10153/Tour Guide Sif

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Tour Guide Sif
Date of Scene: 22 November 2019
Location: Fortress Asgard, Kvalvika, New Asgard
Synopsis: Loki catches up with Sif about her friends and weapons. Meow.
Cast of Characters: Loki, Sif




Loki has posed:
"Do you ever tire of giving tours?" Loki wonders aloud, stepping out from the dark shadow next to the pillar of Sif's window. His amusement is more than evident, dancing on his features like so many reflections off the water of the pond far below Sif's window. It is raining out, overcast but still beautiful: that is how rainbows are made in Asgard, as other places. Rainbows that rival the beauty of the bifrost.

"We'll name you official ambassador of foreign visiting dignitaries," Loki suggests. "And personal friends, of course." Loki lids his eyes a little, smiling. "Does your friend question your sanity, from our courtship?"

Sif has posed:
Rain-silvered light gleams on what appears to be a long-knife in Sif's care. She glances over from rubbing a buffing cloth along its keen, bright blade and gives the Trickster God a warm curl of a smile.

"You know as well as I do, Loki, that I would be chosen poorly to provide such tours for foreign dignitaries. I cannot abide many of them as is. They remain dull conversationists or more interested in affairs of state involving the status of the royal family."

She definitely has her booted feet up on her desk as she sits comfortably in the plush chair. Scattered all over the desk top is an assortment of cleaning tools. It already smells of brisk polish and warm leather-oil overtop the atmosphere of light floral notes that ghosts about Sif if one pays enough attention. She wears what appears to be leather armor today in shades of brown, grey, and a deep midnight-blue. Leggings keep chill away from skin above knee-high boots and the lengthy fall of the tunic.

"Insofar as the Lady Caitlin, she is supportive of us as any good friend should be," Sif adds as she frowns at what she sees upon a rotation of the blade into the light. With a sigh, she sets the blade side and then attains a more courtly posture after bringing her crossed ankles down to instead cross before her chair. "Though you do test my wits regularly, to my great delight." Loki gets a more cheeky grin.

Loki has posed:
Loki strides forward, and smoothly shapeshifts, his form changing as easily as an expression. He takes on the form of his brother, Thor. "You would then prefer that I have the honor?" questions 'Thor', in perfect mimicry of tone, heavy and amused in his deep vocal.

Another two strides and Loki shifts back, liquid mercury, to his own form: sleek and dressed for comfort, in all black, velvets, satins, and some unnamed fabric of Loki's own magical design, perhaps. He comes over and sits directly in front of her on her desk, hands crossing against raised knee: the foot now up against one foot of her chair. "I'm surely not doing it. I'm on your side. Dreadfully boring."

Sif has posed:
The rapid shapeshifting has Sif snorting delicately once. She scoots back further into the chair to allow the mage space to recline as he is, in his finery of black, on her desk.

"I would not think to ask you either, Loki," she agrees with a tilt of her head. Her icily-blue eyes search his face, its contours and twinkling regard gaining a familiarity now. "I have a feeling the guests would end up either conveniently lost in the garden-maze or at the front doors of the palace without knowledge as to how they arrived there." He gets another grin, her own dimples almost showing.

"Though what brings you to my room, my lord? Do reveal that it was me," the Princess then continues, affecting teasing mockery of the courtly airs put on in grand company.

Loki has posed:
"They would have memories of a wonderful time, of course. The best they'd ever had anywhere," Loki answers aloofly, with a little touch of finger to his temple. "And I would have a relaxing nap." He plays with her chair a little bit with the edge of his foot, tapping the leg of the chair with his sleek black boot.

"I certainly didn't come for alone time," Loki replies to her question teasingly. "I do that when you're not here," he chuckles, extending a hand to attempt to examine the blade she'd been looking at. He slips his fingers down it, smiles a sleek approval, green eyes sliding sideways back to her.

Sif has posed:
"When I am not present? Dear Loki, the more I learn of you, the more I am convinced you were at one time feline," Sif teases right back. Her eyes linger on his familiar manipulation of the long-knife; she can tell it's right at home in his dextrous fingers. Her smile is knowing as it rises to his face.

She continues in her friendly banter, "A lack of interest in company less than enthusing and a penchant for relaxing naps? I daresay I fully expect to find you lounging about in a pool of sunshine ere the rain breaks." Rising to her feet, she steps daintily over the line of Loki's shin, though not without leaning in to press a warm kiss at the corner of his lips. Her travels take her to the window and she sighs as she looks out upon the rainy gardens below. "Would that it //would// break. I expected to collect flowers for my vases today."

Loki has posed:
Were there ever an opportunity to do such a thing as fill all of Sif's vases with flowers magically, that would have been the moment. Instead, no such flowers come at all. Loki only smiled into the warm kiss to his lips, his green eyes watching her move to the window.

No, the magical hint Loki chose to take was not to give her the flowers she desired, but instead, the feline she clearly deserves. Loki has shapeshifted again, this time to a sleek velvet black tomcat, that is now relaxed on his side across her desk, shiny tail flipping arrogantly.

Sif has posed:
"But ah, the rain will break at one time or another. I am not opposed to..."

Having glanced back at Loki and fully expecting to see the handsome mage, Sif pauses at the sight instead of the darkly-furred tomcat. She laughs, the sound rising and ringing as sweetly as crystal bells in the warmth of her bedroom.

"To extending my travels into the evening hours," the Vanir Princess finishes out her thought. Light steps bring her back over to the desk and she pauses before it, hands and arms outstretched in offering to pick up the tomcat with lustrous pelt. "Come then, let me scratch at your ears, hmm?" She's clearly charmed despite herself.

