Owner	Pose
Loki	501 1/2 Hill Street looks the same on the exterior. The same gargoyle. Well, maybe not entirely the same: there's a few extra shadows. But that isn't important. Inside, the place is an Alice and Wonderland doing battle with M.C. Escher. The floor may or may not exist, the library has been blown out into a whole other dimension of mind-warping nonsense. If there was a kitchen, it is now a resort and spa within some other time-zone where there is sunlight and warm beaches. The ocean flows into the bottom of another room, where boats float like islands in a mist of gold and swirling green waves of grass. It's all very excessive, as if a wizard's library of animated books just exploded all over the place.
Sif	Greek was on her mind and now, Greek is in her hands: two brown bags with lamb gyros arrive at 501 1/2 Hill Street along with Sif herself. Dressed Midgardian today in a tunic-like sweater-dress, this belted beneath a longer peacoat and overtop legging tucked into cavalry boots, means the only odd thing about her is her up-do and the hair-piece keeping it in place. And maybe Beep the hummingbird, but she hides well enough next to Sif's throat, warm and content. "Loki," calls the Valkyrie as she opens and shoulders into the place, her gaze momentarily on the gargoyle. "Good construct," comes the quiet compliment; the guardianship of the creation had been critical more than once during the issue of the shadow-creatures. "I have...gyros." Her voice falls out as she turns to properly view the expansive creativity on display. "Oh my... Loki?" the raven-haired Goddess calls out a little louder now, overtop the shush of the waves and into the depths of the...library. She thinks that's the library now?
Loki	"Do you?" Loki's voice asks. It's not really directional, as if she entered a dream wherein Loki could speak from anywhere and everywhere. Or from inside her head. It's all possible, with the creativity of a master of magical craft. But then some motion will potentially draw her attention: Loki is at the beach setting, though shaded in palm fronds, dressed entirely in Asgardian finery as if he were going to a royal beachside gathering. His relaxed cloth attire is trimmed in silver, his hair loose and curly, reclined on a regal throne-like couch. Somebody's happy to have magic again. "You've caught me upgrading my dwelling here before return to Asgard," Loki says, tone sly.
Sif	Light on her feet, Sif turns about slowly as the voice, at first, has no visible source. It showcases her hair, painstakingly done up into a braided crown and held by a golden pin shaped as a grand plume. The hummingbird makes a soft 'beep' almost as a radar as she turns in the direction of the beach and -- there he is, looking as content as a cat in a sunbeam. Sif blinks in blatant surprise, momentarily disarmed by the whole affair. "Yes, it appears that I have." Her steps bring her to cross from living room floor to the fine reach of pale sand stretching out to blend into the tropical blue of the water. Transferring both bags to one hand, she has a fond curl of a smile for the Trickster god. Unerringly, her pale eyes search for the brand she suspects to be no longer present even as her free hand drops to attempt to cup Loki's cheek, the better to brush her thumb along the height of his cheekbone. "You look quite well, my lord."
Loki	"Looking for the seal upon my neck? My brother broke it, by throwing Mjolnir at my head," Loki comments, turning his head up a little as she brushes his face with her fingers, green gemstone eyes darting up to her face perceptively. "Humor me a moment, if you would. I want to do something I've wanted to do for months," Loki says, tilting his weight, and then vanishing, as his illusions pick up and allow him to move to her side, standing now just off her left side behind her, one hand attempting to curl over her shoulder as he drops his chin towards her neck on that side. He's playing, as if he were to whisper secrets in her ear, lifting a bit of hair aside. "I'd like to.... get a few things off my chest," Loki whispers, mercurial voice thick with a weird, focused menace ...and play. A style of joy that can turn into knives. Or real information?
Sif	"Humor you?" There's accedence by tone even if a lilt implies the question. Sif has but a moment to set the two brown bags, fragrant with Greek food, on the settee before the mischief begins. She straights in place, looking first to the right while Loki appears on her left. His hand falls upon her shoulder and she now looks to the left, feeling his breath play across her skin. Her pale eye can be seen to focus on him before her face turns further, displaying a wry little smile likely seen in Court more than once. "By all means, you know I've little love for gossip and repeating secrets. I am listening," she assures the Trickster God, her sword-hand rested on her hip rather than Brumeoalfold's hilt.
