7203/The Height of Liberty

The Height of Liberty
Date of Scene:	03 August 2021
Location:	Liberty Island
Synopsis:	Back from Wakanda, Black Panther notices something at the Statue of Liberty and investigates, leading to a meeting with Sif.
Cast of Characters:	Sif, T'Challa

---

Sif has posed:
"At that statue. On top if you can manage it."

The long-suffering sigh of an elder brother abused escapes Heimdal's lips.

"The mortals will see it."

"Nonsense. There are none there at this time of the night beyond the watchmen, and I can deal with them."

"The Allfather does not lik..."

"I can make your life miserable now, brother dear. The Allfather's wrath, if it ever comes, will come later. Choose. Wisely."

Heimdal sighs again. "Very well. But at the base of the statue. I will not risk having you drop from a height and breaking some of it."

"Done."

And thus it is that Sif finds herself at the base of the Statue of Liberty in a rainbow burst that lights up the immediate environ before vanishing after she steps over the threshold.

T'Challa has posed:
The King had returned. Not to the land he ruled over, but from it. There was a part of him that despised giving the impression that he was retreating or hiding from trouble, but he told himself, convinced himself, that he was needed back home to ensure the safety of his nation and his people. There was truth to it, for if they were attacked they would need their King to be a unifying force.

Instead, nothing came of it. Yet. Word was sent to him that certain concerns were dealt with, and he came back. He was not ready for socialization just yet, so he found a high spot to look over the city of New York. Fitting, whether wearing the costume and the habit or not. He closed his eyes and opened his mind, let his other senses to the fore. Listen to the sounds of the city. Feel the life below, active day or night, at all hours. Smell the..ahh, perhaps not. Seems the alley below had become a makeshift bathroom for someone.

As he looked out over the cityscape again, something caught his eye off the lower tip of Manhattan, near the Statue of Liberty. Maybe, at it. A flash of color of some kind, and his eyes narrowed briefly. A distraction at just that moment seemed appropriate, and he left the rooftop to cross others until he'd reached the waterfront.

Lacking a better way across at the moment, it is quite the sight when the man in the familiar costume approaches a resident of the city just beginning to tie his small boat off. After explaining the need to borrow it and vowing to return it before the night was over or replace it if anything unexpected happens, he settles in to navigate the open water of the harbor.

This is how the Black Panther reaches Liberty Island, in a very mundane way.

Sif has posed:
Dressed in full regalia, having come from Court, Sif cuts an impressive figure in blood red and ivory white, augmented by highly-polished silver. She stands tall. Straight. Proud. Even arrogant. And currently her eyes are focused on the heavily-tarnished copper cladding of the beacon of New York.

Walking in a slow, steady pace, she starts to circle the base, peering upward at the symbolic work, noting, seemingly, its design notes and its construction. Her scabbarded sword rustles lightly under the cloak, while the scale protections give metallic mimicry of falling water. Just what thoughts the monument introduces to her are private to all present, however.

After circumambulating the statue, she pauses, poised, it seems, for a jump, eyes focused on the statue's right shoulder.

T'Challa has posed:
Black Panther drums his fingers against the boat's steering wheel. It's not that it's slow, it's just...not exceptionally fast, and at the moment he doesn't have a better way of getting over there. An Avengers jet or even something of his own doesn't seem to fit the bill, and might not have even been available.

If nothing else, he amplifies his sight through the lenses of the mask so he might get a better idea of who or what is near the statue. It allows him the ability to see the woman in her outfit, which is known by enough. Certainly by members of the Avengers.

Docking at the island, he ties the boat off and makes his way closer at a languid pace. Before any leaps are made, his voice carries over. "Arrivals like yours might be noticed, even from afar, from those with sharp eyesight. Sif, was it?"

Sif has posed:
"Aye. Lady Sif of Asgard." Without turning her head yet she adds. "You are one of those the Crown Prince works with. Those who wreak Vengeance?"

There's a bit of a cultural gap to cross it seems. Or linguistic. Or marketing. One of those.

Then she turns her head. "Your arrival was slow. I saw you on your approach. I recall you working with the Crown Prince, but please forgive me, I'm unfamiliar with your name and standing. I am, as stated, the Lady Sif of Asgard, Marshal-General of the Allfather's armies, called Gentlest of the Gentle and Sif the Unstoppable among many other sobriquets. Whom do I have the honour of addressing?"

Her eye wander briefly up the statue again.

"I was considering looking over the city from its shoulder. It seems to be well-placed to survey the harbour."

