7426/Balder-dash!

Balder-dash!
Date of Scene:	18 August 2021
Location:	Sion - Nightclub
Synopsis:	Dance. Romance. Advance. Slaughter.
Cast of Characters:	Sif, Balder, Vintridr

---

Sif has posed:
"Oh, Prince Balder, I had been considering the possibility of going to a 'night club'--what the mortals call a dance hall--this evening. Would it interest you at all to come?"

Such had been the beginning of Sif's invitation to Balder to attend Sion, apparently a "hot" nightclub recently opened with the "new car scent" still on it. Thus it was that she stepped out of a burst of rainbow light with a rainbow bridge extending up into the sky (her brother's deep sigh echoing still in her ears as he got manipulated into this again by his little sister) straight into the crowd milling in front, causing more than a few heads to swivel her way.

What she wore kept many of them there.

"I do hope the prince wasn't kept busy," she murmurs to herself, ignoring the stares as she paced in her sandals, waiting for Balder's arrival. "It will be awkward entering the club on my own without companion."

Balder has posed:
Balder was in his quarters, looking up at the brilliant sun that rose in Asgard's sky when a servant had brought an invitation to the deity. Balder accepted the letter and gave it a look over. "...a night club?" the words foreign on Balder's tongue like a food never before tasted. He has never heard of this 'Sion' location.

No doubt Heimdall was greater irritated when the Prince actually -accepted- the invitation!

Thus does Balder suddenly appear on Midgard, but he was no fool. He wasn't going to arrive in his armor...and Sif wasn't the only one turning heads. Dressed in what mortals would call 'clubwear', no doubt the work of illusory magic that would make Loki proud, Sif isn't kept pacing for long.

"Lady Sif."

The voice is gentle and warm, as always it was when he greeted her. He offers her his arm as chivalry dictated. "You will need to forgive me...I have no knowledge of these practices."

Sif has posed:
Sif, ever the lady (DO NOT DARE SNICKER!) graciously accepts Balder's arm, managing not to look uncomfortable as his arm candy. Well almost. There is a certain chagrined stance, but old instincts from her upbringing before she was sent off to study war in punishment for being a brat, return and she looks almost entirely her part. She floats (easy to do without heels) next to Balder as they approach the door.

The bouncers don't even bother trying to stop them. When guests arrive on a rainbow that leaps out from the sky, you stand aside and let them pass.

Once inside, Sif pauses to take in the sight.

"I said in an 'interview' for the local media that there is a certain barbaric splendour to Midgard. I think this is a good example of this, with perhaps the barbarism muted. This is quite an attractive dance hall." Sif looks across at Balder. "The local dancing is more in line with the simple dances of post-battle warriors, my Prince. These are not courtly dances. Do you wish to watch first before attempting?" Her mouth forms into a grin of mischief. "Or shall we lead and teach them proper courtly dance among their primitive mating rituals?"

Balder has posed:
It must be so confusing for humans, yet altogether common, to see otherworldly beings make their presence known. Do they know the Old Gods arrive at their very doorstep? Do they know these are the old masters of the cosmos? Perhaps and perhaps not. Balder has noticed that humans are largely unfazed by a great many things, Gods among them. Yet, as Sif takes his arm, Balder's steady gaze finds her as she looks just a tad uncomfortable.

"If I may, dear lady." He softly smiles upon her. "Follow my lead." Whether she does or not, Balder walks side by side with her towards the club.

Strange how almost all eyes fall upon them, whether brief or lengthy, before going back to their own business...or keeping track with the beautiful people that just walked in like they owned the place (they just might!). Balder tilts his head though at Sif. "An interview? I may need to hear more of this." He teases her, but listens carefully. So much differentiated Asgard and Midgard...but dancing and revelry may be among the ties that bind.

"I see..well, it has been some time since I've danced, Sif. As long as I have not reason to fear your wrath for stepping on your toes..." Her touch on his arm is sought from a hand, almost as etiquette one would find in a court. "Shall we dance?"

Sif has posed:
A courtly dance set to music for loners. This will be an interesting experience. Sif nods her assent, but holds up a hand until she grasps the (very basic, very simple) rhythms of the music, eyes closed as she listens. Then, adapting the complicated court steps to the simple rhythms, she takes the proffered hand and steps out onto the floor with him.

Sif is not many things. She is not subtle (in roughly the same way that the sea is not above the clouds) (except in that one weird place in Nifleheim). She is not particularly patient outside of the field of combat (where her patience can be, at need, nigh infinite). She is not very diplomatic. She is not very knowlegeable about the ways of Midgard. Indeed she is not a particularly good courtly dancer: she passes, but does not excel.

