6369/Under the Boardwalk

Under the Boardwalk
Date of Scene:	29 May 2021
Location:	Boardwalk -- Atlantic City, New Jersey
Synopsis:	Blackagar crosses paths with Lady Sif once more and a night observing the humans ensues.
Cast of Characters:	Sif, Blackagar Boltagon

---

Sif has posed:
As part of her bid to learn more of her home for the next century or two, Sif has decided she will look into entertainments of those of Midgard. One name kept showing up: Atlantic City's Boardwalk. Thus it is that the Karen from Hell (or so she looks in her current garb), with the help of her brother, caused a rainbow explosion behind a fish shack on one of the piers, from which steps the midnight-haired soccer mom with her white clutch in her left hand and her long, bejewelled dagger hanging from her right hip off the rakishly-slung weapons belt.

As she rounds the corner and into the main walkway of the pier, several tourists stare at her nervously, wondering what kind of person she is to arrive by rainbow. Those she inclines her head haughtily at and saunters her way down the pier to investigate how mortals amuse themselves.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
To be fair, Blackagar is technically a mortal and at present he is amusing himself on the Boardwalk. No, not like that. He is actually engaged in a display that has brought about several spectators despite the carnival like atmosphere that is ringing out loudly around. The games, the smells of food, the festivities were what drew the Inhuman King to this place also to observe Humans more in their natural habitat.

But now he is disrupting it. It was a fascinating game, this 'ring toss' that the human stand worker was simply fuming at as the mute King continued to toss the rings with such precision and accuracy as to land them on the pegs in the precise order. He had been honest when asked if he was some kind of mutant, for he was not a 'mutant'. At least not in the way these people would think of him.

A loud exclamation from the crowd erupts as he yet again lands the ring on the 'grand prize' target.

Sif has posed:
Near the ring toss is the infamous "test your strength" stand with its sledgehammer, its fulcrum, its weight on rails, and the classic bell on the top. (The bell is paired with a bunch of other things to give a chintzy starburst display, but this has not lit up in years for reasons that are about to become clear.) To ensure nobody gets the top prize there are some subtle things in the construction.

First, the rails are not exactly parallel, thus making it harder and harder for the weight to progress as it gets closer to the top. Indeed even the strongest person in the world would barely get the weight within kissing distance of the bell if they used perfect technique. Further, just as an added safety margin, the last 50cm or so of the rails are slightly rusted in places out of sight to normal vision, putting more brakes on forward movement.

Sif, having seen through both tricks with her superior senses, smirks and takes her place in the line. The carny, seeing her form, muscled though it may be for a woman, arrogantly offers a higher prize if she rings the bell. The enormous plush rhinoceros.

For her first swing of three, Sif feigns incompetence and weakness, barely clearing her own height with the weight. For the second her technique improves as a weak blow sends the bell to almost twice her height. She then winds up.

Full Asgardian strength. Perfect technique. Several things happen in succession:

1. The handle of the sledgehammer shatters.
2. The fulcrum shatters under the impact.
3. But not before sending the weight careering up its tracks.
4. Striking the bell so hard that the bell and weight both are sprung from the track to fly off into the night sky.
5. The starburst display lights up in all its ... pretty lame glory.
6. The weight comes to earth somewhere uncertain (possibly the water).
7. The bell comes to earth ... right in the ring toss tent, at high velocity, cutting through the flimsy canvas top and hitting the target display, knocking it over in a glorious mess of rings, pegs, bottles and prizes.

"Do I win my prize?" a voice says, dripping with faux innocence, in the stunned silence before the pandemonium erupts.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
It is in the midst of Blackagar's next throw that the bell comes crashing through into his event, sending things flying askelter and drawing him to blink in surprise. It takes a few long moments until the tent chaos settles and he finds himself looking across the way at the equally destroyed hammer slam event. He had seen that one, considered it briefly but opted against it due to the fact it would be simply too obvious.

apparently Sif did not have the same thought and now Blackagar finds himself staring at the soccer mom dressed woman who just destroyed not only her own fun but also his. That is the part that truly makes the Inhuman frown and looking at the ring in his hand, he looks up and tosses the last one across the way, attempting to land it directly on Sif's head as a show of protest at her actions.

Granted it is done with a twinkling in his blue eyes and a grin on his lips.