Loki has posed:
The tomcat with his vibrantly green eyes gives her a lofty stare, and rolls towards his feet. He does a slight crouching motion, clearly intending a jump, but instead does a little magical teleport, up onto her shoulder, near her head.

Very pleased with himself, and drapes around the back of her neck like a very large furred collar. His tail hooks up and around her throat as his body, limber and bendy, relaxes there in apparent contentment. Hardly being carried, no: he is a regal lord.

Sif has posed:
Sif blinks at the sudden disconnect between what should have been a leap and visually turns out to be a displacement of self. The sudden light weight of his form across her shoulders has her laughing again, especially at the tickling tip of his tail near to her cheek where it curls about her neck.

"I suppose that I can scratch at your ears yet," she murmurs before reaching back towards his head, intent on gently riffling her nails at the base of the mage-cat's skull. "Though can you still speak aloud? I would hear your own thoughts on Lady Caitlin's opinion on our courtship. By your query, I wonder at your musing over it?" Her spare hand gets to organizing her cleaning tools on the desktop.

Loki has posed:
"I /normally/ dislike breaking character," Loki's voice answers, though the cat does not show any vocal prowess. It is not actually a talking cat; that is simply ridiculous. Magic, though? Illusion at it's finest. A disembodied voice requires no vocal sound from the cat; he is content to vibrate a purr against her shoulder and nape, forepaws secure on her shoulder.

"I understand that your friends matter to you. It behooves me to not make enemy of them," Loki replies serenely. "Even if they throw ice in my face."

Sif has posed:
Feeling the purr melt into her shoulder and neck is soothing to the Princess. Surely it can be seen (felt?) in how her posture relaxes further and her face loses some of its intent focus upon cleaning up her workspace. The long-knife gets slipped away into a decoratively-tooled leather scabbard and placed off to one side.

"I would hazard that the Lady Caitlin would not do that to you again. She reacted in surprise, I think, and it is indicative of trauma in her past," Sif gently informs the mage. "You caused no lingering trouble. Another month yet and I may have the means to tease her about it." Even if the black cat is simply illusion, the warrior-woman turns her face to smile at him again. "I do look forwards to fighting with snowballs in the gardens, however, once the snow falls for the season. You had best ready yourself. I have been told that I am a worthy opponent."

Loki has posed:
"You suggest a childish game of snowballs? Have we not yet outgrown such frivolity, lady?" Loki asks, as if surprised she wished to do something from when they were children. His tail flips and curls against her neck again, deliberately. "Well, you shall find my illusions up to the task," Loki says evasively, his purr growing with a laugh.

"You are tense. Come, seat yourself. What is the point of being courted if you cannot reap the benefits of requiring a back and shoulder massage, after all?" Loki asks, playfully flirtatious. He has adjusted his weight with ease as needed as she moves about, content to counterbalance perfectly to simply come along as she puts her things away on her desk.

Sif has posed:
"I am nearly done and then, yes, I will accept such a massage." Sif pauses to lean her face in and attempt to nuzzle her nose into the dark fur of the cat's neck. It can't be helped, he's frankly adorable in this guise if it is truly Loki beneath the sleek black pelt. Bottles are capped and pushed off out of immediate reaching space, to be avoided in accidental tipping. The squares of cloth are folded into a neat pile.

"You will in some things, my lord, that I will never outgrow them. A fight with snowballs is something I will indulge in even whence I am silver-haired and yet still able to make the Einherjar recruits quail under my regard." With a sigh, the Princess then seats herself once more. "And there: I am seated and far more relaxed," she claims, still unable to help chuckling at the concept. The cat's weight is warm and soothing, after all.

Loki has posed:
"You misunderstand," Loki says, cheeky. "I suggest that giving /me/ one would relax you," Loki replies, buffeting her cheek with tailtip. As she seats herself, though, he moves towards standing. A brush of whiskers to her cheek changes feel, into fingers, as the shapeshifter assumes his proper form behind her, and the weight around her neck adjusts to that of one hand. The other was forward, against her cheek and the side of her lips. He trails that hand back and presses his palms into her nape, leading her to set her head back and to the side, to expose the side of her neck.

Loki is the sort of predator to appreciate the long line of graceful neck, but to also rub the edge of his thumb near the jugular.

Sif has posed:
Trusting of the dark-haired mage, the long open line of Sif's neck is allowed full display. Like a waterfall, her hair falls to the majority of her shoulder, almost to be pillowed upon at the angle of her head. She sighs, eyes going half-lidded, and her smile takes on a note enamored.

"I am not opposed to the Midgardian addage of quid pro quo. You do seem to call upon it often enough," comes the murmur over the pattering of rain upon the windowpanes. "I will indulge you, I promise." Her hands end up loosely layered in her lap now.

Loki has posed:
Loki chuckles, smirking, his hands moving into any tight muscles of her nape and shoulders, down her spine a little, then back up. He brings in his head to breathe lightly against the side of her ear, a smile on his lips. "Teasing me for honoring agreements? My my, Sif," chuckles Loki. "For someone concerned with my goals, you seem to not worry about this one between us." Loki's voice is thoughtful, full of wonderment.

But then he presses lips to her exposed neck, and stands back up, continuing to gently message her shoulders, thumbs rubbing slow and precise. "Of which, I should say, I expect no recompense." A another grin. "At least, not right now."

Fingers feathers away from her neck, and elusively, Loki's disappeared.