10063/Intergalactic Book Lovers

Intergalactic Book Lovers
Date of Scene:	16 November 2019
Location:	The Royal Archives of Asgard.
Synopsis:	Sif continues her tour of Asgard by taking Caitlin Fairchild to the archives. Prince Loki makes a surprise appearance.
Cast of Characters:	Sif, Fairchild, Loki

---

Sif has posed:
Returning from their jaunt on horseback in a placid, delightful loop about the forest just beyond the outskirts of Asgard's walls, both Sif and Caitlin have returned. Their horses, sweet big-boned creatures, are in their stalls now and enjoying a feeding after tack removal and a rub-down.

But where to next? Caitlin seemed to be an absolutely curious sort and on a whim, the Vanir Princess has escorted not only back into the royal palace, but to the achives -- ooh, aahhh. Nodding to the guards at the outer doors of the archives themselves and then again to the desk-minder (honorary head librarian, you see) behind her desk, Sif gestures with outspread arms to the immense room. It's at least a football field's length and width, though perhaps another width yet, and filled to the brim with not only scrolls and tomes, but collected artifacts behind enchanted glass. Magical touches here and there keep delicate items safe and it appears that there's an automated reshelving system for the hardback tomes, at least.

"Behold, Lady Caitlin: the Archives," says Sif with a grin, perfectly aware of how grandiose both her tone and posture are. On the way in, the Vanir Princess had stooped to snatch a small plume of winter honeysuckle; this is tucked behind one ear, a pleasant fragrance and touch despite her silvery armor and red battle-leathers. Her sword is, of course, at her hip.

Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin fitfully adjusts the armor she's wearing. It has a somewhat utilitarian look that lends it a prosaic air. Dull grey, mostly, reinforced at the joints with black fabric. Her left arm sports heavy sleeves and a tall pauldron; the right arm is more bare, presumably to keep a sword arm free. Her hair's worn back in a straight braid that hangs between her shoulderblades save for bangs framing her heart-shapred face.

The armor does have a utilitarian appearance compared to the splendid artistry of the arms and armor of the court's champions. No small wonder; surely it was a labor of love to make each suit of mail. Each in turn decorated with the heraldry of the champion who wears it. Still, there's something emerging from that bland utility, as if a struggling sculptor is still sorting out the art from the excess material. Unlike Sif, however, Caitlin carries no weapons at her side save for the gauntlets danging from her left hipbone.

When they enter the Archives, her lips purse for a soundless whistle. Wide green eyes sweep around the glittering shelves of books and artifacts and ancient scrolls. "You can just go /in/ here?" Caitlin murmurs at Sif, awestruck. She keeps her voice down with a reflexive, hushed reverence. "How do you get anything -done- with all these books to read? It'd take me /years/ to go through all these." She stays dutifully close to Sif's wake though, not touching anything until invited to do so.

Sif has posed:
At her friend's transparent delight, Sif chuckles. It's a light sound, musical, nearly sure to entice smiles whenever the sound makes an appearance. It has the ring of truth to it rather than the subtle flat note of force sometimes heard in court.

"I admit, I am not down in the Archives often. If I am, it is for a specific treatise or to reference a specific document for discussion at court." She pauses and then rolls her glacially-blue eyes at herself. "Those things, and also music. I play the harp, you see, and we have an impressive collection of pieces. It is not difficult to translate between instruments," she reveals, tilting her head towards one of the bookshelves off to the right side...one of potentially two dozen alone on that one side. Did you wish to look up a certain topic? The Keeper of the Archive can assist you."

This must be the formidable-looking woman in silky robes of dusky-blue with a golden stole decorated in both gems and scrolling braided designs both, her quill still moving upon a scroll as she glances from it and to another beside her arm. She appears to be middle-aged to Midgardian eyes.