Loki	"A few little things to say," Loki begins, curling his tongue up against his teeth. "After all... I never steal. I never bribe or lie, or harshly punish those that move against me or mine. I never trick anyone into trusting me, or sink a knife into them if they don't believe my words." "I've never killed anyone for making eye contact. Or poisoned anyone for sarcasm at my expense. Never laughed when their children cried. I haven't any idea what ulterior motives even would /be/." Loki attempts to rest his chin at her shoulder, eyes glinting, a snakelike quality, slippery and lightly feral. "You may share /all/ of that without fear of reprisal or retaliation," Loki adds, with a flash of grin that borders into manic. But he doesn't flip to actively vicious, he remarks, "That felt good. But I know you cannot understand. Still, imagine being forced to do something against your very nature. Pulls your soul into shreds over time. I wouldn't say I /have/ to be duplicitous, but do I need to be free to say whatever I want? Yes." "And /that/ wasn't a lie, as you know full well that I never, ever, lie." Loki releases a happy breath.
Sif	Sif listens, her pale gaze traveling around the Trickster's face, and slowly, her smile fades into something more pensive. She can see he's clearly back up to snuff, in every shape and form and manner, down to the fact that he doesn't ever lie. "Truly, I do not think I can appreciate the relief you must feel. To be stifled... I am glad the brand is gone." She turns to better face him, her glacial-blue eyes still searching his face. "There was a tension in your face which shadowed you, even at your rest. I did not like it." The hummingbird agrees with a 'beep!'
Loki	The magically tilting world snaps. It jerks back into the reality she's known for each visit. Was it all illusion? Would Loki tell her truthfully if she asked? They're standing near the same couch as always, the home cozy with a soft sigh of magic moving through it, but it is no beach or ocean or library. The finesse of it, flicking it back during Sif's blink? It's flashy but not flashy at the same time. It's very Loki, this style: disorienting and yet subtle as well. "Entirely gone," Loki says, lifting his head away to show her his full neck down into the lower collar. He flips his other hand up to her hummingbird and crushes it flat in his hand, vicious, only to twist the wrist and emit a newer one, an upgrade of magenta-throat and golden-tips on teal and ruby-striped feathertips, drawing a silver essence from the mage's fingernails as it is reborn. "On the subject of gifts," Loki adds, drawing his nose in, to her cheek, "Should there be anything else you want, you find me in quite a mood to be very, very generous with rewarding your loyalty to me."
Sif	Ah, yes, the brand is gone. Sif's pale eyes flick to the unmarked skin and she nods, only to blink as the hummingbird disappears and reappears as quickly as a stage magician's trick. It goes 'BEEP' as it lifts from his palm to flit back into the tuck of her neck, content and now brilliantly guised in comparison even to before. It takes a moment for Sif to find her voice and only after her eyes slide briefly downcast. "I cannot think of anything at the moment, my lord, but if I do, I shall share my wish." Her attention returns to him from scanning the now more familiar layout of the abode and she faintly smiles. "I believe I shall have a gyro. Are you hungry at all?"
Loki	"To be /honest/," Loki says, pausing to laugh at himself, and release her shoulder. "I want to stay here always and forever," he lies, and makes a gagging face, snickering. Loki's going to be rough to be around for a little while, possibly... "I'll eat gyro in Asgard with proper servants tending to my whims," Loki decides. "Travel is on me," he says, offering her his elbow after executing a beautifully courtly half-bow. "Do me the pleasure of accepting?"
Sif	"Of course." Sif takes a moment to collect up the two bags apparently actually set down on the small bench tucked to the back of the living room couch and then slips her hand about his proffered crook of arm. "It will be nice to enjoy the spring blooms and evening air. The city is close sometimes." Busy, she means, and everything crammed into one place rather than the carefully plotted sprawl of the Golden City of Asgard. "And I have a tale to tell you as your interest allots, Loki," the Valkyrie adds with a loft of brow, her smile still faint but present.
Loki	Loki's transport is overly extravagant. He's able to move to Asgard magically without a fanfare of twisting portals and the sky opening to reveal a rainbow spinning kaleidescope of worlds and destinations but... how is that even fun? Is some of it illusion? It well might not be, as the purpose right now of Loki seems to be opulence to a staggering degree. But soon enough, they stride out of the tiny 'prison cell' of Midgard and into the Asgardian palace proper: the gardens stretch out around them, with a spill of Honeysuckle into the air. Loki picks a sprig and tucks it into Sif's hair near the crown. "Give me a gist of the subject matter and I will declare whether I have patience," he says, in what is probably complete honesty.