What she is, however, is supremely flexible. She adapts to fluid circumstances with lightning-fast precision. And adapting the complex courtly dance to the simpler rhythms of the night is well within her bailiwick.

She dances, a (modified) courtly dance, in the middle of the dance floor, living the proverb: "dance as if no-one else is looking" with the exception that she is very much looking at and performing for, Balder.

"You're the second of the Royal Princes I've danced with in Midgard," she murmurs, chuckling lightly. "I dance with you more often in Midgard than I do in Asgard."

Come to court more often. No, I don't want to.

"This could become habit-forming."

Balder has posed:
Interesting indeed.

Balder has always been a talented dancer at the courts, able to dazzle and impress with his sense of rhythm and coordination. Almost as soon as he stepped on the dance floor with Sif? His steps were almost as if he were dancing on the way there. Balder knew subtlety. He knew tact...but the Goddess of War?

That was a different beast entirely.

A friend since their youths, Balder watches Sif as if he were being enchanted by a dancing python. The way she moves in flexible and fluid fashion, making what should be a complicated dance look easy, and just like that, she's the envy of watchful eyes.

Yet her perfomance for Balder does not go unappreciated as he moves respectfully into her space, and begins to dance. If Sif was the snake...then Balder would be the snake charmer. He doesn't specifically mimic her movements, but provides the counterbalance to them. He does not touch her, but Sif may discover that his eyes have yet to move from hers.

"I imagine Thor was the first. I have a feeling you would try breaking Loki's wrist before you danced with him." This is meant to be playful. He chuckles with her though. "Then I welcome the habit of spending time with you."

And thus did War and Peace begin their ballad.

Vintridr has posed:
    Speaking of things that aren't subtle, the Bifrost certainly draws a great deal of attention. Vintridr is walking down a street several blocks away when the night sky lights up. She's hardly alone in this, of course -- but unlike most mortals, she recognizes the rainbow bridge for what it is.

    Ducking into an alleyway, she pulls out her phone and checks the various social media -- Midgardians' obsession with documenting every single moment is baffling, but occasionally useful -- and within a few moments she has the location and a wobbly but very recognizable photo.

    Lady Sif and Lord Balder, heading into a nightclub. The on-duty diplomats at the embassy are probably already reaching for the /good/ mead. Still, this could be interesting -- more interesting than spending the evening on her couch catching up on Midgard entertainment, at the very least.

    A quick stop at her home for a more suitable outfit, and she's on her way...

Sif has posed:
"Surprisingly no," Sif says, letting Balder inform her motions as he lets hers inform his in that timeless feedback loop that is an Asgardian courtly dance. Flourishes, sweeps, dips paired with fancy footwork that would dazzle a boxer sweep clear obstacles in her path ... despite the last-second evasion of collision each time. It doesn't take long for the other dancers to learn to avoid the immediate environs of the pair, though predicting the trajectory of their shared orbit proves elusive.

"I stumbled over Prince Loki at a festival in our old stomping grounds of the Norsemen. He can be charming when he wishes to be. And he is a good dancer." A throw-and-catch spin. "Not quite as fleet of foot as you by far, Your Highness, but very supple. It was a good dance."

She snorts.

"The outbreak of battle thereafter was a good piece of symbolic punctuation."

Balder has posed:
Balder was surprised.

He had known Loki to be a talented dancer, but he was largely unaware that Loki had danced with Sif - peacefully - without any havoc. "You are merciful then, my lady. I love my brother, but he can be...quite mischievous." Balder was being generous, but he clearly had no ill will for Loki. "I'm glad you both had a lovely dance. Though, if I may...I doubt Loki was as supple as yourself."

Some flirting happening while the pair dance, even as he twirls her, dips her, sweeps her. Soon enough, they have the attention of the majority of the club as most people give them a wide bit of space to avoid collisions.

This is how gods dance. A throw and catch spin later, and Balder tries to give Sif a deep, flourishing dip that could be matched to the skill of a master performer. "Nothing like a fight to peak the adrenaline." Balder chuckles with a light shake of his head. "Perhaps this time we will find another way to punctuate the night." He smiles at her.

He seems completely oblivious to the space around him.