Sif has posed:
Still feigning innocence as people around her run in metaphorical circles, Sif doesn't notice the incoming ring until it's on her head. Surprised, she glances over the direction she'd sensed it come from, hand on the hilt of her dagger until she notices Blackagar. Her dour face lights up, at this and, ignoring her 'prize' she heads across to the visiting moon man.

"I fear they will not grant me the prize I earned," she says, eyes dancing in the night lights, face deadpan. "I may have to seek the services of a proctor to coax them into fulfilling their obligations to me."

Stepping up to the king, she steps in closer for a warrior's greeting clasp and hug, not holding back on the backslap, knowing that Blackagar can take it without flinching. "How are you? Have you stopped violent crime since our last encounter?"

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar has gotten accustomed to the types of greetings that are offered by the various groups of Earth, and even those that visit Earth from afar, so when Sif approaches to arm clasp and brief-hug with the clap on the back, he mimics the gesture but does not put terrible amount of force into his own slap to her back.

It takes him until he is released before he can retrieve his slate and write upon it for her to read, ~You did destroy their stall. I suspect they may consider not giving the prize as even for such an event.~ His demeanor is definitely humored at that thought before he tilts his head in the direction up the Boardwalk, ~Come, let us walk and be not here should any authorities show up to investigate. I have been well. Avoiding the issues of the humans. Yourself?~

Sif has posed:
"I have been finding my entertainments among the criminal elements of various places in this world," Sif says. The tone is light and easy, almost playful. "I found a wonderful mortal who has the right spirit that she could one day be Valkyrior if we weren't prohibited from harvesting souls on Midgard."

The voice sounds disappointed about not harvesting souls.

"But that's OK. I've worked out a way to live within those restrictions and still grant her apotheosis upon death. She will become Aesir or Vanir, and she will have her chance to join the august ranks of the Valkyrior!"

She glances back at the carnage and nods at the suggestion they move on before authorities get involved.

"The machine was altered unfairly. It was impossible for any mortal to hit that bell. So I made it hit the bell and destroyed it. Perhaps their next machine will be fair and true."

Ah. Not just random violence done for the sake of fun...

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
The mirthful look in Blackagar's eyes hint at the humor he feels from the parts of Sif's speaking he understands. The Norse type things go right past his head, but the tidbit about destroying the machine because it was unfair, that does pull him a nod. He writes as they walk, holding it to her when he's completed a line.

~The game I was also at was rigged unfairly. However, the human running it did not account on the fact that I was widening his metal rings to make them larger and thus able to fit. Although I did not destroy in my process.~ That last line he underlines and looks at Sif with an upturned eyebrow.

Before he can write anything further, the King stops and he quickly taps on Sif's shoulder, beckoning her to follow as he turns on heel and begins to walk in a rapid step, quickly making his way towards something that has caught his attention.

Sif has posed:
Sif, curious, looks around briefly in the direction the king has beckoned her to follow, then starts off after him, lightly jogging (and causing a minor collision with two bicycles) behind him. "What have you seen?" she asks, completely oblivious to the bicycle courier cussing out the tourist rider whose transfixed gaze on her chest as she jogged caused the collision.

Catching up with Boltagar, her eyes scan the way ahead, looking for what might have caused Blackagar to do this change.

"Or is this some way for you to have me alone and out of sight?" she asks with a chuckle. "Because if it is, this is far too ornate for the task. Just asking would be fine."

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar holds up his hand and then he quickly scrawls, holding it back behind him for Sif to see as he begins to stride forward towards the destination. ~I have heard of this place. It is known as a Baskin Robbins. It contains 31 flavors of this Human Ice Cream.~

His steps begin moving towards the destination, the pink sign lit up and he once more beckons towards Sif, writing again. ~Were I wanting to get you alone and out of sight, yes, I would have asked. But this is far more important. They have a flavor here called Coffee. I am addicted to this, come join me.~

Sif has posed:
"I have been to such a place in New York, but found they had no mead nor ale flavours. They did have an interesting one called "rocky road" though I'm positive there were no actual rocks contained within it."

It's hard to tell if she's joking or not.

"I have had 'coffee' but not in frozen form. Is it good in that form?" she wonders aloud as they enter, causing more than a few people to stare at her like she's grown a third eyeball in her forehead. "What are the other 30 flavours?"

