6405/Out late again

Out late again
Date of Scene:	01 June 2021
Location:	501 1/2 Hill Street
Synopsis:	Loki returns home and discovers a few things that had passed in his absence.
Cast of Characters:	Loki, Sif

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Loki has posed:
The hidden apartment has been quiet; well, 'quiet' in that it's been devoid of one of its residents. The main one, as it were. The study lights are dimmed, the bedroom chamber has been unused, and depending upon the opinion of the moment, the place either holds something of a peace or a noted absence.

That quiet is broken, however, as the lithe figure of the younger Prince enters the front door, dressed tidily in suit and tie, with his silk green and white scarf wrapped about his neck loosely. In hand, an unbrella; a useful item for the last couple of days in the City, but the chances are better than even that Loki hadn't needed it where he'd been.

The door closes behind him without a touch of his hand, and he divests himself first of his umbrella, his scarf hangs upon the hatrack, and his hand rises to unbutton his suit jacket. There's a thoughtful look upon his face as he walks towards his chair, the lamp on the sidetable flaming into life.

Sif has posed:
The other resident of 501½ is nowhere to be ... well, let's face it. This is Sif. Heard. She's nowhere to be heard. Her chamber's door is open and the room beyond dark except for the little magics of the protective spheres around some of her trophies.

The dangerous ones.

Her boisterous presence isn't in the kitchen. The shower. There's no loud music playing (she's taken a shine to Midgard musical stylings called "power metal") in the living room. None of the expansive signs of her broadly-brushed life.

Loki is at peace. Surrounded by quietude with time for reflection. Thought. And ...

... It ends. The door slams open and Sif strides in, her sheer presence filling the place with the sensation of noise even before the actual sound begins. The sound in this case of the paired axes at her hips clacking at the haft. Or the boots stomping on the floorboards. Or the leathers creaking aga...

Wait. Leathers?

Yes. From somewhere Sif has obtained the most ridiculous looking outfit: a leather catsuit in red and white, cut at a rakish angle. Her blue eyes are even concealed behind red sunglasses. And while one cannot deny that tight leather looks good on her, this particular tight leather ... is ...

She needs a fashion consultant. Stat.

Without paying Loki any heed whatsoever, her booted feet clomp to her room and the door closes.

Then the door opens. She steps out backward, looking over to where Loki sits in his chair.

"My Prince!" she gasps in surprise, before going down on one knee reflexively. "I didn't notice your arrival!"

Loki has posed:
A book lies upon that same endtable where the lamp sits, the new light dancing to relieve the darkness of the room. It's -perfect- for that moment of reflection.

Until it's not.

Sif's entrance is one for the books; proof that perhaps the Swordmaid has gone 'native' in her attempt to blend in? Regardless, it's an expression of brief annoyance comingled with surprised as the leather catsuited Sif clomps across the floor to her room. The moment the door closes, Loki exhales in a breath and twists around to take hold of his book, and when that door opens once more, green eyes look up without movement of his head, watching her progress backwards.

It'd be comical if she wasn't dressed in.... that.

Loki exhales once more in that 'put upon' sound, and he sets the book upon his lap, brows raised. "Your choice of attire is .. unique. Have you been speaking to my brother as to how to fit in with those here?" Still, there is that nod that allows, 'gives permission' for her to rise, the brief offer of respect given and acknowledged.

Sif has posed:
"This is my 'costume' for 'patrolling' and being a 'vigilante'," Sif says cheerfully, twirling in place.

The costume has seen better times. This one has tears, bloodstains, revealing flesh beneath that was likely torn but has by now healed.

"I'm going to have to change it out and get this one repaired. But I was told the best way to perform the task of defending the people of Midgard without causing a lot of work for the Embassy is to do the work under an assumed name with a colourful costume as a so-called 'super hero'. It's actually turning out to be quite a bit of fun."

Sif steps up to Loki, looking querulous. "I trust your ... travels ... were productive, my Prince?" she asks. In that tone of voice. With that expression. The one that says 'you got some 'splaining to do' only since she's merely a Lady she can't word it that way.

You know. The way of the Court.

"I did miss your presence here. I would say that I worried for you but for the fact it would be insulting to you."

Translation: she was worried.

Loki has posed:
The battle scars of the leathers is noted; it hadn't been before. The other aspect of the leather, that is, the fact that it is so formfitting did not escape his notice. Now that the holes, the tears are pointed out, Loki nods his understanding, even if he's not in agreement.

"Really." A dry, droll statement rather than a question.

A sigh escapes the younger prince once more, and his hand rests upon the top of the tome. "They were.. necessary." Short, sweet, and completely cryptic.

The fact she was worried, however? Concern for him? His shoulders loosen slightly, and he allows that hint of a genuine smile creep through, making its appearance for all of a few heartbeats, "If I had been taken at the court, no doubt you would have been informed."

Sif has posed:
"Oh, that's a given," Sif says cheerfully. "Had you been taken at Court, I would likely have been tasked with your imprisonment."

There's something so positively WHOLESOME about how cheerily she talks about imprisoning Loki that's slightly ... chilling.

"Allfather would have seen it as a test of my oath and honour." A wicked look lights up her eyes. "And consider: had I been given that task, I could sit and talk with you for days on end with no books, no travels, no machinations to distract us. It would have been glorious!"

She winks and sits down, cross-legged, next to Loki's seat. "Tragically, however, the Court overlooked arresting you once again and I am forced to share you with your beloved books." She pauses in her prattle, regarding Loki a while. "Is there aught with which I can assist you, Prince Loki?" she finally asks. "You appear troubled ... more troubled than you usually do when I talk, I mean."

