6171/Goddess meets Titan

Goddess meets Titan
Date of Scene:	10 May 2021
Location:	Chelsea
Synopsis:	Titania and Sif meet and bond over beers and beatings.
Cast of Characters:	Mary McPherran, Sif

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Mary McPherran has posed:
There's a slight kerfuffle going on in the Chelsea market nearby, people staring at something down the street and a bit of talking amongst themselves. Finally, a massive woman emerges, her strawberry-blonde hair pulled back and put into a braid, a colorful bandanna across her head. On each shoulder, she carries a squirming and very unhappy looking man, probably in their early thirties.

Casually, she dumps each of these men onto the ground with an unceremonious thump, crossing her arms over her massive chest. She's an imposing figure, six foot eight, and her tank top leaves her muscular arms undisguised as she flexes them a little. She's trying to scare them.

"That girl you pinched was probably sixteen. If that. Why don't you try it again with me, boys?"

Sif has posed:
Well isn't that interesting. A mortal who can carry two grown men without, it seems, straining. This has potential to be entertaining.

"I will be back later to view your wares," she says to the vendor she'd been grilling.

"But... I sell hot dogs!" the rattled and confused man says. "Nothin' to view! Just meat in a bun."

But to no avail. He's talking to the back of the tall, black-haired woman. The one in burgundy yoga pants ... packing a long, jeweled, vicious-looking knife.

Sif gets closer to the scene, watching with interest, people fleeing it bouncing off of her without her moving in the slightest outside of the occasional time she catches someone to prevent them from falling. At a respectful distance she stands watching, right hand resting on the pommel of her dagger, left hand resting on her hip. Her curious blue eyes take in the scene, raking over the men before dismissing them as nonentities and landing instead on Mary.

The dagger thing doesn't seem to be a threat. The body language is all wrong. It seems to be more a 'but that's the comfortable position' sort of deal.

Mary McPherran has posed:
Mary McPherran takes note of the raven-haired woman nearby, raising an eyebrow, but returning promptly to the business at hand.

"Look, lady," the bald one says, getting up to his feet, "You might look like Ah-nold Schwarzenheimer, but dat don't mean I won't smack you in da mouth. Why don't you mind your beeswax anyways?"

His buddy has dark hair spiked up with too much gel, "Yeah, the little ho liked it, we wasn't doin' no harm."

Mary frowns darkly, "I've been dealing with jackholes like you two all my life. Lucky for you, I'm on parole at the moment or I'd break both of your skulls open just for fun," he says.

Sif has posed:
Well, that certainly doesn't sound sporting! Sif steps up behind the men to speak to Mary.

"If I may interject, it seems you are under some kind of geas which prohibits you from issuing proper punishment? Have I read this correctly?"

She stares at the two men who are becoming aware now of the woman behind them who does NOT look like 'Ahnold'.

"If I have," she continues, turning her attention to Mary again, "then might I offer my services in delivering punishment upon them? What was the offence?"

Mary McPherran has posed:
Mary McPherran runs a hand back over her bandana, "Well, I ain't sure what a geas is, but basically, I been in lock-up before, cause...well, cause I'm a big bad mama jama who used to rob banks. I might again someday, but I ain't decided. Anyways, I'm just goin' to get some mornin' tomatoes down at the market when I come across these two forkheads followin' some high school girl and askin' to to get her number and tryin' to cop a feel. Poor kid was about to cry when I scooped their butts up."

Baldie speaks up, "Look, lady, it ain't none of your business either. THat girl is a student of mine, it just so happens, I was giving her motivations for her workout, that's all!"

"Yeah!" says Gel.

Sif has posed:
"What sort of 'workout' are we talking about?" Sif asks courteously, impressed that Baldie recognized her status through her disguise as a Midgard mortal and calling her 'Lady'. "My usual sources of exercise at temporarily unavailable, so if you are a teacher of physical activities and education, I would be interested in signing up for your classes. What are your specialities? Alacrity?"

