6156/Retail battles

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Retail battles
Date of Scene: 08 May 2021
Location: 501 1/2 Hill Street
Synopsis: Form and fashion fit Sif!
Cast of Characters: Loki, Sif




Loki has posed:
New York City. It's a City That truly Never Sleeps. With the warmer weather arriving, there are more and more crowds that gravitate to the city of concrete and steel, enjoying all that it has to offer. Perhaps that is why so many not from this Realm is congregating into this very special spot.

Within a small, magically tucked away spot in that self-same city is Loki's safe harbor. It's sedate, quiet, and doesn't scream 'royalty' or even 'future king of Midgard' in its decorations. It actually looks a great deal like the Prince's personal chambers back in the palace of Asgard. Dark woods of exquisite construction, great sconces upon the wall giving off a warm glow to the rooms, all hearken back to home and comfort.

Seated in a chair, a glass of wine in hand and a side table with a collection of fruit, cheese and bread set, Loki has a book he's studying, green eyes settling across the pages. He's dressed down; green fabric tunic, leather pants, boots.. not really looking like the scourge of New York City tonight.

Sif has posed:
Peace and quiet, meet Lady Sif. Lady Sif, Peace and quiet. You've never met before...

"Unconscionable!"

That's the first word out of Sif's mouth as she slams through the door. Well, one can assume it is her from various clues. The boots look familiar, and being sculpted to her form the legs, what can be seen of them, are also familiar. The voice is very familiar. As is the angry tone.

Of course the rest can't be seen given the body-erasing mass of bags, boxes, parcels, packages, and other means of object conveyance that cover her.

"What kind of brother does this to his sister!" she fumes as she sets down the goods in the foyer... and then turns to go back outside.

It's a few minutes more before she returns, laden with, incredibly, even more goods. Goods which get dumped in an unceremonious pile atop the previous ones.

Then the door closes.

Quietly because good construction is bad for slamming. Not that she didn't try.

"All I asked for was him to bridge me from Manhattan to here. And can you believe it? HE REFUSED!"

Sif appears beside herself, shaking her fist ... at the ceiling fixture?

Loki has posed:
There is silence from the younger prince before a quiet but deliberate sigh exits. Loki doesn't even pull his gaze from his tome, but he does pause to take a sip of the wine in his glass. Once done, then he looks towards the portal from which Sif emerged.

Yes, it's a door.. with a great deal of magic done to it. This little 'hidey hole' has no reference on any map in New York; it simply doesn't exist.

"He cannot."

The statment is simple but holds a great deal of meaning beneath it. "He cannot see within, he cannot target it because it simply does not exist." The last bit is added with a ghost of a smile before he raises his book once more to resume his study.

Thus distracted by the book, Loki does continue the conversation, however. "I will admit curiosity as to what you discovered. Going 'native', like my brother?"

Sif has posed:
"Well surely, if I am going to reside in this beastly backwater," Sif says, still very miffed, "I am going to have to blend in somewhat. My regal bearing will always attract attention unless I learn to, and I quote, 'walk like a commoner', but if I dress like one of these mortals I will look like a regal mortal instead of a goddess."

She pauses.

"Surely I don't have to explain to you, of all people, Prince Loki, the value of not looking like what you are!?"

Calming somewhat, now that the adventure of transporting all her purchases has finally ended and all that is left is cleaning up the battleground, she surveys her packages and parcels.

"I have here mortal leisure wear, mortal formal wear, mortal business wear, mortal combat wear--I insisted, mortal lounging wear, mortal bedroom wear, mortal intimate wear, and mortal intimate wear for purposes of carnal congress."

With each item she points to a bag, parcel, or group thereof indicating which is which.

"There was a shop that had some wonderful looking leather garments, with studs and spikes and chains and other such amenities, but I was steered far clear of it." She pondered. "It had a name like 'The Gimp Stop'. I shall probably go there later."

Loki has posed:
Loki raises his eyes once again and sighs //that// sigh as he closes his book and lays it down, though he doesn't loose his hold on his glass of wine. "You will always attract attention, Sif," he begins. "Like Thor. Even when he is dressed like others, there is no escaping eyes." The smile begins to creep across his face again, and he shrugs his shoulders and tips his wine to take another swallow.

"There is never a time when I am not who I am. I just don't wear my armor all the time. A properly tailored outfit is enough." It's just that for some reason, he's more.. unassuming? Loki can actually navigate the city (mostly) unmolested...

Sif begins to recite the litany of all of her gains, and brows rise as the list goes on and on before he puts a hand up to pause her, "That is.." quite a bit. "Could you not have actually brought things from Asgard for that?" Like, the intimate wear for 'carnal congress'.