She apparently notices his pained expressions. Observant. She continues nonetheless through them. Cruel.

"If there is anything I can do to ease the burden without, you know, the whole oath thing interfering, I would gladly do so."

Loki has posed:
There is something about how amazingly cheerful she is regarding his potential incarceration in the dungeons of Asgard, deep in the depths of the Palace. Brows rise once more, and he chuffs a breath, shifting his position in his seat. The book is set aside, and he makes to rise from his seat in minor annoyance.

"'Tragically'. I'm sorry it didn't brighten your evening, though it allows you then to be a 'super hero' to this Realm." Like Thor playing at games.

"There is nothing I require, no." Perhaps there is the sound of pique tingeing his times? No, no 'perhaps'. Definitely.

"I think I will retire."

Sif has posed:
Sif rises to her feet smoothly as Loki rises, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder. "Come now, Prince Loki," she says, "surely you haven't forgotten our history of badinage and teasing? Were your travels so weighty they weighed down your humour?"

She frowns a little in concern at that. "Was that it, my Prince? Were there troubles that still weigh at you? I did not mean to add to your burdens with my foolish little digs."

Loki has posed:
Loki looks as if he relents, his manner and mien softening, relaxing as he could not if more than just she were present. He puts out his hands in offer for her to take, looking slightly apologetic, and shakes his head.

"There is burden upon me," he agrees, "And I have yet to solve a problem that plagues me. Unfortunately, it will ultimately lead to Hela, and there will be no support from the All Father." The name is spoken with a touch of.. venom, perhaps? Spite? A son with problems with his 'father', definately.

"Forgive me? When I have found a solution, we will go riding. Get away from Midgard for a time, or perhaps return to our grounds." Out in Norway, Sweden.. Lindesfarne?

Sif has posed:
"Always, my Prince," Sif says with a chuckle. "If I can forgive you my tresses, I think I can forgive anything."

No. She's never letting that go.

"I know the troubles and travails you have as the younger Prince and how much it must pain you to have the Crown Prince be that when you think him unsuited to the task." She's careful not to say anything that could be taken as disloyal herself ... to either. Sometimes the strategies of battle pair nicely with the strategies of courtly dance. "I was insensitive to make the joke I made when there were many others I could have made that would not have been so hurtful."

She takes the offered hands and squeezes lightly. "There is nothing to forgive." Beat. "Except the hair."

Loki has posed:
Loki chuckles, the sound from his throat, and once his hands are accepted, and squeezed, he gently and slowly retrieves them. "Or not." Obviously she hasn't yet forgiven him, though it is now become a humourous topic, even if it does strike at her vanity.

Sif? Vain?

Absolutely!

"I fear that to do that which my brother wishes would put us at odds with both the All Father and Hela. He does not yet know that, however, and any explanations I may make will sound hollow upon his ears." So, he has a choice. "So I can either refuse, and he will think ill of me, or I can accept, and risk the ire of the Court, because certainly it will start a war." Loki shrugs, lifting a shoulder in deceptive lightness. "I retire to consider my next action."

Everything she's said regarding his own relationship to his brother is accurate... and he's actually surprised with her understanding, even if he doesn't always give his frustrations voice. He knows how difficult it is to frame her words just so, and he inclines his head. "I know ultimately you will have that which is your right," Loki offers quietly, "For the good of Asgard."

Loki takes a step away, that step back as he drops his own hands finally, "I should retire. I'll be looking for my brother tomorrow. Late morning. No doubt he's partaking in this holiday of theirs."

Sif has posed:
"You have travelled long, Prince Loki," Sif agrees, "and I, too, am weary after some exhausting battle. I had to leave the creature alive." Something in her voice suggests that the whole story is more complicated. There's an undercurrent of powerful rage beneath that, and Loki, having seen that rage in battle more than once likely knows that this is troublesome. "It is exhausting work to subdue without harming."

Sif helps Loki to his feet and releases his hands. She hazards a smile. "It is good to see you once more. I felt like I was failing at my task of spying on you. I'm glad nobody asked me of your location."

Yes. She's keeping up the fiction as well. Hair. And fiction. She's a stubborn one.

Loki has posed:
There's something in his eyes that wants to know, to inquire, to hear her story that frustrates her so greatly. Instead of asking, however, he inclines his head, his words still soft, "You will undoubtedly tell the tale over a mug of mead later."

He pauses, seemingly changing his mind before he gestures towards the chairs, the offer obvious. Loki does add, just in case, "Sit with me, and tell me. I promise I shan't let anyone know you were not at my side all these days." After the gesture, he wanders towards the indicated seats. "Please."

Sif has posed:
"Alas, Prince Loki, it is not much of a tale. I fought a being, strong and strange, for a mortal, but nothing I couldn't have easily beheaded and been done with. Only... it was a prisoner I'd freed earlier, with a demeanour devoid of intellect or will."

Now the suppressed fury spills over a bit.

"Ensorcelled was he, by some force not yet known. Some magus thought to use me as a weapon of dishonour to murder an innocent. When I find this magus, I will ensure that his soul goes to where it will be punished for eternity with no hope of redemption."

Her hand, gripping the head of one of her axes, is white from the pressure she's applying, clenching it as she is.

"That is it. That is the tale. For now. It will be a tale worthy of telling over mead when I have the miscreant's head among my trophies."

Further signs of the rage. She's dropped the niceties, barely nodding Loki's way before stalking off to her room, door closing behind her with a foreboding sense of finality.