T'Challa has posed:
"..that is not quite the meaning, despite the title. The Avengers exist to help protect Earth from threats both from the planet and beyond," the black-clad man with the feline motif explains, hands resting at his hips.

Casting a glance toward the dock, his shoulders move in the effect of a shrug. "It was the best option at a moment's notice. I gave the owner my word it would be returned before long. Swimming the distance would have taken even longer. Lady Sif, I am the Black Panther, King and Protector of Wakanda. I have been away on business, but I was clearing my thoughts when I caught sight of you here." He does not explain just what he saw, just that he saw something.

"I thought it worth investigating." As his attention turns toward the upper area of the Statue, he nods once. "That is an agreeable place to me."

Sif has posed:
"Oh, you are royalty?"

With a swift, smooth gesture Sif's sword leaps out of its scabbard in her hand, arcing in a salute before Sif falls to a knee before T'Challa with the sword laid out horizontally across her hands.

"Forgive me. I did not perform proper greetings due your station, Majesty, out of ignorance. My sword is yours to command."

Very ritualistic. Even the wording has that hint of sing-song nature of something oft-recited.

Sif awaits with her head bowed.

T'Challa has posed:
Black Panther begins to raise a hand to interrupt. "Yes, but there is no--" Need? So quick is she to present sword and kneel, he is left to lower his hand before he can finish the objection. "This is not a formal meeting, no battle to currently fight. I do not have need of your sword or you to command, except to say stand back up and let us speak as acquaintances." Things like this come with the territory, but there are times it can be awkward, unwarranted.

"I believe we were going to enjoy the view, Lady Sif of Asgard. I assume we can do this without the need to bow before me again tonight?" he asks, a lighter note to his tone of voice. "And the way up is locked, I believe, but I can climb another way." Literally, that is, from the outside of the statue.

Sif has posed:
"It is at your service, too, should there be attacks upon your person."

Sif's face is completely neutral. No hint of humour. No hint of triumph. Delivered in as dead a pan as can be provided.

So ... was that a dig?

"And yes, I had noted that the doors were closed to visitors, which is why I chose this place to enter. There were none to see my arrival here." Now the face smiles tightly. Lips pressed together in amusement. "Other than one sharp-eyed king, apparently. I am glad you can get to the top on your own devices. You might have found my means demeaning had I been required to lift you."

And with that she ... leaps. Leaps a tall building in a single bound. Well, leaps atop a tall building. Statue. Leaps atop a tall statue ... well, not quite top. Just work with it!

From the shoulder she turns and watches T'Challa's climbing with patience. And more than a little smugness.

T'Challa has posed:
Dig or not, the King does not take the bait except to say, "I take it you saw the news recently."

Before much else is said, he arches a brow behind the mask at the thought, and perhaps the mental image, of being carried. He's already making his way up, taking care not to damage the statue in any way.

So it is that she must wait for him to get up there, but she can watch the way he moves in doing so: not unlike the panther he takes the name of. "You did not fall asleep in the meantime, I see," he says, a quip, as he finishes the climb to have a look around. High perch. Fitting for cats, yes?

Sif has posed:
"I forced my eyes to remain open, yes," Sif says, punctuating with a roaring laugh. "Good. You are a sovereign who does not take everything seriously. This means you are likely a good one."

She leans against Lady Liberty's neck and ear, adopting a restful stance, keeping the sights of the harbour in view. "I've met more than a few kings of Midgard in my youth. Some were great men. More than a few were weaklings of station. The latter did not hold onto their kingdoms for long. I forsee a long reign for you." Her eyes take T'Challa in, now that she's seen him move. An appraising glance. "I expect nothing less, however, from my betrothed's companions. The Crown Prince has a habit of attracting the best of the best to his sphere."

Beat.

"Well, aside from the strumpets he beds."

Meee-OW!

"Your leaps and bounds. Equipment or personal strength? That one could get close enough to assault one who moves as you do is troublesome. Perhaps my sword will be needed in your service after all. Or my spear. My axes. My staff. My flails. My maces."

She stops before listing every melee weapon in existence. Mercifully.

"Powerful men have powerful foes."

T'Challa has posed:
Black Panther takes up a crouch, balancing nimbly as he splits his attention by looking toward Manhattan while keeping Sif in view. The laughter, while not returned, is not questioned either. "Enough of my responsibilities require a serious nature. It is important to strike a balance. There is no way of stating this without sounding awkward, but..living through multiple kings? You must be considerably older than you appear. That is a thing with your people, correct?"