Sif has posed:
Welcome to 'explain like I'm five...hundred'. "I can't blend in with Midgarders if I dress in Asgardian finery," Sif explains with the patient reasonableness of someone explaining the blithering obvious. "As fine as some of these gowns and outfits are, sumtuary here in Midgard is very different from the sumtuary of our home. I would stand out even more than I already do by being tall, beauteous, straight-backed, sharp-eyed, and commanding."

Nope. No ego problems here!

"So I have purchased the finest clothing that Midgard sumtuary has to offer. Not to blend in, you understand, because that will never be possible. I would never humble myself so. But to at least not look like I come from beyond the realm."

She surveys her parcels once more before commencing the work of carting them in groups to her room, leaving the door open both for use and for furthering conversation.

"Besides, I must admit, in the realm of carnal sumtuary, the mortals have an imagination. It will be interesting to put some of the things I'm storing to good use once I find a partner worthy of my attentions!" she calls out from her room as paper rustles, cardboard tears, and cloth whispers.

And that voice has more than a twist of vicious humour in it.

Loki has posed:
"There is no blending in for you, no." It's easily agreed; as far as he's concerned, there are none that can truly hide in Midgard society. While there are basic similarities, there are more differences of culture, morals and mores between Asgard and Midgard. Add to that the fact that some of them are of the Royal House of Asgard?

Day. Night.

"You will never look as if you're from Midgard. Even with their clothing, Sif." It's a patient statement of fact. "It's more than the look, more than your manner. You will truly never find a friend in this realm because they could never begin to understand you." Loki lifts a single shoulder in a shrug and sets his wine glass down to pick up a small bunch of grapes from the table's bowl of offrances.

"Do you really wish to get into a conversation regarding the differences of clothing for such attentions?" There is a pause before, "To fully appreciate such an outfit, it must look good upon the backdrop of the carpet."

Sif has posed:
"If I dress as they do they will know I come from elsewhere," Sif says, grabbing the next batch of packages and carting them off to her room, pausing only to glance suspiciously at Loki before proceeding. "But they will not necessarily know from whence. This could be valuable when trying to pass anonymously in their midst. They will be prone to thinking of far-off lands, not other realms beyond their reach."

Multiple times she carries booty into her room until finally the last sounds of unpacking end and different sounds escape her door: the sounds of fabric sliding off, then sliding onto skin. She steps out in...

A pair of burgundy yoga pants, reinforced at joints and the posterior for reasons which are abundantly clear given that they appear to have been selected one size too small for her frame. And an also too-tight babydoll tee, done in tie dye patterns of blue on white.

Give the hypnotic design credit. It actually manages to momentarily distract attention from what's beneath.

On her feet, plain beige canvas sneakers. With embroidered daisies.

"This, for example, is lounge wear. Comfortable wear for the home and immediate environs, but suited for activity in that it does not interfere with motion."

She's wearing a sword belt with a sheathed bejeweled dagger. For maximum clash.

Loki has posed:
"Sif, even dressed like them, there is no question you are from elsewhere.." is given with a touch of an amused air. A couple of grapes are plucked from the vine and chewed quickly, swallowed soon after, and when Sif disappears, finally carrying the last of her packages, he turns to pick up his book once more. Studying and learning, applying and considering //other// applications of his knowledge now bolstered.

It's when Sif emerges once more that her outfit gains his attention. Green eyes lift to the muscular frame stuck into light fabric, and brows rise. "That is.."

*sigh*

It holds to the sword maid's curves; he never said she didn't have a shape, and never said that it was disagreeable. Certainly not as.. soft as Amora's, but not undesireable either. "Who..." The word is dropped, and he considers a different tack, "I see..

"You aren't really planning on going out in that, right?"

Sif has posed:
"I said it is for lounging. This is for when I'm at home and inactive. Perhaps for small errands in the immediate vicinity." She looks down at the outfit, puzzled, then across at Loki, frowning a little. "I was told this showed my figure splendidly. I was assured of this. Does it not work as advertised?"

There's a slight dangerous edge forming in her voice. The edge of someone who thinks she may have been played.

"The ... alien ... appearance aside, it is actually very comfortable. As if I were wearing only my skin, but without the attendant assumptions of onlookers."

Sif's voice then drips with irony. "Shall I stretch out on the carpet so you can more fully appreciate it?" she asks.

She did hear that after all...

Loki has posed:
"It does," and thus Loki enters dangerous territory. "Though if you were seeking to wear something behind closed doors, I'm uncertain why your own clothes were inappropriate." After all, he's wearing his own set of tunic/leather pants that he wears within the palace. Not something he wears outside those doors, in the city. Out there, it's suit and tie. An impeccably dressed Prince.