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar smiles at Sif and then motions to the board. There upon it is a sign that he indicates with a point. The people staring at the pair make it much easier for him to approach the counter where he quickly writes and then puts the slate down so that the cashier can see it.

~We would like all of the flavors. One big sundae. With bananas and all of the things.~ He looks over at Sif and then adds quickly. ~Two spoons~

The Cashier looks at Blackagar as if he is insane, who orders all that ice cream? But then he produces american currency and sets more than enough down on the counter to pay for it and then some. Quickly the server goes about and begins the process of building the monstrosity.

Turning back to Sif, Blackagar nods in affirmation before he writes to her, ~We shall enjoy this. I trust your are capable of eating quantities?~

Sif has posed:
"That is a wise strategy," Sif says, nodding, as she reads the sign uncomprehendingly, then reads Blackagar's order. "I will have one of those too," she adds, pulling from her clutch a thick roll of bills. "How many of these paper coins of the realm will that cost me?"

She looks across at Blackagar. "I'm an active girl, so yes, I eat in large quantities. After long battles I've been known to take a whole boar to myself."

The surrealism of the conversation threatens to overwhelm some of the other customers, or so it seems.

"So ... you want TWO of these kinds of sundaes?" the server asks nervously, looking around to check for hidden cameras. At Sif's nod of assent, he sighs and starts up a second massive sundae alongside for efficiency's sake.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar nods in approval at Sif, gesturing to a table nearby where he goes to sit and actually being gentlemanly to do the thing of letting her sit first before he settles in as well. With his slate in a good neutral position it makes it much easier for him to write with her.

~So I was hoping to cross your path again after the first meeting. I was hoping you might tell me more of your world. Your depature left me wondering and like myself, you do not strike me as someone who would call this place home.~

Other customers, still staring, are at least now proceeding to make their own orders with the other servant -- waiter -- while the first nurses his arm momentarily after having scooped that much ice cream and is still underway.

~Few move as competently as my own, so it certainly drew my attention.~

Sif has posed:
"World?" Sif looks a little startled at Blackagar's question. "There are many worlds in the domains of Asgard. We are the conquerers of the nine planes, which includes this one, Midgard, as well as Niffleheim, Alfheim, ... many. Asgard is the home of the Aesir--Prince Thor, Odin Allfather and such--as well as the Vanir, among whom I am numbered. We are ... well, earlier men on Midgard called us gods, like the gods on Olympus or in Ægypt. I am accounted as, for example, the Goddess of War. General in command of the many field armies of Asgard."

Again, nearby customers are reacting oddly to the soccer mom with a knife talking about being a literal goddess. There is uncomfortable shifting, and some of the nearest have changed tables.

She grins then, "As for competence, I have been studying and practicing battle for nigh unto a thousand years. I may have learned a few things along the way." This she pairs with a wink.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
An opportunity to discuss this outside of conflict allows Blackagar to consider the words of Sif and he scrawls after a few moments, ~I believe my people have seen your people before in our existence. We are an ancient people, 13000 years old, but always in hiding. The things you say strike a familiar tone with me in our histories.~ There is no expression from Blackagar as he explains that to her. He is about to write more but the ice cream arrives, carried by the two workers and the table tilts momentarily at their mass. Leaning back, Blackagar considers his sundae and beams over at Sif.

~For one that is a thousand years of age, it would be wrong for me to not complement you on your excellent features. You do not look a day over 700.~ The last part he writes with an innocent expression and humored twinkle in his eyes that he maintains as he begins to sample at the various ice creams making up the disgusting pool of frozen milk.

Sif has posed:
"Now you're just using flattery!" Sif says, laughing. "I am keeping myself well, but I know full well that I wear at least eight centuries upon my visage!"

Again, hard to tell if it's a joke or not.

The ice creams then catch her attention and with detailed, accurately-applied strategy and tactics she samples all the available flavours on the outside of the heap, before starting to mix and match, finding complementary flavours and experimenting with blends. Treating the ice cream as a tactical problem, she solves the puzzle by steady, unremitting attack until she's finished the outer layer of balled confection.

