6125/So a War Goddess Walks Into A Coffee Bar...

So a War Goddess Walks Into A Coffee Bar...
Date of Scene:	04 May 2021
Location:	The Coffee Bean
Synopsis:	Sif has heard the Odinson speak much of this beverage called 'coffee'. She sets out to try some, and meets an unexpected old acquaintance.
Cast of Characters:	Sif, Vintridr

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Sif has posed:
Morning time is the fast time. The busy time. The time when baristas need to get in, get the job done, get out. On each coffee made. There's no time for nonsense. There's no time for weirdness. There's barely time for the straightforward.

That's why Vintridr's partner at the second till signs in relief when the only person in the lineup who wasn't an old regular (i.e. a known quantity) wound up on Vin's till.

Vin could hear the praying...

The woman, dressed in the 'neatly inconspicuous' look of half-completed mummy in red leather bandages, startling blue eyes covered by red shades, neatly practical red leather kerb-stomper boots covering the feet, and a large pantomime dagger (it must be fake, right?) held in the small of her back by a belt scabbard, approaches Vin's station.

"I have heard tell of a drink called coffee, and this very place comes recommended to me by someone who..." The black-haired woman lowers the shades to look at Vin, smiling somewhat sardonically, "...well, truthfully I don't usually place a lot of value in his opinions, but he's above average in terms of taste in foodstuffs and drink, so I'm going with it here. I will have one of these coffees."

It is a peculiarity of Allspeak that those who hear one speaking it hear the words in the language they hold closest as their own. Thus everybody around the woman, except for the large African woman, hears her speaking in English. The large African woman's eyes widen in surprise as she hears the odd-comer speaking fluent Swahili, and not only that the distinctive accent of her home village.

Vin, of course, hears it in Asgardian.

"I have also been told that I might seek it with milk and sugar, but to request these alongside so that I may try it in combinations."

Vintridr has posed:
    'Vinnie' usually draws the morning shift - in no small part because her employers and colleagues alike have noticed Vinnie's capability for remaining entirely unruffled under pressure and gets orders sorted efficiently but without apparent haste - an attitude that has a calming effect even among the customers.

    Therefore, the fact that she appears to freeze in shock for a moment at the newcomer's words is something of a surprise which gets both her and Sif a number of curious - if brief, because everyone is busy - stares from both the staff and some of the regulars.

    Sif, of course, is in a slightly better position to see the reaction, and note the /recognition/ that causes it. Which draws her gaze to details she would otherwise have overlooked. That piercing, for example, isn't gold or chrome or any of the metals which Midgard's children use to adorn their bodies; only Asgard's forges make the alloy that can gleam like that. Or the fact that most tavern wenches in these lands do not sport a warrior's build or poise...

    Vinnie recovers admirably quickly, given the size of the shock, and takes only another moment to compose herself before responding in the same language. "Understood. Seat yourself, Lady, and your beverage will be brought to you when it's ready."

    Vinnie's habit of occasionally talking as if it's the nineteenth century is well known, but her colleague raises an eyebrow at the fact that she didn't ask the newcomer's name... And when he doesn't recognize the rune Vinnie draws on the order and the cup, the other eyebrow joins the first. But then the next customer in line comes up to his register and he doesn't have time for questions.

Sif has posed:
The Red Lady (as she is destined to be known in coffee shop lore from hence forward) glances at Vin in passing as she orders, then, from the shocked response, pays closer attention.

"My, my," she murmurs to the frozen Vin. "Such interesting decorations." The gaze spreads out from the piercings to the body being pierced. "And, I would guess, a life of service," she adds, still keeping her voice quiet.

With Vinnie's recovery and loud response, Sif removes her glasses entirely, hanging them by an arm in the little cleft formed by the leather wrapping her chest. "Those are authentic." She's pointing at the visible tattoos. "Very nice work indeed. Hard to come by. Most are pale imitations, but those look very real." A sly smile flits over her face. "I would very much like to get that tattoo myself, and perhaps some of the extras beneath it as well. Where might I find your ..." She openly grins now. "...tattoo artist, I believe it's called?"

Without waiting for the answer she winks and turns, heading to the indicated table, sitting back in a chair, booted feet on the table proper, arms crossed behind her head.

Thor forgot to mention seating courtesies. But of course, this is Thor we're talking about. He may not know them.

Vintridr has posed:
    If Vinnie's uncharacteristic reaction got some surprised looks, Sif's response draws ten times as much, as well as some quiet murmurs -- especially the cryptic reference about 'extras'... But again, this early in the morning most people just want their damn coffee and don't have the time or energy to investigate a sudden mystery.

    "Her name was Idrunn Haljarsdottr," Vinnie replies, rallying her focus quite admirably as the fingers of her left hand move in the Valkyrior battle sign for 'maintain low profile for now'. "I haven't spoken with her in a while, but if you don't know her I could make introductions. Right now isn't the best time to talk, however," she adds, indicating the crowd. "But if you're willing to wait a while I'll attend you when the shift is done."