Vintridr has posed:
    The Sion's entryway is even more queued up than normal -- apparently word has gotten around and Midgardians are curious to a fault -- but Vintridr doesn't feel like waiting in the queue tonight. Between her outfit - tight, laced-up leather pants and boots, combined with a shirt that leaves her shoulders and arms bare - her posture and the $100 bill she slips to the bouncer, she's let in without much hassle.

    Spotting her fellow Asgardians isn't difficult -- neither of them has particularly forgettable features, after all -- and she makes her way to their vicinity. As long as there's no immediate disaster, it would be rude to interfere with their fun, after all... And almost as importantly, the temptation to see how close she can get to Sif without being spotted is /significant/. Normally Lady Sif is almost impossible to sneak up on - a talent that runs in her family, even if it is much stronger in her brother - but with this many distractions and no reason to expect her, she just might...

Sif has posed:
...Spot her at the edge of the dance floor, mid-spin-and-throw.

She's not her brother, no, but she has a thousand years of always surveying her environment looking for threats. Vintridr doesn't qualify as a threat, but certainly qualifies as visible. But that doesn't mean she'll react. See how long it take Vintridr to know she got made.

"After this dance, my Prince, perhaps we should challenge the attendees to a serial drinking match," Sif suggests slyly. "You challenge all the women. I challenge all the men. I doubt there are any women in attendance who could match you drink for drink, and I have similar doubts for the attending men."

There. That should get Balder set up to get totally plastered by Vin's drinking capacity.

"I think, too, that there will likely be plenty of people wanting to speak with us or take these damnable 'selfies' that seem to dominate their existence. Toward the end of good relations and fond memory of our days of rule, perhaps we should indulge this for a while."

Balder has posed:
Another spin-and-throw later and Balder spins Sif back towards him to resume their rhythmic duet. Balder seems oblivious (which of course, means that he could absolutely be paying attention) to Vintridr's presence, though Sons of Odin have always had a sort of a sense about them. Sif's request for him almost seems to make him laugh boisterously, even as he seems to break away from her with a flourish and beats a fist against his chest, only to twirl back into her space and join her dance.

A common flair of Asgardian dances from the traditional men's part.

"You try to drown me in alcohol. Midgardian drink is not as potent as our homeland, Sif." The first time all night he's called her -only- by name, rather than her battle-earned title. "Though would it not make more sense for me to challenge the men and you the women? Are you worried that I will be wooed by another in these...what did you call them? Midgardian mating rituals?" He smirks a bit, playful and teasing.

Though he looks around a moment. "I do not understand the term 'selfie'...is that the flashing lights they do with their toys?" Of course he means phones. Sif has spent significantly more time on Midgard than Balder has. "But, I see no reason why we should not gather in peaceable assembly and enjoy the night."

Vintridr has posed:
    Unfortunately, Vintridr's sense for when she's being lured into an ambush is almost as sharp as Lady Sif's -- and as been mentioned before, Lady Sif is not terribly good at subtlety. Ah well.

    With no more need for subterfuge, the Valkyrior makes her way closer a bit more directly, coming into earshot just in time to hear Balder's comment.

    "It refers to Midgardians' habit of taking photos of themselves in interesting locations or with famous people and posting them for all to see, my Lord. I don't pretend to quite comprehend the urge, but it's quite the rage these days..."

Sif has posed:
Sif feigns shock. Badly. It's the suppressed chuckle and the dancing eyes that give it away.

"It is good you chose not to go into this drinking contest, my Lord Prince," she says with barely concealed laughter. "I had no idea that Vintridr was present. She would have presented a formidable challenge to your drinking."

She actually coughs to keep that laughter back.

"Crisis averted!"

Just in time for the new crisis.

There's a crashing sound by the door, followed by a series of surprised and shocked screams and yelps. The stench preceeds the visible arrival of the Dark Elves, with their form-fitting, enchanted leather armour, the bone plate over it, and the horned bone masks over their face. The insignia of the Snake Face tribe is visible where markings exist.

"THERE HE IS!" the one who appears to be the leader says, pointing at Balder. "Capture the prince and put to death any who stand in our way."

The half-dozen svartalfen warriors advance warily on Balder, ignoring the other two in a critical intelligence failure, as the leader starts chanting and moving his arms in preparation for casting a spell.

Balder has posed:
Balder's expression was nearly deadpanned. "A mighty warrior you are, Lady Sif, but a thespian you never were." He chuckles amusedly, his gaze shifting to Vintridr as she makes her appearance known. Unlike Sif, Balder makes no notion to try and convince Vintridr against Sif's mischief. Her explanation of Selfies seems appreciated. "Ah, I see. Photos." Balder hums a moment, it seems he at least knows what a photo is. "A silly rage it appears."