She could almost feel the grimace in his expression behind the mask. It shows in a tense reaction in his body language. "Let us not speak of long reigns. Perhaps that will be the case if Bast wills it, but I cannot rule on the assumption that I will be King for many years, for decades. As you note.."

The quip about who the Crown Prince is bedding coaxes a slow exhale from him, as if he is telling himself to have patience. That, he does not comment on. There are other things to speak of.

"They are gifts reserved for the King. To explain more, that is not something I am willing to do at this time. You understand? Yes, it is difficult enough to put my life in danger when I am on the move, easier to do so when I am standing at a podium speaking and a coward fires a gun from a distance. I was uninjured."

A roll of the shoulder, then. "And powerful allies."

Sif has posed:
"In the time as measured on Midgard I am over five thousand two hundred seasons of age, yes," Sif says. "I have been doing battle, however, for only four thousand of those, approximately."

Only a thousand years of battle. Poor girl.

"Most of the kings I knew were of the local variety. Jarls, really, not kings the way they're viewed today. Though I have met more than my fair share of king-of-kings, which is more like what you would see a king as today." She frowns a bit, subtly, vanished in a trice. "Is my wishing you a long reign uncomfortable to you? It is habit from whence I came, and from where I lived when in Midgard. Long live the king. Long life to the king. If this troubles you, I shall attempt to stop."

Gifts. Uncommented upon. Allies same.

T'Challa has posed:
"It is difficult for me to think of a life lasting for so long," Black Panther says, putting it in simple terms as his arms rest against his thighs, legs bent. Still more catlike than not, and the visual of the suit and mask promotes it. The fingertips appear slightly thicker, larger, and small slits may be seen that house claws.

He explains, "Your wishes for good health and longevity are appreciated. Please, do not mistake what I said as me being uncomfortable or offended. It is not that. I prefer to remain focused on the present and the near future. What will be later, will be."

The King grows still for a moment, long enough for his words to set in, then he adds, "Though I have returned from ensuring affairs are in order in Wakanda, I found my mind still filled with too many thoughts. I sought to clear them in some way."

Sif has posed:
"When I find my head too full of uncomfortable thoughts engendered by circumstances I cannot control, I tend to visit the Jotun or the Svartalfen. With or without fellow warriors, depending on the source of the thoughts. Mortal conflict does wonders for demonstrating in clear, certain terms what is important and concrete, as well as what is ephemeral and vague."

Sif's smile is an alien one, possibly, though T'Challa may have seen its kind before. It's the smile of someone with a lust for conflict simmering just beneath the surface. Always on a boil. Always ready to let loose.

The rest of her body language is the sign of someone with the discipline not to let loose. Just yet.

"I would not recommend these specific goals to you, however," she adds with a wink. "Even with your gifts you might be too fragile to play with the Jotun. But surely there are some worthy of your ... attention ... to be found? Upon whom you can focus your thoughts away from the irrelevant?"

Beat.

"Ninjas are fun."

Now how does she know about NINJAS of all things!?

T'Challa has posed:
Black Panther acts as if he's as much a statue as Lady Liberty herself, unmoving while he listens to Sif go into some detail about ways for her to find release. In response, he tells her, "I am a warrior and a fighter when I must be, but do not take that to mean I am not capable. Perhaps there will come a time that I might see you and your own allies in action."

That grin of hers says quite enough, showing the eagerness for action, for conflict. "I find clearing my thoughts through meditation to be most beneficial, but there are times it cannot take the place of physical efforts." 'Too fragile?' That might be a mild huff beneath the mask.

"Ninjas," is all he adds, a simple repetition of the word rather than a question. He rises from there, allowing himself a brief stretch.

Sif has posed:
"If you are one of the Crown Prince's companions you are not anybody I would judge incapable," Sif says reassuringly. "Warrior-philosophers exist among our kind as well. I merely do not number myself among them. But yes, the fragility of Midgardian life, paired with its short span, is noted and commented on oft. Usually by those who do not experience it."

The eyes roll so hard on that that they seem ready to pop out of Sif's skull.

"I do not doubt your capability in combat. The Crown Prince tolerates your presence by his side. This speaks well of you. But..."

She glances down at the statue they're on.

"I am familiar with views such as these. Only the statue I stand on in these memories are moving, living beings of tremendous power. Even the Crown Prince finds the better of them a chore to contend with. When they strike me, I am pained. If they catch me unawares or if I am clumsy, they remove me from battle and are a threat to my existence."

Her arm sweeps vaguely in the direction of Fort Hamilton.