Loki rises from his seat, and aproaches Sif slowly and deliberately; a move very familiar to her, no doubt. He'll be sidling up closely, invading personal space to murmur softly, "There is no outfit within the realm of Midgard that would make you more attractive, or have you look more deadly than you are."

His head cants before he offers a smile and turns to retake his spot in his chair as well as his wine. "It was the intimate outfit to which I was referring for the carpet."

Sif has posed:
Even hardened warriors have their weak spots. Their chills. Their frozen fight-or-flight moments.

Sif's is Loki's predatory gaze. Not the literal one where he intends a more permanent form of conquest. That's Wodin's Day for her. No her weakness is when he is intending a conquest perhaps more suited to Freya's Day.

This is a long-winded way of saying that she just stares, eyes widened, breath quickened, as Loki advances, his animal magnetism working on her like her sword works on the intestines of a hated foeman: wrenching and twisting.

"Well..." she finally manages to say as he steps away back to his wine and his seat. That after getting her breath back under control, though not the sudden flush. A weak smile forms. "...I see your cunning, flattering tongue is as dextrous as ever it was." Her fluster is as transparent as her bluster is weak. "I think, however, that, given that I am spying on you and all that, the other garment might be viewed as inappropriate. By third parties."

Recovery is now quick.

"That reminds me, I registered at the Embassy. I believe your brother wishes to have words with you. He is positively convinced that you've somehow ensorcelled me into living here. I did try to point out that this was nonsense, but, well, we'd split a keg of the Allfather's best, and when I'd arrived he had already consumed likely another five lesser kegs so..." She shrugs, a movement that does not pair well with her current choice of upper garb. "...he refused to listen to reason. I thought I should warn you in advance."

Loki has posed:
Loki simply looks at her, the way she flushes, all the little tells that there is still //something// there. Not so much a rebuff is given him once he's seated, but more an attempt to find her own equilibrium once again. Easier with distance, certainly.

Now, the younger Prince of Asgard, the Norse God of Mischief has been accused of being the God of Lies as well, but he truly doesn't lie. He uses the truth to his own ends, but it is the truth all the same. And there is no more obvious truth than what had passed moments before.

As part of her attempt to regain her footing, the half-hearted accusation of cunning and flattering tongue is greeted with equinamity. It's been a long time since he's been given the benefit of the doubt, and now it just doesn't quite seem to faze him anymore. Once, it held a great sting, but now? Perhaps in the darkness, when he's alone, he'll mourn it, but not now.

"By third parties? I would have thought that there are some who believe I could be brought to heel by intimacy." The smile that rises from there shows exactly what he thinks of that; not a chance of that ever happening. The 'brought to heel' part, anyway.

The shift of topic, however, is a touch jarring, but he shifts his train of thought easily. Brows rising, he exhales in a put-upon sigh, and runs a hand through slicked back dark hair. He shakes his head slowly, and once again he rises from his seat, taking his book in hand to set it back upon the shelf. "There will be no words that can be used to convince him otherwise," the younger brother begins. "He has become paranoid in his time here," and the book is replaced before he turns around, those green eyes flickering through emotions before settling on resigned. "I am doing all I can to aid the return of his current flame, and I fear that her retrieval will not be easy. There is a distinct risk, and my own life may be forfeit. It is a magical prison in which she sits, after all." Loki leans against the shelving, his tones a touch flat for the emotion that plays just behind his expression, "I have called in favors, spending valuable resources.. for that he would never believe it."

Loki pushes off his lean, and collects a couple of smaller tomes, ready to retire to his own room. "I care not what he thinks, or what he believes anymore. Thank you for the warning, however, my lady. I have grown to expect such now, regardless."

Sif has posed:
Loki's eyes hide things well, but childhood friends, old lovers, can still ferret out the truth. Sif's face softens a bit when she spots the well-concealed injury she caused, mouth open as to say something, hand raised ... and then the moment passes. The mouth closes. The hand falls helplessly to her side, resting, naturally and comfortably on the hilt of her dagger. (This is habit, not threat.)

The opportunity to undo her mistep, was lost to discussion of his brother. His favourite subject.

Still, she had to try...

"Prince Loki," she says as he retreats to his room. "Third parties might object."

He's smart. He'll figure it out.

She heads off to her own chamber, gently closing the door and then ...

... trying on one of her night-time intimates, admiring it in the mirror of her armoire.

"Pffft. Carpet. This one is perfectly suited against a wall!"