His gaze turns then to Sif. "I seem to have inherited my father's wisdom in some aspect." He chuckles, his eyes finding hers once more. Though before he can say even another word, elves of Svartalfheim decide to breach the place and threaten the life of the Odinson. Balder frowns a moment. "You know this effort will be in vain. It is not worth your lives." The God of Peace speaks...and if they do not heed?

Then he draws his sword in the form of the Goddess of War.

"Sif."

The speaking of her name is like the sign of a dark omen, the kind that comes before the tide of battle is shifted. It's an order for the Queen of Shieldmaidens to unleash her craft on the enemy. To Vintridr, he simply speaks. "Valkyrior." His words are like a commander speaking to his legion. Surprisingly, Balder reaches for no weapon.

Vintridr has posed:
    Vintridr had expected a lot of possible crises when she saw Balder and Sif going out on the town, but this was one she hadn't quite anticipated.

     Of course, just because she's surprised doesn't mean she doesn't react, and as long as they don't recognize her for what she is she has an opportunity.

    She allows the suddenly heaving crowd to jostle her, appearing to nearly fall into Lady Sif - who briefly feels an arm around her waist - and before anyone realizes what she's doing the leader's chanting is interrupted by the hilt of Sif's favourite dagger sprouting from his throat.

    Vintridr stands tall with her left arm still outstretched from the throw, rainbow light is already playing along her body, replacing the clubbing clothes she was wearing with an armor that the more experienced Svartalfar might recognize and fear almost as much as they should fear the name the Bright Prince spoke.

    Shield at the ready and sword held neutral she moves to Balder's side. "Your word, my Lord?" she asks the formal request from a subordinate to her commanding officer as she regards the Svartalfar raiding party with cold calculation...

Sif has posed:
Hearing her name evoked she knows what to do. Sif steps forward, covering the Prince with her own body, hand buried impossibly deeply into her clutch purse. (Elbow deep.)

It was clear Sif was about to do something. Then Vintridr 'stumbles' into her and pulls the smaller throwing dagger she had concealed in her gown out to pin the donkey to the wall. Well, not to the wall, but if there were a wall behind him he'd certainly have been pinned to it, give how much of the blade protrudes behind his neck. Patrons scream in panic and flee. Sif side-eyes as the Valkyrior turns form.

"I'm going to have to get me one of those," she mutters. "I keep meaning to visit the armory."

Instead, however, she pulls out what amounts to either a very long dagger or a stabbing short sword, and it is held in no means a neutral position. It is as aggressively held as her other dagger was hurled by Vintridr. As the shocked troopers take in the sudden removal of their mage from play, she announces herself.

"I am the Lady Sif of Asgard, Marshal General of the Armies of Odin Allfather, known as The Unbeatable, The Implacable, and as Goddess of War."

Keeping them on their back foot she leaps forward, in a showy sign of both force and skill, pushing the sword blade in a controlled plunge through the breastplate of the nearest, hapless trooper. The soldier twitching on the end of her blade as she holds it aloft, its foul black blood staining the red and white of her gown, she continues.

"And in the name of Balder Odinson, with the authority of Odin Allfather behind him, I order you to submit."

Her face. There's absolutely something wrong with her face. She's flushed. Her breath is coming quickly. Her body is trembling from being held back.

"OR DIE!"

Hurling the body of her own foe at another, she makes clear which outcome she prefers.

Balder has posed:
Word asked for by Vintridr, Balder simply looks saddened, before he speaks further. "It is given. Do what you must." Balder doesn't get in the way of the ladies, rather, the ladies are fully capable of wiping the Dark Elves from the room, leaving nothing but red paste behind. Balder will not attack unless he happens to be struck first. But with the mage seemingly eliminated outright by Vintridr and another outright murdered by Sif?

The Dark Elves picked a bad night to try and kill a son of Odin.

As Sif proclaims her titles and makes her position known, only now does Balder speak. Authority, emotionless, fair. These are what fill his tone as he speaks to the Dark Elves in their own tongue, only able to via the Allspeak.

"Do not throw your lives away. Lay down your arms and return to Svartalfheim in peace." He states then. "If you do not...then I unleash my swift and terrible storm upon you." It does not take a rocket scientist to know he speaks of Sif and Vintridr as his storm, and with the unsheathing of their blades...

They bring pain.