"These are intriguing flavours, but this 'coffee' flavour does not mesh well with the 'lemon' I should warn you," she opines as she studies the inner clump for lines of attack. "There are some mixes that are sublime, however. Licorice and strawberry. Chocolate and this one with the nuts I can't identify. (OOC: pecan). This other one with the soft white globules in chocolate blends very well with this green one with nuts I also can't identify."

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar is doing much the same with the ice cream, mixing, matching, experimenting until finally he's reached a point where he has sampled them all and combined them in a few varieties to the point where he seems pleased with the end results. It takes him some time but he approaches the end of the ice cream journey and looks across at Sif, the fact that he has a bit of whip cream now upon his chin oblivious to him.

~I must thank you for sitting with me through this. I needed something unique, something different and I am joyous that I was able to find it. The food of this world has been a pleasant surprise, if other things have not been.~

The mystery flavors are observed, attempted to be identified but eventually he gives up and with that pushes the remainder away, although most has been consumed. ~When you have finished, would you perhaps join me for a walk along what they call the Boardwalk?~

Sif has posed:
Sif completes her bowl completely, and seems to contemplate the prospect of licking it clean.

Ice cream gets the Lady Sif seal of approval.

When Blackagar pushes away his remnants, her eyes track them for a bit before tearing away and looking up at Blackagar himself.

"If we do this," she says, "we would be advised, I think, to avoid where the machine was broken." Her eyes twinkle as she says that. "But yes, I did wish to see more of this boardwalk. I have heard that it is the very soul of this city and a large part of the soul of the nation itself. I thought perhaps we could learn from it. Together."

With that she stands, bowing briefly toward the foreign potentate, and preparing to escort him.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar gets up as well, blushing just slightly at Sif's bow but before long he has wound their way out to the boardwalk area and set a course opposite of the direction from where the destruction happened earlier.

~I had heard the same thing, that this place reflected this community. I have also heard of a place called Las Vegas which some say claim the same.~ His steps are slow, steadily paced and without much effort to speed through anything. He seems in fact rather content to walk, to look at the various people, to examine some of the shops and to cast more than a fair share of glances sidelong at Sif.

~I know why I am here, studying these people, but what of yourself? Do you simply find them interesting? Or is it for a greater purpose?~

Sif has posed:
"There are..." Sif stops and considers a while, leaving the sentence hanging.

"There are several reasons I am here. First, I am here to serve the princes of the realm if they have need of my services. That is always true. But, too, I feel I have a duty to defend Midgard from threat. I have left my people for several centuries and do not recognize them now I am returned. I still dearly love this realm, though, and the mortals who inhabit it."

She looks around at the aforementioned mortals.

"Mayflies, they are, with such energy and inquisitiveness. They accomplish great deeds despite their vanishingly short lives. And they are so fragile. I am here to give them the protection they cannot always get for themselves."

She looks across at Blackagar. "And naturally, when I find something attractive, I desire to learn more about it."

Letting that hang a moment, she adds, finally, "Tell me of yourself King Blackagar Boltagon."

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
By time Sif asks about him, Blackagar has found a spot to stop along the Boardwalk so that he can look out over the water with the large Ferris Wheel providing a background for thought. As he writes, he considers deeply choosing his words. It takes some time, with him showing a section then erasing and resuming until it is all expressed.

~I spent my early life within a room without sound for the safety of all others until I could learn to be in control. Always alone, except for one who would come to visit me. When I finally had learned control after 20 years, I left my chamber and joined the rest of my family. Diaster eventually led me to take over for my father as King.~

He taps the chalk in his hand letting her read before he writes again. ~My people are in a time of transition. I do not know whether this is right to be here or not, to come here and join with these humas, to reveal ourselves. For everyone one of them I find worthy, I find another ten that leave me questioning. You say it so well, they are fragile and filled with energy, capable of great deeds but also great evil. Just like we all are I imagine.~

Then he adds a last line, turning it towards Sif with his eyes looking at her as she reads, ~Do you know what the punishment is for flirting with the King of Attilan?~

Sif has posed:
"I am of Asgard. And while a Lady of the Court, I am no courtly lady. I chose the path of war, not the games and play of politics." Sif stares boldly at Blackagar. "My life is a life of violence and death in service to the Allfather as Asgard personified. It could be erased in the blink of an eye tomorrow to misadventure and mishap in conflict. I have no time to flirt."

She lets that sink in a moment.