"With no disrespect intended the doughty warriors of this fine nation, there are none in that base, no matter how beweaponed, who can make that claim. I would not recommend the Jotun as a foe, is what I am saying. Swartalfven are ... more in the line of Midgard's warriors, as was shown by the recent invasion that Midgard threw off. They are devious. They have powerful armaments and protections. But they are easily within your grasp, with your gifts."

T'Challa has posed:
There is something on the mind of the Wakandan King, something Sif keeps going back to. "I understand your perspective on our world, to a certain extent, and I understand you have a closer connection to Thor. I would remind you that you are both visitors to our world, as are all Asgardians. You say he is tolerant of my presence? I say we have welcomed him as an ally. If we did not trust him, if we did not respect his capabilities, I do not think he would be counted amongst our ranks."

This sad, he adds before shifting focus, "If you are speaking of the attack Loki led, we do have experience with some of your realm's forces." Then, the Panther considers her more fully again. "Even the most powerful can be brought low if a flaw is exploited. In you, it sounds as though if you cannot keep your mind clear of distracting thoughts and memories, it leaves you in a dangerous place. This is not an uncommon thing. Strength of the mind is just as important as strength of the body."

Sif has posed:
"Oh, those thoughts leave in the heat of battle. Now we are not in conflict. I let my mind wander." Sif misses the point, or ignores it like she's ignoring the 'visitors' comment, though that comes paired with a very slight smile of uncertain provenance. "Unfocused is not a word people use to describe me. Anymore."

She turns her gaze back on T'Challa, this time with a smile that's more natural, relaxed, not amused or feral. "My growth came because of Prince Loki," she says. "And my hair. My parents were disgusted with my ... mewling ... about my lost hair and sent me away to train as a warrior. So I would know true depradation. Little did they, nor I, know that I would take to it as well as I did. Malicious as his joke may have been, the Prince honed me into what I am today. I am thankful for it."

Her head tilts as she regards T'Challa more closely, like trying to see beneath the costuming. "The me of a thousand years ago would have had the weakness you cite in spades. Now ... I have my weaknesses, but lack of focus is not among them."

Beat.

"Using profane language in front of the Allfather is, however. It happens."

She shrugs.

T'Challa has posed:
Rather than re-explain what he was getting at, Black Panther leaves the answer as-is. There are things about it all that he understands, things that are also less in line with his personal thoughts and beliefs.

"It sounds like we have you on the right side, then. That is better than the alternative." He may not be familiar with the ins and outs of what makes this Asgardian the way she is, but there has been a sense that she's being rather straightforward with him. Would that he could be completely the same with her.

Certain secrets are important to maintain.

"There is much for each of us to be thankful for when a path can be so drastically changed by one event, and a person remains on the proper one rather than straying from it. Do not forget what it takes to remain there." So says one far younger than the other. There is even a slight chuckle at the last of what she says.

Sif has posed:
"Without that path shift, I would have been another courtier murmuring nonsense advice and gossip to other courtiers doing the same in return. I would have had political power, courtesy of my lineage, and my betrothal to the Crown Prince, but no wisdom. No strength of temperament." She snorts back a laugh. "I would have been useless."

Wait, did she call the entire Court of Asgard useless?

"Now I am the Allfather's blade, wielded by his command to do his bidding." Her face twists into a wry expression. "And left to my own devices to entertain and to hone myself at need in between his biddings."

She stands now, again, and stares out over the cityscape.

"And my own devices are to take up once again the mantle I took once before. To defend Midgard and its peoples, and to help them thrive. It has been a long time since I was last here and things have changed. But as I learn these changes, I will stand by its defence."

T'Challa has posed:
Whatever she called the Court of Asgard, the specifics of how they function likely go beyond his understanding right now. There are things he can glean from it, hints and clues, while not having a complete grasp of it all. "In that case, I am pleased to see you on the same side," he says frankly, as she is left to determine his own thoughts about the matter based on how he says what he says, along with any giveaways from his body language. There are no expressions to read.

"I must go soon, but not so soon that I cannot enjoy the view a while longer. It has been an interesting conversation, Lady Sif," the King concludes.

Sif has posed:
There's no real need for a response. Two fighters, having sounded each other out, now stand atop a monument staring out over what both had determined they would be fighting to defend. Words would sully that.

Companions at arms, even if of the 'odd couple' variety. Sif looks patiently, with an enigmatic expression (protip: it's called mild confusion), out over the scene. Then, with a swift (non-sword) salute she's off, stepping from the shoulder of Lady Liberty into the darkness below.

And still clearly visible.

White. Red. Silver. Not very good at concealment.