Fairchild has posed:
"Golly, I'd just /live/ down here," Caitlin mutters. "Just need a little area for a sleeping pad and a pillow and maybe a microwave or something. Boom. Never need to leave. Do they need any assistant librarians?" she inquires. Her mouth's getting a little ahead of her train of thought and she checks her outburst with a sheepish expression.

Then she's being introduced to the Keeper, and Caitlin ducks her head in something like a curtsey. It's not a terribly practiced motion, but she's at least showing deference. "Er... what?" Cait looks from the Keeper, to Sif, then back to the Keeper's tolerant (but expectant) gaze. "Something to look up? I don't--" She shakes her head and pauses midmotion to look at the Keeper sidelong. Thin lines appear under her cheekbones with the sideways motion of her jaw as Caitlin does some quick thinking. "I... uh. ...engineering?" she suggests, meekly, of the Keeper. "Infrastructure, design, artisan stuff. Metalworking. Magic. Whatever. I like your cape." This last comes out in a near whisper following her stammer and she illustrates the outline of the stole with a finger near her collarbone.

Sif has posed:
The Keeper of the Archives looks up from her work patiently, nodding first towards Sif in recognition before giving Caitlin her patient attention. The woman tucks her chin to look at her stole, momentarily plucking at it, before she gives the red-headed young woman a small smile.

"It is a stole, but thank you." The information is given without callousness or judgement. "What you wish is spread over many volumes here in the Archives, but..." Glancing aside, she gestures upon an empty space outlined by inlaid silver to square it off on the white marble. Runes in glimmering gold appear out of nowhere, hovering above the space; she manipulates them, murmuring under her breath in what appears to be some Norse-like language. Sif gives Caitlin an approving glance, complete with smile. "You might appreciate the history of the royal palace itself." The Keeper lists off the location of what must be an encyclopedic set of tomes; Sif glances in the direction of their location and nods.

"Thank you, Keeper, I shall show her where they are located." Beckoning for Caitlin to follow, the Princess leads the way into the stacks. They loom above both by dozens of feet, reachable by what appear to be lifts tucked at the base of each shelving unit itself. "I know where these are, I have had to reference them before for my younger years of learning."

Fairchild has posed:
"Thanks! I'm looking forward to reading it," Caitlin tells the Keeper with a beaming smile. She wiggles fingers farewell and hopskips to keep up with Sif's path towards the floating shelves.

While they walk Caitlin opens up her left vambrace to reveal a holographic input panel concealed in the armor. Whatever she's doing resembles the floating runes of Asgard, save being rendered in a pleasantly fuzzy soft white that seems downright primitive compared to the glowing artistry of the runes.

"Systems on," she mutters under her breath. "Let's start that realtime translation software." Lights glimmer subtly in Caitlin's left eye as her portable AI assistant starts overlaying the world with an augmented reality display. "Golly," she muses, looking bakc and forth between the artifacts and the ancient tomes. "This is like this myth we've got from home about a sailor who had to sail between a whirlpool that would destroy his ship, or sirens that lured him to his death. 'The Odyssey'," she clarifies, for Sif, but it's more of an absent aside than sincere conversation.

When they reach the designated area she looks up at the shelving. Runes indicate the section they're in. An excited finger raises and points at the sigil. "There-- that's... fray...thei... borg?" she tries. "Fraethieborg? Am I saying that right? It means 'castle history'," she says with an assertive self-confidence that's clearly covering up some nerves. Obviously Caitlin doesn't want to look foolish-- or over-arrogant-- in front of Sif.

Sif has posed:
Sif glances over at the name of the acronym. "Siren...?" she mouths to herself. The sight of the holographic panel has her smiling to herself, bemused and delighted at once to see a technology similar to that she'd grown up with as a young Asgardian.

Caitlin will be pleased, however. "You are correct, yes, that is the tome in question. We shall use the lift to reach it." Beckoning again for Caitlin to follow her, she leads the way onto the platform with its waist-high railing encircling for safety. A small latched gating opens and closes to allow both women on. Another display of Asgardian runes shows as Sif manipulates it now in the corner of the lift and then swoosh!