"I am direct in expressing intrigue and attraction. You are fair to eye and fair of soul. I would rather that you know my thoughts on this and choose to take action or not than play coy and not be sure."

She steps in closer to Blackagar. "My people are people of passion. In war. In food. In political manoeuvring. And in matters of the heart. My heart is bared and yours to do with as you please this eve. I will not hide it behind playful, coy, wasteful words."

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar looks at Sif as she speaks, watching her steadily before he slowly writes out. He does it in a way to really try to minimize the amount of time he's looking away, rather doing the writing in peripheral ways. ~I was just going to say that the punishment was having to actually follow through on it as way of a jest.~ He then smiles at her and writes some more.

~I also would wish to simply exist this night. To forgo the mere idea of obligations and exist. You are a beautiful woman, and I would be very glad to spend tonight in your company.~ That last part he writes a bit thicker as if to emphasize it as he let's her read.

A smile and then Blackagar tilts his head in the direction of that ridiculous looking Ferris wheel while extending a hand towards Sif, eyebrow turned up in silent question.

Sif has posed:
The fact that Sif was tensed up as the reply was written astonishes her as much as it might any onlooker, so slowly did the tension creep up on her. Indeed the way she became aware of it was when it vanished, causing her to visibly slump in relaxation.

And she's smiling.

No, she's grinning. A goofy grin of relief and more than a little ... something else. Invitation?

She holds out her elbow for Blackagar to take and nods at the Ferris wheel. "I must confess that I was curious what that device was too. Let us investigate it together and just feel our bodies' heat against each other in the night," she says, pressing gently against him as they walk. "Two observers of mayflies, perhaps together learning more than each could alone."

She side-eyes him. "And learning of each other as well. Of matters of the heart and maybe later of the flesh." She snorts and briefly elbows him playfully. "Thought not too much later."

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar's eyes look humored and he nods his head in agreement to Sif as they walk. Holding her arm in that way makes it impossible for him to write, so he does such in silence, listening to anything she may say attentively. But then they arrive and before he realizes it, he is sitting next to her as the giant wheel begins to lift upwards.

~I do not know amont your people, but arrangements were made when I was young. I was bethroed to another. I did not think it was right to sentence her however to a lifetime with a man she would never hear speak. So I released her from this obligation before coming here to this world.~

It is a bit of a confession in some regards, but he does look at her carefully not hiding a smile as he glances out at the horizon while the wheel lifts upwards, then back towards Sif.

Around them, he does notice the behaviors of the humans, how they interact, the way they gaze. It is not terribly uncommon to what he considers as well.

Sif has posed:
As is her wont, Sif is nowhere near as decorous as Blackagar. Once in the seat and climbing into the sky, she settles back in place, sticking her feet over the railing and using Blackagar as a pillow as she lays across the seat, VERY clearly letting him see from ankle to crown, and indeed making him look at her just to communicate. Her choice of garb leaves little to nothing to the imagination despite being, by local standards, even a bit 'prudish' in terms of coverage.

"I am promised to another as well, but that other is not showing signs of honouring that promise yet. He is too busy with a mortal he has become infatuated with. I am patient, however, and the mayfly will be out of my way soon enough."

She laughs, a relaxed laugh spilling out of her like water from an underground spring. "We are childhood friends, the princes and I, and one I am promised to though he shows no interest while the other ... I think he pines after me and would make me his wife if he could."

She holds aloft a length of her hair so black it seems darker than the very night itself. "The second one, Prince Loki, did this to my hair. I think out of jealousy. But it became more attractive than my original golden tresses. I was angry with him at the time, but now? This is me and I can't picture myself otherwise any longer."

While Blackagar watches the humans, Sif watches Blackagar, studying his face, his expressions, trying to learn how to decode him. Like a tactical puzzle, or so it seems.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
The ultimate irony is that Blackagar is not a terribly complex person. He keeps his expressions reflective of what is going on in his mind usually, it allows for cleaner communication.

With Sif leaning against him, his arm lifts over her and drapes over her shoulders and down her arm. ~I could not imagine you in a different shade of hair, even if I have only seen you twice.~ He actually lifts a hand to touch her hair, turning it over a finger as he does.

~We are in a similar situation then. A sort of holding pattern in life. So with that known.~ As Blackagar finishes writing and holds it to her, the arm around her tightens some, the touch trailing up her arm invitingly as well.