Her left hand moves faster than most mortal eyes can follow, index fingernail touching the man's nose, holding there long enough for him to recognize the fact, before vanishing back to her hip.

"It appears not. Bodily strength?" She picks up Gel-Spike by the scruff of his clothing and hands him over to Baldie, relying upon the latter to involuntarily try to take the offered package. Winking at Mary with the ghost of a smile.

Mary McPherran has posed:
Mary McPherran watches with obvious amusement. Much as she might've enjoyed walloping these two miscreants herself, watching Sif do it is just as fun and is less likely to end up with her facing any charges. Guys don't usually anyway because they're too upset about getting beaten up by a woman.

Baldie collapses under the weight of his pal as Gel scrambles his legs, almost cartoonishly trying to get away as Baldie tries to find his footing, stumbling, "Geez, this city's just crawlin' wit' super babes. I'm gettin' outta here before ya turn into lizards or somethin'!" he yowls.

Sif has posed:
"Apparently not bodily strength either," Sif says, faux-thoughtfully as the pair try to disentangle themselves. "I think you will have to demonstrate, then, the final option. Running. From here. Very quickly. For I will count ten, and if you are still in my sight, we'll try bladework."

Now the dagger makes its appearance, and while the scabbard is very jewel-ridden, and the handle less so but still quite decorative, the blade is cold, stiletto-straight, and functional. And twirling in her fingers with such speed that, outside of the pauses she puts in apparently just so that people can SEE the blade, it's nothing beyond a silver blur.

"So show me how fast you can run."

Beat.

"Now."

Her words are perfectly courtly. Perfectly polite. And perfectly threatening in the kind of way that leaves a chill down any mere mortal's spine.

Watching the pair scramble away desperately, Sif comments to Mary, "They seemed such perfect gentlemen. How is their victim?"

Mary McPherran has posed:
The two scoundrels beat feet as rapidly as they can, enough that one of them actually does leave a shoe behind, thinking about going back for it for a split second and then giving it up for lost, diving over the hood of a car near the end of the block to try and hide from any Asgardian blades about to be sent their way.

"I think she's okay," Mary said. "Some of the vendors were givin' her some free ice cream to help soothe her feelings. Damn pigs. Took all I had not to just rip their arms off and beat them to death with 'em," she says. A wild image, but it doesn't entirely sound like she's joking from the way she grits her teeth. Somebody's got anger management issues.

"Those are some pretty sweet moves you got there. I never really learned the fancy stuff. Most things I hit, they fall down pretty fast. Not much technique required."

Sif has posed:
"There is something to be said for the whole 'hit thing, it stays down' approach," Sif says cheerfully. "More than a few of my siblings-in-arms adopt that approach. Even I'm known, on occasion, to enjoy a good bout of 'hit things with other things' approach. My favourite being hinted at here today where I hit one foe with another foe."

A warm expression that's not quite a smile spreads over her face. "I am called Sif. I am from..." She stops a moment, looks back over her shoulder, then vaguely gestures. "...over there." She's lying. She knows she's lying. She doesn't care if anybody knows that she's lying as she plays the "I am a perfectly normal person, just like you, fellow mortal" game.

"Your strength is impressive. As is your self-control. Had I seen a child being so treated against her will, I would likely have had to clean my dagger of the viscera of two."

Mary McPherran has posed:
Mary McPherran smiles and flexes her hand, "Yeah, self-control. I've been workin' on that. Mostly to stay out of jail. See, thing is, when you're able to lift a semi truck up over your head and smack somebody with it, prison gets even less fun, cause you get all restricted and watched and they put collars on you to take your powers away. And they put you on prison in this floating metal ship that doesn't let you get visitors. It's inhuman, but that's what happens when you're a supercrook, I guess," she shrugs.

"But yeah. I wanted to mash that guy's head like a god damn potato."

Sif has posed:
"Oh, killing him, while temporarily satisfying, is nowhere near as much fun as humiliating him into knowing he can't do anything back at you." Sif gestures at the shoe left behind by one. "They are so terrified now, of the two of us, that one of them would rather suffer the pain and indignity of walking on a single bare foot than to face the possibility of seeing us."