Sif	The Valkyrie can never resist the golden-sweet scent of the honeysuckle plants. She tucks her chin in what has to be a very mildly sheepish and pleased manner at having a sprig tucked in brilliant contrast to her raven-dark hair. As they walk across the expanse of carefully tended verdancy, she glances over at him again. "The Lady Heidi and myself spoke to the ghost of Einherjar Valdar, the childhood hero of the stories told to us so many times. Do you remember him? He single-handedly stopped the influx of Brunnmigi through the conduits beneath the Golden City before Odin's reign?"
Loki	Loki leaves his elbow accessible to her for as long as she wishes to keep her hand upon his arm, moving through the gardens to an area that they'd had picnics years before. Before things got so entirely out of hand and Loki was unfairly imprisoned. He's half listening to her, his eyes out and distant; he hasn't seen the palace in a while. "I remember all of the tales, Sif," Loki says reproachfully. "In addition to having masqueraded as a Brunnmigi more than just one time as a child. For reasons."
Sif	"Your memory is sharp as always." Sif gently teases in this, giving the younger Prince an amused side-glance. Her hand remains present in weight and pressure perfectly poised to make an impression at the Court, she comfortable in his presence. "We found his ghost in his old posting room, beneath the barracks," the Goddess continues sharing, her expression now more solemn and almost sad. "I had no idea in the manner of his loss of life. The room had collapsed upon him in his defense of the city. It was a swift death, yes, and honorable, but there is still...a melancholy to it."
Loki	"I am not particularly in a melancholy mood," Loki says, slightly flippant, releasing her arm to now step towards the area he intends to have their 'picnic'. By which a lot of magic gets involved to set up a tent with tiered florished top, a table with soft sky blue tablecloth and settings, benches, and then populated with wine and ale as he sits down, as if all of it were there long before he conjured it up. "In what manner is the palace celebrating my return? Will I have to make my own poetry?" Loki asks, pouring the wine by not moving and making it pour itself.
Sif	Cue the eyeroll, absolutely off to one side while Loki devotes attention to the cueing of their picnic space. Sif joins him in sitting at the table with its soft and silky tablecloth, now occupied by drinks as well as the two brown bags in stark Midgardian contrast to the finery. "I have not heard of any plans as of yet as to the palace." Her fingers deftly reveal the contents of the bags and one foil-wrapped gyro as well as accompanying fries are set before Loki. "This is the first time I have been present on the palace grounds in some days."
Loki	Loki does look insulted: but it isn't 'destroy the city' insult level. He's still in a good enough mood overall to not be entering into explosive anger over a small slight. Or he's keeping it internal. "I'll have to do it. Sometimes nothing gets done unless I do it myself, around here," snorts Loki. "An entire lack of artistic expression, you could say." Loki looks at the gyros and fries... and accepts them. Only to turn them into a roast duck with frothy mashed potato and a berry tart. He begins on the roasted duck, breathing in the rosemary. Magic for no real reason? Seems to be. Whim. "So what did the ghost have to /say/?"
Sif	"It is true. Many of the Court consider themselves worthy of the annals of the great poets, but rarely do they make an effort beyond the prose of whimsy or self-inflation. You are more artistic by nature," agrees Sif with the youngest Prince. She plucks a fry from her own collection and eats it before taking up a glass of the wine, judging this to be a better match for the lamb gyro she intends to eat as it is. "Einherjar Valdar appeared to see us as trespassers and wished us to remove ourselves. We did as such, especially after it appeared that the room was set to collapse again. I would much rather pass in circumstances of battle, not crushed beneath the fall of rocks."
Loki	"Hmmmh, sounds like you need a high quality, supreme mage to chat with such a ghost," Loki says smoothly, with a bemused smile. "Bring Heidi if you like, but prepare your questions ahead of time." Loki has taken it as a request from him, but does seem amenable. "though I may disguise us all as Bruunmigi." A smirk comes to the surface of his features. "Not because it is necessary." But because he can. A toast of wine is offered. "To Asgard /adventures/."