Sif has posed:
That was a signal. And Sif is prone to taking signals. Even if they're wrong, after all, it's better to ask forgiveness than permission. Her free arm slips around Blackagon's far shoulder as she pulls herself up and in to him, lips seeking his while her body twists such that more is available to his touch.

"Your majesty," she murmurs just before the lips connect, taking in a deep breath to taste the king's scent.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar's lips move silently as he mouths words. It is intended to be ~Lady Sif~ but if she interprets it as such is a toss up. His hand touches her cheek and he closes the remaining gap between them, bringing lips together as well. Even that action he does in utter silence, everything having to be done that way.
5rThe Ferris wheel turns around and it isn't until the second revolution that Blackagar pulls away from Sif's lips, nose still brushing against hers.

Blue eyes blink, looking at her and considering in silence as he bites his lip.

Sif has posed:
Similarly blue eyes peer back, half-lidded, cheeks flushed. That, too, is a signal, as was the little sigh of disappointment when the lips separated. Sif pulls her head back a bit more, far enough that she can take in Blackagar's entire face. Face reddened, but not from embarrassment, breath ever so slightly laboured, she stares back, almost as if amazed.

"I ..." She pauses, wets her lips and swallows, trying again. "I hope you enjoyed my attention as much as I enjoyed yours." The great warrior goddess is looking nervous as a schoolgirl. Almost vulnerable.

She moves forward again, lips at the ready, changing course at the last second to kiss the tip of Blackagar's nose in a playful bit of misdirection. The arm on his shoulder drops to his chest as she pulls back, giggling. "If you like, I could bite that lip for you?..."

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar's blue eyes look at Sif's as he looks at her in silence, which is the only way he can really. The struggle is real at times, but then he lifts his hand up and if she doesn't pull away places his finger tips along her cheek and while tracing his thumb across her lower lip. The look is one meant to communicate, to reflect not disappointment but perhaps realization as he brushes his thumb again.

There is an interested look in that gaze, an impression of feeling from him, of curiousity that seems to emenate in a deeper sense than just his look could hold. Reaching down, he writes on the slate with one hand without moving the other. ~I do not think I have found anything on this world as enjoyable as your attention. I have seen the humans dance around things in their lives, I do not. I am direct. I would love to have you accompany me further this evening.~

Sif has posed:
"The Court of Asgard can be that way, but I chose the path of the warrior..." A little white lie. It was chosen for her. She just took to it to an extent that alarmed her parents. "...centuries ago and I prefer the direct. I can play the courtly game, but why? I may be slain tomorrow; I would rather not die with questions on my mind. Questions of what might have been."

She leans in to Blackagar, using her body as the formidable weapon it is in its own right.

"Questions like, would I have enjoyed my time swiving King Blackagar Boltagon." The voice is a purr as she speaks into his ear. "I would hate to be slain with that question still on my mind."

Pulling back so she can see his face again, her eyes are lit with humour, but also something more profound. "I would be honoured to accompany you anywhere this eve."

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar listens and writes quickly on his slate, something still in his mind that he cannot put his finger on. ~I as well grew tired of the Royal Court and expectations. Part of why I am here, to see. But that is not what I care about this evening.~ He doesn't speak further, he points at Sif to emphasize what he is interested in.

Putting the slate away, he looks at Sif, smiles, and tilts his head in the 'Follow me' gesture before standing and stepping off the Ferris Wheel. The fact that it is near the top seems to not to matter as Blackagar falls towards the ground, decelerating near the ground and landing on his feet. Looking up to where he left Sif, his hand raises, holding it out for her.

Are the humans looking aghast? Sure. Does he care? Absolutely not.

Sif has posed:
The humans get more aghast when an ordinary-looking woman (provided you don't spot the huge knife) in yoga pants also commits suicide by jumping from the top of the Ferris wheel. Unlike Blackagar, she doesn't decelerate until she hits the ground. And enters it, leaving footprints a good six inches into the earth. Stepping out of the holes she takes Blackagar's hand, threading it through her crooked elbow to stand close to him.

"Lead on, Your Majesty," she says with a coy smile. "I look forward to further congress."

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar walks down the boardwalk with Sif, making his way towards the building that towers over it, one of the hotel casinos being the destination. The walk is done without releasing her hand unless she pulls it away and some idle chatter that he does take a moment to write out from time to time.