Sif looks in the direction that Mary had mentioned the girl might be found. Noting that it's some kind of market, she asks, "Tell me... oh dear, I think I missed your name, I'm very sorry... might there be a good source of ale in that market? I'm trying to find a passable local source."

Mary McPherran has posed:
Mary McPherran smiles, "That's cause I didn't give it. Mary," she says. She's not going to elaborate more than that. The chick with the knife seemed nice but just giving away your identity to strangers wasn't something she was prone to do, especially without her mask.

"There are a couple of local brewers here. There's the Hollywood Blondes over there, they make a pale ale with a few spicy notes. And there's the Viking Raid, they have a darker European beer that I kind of think is probably more your speed."

Sif has posed:
Yeah, the mere mention of the word 'Viking' perks up Sif's interest immediately. She's doing a GREAT job of blending in...

"The second does sound interesting indeed," she says. "Why don't we go there and imbibe? Perhaps we can stop at that man's cart..." Her finger stabs, without looking, directly at the hot dog cart she'd been at when the whole thing came down. "...and test his claim of the best cook of canine flesh in the burroughs."

A pleasantly friendly mask gets bolted onto her face with the quirk of a few muscles.

"It will, of course, be at my expense."

Mary McPherran has posed:
Mary McPherran smiles, "I ain't gonna turn down a free hot dog or a free beer," she says. "Sure."

She leads through the market and along a few stalls until she finds one outside of a micro-brewery, the men with long beards and overalls, with lots of faux-Norse stuff around, runes and viking horns and barrels and all.

"Heya, boys, my pal Sif here wants to try your wares," she says. Now, she might not know anything of Norse pantheons, but clearly these guys do, as they both regard the woman at first with amusement and then with a sort of slowly dawning awe.

Sif has posed:
A hot dog. That's hilarious. Sif buys, then buys, then buys, then buys more. By the time she's finished buying hot dogs she has two shopping bags filled with over three dozen dogs, each with different mixes of condiments.

To top it off, from her clutch she pulls out a roll of bills bigger around than her thumb and forefinger. Most of which are 50s.

"How much of the local coin does it take to pay for this?" she asks the vendor. To his credit the guy is honest... He will live today.

As for the other place, what's the punchline for the joke that begins, "A Norse Goddess enters a bar wearing yoga pants?" Because it sounds like that's the setup for a joke. It has to be.

Sif looks around and raises a single eyebrow with a combination of surprise and amusement, calling into question the authenticity of the decor. Still, if the brew is true, the decor can be a bore. That's her motto. Or it is now. It might be a different motto later.

"Two pitchers of your finest ale," she says to the server. She then turns to Mary and asks, "What will you be drinking, Mary?"

Mary McPherran has posed:
Mary McPherran smiles, "Oh, I'll have the same," she says. "I think I might like this chick. She's as hardcore as I am," she says to the men. The 'vikings' just nod in agreement. They'd made some valkyrie jokes about Mary in the past, but Sif was another thing entirely. Sure, maybe she just had a strong resemblance, but, well, Thor was here in New York. Why not Sif, too?

Microbrew isn't super cheap, so four pitches runs to about forty dollars, in the end, although the guys offer to hand it over on the house. "I hear they have, like, hammer throwing competitions on Tuesdays."

Sif has posed:
"Hammers are more Prince Thor's game," Sif says idly. "And maybe Hogun. And Hrothgar the Mighty, of course, but that goes without saying." The dagger makes its appearance in Sif's fingers again, spinning between them like a sharp pen in the hands of a bored middle schooler. "I'm more blades and spears. Especially spear and shield. After all, shieldmaiden is how a good woman always starts, isn't it?"

She looks around for possibilities. "I see no spear targets," she says wistfully. "I do so love spear throwing. Skewering a good foe into one, or even two, of his brothers-in-arms with a single throw can be a lot of fun."

Yeah, she's hardcore.