Vintridr has posed:
    Vintridr nods minutely at Balder's words and brings her sword up in a ready position. She doesn't move from his side or strike out at the Svartalfar yet -- Lord Balder has given his ultimatum; it's now up to them to choose whether to abide by it or not -- but any of them that choose violence will not live to regret the folly of their choice.

Sif has posed:
They choose violence. Well, three of them choose violence. Two choose cowardice and turn to flee. The remaining three advance, trying to skirt Sif to get at Balder from the flanks, forcing Vintridr to choose one side or the other to...

OK, that plan does not work.

Sif, now fully committed to ending this with violence, and wrestling to get her sword back out her victim--something about the armour is causing the blade to not withdraw from mere tugs--snarls in frustration and just uses ... the dark elf body as a cudgel. Two move to the side of Balder that has Vintridr. One moves to the other in a pincer manoeuvre. That single one takes his companion to the side of the head once ... twice ... thrice as Sif spins the body around like it was a baton in the hand of a cheerleader. Finally the horns on the mask impale the stunned elf in the throat before Sif discards her body entirely, tossing it aside like it were a piece of driftwood.

Two warier black elves try to approach from the side with Vintridr, splitting up to force her to split her attention. Then one of them gets hit by a discarded body and knocked straight into Vintridr's arms. Mask to face. An exasperated and fearful noise can be heard behind the mask...

Balder has posed:
Two chose the better part of valor.

Good. At least some common sense remains among the Dark Elves. The ones that remain? "Very well." Balder speaks softly, and nods to Vintridr as he notices them start to loop around while Sif leaps forward like a bat out of hell (quite literally) and performs an ew dance of violence. Meanwhile, Balder, with a gesture, directs Vintridr to wipe out the elves coming at his flank.

It's a damn shame.

The Dark Elves could have left peacefully. He won't even suggest they leave one alive...it's not hard to figure out who sent them. "Please speak with me when you are finished, Sif." Balder states then. He is the only Prince who gives his orders as polite requests. It's either a breath of fresh air or incredibly confusing to many.

Vintridr has posed:
    The sentiment is entirely comprehensible even if the words aren't -- being at sword point against one of the Valkyrior is a bad day in any sentient being's book.

... It's an even worse day when said point is currently sticking out your back because she ran you through when you stumbled into her.

    Vintridr uses her shield to fend off his comrade's attempt at capitalizing on the fact that her sword is currently immobilized, then fixes that problem by putting a booted foot against his midriff and shoving him off her blade before turning her attention fully to her final remaining opponent.

    She'll credit him this: he has courage. Despite all his comrades either dead, dying or fleeing for their lives, despite the fact that a six-to-one ambush has turned into a one-to-three rout, he still attempts to charge her, aiming to feint past her to strike at the Bright Prince.

     Unfortunately for him, Vintridr reads his feint like an old, familiar book. When he sees her move to intercept and changes direction, he doesn't quite realize that she never actually moved as far as she seemed to before he's already fully committed -- and no longer has a chance to avoid the sword-stroke coming in at neck height.

    His body clatters to the ground at Balder's feet. His head rolls a few paces further along the floor.

Sif has posed:
To be stopped, stump-down, by Sif's blood-spattered, sandaled foot.

"Such a tragic waste of verminous life," she quips, likely making the Bright Prince wince at the callousness. She then moves over to the corpse that triggered the final cataclysm of the svartalfen. Having leverage now, she carefully steps on the deceased's chest and pulls her blade out.

"I always did prefer this sort of dance," she says. "But I think it best that we depart the premises and let the mortal authorities deal with the rubbish."

Taking the Prince's arm gingerly, careful not to smear him with blood, Sif guides the prince to the door. Any who would stop them get The Gaze<tm> and step out of the way.

"Will you be joining us, Vintridr?" she asks as Bifrost's arrival is heralded in the distance. "Or will you be going your own separate way?"

The voice is flat, even, tightly controlled as she pushes back the beast within. The eyes, however, are inviting. Do come. Rejoin your people.

Vintridr has posed:
    Vintridr can read the invitation in Sif's eyes clearly enough - and Sif, in turn, can see how tempting she finds it equally clearly. But then she shakes her head.

    "Another time, perhaps. But for now I need to get home." A home which Asgard isn't, not quite, not anymore. "I suspect I'll see you again shortly, in any event. Fair travels, Lady Sif."

    And with that, the Valkyrior ducks into an alleyway, and Sif can just make out the rainbow shimmer as Vintridr dismisses her armor and makes her departure.