Pausing about a block away from the concrete and glass building, he turns to look at Sif, inclining his head to the building and stepping back just enough so he can write. ~I'm not actually staying here, yet. The Human idea of a hotel is rather foreign to me. However I have had to use them since coming here.~

Then he starts walking towards it, casting a glance at Sif as he does so, that sort of 'last chance to get away' expression. Oddly there is a nervousness that washes over Blackagar, one that can be felt.

Sif has posed:
"I have not had grounds to use one yet. My Brother can deposit me at my home from anywhere in the Nine Realms, with only a brief stop at the head of Bifrost. I am given to understand that the better ones can be very opulent, rivalling that of a minor House in Asgard itself."

Asgardian boasting culture at its most subtle...

"I shall enjoy having my first use of one be with you."

Beat.

"I just want to be clear to avoid misunderstanding," she adds hastily. "We are talking of hiring a room in one for purposes of converting our congress from verbal to carnal, are we not?"

Beat.

"I would enjoy continued intellectual congress, or perhaps physical congress like sparring as well..."

She keeps digging herself down out of the hole.

"...so if that is what you'd had in mind, naturally, I'm more than willing. I just want to ..."

She sighs.

"Now I babble like a Valkyrior bedding her first hero," she mutters.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
Blackagar looks at Sif and her nerves seem to feed his own, or vice versa, but it does lead him to write. It's a rather long message as it takes some time, but he looks up to reassuringly smile at Sif while doing it.

~I haven't bedded any heroes before. Truthfully, just my betrothed. This is an entirely new thing for me. What I do know, Sif, is that if you wish to sit and talk, spar, or challenge one another to a drinking contest, I am willing to do any or all of these. The time with you makes me smile. That is what I enjoy the most.~

~However, make no mistake, I would also not decline you in a bed chamber. I just don't want you thinking that is the extent of my interest. It is not. You genuinely make good company.~

Showing her the message, Blackagar can feel himself blush some, awkwardness radiating off of him but the impression of his feelings diminishing.

Sif has posed:
The message makes Sif laugh loudly, all tension vanishing like a soap bubble being pricked.

"You're that much older than me ... and have had only one?" she asks, mirth in her eyes, along with merciless teasing. "I think I had a dozen before I was even a hundred!" She shrugs. "Half of those were in one very intense night after we hunted down a dragon boar. A lot of nervous energy to be dissipated and ... hunters have their own ... interesting customs."

She pauses, reminiscing.

"Blood is involved."

She shakes her head, returning to the here and now. "So," she adds with a teasing, playful tone, "It appears I shall be guiding you into new realms of congress." She leans in close, winking. "Don't worry," she breathes into Blackagar's ear. "I'll be gentle."

She then belies that by biting his earlobe. Hard.

Blackagar Boltagon has posed:
~Blood?~ Blackagar thinks, blinking some with an uncertainty to him if she is being serious or facetious. However, that thought is put aside when she steps in and bites his earlobe with enough force for him to actually feel it. On someone else he momentarily fears just what damage could be called but, well this isn't someone else. A smile touches his lips and he turns when she releases his ear.

It is his turn to catch her, bringing his hand up once again to brush the thumb over her lower lip, this time intending to kiss the Lady Sif with clear intention of what he holds. A faint impress of emotion emenates from him. Amusement. Desire. But there is no presence of nervousness, only anticipation. It would seem every time he kisses a bit of his emotional state transmits.

Sif has posed:
"The blood from the heart of the beast," Sif says, eyes wide as Blackagar brushes her lip with his thumb. An electric chill radiates from the subsequent kiss, leaving her gaping momentarily in its wake. "It has ... powers. The one who slew the beast drinks of it, the rest who helped paint themselves with it."

She pauses and slyly grins.

"The whole body. In ornate patterns drawn in dragonboar blood. And then the dance begins, around the bonfire in which the beast is roasted for food. Men and women intertwine in dance, then in carnal congress. It all ends when the beast is roasted, which takes the whole night."

She leans forward for another of Blackagar's kisses.

"I had my first man that night. And my second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth. Drinking the blood of the beast..." Apparently she had the kill. "...gave me endurance beyond the norm."

Another kiss.