Up they go and then smoothly to the left to precisely before the tome in question. It's as if there's nothing but air moving the lift, far more smooth than any elevator -- of course, it's magic laid down centuries ago by the master mages of the royal palace.

"I would often pull a required tome and study upon the lift," the Vanir Princess shares even as she sits down. Her legs hang over the edge of the lift into free air about seventy feet from the Archive floor as she rests her folded arms on a railing bar. "There is a peace and quiet found up this high."

Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin is an eager beaver and very excited. She's also missing precisely nothing, and doing so with near-photographic recall. The rune Sif manipulates is studied along with the action before she clambers onto the lift alongside the Shield Maiden. Caitlin peers over the side at Sif's comment and smiles. "I used to be afraid of heights," she confesses to Sif. "Well. I was afraid of everything. Then after I--" she gestures vaguely at herself-- "blew up, I got more used to them. I did the math and realized I can darn near hit the ground at terminal velocity and not even sprain an ankle."

The book's withdrawn and Caitlin sits down with a clatter of armor. The redhead grimaces and shifts the cuirass around. "I still haven't figured out how to store this, practically," she confesses. "Clothing I can reconfigure but this material's too dense. I might need to figure out some kind of... phase shift or something."

That idea piques her interest. But she files it away and folds her legs under her so the tome can rest on her thighs. "I'm-- this isn't going to bore you, I hope," Caitlin tells Sif with a sudden worried tone. It occurs to her that perhaps Sif has better things to do than sit around watching Caitlin read a book. "I'm sorry. I get ahead of myself sometimes when there's something interesting going on."

Sif has posed:
"I am glad you are not afraid of heights. I used to spy on the Keeper and her assistants to my great amusement," the Princess reveals quietly, giving Caitlin a sly side-glance before she continues gently swaying her booted feet back and forth.

"And you are no bother, Lady Caitlin. You are pleased and therefore, I am pleased. I had hoped to show you the wonders of Asgard during your visit; the Archives are one of many things. Besides, if you are to read the tome, you must share with me the most important thing you discover within it. You will find no deep secrets within it," she does note. "It is informative only, regarding the building of the palace as well as important builders and mages involved. Its basest stones in the lowest levels are ancient even to the All-Father's father."

A pause and she reaches out to rap knuckles on Caitlin's armor. "I have no suggestions currently as to summoning your armor on command, but should I come to any, I shall share them. I do know a masterful mage I can speak to."

Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin starts to respond to the mage comment, but pauses and visibly backtracks a bit. The heavy tome is hefted to indicate the topic at hand. "Someone told me that the only records that are consistent through history are the tax records," Caitlin explains. "Stuff like this-- architectural data, builder notes-- I mean these are the thoughts of someone who was laying those bricks down. A history of the people who improved and expanded on the castle. It's bigger than any building on Midgard, it-it's the size of a *mountain*," she emphasizes. "Building something on this scale requires a colossal amount of coordination. Only the most reliable magic and techniques would have been employed, right? I mean, if you want to chart the path of a civlization--" she turns the book around so Sif can see a structural diagram manifesting itself in midair. "Look into how long it took them to start building upwards."

She smiles and sets the book back down on her thighs, but stays focused on Sif. "This mage," she says, switching topics carefully. "I'm guessing it's... Prince Loki?" she hazards. Concern writes itself on her earnest features. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to get up in your business. I don't know what the situation is with, um. Him. And Asgard. And his history with ... everyone." She coughs, cheekbones pinking. "Sorry. Please tell me to shut up now and I'll go read my book quietly."

Sif has posed:
Turning in her half-slung sit, the Vanir Princess reaches out to touch at the diagram. Her fingers brush through without breaking the delicately-displayed lines and she smiles to herself. Ah-hah: there's her personal room, once used as...a washing room? How times do change.