    With that, she goes to work, preparing Sif's rather vague order with a quiet, unhurried efficiency that would impress an EOD technician. Her colleague once more silently raises an eyebrow at the settings, but he's learned not to second-guess Vinnie's judgement.

Sif has posed:
Sif sits back in her aforementioned chair, feet on table, watching the intriguing barrista she'd just met. Watched the economy of movement that centuries of battle teaches. That predatory, elemental grace. Eyes skilled at reading opponents in battle are just as useful in reading those not in opposition.

Those blue eyes don't leave Vinnie for anything longer than a blink. Assessing. Categorizing. Pondering.

When her drink comes, she smiles the fake courtly smile of the social superior taking service, flipping a coin to the server--a small gold coin with runes on it--and then inspecting the coffee suspiciously.

"Is it an intoxicant?" she asks aloud, not really caring who answers as she takes a sip.

Vintridr has posed:
    "Depends on who you ask," comes the grumpy-but-grimly-amused response from the slightly elderly man one table across from hers. "Generally people either swear by it or at it. But if you want to argue semantics," he draws out the last word with the almost universal exasperation of the elderly toward the silly new ideas of the very young, "it's classified as a stimulant. Wakes you up, keeps you awake and hopefully alert."

    From another nearby table, a younger man chuckles, raises his own cup and begins to speak a litany. "It is by caffeine alone that I set my mind in motion. It is by the beans of Java that thoughts acquire speed, the hands acquire shaking, the shaking becomes a warning..."

    Obviously a reference to something, judging by the smattering of chuckles that follow the declaration, but Sif lacks the context to understand.

    The first sip Sif takes confirms the assessment - nowhere near some of Asgard's concoctions, but then many of those would likely instantly kill most children of Midgard, but just enough of a punch to actually register. The tiny plastic cup of milk probably serves to ameliorate the bitterness of the flavour, while the sugar appears to be a sweetener for those who prefer that.

Sif has posed:
"It is a bitter brew," Sif muses aloud after her sip. "Rather like the brews of Hrothgar Gunnarsson, but of a gentler mien." Her face softens a bit. "I miss dear Hrothgar, but he and his brews live on in the memories of his comrades at arms." She drains her cup then, savouring the complex of flavours concealed behind the bitterness, teasing them out with the nose and palate of the best of mortal someliers.

"This is quite an effective concoction," she decides. "I will have another."

She holds the cup near her right ear and Vinnie will note the beginnings of the traditional shattering of the cup to signal approval.

Will she recognize it in time before the cup sails across the shop to shatter against the far wall at the base?

Vintridr has posed:
    Recognize, yes. Unfortunately, there's a world of difference between recognizing what's about to happen and getting into a position to do something about it in time. Vinnie was just writing down her latest customer's order when she glances up like a startled snake as she recognizes the wording, and her left hand is in the air and signing 'HOLD' before she quite finishes dropping the pen. "I'll bring by a refill and pick up your empty cup as soon as I'm done here."

    There's only the slightest emphasis on the second part of the phrase, but at this point the African woman is starting to look increasingly confused, at the very least...

Sif has posed:
The arm had already started its motion when Vinnie signed and gave the vocal hint. Good reflexes turned what was destined to be a very solid, accurate pitch into an eloquent display of manual dexterity as she manually adjusted the throwing motion into a placement motion, bleeding excess velocity in flourishes.

She flashes the sign in return. `ACKNOWLEDGED`, then `WAITING`.

"I look forward to another taste of this fine, fine beverage then," she says calmly. "I might find myself sipping it all morning."

Vintridr has posed:
    Very probably only Sif is in a position to notice the slight ease of tension in Vinnie's posture, or recognize it for the relief at a potential crisis averted it signifies. "That won't be a problem," she replies. "Your account should be covered; let us know when you've had enough."

    With that, Vinnie turns back to the current customer, finishes taking his order, and goes prepare both with that same quiet efficiency.

    It's not too much later before the serving wench comes to swap out Sif's empty cup with a full one, giving the woman a slightly curious gaze - but not much more than that; the morning rush is still on and Sif has seen battlefields that were less busy than this place currently is...

    About three or four cups of fine beverage later the crowd has finally started to peter out, and Vinnie shares a quiet look with her colleague before the man nods, and she takes off her apron and leaves the counter, heading over to Sif's table and sitting down. "Lady Sif, your presence honors this house," she addresses the war goddess quietly, in a voice expertly metered to be audible to the person opposite her but carry no further. "May I ask what brings you to these lands?

Sif has posed:
Sif inclines her head graciously and smiles. "Your house," she replies with similarly modulated voice, "is worthy of presence. This beverage is delightful once one gets used to the bitterness. It would make a good drink for children before studies."

She taps her teeth while looking Vinnie over. "I think I might know you," she finally says. "I'm not certain, but did you not apprentice under Geirdriful? Your shoulder says you were there. I just can't place precisely where."

She leans forward, bringing the range in closer for a lower, more intimate conversational tone. "And yes, of course you may ask me."

Vintridr has posed:
    Technically, while Sif does hold official station, she's neither royalty nor in the Valkyrior chain of command, and therefore not /entitled/ to Vintridr's deference. On the other hand, she /is/ legend, and was legendary well before the younger woman was even born, and as such she has earned her respect.

