7861/The Sun Still Rises

The Sun Still Rises
Date of Scene:	17 September 2021
Location:	Palace - Asgard
Synopsis:	No description
Cast of Characters:	Balder, Sif

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Balder has posed:
The Realm Eternal.

Asgard.

THe great seat of the Gods. Or, rather, one of the great seats of the gods if you take into account Mount Olympus of the Greeks and others, the sun rises on the golden city.

Returned home after the battle with the Demogorge, Balder awakens in his bedchamber, as if summoned by the light that pours into the room. He half-expects to hear the impact of Sif's blade or hands against a poor dummy in the training grounds outside, or perhaps he feared that she had met a doom in the great battle.

Or that Odin was enraged.

No...no he did not fear. But he did worry. As soon as his eyes opened, almost instinctively did he search for Sif.

Sif has posed:
It is morning. Great battle or no, injured or no, Sif is (now) a creature of habit. From moments before the cockerel's cry she'd opened her eyes. She performed her ablutions in silence. She kitted up in her (currently battle-scarred) martial garb. And the training grounds rang with the sounds of weapons on targets.

And weapons on other weapons as others practicing took the chance to spar. Losing. Of course.

Even now the sounds of barely-padded fists on iron oak trunks, suspended by chains, fill the air as Sif performs her daily, pre-breakfast calisthenics.

Balder has posed:
Life goes on.

Balder awakens, and decides to get some air outside. No doubt he comes face to face with Sif as she indulges in her morning workouts. His voice is soft and sweet as he greets her, like a fresh breeze on a summer day. "Hail, Sif."

Unlike Sif, Balder was not wearing armor. Much differently, he was just indulging in the peace and quiet that came with the day. Of course, Sif was different and that was okay.

War and Peace often chase one another in a circle. Endless, the yin and yang.

Yet as she continued to indulge in her calisthenics, Balder tilted his head, hands clasping behind his back. "Did you sleep well, my lady?"

Sif has posed:
Sif gives the iron oak trunk respite as her fists stop hammering into it, leaving little chunks of her skin and droplets of her blood on its well-worn, well-stained surface. The abrasions on her hand start closing almost immediately, likely to be fully healed before the conversation ends.

"I slept as one dead," she says thoughtlessly, adding "Your Highness" a split-second later. "And you? Did you sleep well?" It is about at this point that the unfortunate expression she used registers and she has the decency to momentarily look mortified before blanding her face again.