"You are correct in your surmisings. It did require the very best Asgard had to offer to work upon the palace we sit within." Her eyes rise and a knowing glint flashes through them even as she retracts her arm. Caitlin does end up enticing a single brow to rise in the end.

"Lady Caitlin, you have done no harm. I do speak of Prince Loki. In Asgard, he holds the title of 'Homebringer'. Our land, this world itself, was once lost." Her expression unfailingly flickers in what must be grief, a shadow in and out, quick as a thin cloud crossing the sun. "He utilized powers available to him in order to return our world to us after its loss. Lady Caitlin, if you had seen..." Sif falls silent. Her throat works even as she glances aside, hand briefly covering her mouth. A clearing of her throat and she continues, able to look back at Caitlin after reining in her emotions. "Everything you see is because of his efforts. I am home because of him. He is a hero, Lady Caitlin, to us -- to Asgard."

A beat and she looks aside, cheeks pinking. "...and he is courting me," she adds lightly, visually trying very hard not to smile.

Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin's face screws up into a cringeing smile and she drums her knees against her heels. The armor clatters a bit and she quickly stills the motion. "Oh gooosh, for real?" she says in a high pitched voice. Cait looks around for something to focus on, finds nothing, and laughs and just buries her face in her hands for a beat.

"I'm sorry. I'm not-- I don't know a whole lot about datin' and stuff, so I can't say anything except 'yay!'" she explains. Fists pump awkwardly at Sif in an encouraging gesture. "I mean-- I guess it's 'yay'?" she amends. "I guess I don't know him really well. I just know the stuff Thor's said around me. It's not been, um...." Caitlin's gaze goes upwards in search of inspiration. "Charitable?" Her eyes drop back down to Sif questioningly. "Or am I just like, totally misreading that. 'cause I do that sometimes."

Loki has posed:
"I can verify the courtship to be true," Loki's voice appears out of thin air, roughly to Sif's left, near her shoulder. Loki materializes not long afterwards, visually, his form seeming to fade out of nothing with a glimmer and pulse of illusion being swept away. Was he there long? It might not matter, really, Loki's usually exceptionally informed.

"My brother's viewpoint needs to be taken with grains of /ample/ salt, at times," Loki says smoothly. His location, closeness to Sif's shoulder and arm, is certainly going to test the truth of the courtship, and her reaction to him being there so abruptly in her personal space.

Loki's dressed sleekly, clean and unhindered, in dark, rich chocolate leather tunic, long sleeves a dusky dark green, sleek comfortable pants, boots. His dark hair is loose and wavy to the shoulder, part of it loose near his cheek.

Sif has posed:
It probably doesn't help dear Caitlin overmuch that her fidgety, awkward response is enough to make Sif titter in turn. She's quick to catch herself, however, and clear her throat. Her face rearranges into something attentive and almost vaguely sympathetic.

Her lips do move to form a thought, but the interruption is a thorough one. Briefly, her eyes go wide and man, do those cheeks go a touch pinker yet, but she doesn't jostle about in place or immediately reach for the pommel of Brumeoalfold, the sword at her hip. Rather, Sif turns in her sit to glance up the height of Loki until she finds his face. He gets a knowing smirk.

"We should all be aware of our propensity for past circumstances to favor in our opinions, it's true," the Princess allows before she makes her way to her feet on the lift. Her own armor rings against itself with pure notes. A hand is offered out to Caitlin if aid is needed. "Lady Caitlin, you have met Prince Loki before. Loki, my good friend, the Lady Caitlin."

With the loose fall of her own hair, only Loki is privy to the gently firm look given to him. Someone else //does// remember the thrown ice water, after all.

Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin startles violently when Loki manifests. Green eyes fly wide with alarm and the motion produces a clattering of armor.

"SHH!" The voice of the Keeper is omnipresent and Caitlin winces visibly. It takes her a second or two to get the tome put back in order and a foot under her. Sif's assistance is welcomed, more because it buys Caitlin a second or two to recover her aplomb while getting her feet under her.