    "The house rightly belongs to Gerald, son of John, but I will pass your praise on to him next we speak," she replies, then glances briefly at her shoulder. "She was one of my instructors, as were you from time to time when you deigned to grace the training grounds with your presence. I was still a stripling then, riding with the scouts, after I'd earned my first title."

    She smiles ruefully. "I fear I did not give a good showing of myself; you had me disarmed and on the ground after the second pass. But you told me that skill would come with practice, and encouraged me to keep practicing and never give any less than my all."

Sif has posed:
"That sounds both like something I would do and something I would say," Sif says, smile taking any possible sting out of her words. "Way-Finder." Her finger reaches out to trace that epithet of her tattoo from a respectful distance. "That's what you were when I taught you. Some of this is coming back." The smile changes to a grin of mischief. "I think I remember now. When I took you down I cheated. You were outraged but didn't dare speak up. That's when I said that. I believe I may also have said something about how in battle those you are fighting will not always fight by your rules, so you have to adapt to circumstance. That feels right."

A merry chuckle comes from her.

"Of course the one who taught me that was standing to one side scowling. I suspect you thought Geirdriful was scowling at you, but it was me she was scowling at for stealing her trick." Sif's gaze goes distant. "Where do the centuries go. I should go to feast at Valhal and join the Einherjar under the sacred boughs in the glade of Glasir. Seek out Geirdriful and share drink, men, gossip, and old stories of glory."

She shakes her head and returns to the here and now.

"But you haven't asked me yet."

Vintridr has posed:
    Vintridr chuckles. "She wasted no time reminding us afterwards that 'fair play' is something found in tournaments and games of chance, and that in battle the only rule that counts is who holds the field afterwards. And then she made us do three laps of Arvald's Run."

    She smiles fondly as well, drawn into reminiscence by the shared past, then nods. "One of Midgard's more peculiar customs is that a request for permission to ask a question is expected to be taken as a polite request for the answer. I've gotten into the habit. So, what brings you here, other than the Odinson's recommendation for beverage?"

Sif has posed:
"What an odd custom. I shall have to make a note of that."

It's hard to tell from Sif's face if she's joking or not. She's playing poker right now by appearances. "Now as to what brings me to this realm, I thought it was time to reacquaint myself with my old stomping grounds. A tedious number of my friends and playmates have mysteriously found themselves here. The Crown Prince I can understand. He's having one of his mayfly moments with a mortal. But Brÿnhildr is missing, and went missing in Midgard. And the Clown Prince as well is here. I wanted to see what the fuss and the appeal was."

A sly grin creeps over her face like a cat creeping up on a bird.

"And of course as soon as it was known I was planning on coming to Midgard the machinations began, so I'm afraid..."

She looks left. She looks right. She leans in conspiratorily.

"...I'm also a spy."

That brings for musical laughter, spilling from her lips like crystal water from a Vanaheim spring.

"No, seriously," she chuckles. "Court wants me to keep an eye on the Clown Prince and find out what machinations he's doing. I've already met him and told him such. He seems grateful that I was honest with him."

She sips from her coffee cup a moment. "I'm thinking that I should probably live with him for maximum efficiency in spying on him. What do you think?"

Vintridr has posed:
    Vintridr blinks, then chuckles. "Honesty tends to work best with the Lie-Smith; his unfamiliarity with the concept tends to make him appropriately cautious."

    Her smile takes on just the slightest edge as she continues. "As to living with him... If you find his presence tolerable, I can think of few things that would curb his behaviour more, which is all to the good. Of course, once he starts resenting the restrictions he'll likely react by making his presence less tolerable until you decide to live elsewhere..."

Sif has posed:
"That was my thought indeed," Sif said, face smug. "Throw him off balance. He now will want to know what my angle is, and that will likely make him agree to my living with him. So he can keep tabs on me, ironically. This means he'll tolerate my presence for longer and concentrate more on me than his games."

Sif tilts her head.

"I'm not in his calibre, but he won't expect indirection from me, giving me advantage. It will be a fun game."

Vintridr has posed:
    Vintridr chuckles. "This will be a battle scarce inferior to your greatest triumphs, for all that it involves a battle of wits rather than blades. I look forward to hearing of your victory... And should you need assistance, call on me."

Sif has posed:
Sif starts to get up. "It will be an interesting battle to be certain. The Clown Prince is gifted in this field, and I am more usually known for forceful, direct conflict, social or physical. It will be fascinating to see if I can land a well-timed dagger into his kidneys."

She looks around the shop as she stands, then stretches like a cat, limbering up for battle, it seems. "I think I shall make custom of this place. The brew has its charms, and the staff is intriguing. We can reminisce, plot, and perhaps on occasion, when you have the time, spar with each other or do battle one alongside the other."

She gestures to the hissing espresso machine. "That device hasn't had you forget how to form a shield wall, has it?"

A quick wink, and Sif heads to the door, leaving the poor server a bit confused as she reassuringly tells him, "There's no need to bow."

Such magnanimity!