me while I'm in it." She's willing to trust Loki's word. That is suspicious. "It should be large enough for me to lay out my weapons and armour, of course, and perhaps a good-sized armoire for my favourite trophies."

She pauses, widening her nostrils to sniff in Loki's direction.

"Good. You have a bath. And lovely salts you use. They're very you. You always did have exquisite taste in things. The salts you use won't be suited to me, however, so we will have to add a supply for my own purposes."

Eyebrows meet in her forehead as she thinks of something else. "Another armoire for my clothing, too, naturally, and I shall need your advice on dressing for Midgard. Apparently this outfit I selected to blend in..." That would be the half-incomplete mummy in glossy red leather bands look. "...did nothing of the kind. There were quite a few mortals staring at me."

Loki has posed:
There, for the first time in who knows how long, cards are out on the table, as it were. As much as they can be. Sif to her purpose, Loki to his own. And, if anyone can get a little more out of the younger prince, it is usually the Sword Maiden.

Still, it's to his own purpose.

Brows rise at Sif's inviting herself to his little hide-away, however, and he sits a little straighter for it. "My home?" Even Thor doesn't go there. "There are rooms in the Embassy," he begins again, "a place where you would be welcomed." Even Loki is, after a fashion. It IS staffed by Asgardians and those loyal/faithful, so he is given his due as Prince of Asgard, as much as it must pain them to do so. Under penalty of punishment.

Loki leans back in the sniff; of course he bathes! He finally exhales in a exhasperated chuff of air as he makes to rise. "Clothe you too? Thor would be better suited, I think. He is more familiar with the styles of females here on Midgard than I am. Perhaps a friend of his would take you to the merchants."

A soft chuckle does escape the man's throat as he shuffles to the aisle as if ready to depart. "You, Sif, would have mortals staring at you regardless." After all, to these people, she's a goddess, right?

Sif has posed:
"Surely you don't expect me to spy on you via a commute!" Sif says, eyebrows raised in feigned shock. "How am I to do due diligence if I have to go to your home daily to watch the exits, especially since I know you well enough to know you'll have exits not visible from outside? No, that will simply not do. I will need a room in your home with access to bathing facilities."

Her face is deadpan, but the dancing of her eyes signals that she knows how ridiculous she's sounding. And yet, that set in her stance... she's getting stubborn.

"Prince Loki, in all of my tasks, physical proximity is a must. I protect the royal family, which includes you. Which I can only do in your presence. And the added requirement of spying upon you is further grounds for physical proximity. If protection were my sole job, I would be at the Embassy since I would have to split my attention between the Crown Prince and you."

She shakes her head, letting the black, wavy tresses cascade rhythmically down her back.

"The spying, however, changes the requirements. A room, if you please, Your Highness. One befitting my station and needs."

And there's that devilish glint again. She hasn't got Loki's natural aplomb for deceit and malice, but she makes up for it in sheer, pig-headed brattiness...

Loki has posed:
Even if none can see it, even Queen Frigga laughs at that argument given such a distance away from the court of Asgard but says nothing. She keeps her own counsel, after all. Let her son work this out himself.

And there, in the aisle of a Cathedral to a usurper god, an attack of sorts is leveled at the younger Prince. The humor and amusement that washes the tones of the words isn't lost on Loki, which allows him the benefit of not getting immediately annoyed or truly defensive in the face of the logicking. If there is anyone, again, that could cause him to relent if he doesn't have his heart truly into the game, it would be, yes, she.

He turns on her, and with a raised hand, and pointed finger in gesture, he relents. Somewhat. "Only upon Midgard. When home on Asgard, you are to take your own residence there as there is no need to spy on me to gauge my purposes." Loki looks as if he's ready to take his leave before he adds, "You will have to find your own furnishings. And I may or may not tune my concealment runes for you." Maybe...

"After all, no doubt when you're with Thor in your.. guarding duties, you will gain something of a following. Mortals love us."

Sif has posed:
"Well of course, dear Prince, I only require this in Midgard! I have my own estates in Asgard, and a suite in the Allfather's palace!" Sif looks genuinely surprised at the notion that she'd meant spying in Asgard as well. Amused as well. That irrepressible grin of hers is barely suppressed. "I will have my furnishings selected and have Heimdall deliver them once I see the space, Your Highness."

The comment about her duties to Thor gives her some pause, pursing her lips in consideration. "You say the mortals still venerate us then?" she asks, genuinely curious. "That could be fun. Where are the best wars? I should probably tour a few battlefields while I'm at it. Maybe help one side or the other. I miss my following. The baresark were wild and fun."

Of course she'd remember the berserkers with fondness. She's the one who taught them...

"Who do you think would be best suited to getting new worshippers among the warriors of Midgard today?" she asks, taking her place behind and to the side of Loki as she talks. It seems Loki has a bodyguard for the moment.

Loki has posed:
Loki just stares at Sif for a long moment before he looks away again, shaking his head. He's making his way down the aisle towards the Nave and the door that leads out to the street, a soft, understated chuckle in his throat once more. He'll give on the room on Midgard.

"Oh, there are many, many wars here still, my Lady Sif," Loki begins again. "It all depends upon what you wish to fight for or about, and how many followers you wish and how they would do your work." Upon reaching the door, it opens without his touching it, their steps leading towards the outside.

"Fight for land, fight against incursion.. you name it, there is somewhere in this Realm that would serve you well."

Sif has posed:
"Oh good!" Sif enthused as they exited the cathedral. "I look forward to seeing how things have changed. Truth be told, the courtly Jotun hunts were getting a bit stale, and the border skirmishes are almost ... pantomime these days. I really need something to shake up the tedium. I shall have to see how warriors dress now and come up with something that works there as well."

As they walk off, before Loki's enchantments carry them the rest of the way, Sif asks, "I hear tell that your cellar is some of the best of the best in Asgard. That many unusual liquors that have gone missing under mysterious circumstances have appeared in your collection. Quite by coincidence, I'm sure. Have you such a thing here? I would very much like to taste the better liquors of Midgard instead of the filthy substances I imbibed while sending you my messages."

Loki may want to see if he can't find Sif's off switch if he wishes to retain his sanity in the future...