When introductions are exchanged Caitlin is hugging the tome to her stomach a little defensively. It takes a mooment for her brain to kick into gear and start regurgitating the requisite formalities of court-- inasmuch as Sif had hastily explained them to her. "Er... I'm honored, Prince Loki," Caitlin says, and does another awkward curtsey in that plasteel armor. For the sake of decorum it's more of a little bob than something court formal. "I'm, uh... pleased to meetcha. Officially."

An awkward sensation holds the moment hostage. "Um... sorry. About the last time. With the, uh..." she trails off and lips twist in opposite directions in an apologetic moue.

Loki has posed:
The problem with the firm look is that Loki takes it as a fun challenge. Sif may read it off his eyes immediately: he was relatively relaxed, calm. The 'look' makes his eyebrows drop and an amused flicker passes into his eyes. She may have meant to warn him off Caitlin, but this might have brought about the opposite. A smile slyly flows out, coming from the same place as do pranks.

"I do recall; Lady Caitlin, the 'Jug-of-Ice'-Queen," Loki says dryly. Far more dryly than he had felt at the time of the ice-water. "I'm glad we are able to have Asgard here for you to /visit/." His eyes roll just a little, but he isn't being nasty. There's a big difference between this sort of mild snark to when Loki's truly being nasty. In fact, he gives Sif a return 'look', as if to remind her that he is, in fact, wonderful in all ways.

"Giving tours, Sif?" he wonders of her, curious, but there's no reproach. There's pride in it.

Sif has posed:
In reply to the familiar expression in coy delight, Sif's eyes briefly narrow at Loki. Unable to keep up the silent conversation, however, the Princess lets out a slow and silent sigh. Caitlin does get a small cajoling smile for her efforts at proper introduction; Sif even nods very subtly, insinuating a job well-done despite the unexpected visit.

"I remember the gyros being particularly delicious," the Aesir woman notes with a light nonchalance imparting far more weight to the comment. "But yes, Loki, I have the pleasure of being able to show Lady Caitlin the best our Golden City has to offer. She is fond of learning. How not to show her the Archives?" Sif lifts a hand to gracefully gesture in a circling to indicate their surroundings.

"I think perhaps the marketplace next -- or the gardens. Both can be counted as one of the many prides of Asgard proper." Caitlin gets another encouraging grin.

Fairchild has posed:
At the 'Jug of Ice Queen' comment, Caitlin's mouth slacks just a bit. Loki's ruthless banter is hard to keep up with on the best of days, and the dry wit in his voice lands a deep prick to her ego. As much as she might superfically resemble an Asgardian, Caitlin's open and earnest nature simply cannot transcend the gulf between the aristocratic Asgardians who dwell in Odin's home. She's a peasant among royalty. So no rebuttal is forthcoming. Whatever silent dialogue passes between Loki and Sif similarly goes misunderstood, and for a desperate moment Caitlin eyes the drop off the side as a practical evasion of the Complicated Adult Things.

Sif catches Caitlin's eye with an encouraging expression and it bolsters the redhead's spirits. When the Archives are mentioned Caitlin wags her chin in agreement, looking back at Loki. "Y-yes, I'm... I'm a scholar. I mean, at home," she amends. "I study science. Well, engineering. And science. I study a lot of stuff."

She clamps her jaw shut as if trying to trap the rest of the awkward babbling behind her teeth. Upon realizing she's still holding the tome Caitlin turns and carefully replaces it in the assigned position, then turns back and flashes a smile at Sif. "Sure!" she chirps. "Wherever y'all want to go, I'm just happy to be here."

Loki has posed:
The narrowed eyes gets no visible reaction from Loki, but he also just ... doesn't escalate further. He leaves it alone: which could, actually, be an excellent sign of him responding positively to Sif's 'request'. His gaze slides from Sif, though, and tilts his head at the tome Caitlin has clutched to her chest, observant as she puts it back. But there's no malice.

"You'll want the marketplace /and/ the ale hall," Loki suggests tolerantly, stretching his shoulders a little bit. "The orchards are blooming, as well, have you seen them? Confused by the seasons they missed, I think, but quite exquisite."

"I have other matters, but I do recommend them. Do find me later, Lady Sif?" Loki asks of her, drawing a hand to attempt to place it on her forearm just above the wrist, gently. It isn't pressing, it's respectful of her.

Sif has posed:
"Yes, the ale hall as well. With the orchards blooming and some trees already bearing fruit, there is a cider you will love, Lady Caitlin. I will want to hear of the thing you have enjoyed best during your visit thus far. There are curious parties who would be interested in this information." Sif continues to give the young red-head the friendly smile as a life-line in the middle of her floundering, though this must break at one point to directly address Loki.

"I will find you, Prince Loki, yes. Be well in attending your matters," she replies to him as she rotates her forearm beneath his palm. The clever manipulation ends with her fingers gently within his grip, as if he'd taken them up in court, and despite her armor, the Princess executes a flawless curtsy before him. A playful gleam flickers through her eyes in turn -- must be polite in front of visitors, after all.

Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin smiles timorously at Loki's amended tone of voice. The helpful suggestion and his polite diffidence removes a significant edge from Caitlin's perspective of the lean Asgardian prince. "Th-the ale hall? I, uh, I'm not much of a drink-- you know, nevermind," Caitlin swiftly amends. "It sounds like it's the place to be. I'll be sure to see the gardens while I'm here too."

She looks away while Sif and Loki have their subtle flirtatious exchange. That sort of repartee is way beyond Caitlin's skill level. And it seems... well, personal, and the Iowa backbone in the redhead suggests the polite course of action is studied ignorance until Sif is prepard to leave. She follows the Shield Maiden but pauses and turns to face Loki.

"Oh, and... thanks for letting me be a guest here," she tells Loki with an earnest attempt at being polite. What she lacks in the flowery speech of court, she perhaps makes up for in sincerity.

Loki has posed:
Loki watches Sif's eyes and reads the signals there: there, and from her hand movement, and adjusts again, stepping back towards her to draw her hand up to his lips for a courtly brush to her hand. He smiles smoothly as he releases her then, with a slow, relaxed look back to Caitlin as she engages him once more with appreciation.

"I do not partake of the ale either," Loki answers Caitlin's nervous, quick words. "There are many very pleasant wines, should you prefer a cool head to properly enjoy our city and environs." Loki's quick, and observant. Social adjustment is something he has high skill in: when he chooses to apply that skill.

Loki flicks his green eyes to Sif again, and makes another judgment: he turns more fully to Caitlin, smile melting relaxed, the barbs and talons gone from his gaze. "You're welcome. A friend of Lady Sif is a friend to me, and my family." Loki sends a little sideways smile to Sif in parting, and turns, his form starting to liquidly fade, but this time with the signals of teleportation, not illusion.

Sif has posed:
The look Loki receives through the dark fan of her lashes radiates pleasure and approval -- he did read the situation correctly by bestowing the glancing touch of lips to knuckles in the end. Sif glances between Caitlin and the Trickster in thinly-veiled consideration while they speak, seeing the shift in behavior in both and finding her heart skipping a beat.

Perhaps there will be peace after all.

Dipping her head again towards the vanishing form of the Asgardian mage, Sif then turns back to Caitlin and sighs in what must be something close to contentment. "Then let us go, Lady Caitlin. I think the orchards first and then the marketplace. As a most welcome guest, you must go home with a token of your visit, yes?" Her fingertips trace over the lift's sigil-board to signal it to drop back down to the Archive floor.

"Mayhaps a bilgesnipe rack to decorate your home. Their antlers do mount well on the walls. One can hang objects from them even," the Princess shares quietly as she leads the way back towards the exit.