10394/Little birdy

Little birdy
Date of Scene:	11 December 2019
Location:	Asgard, Forest
Synopsis:	A little bird checks on Sif... on Loki's behalf.
Cast of Characters:	Sif, Loki

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Sif has posed:
With the crisis of the Bilgesnipe buck summarily averted, Sif and Caitlin make their way back towards the gleaming walls of the city of Asgard. Their loping travels carry them with graceful ease to within easy sight of the sentries -- Sif herself hails them with a lift of her buckler and a battle-cry easily recognized. Once the sentries have called down that both women are fine, Sif lingers in the shadows of the forest's edge and sends Caitlin home through an aperture sliced by Brumeoalfold's metaphysically keen edge.

Now that she's seen her friend home, the Vanir Princess lets down some of her guard and sangfroid. Blowing a hard sigh, the warrior rests a palm briefly against her temple and grimaces down at her boots. "You should have known better than to ride during their rutting season..." she chides herself, certain she's alone and out of hearing range of the sentries. It's another half football field to the gates currently as it stands. The wintry breeze ghosts by her and she lifts her face to consider the sky with its shredded strands of cloud against a color changing from blue to sunset reds and golds.

Loki has posed:
The little bird came from the wind itself, from a fluttering pass of leaves, maybe. It glides down with a twist of tiny body, and lands on the large twig jutting out of a bush. The bird is bright blue with streaks of black over his fancy wings, white on his chest. He examines Sif, head tilted this way then that, and he cheep-cheeps at her questioningly.

Were it Loki himself, there would be different behavior: this is acting more like a little servant, sent to inspect or check. A little scout. There's a flutter of magic to his feathers as he waits attentively, as if listening, tail flaring on the branch to steady him, though it is probably just very realistic magic, not a response to a real wind.

Sif has posed:
The sweet birdsong brings Sif back from whatever she was considering in the heights of the sky above. She blinks and glances around before spotting the wee creature on the twig. A moment's pause marks her attempting to figure out what this little herald is doing -- and then comes the stardust's twinkling of magic about the tips of wing- and tail-feathers.

Her smile is fondness incarnate. A few steps and she leans in closer to the creature, hands rested on her thighs. "It was a Bilgesnipe, my lord, and both the Lady Caitlin and I are hale. It was averted. I will be returning to the palace shortly," she offers quietly to the bird, in case either its creator is listening a la long-distance communication or the avian mote can carry such a missive.

Regardless, the Princess takes a fingertip and presses it to her lips before reaching to press it against the blue bird's chest. It might not make contact, but the thought is meaningful nonetheless. This done, she turns and does precisely as she said she would. On foot, she reassures the guards and a handful of Einherjar both that she is fine (geez, mollycoddling mother hens, she is FINE), and then makes her way the short distance to the palace itself.

Loki has posed:
The little bird watched her, but didn't seem skeptical: just questioning. It cheep-cheeps after the pats the soft fluff on the white chest, and leaps airborne as she turns away, melting in a tiny firework of bright blue and white.

A little bit later, though, after Sif passes through the area of the guards, there's the bird again, zipping nearby above her. It's accompanying her back, it seems: a little aerial friend coming along towards the palace. However, upon reaching the palace, it darts ahead, and then disappears in a single glittery streamer, a single firework, gone in the flash and fade of magic.

Sif has posed:
To be escorted by the fluttering mote of magic has Sif just shy of grinning from ear to ear by the time she makes her way up the palace steps and into one of its side halls. Admittedly, she is sad to see the little thing disappear, but she nonetheless schools her face into courtly neutrality before her bootsteps announce her in the main hall itself.

Another Einherjar comes to speak with her, one of her generals, and the Princess pauses in the shadow of a mighty pillar to speak briefly with him. It's a far shorter, more blunt rendition of earlier's explanation about the Bilgesnipe and she's a bit more effusive with the man. There's a flippant hand gesture or two, crossed arms, and even the dubious tilt of her head at what must have been an assumption that either woman was, at any point in time, in trouble.

Truly, they were, but the Goddess of War isn't going to admit it without good reason.

"I shall attend the evening drills, Toralf, be aware of this," she adds. Toralf thumps his gauntleted hand to his chest plate in a ringing salute and she nods back. Sif then turns with the intent to continue on to the living quarters of the palace, intent on hunting out a particular mage.

Loki has posed:
Not to worry: the little bird is back, when the delay with Toralf happens, and Sif doesn't appear as soon as a mage may have expected her to do so. With some excited prancing, the bird hops around along the edge of a window, then flutters up to alight on a perch high on a pillar.

When Sif is off and moving again in an adaquate way, the little bird disappears in a magical streak once more. It is only when Sif brings herself to the living quarters that one of the guards nods to her, with a salute of weapon. "Prince Loki awaits your visit," she says simply, dutifully.

Sif has posed:
"Oh," the dark-haired woman says softly at seeing the small blue bird yet again at the window's sill. Her face lifts and turns to see it alight higher yet on the bracket of a hanging lamp; it shifts her braid from its lazy sling over the front of her shoulder to fall perfectly in line with her spine. Her laugh is equally soft and her hesitant shift in pace passes to become more brisk.

Upon being addressed by the guard, Sif nods back to her. "Thank you, Jana." Then passing through the double doors to the hallway leading towards the mage's private chambers, the Princess pauses to check her reflection in one of the window's panes. It's just dark enough for her image to show almost ghostly; she frets with a piece of hair fallen free of the braid in an arc from temple to ear, but nothing to be done about it. Oh well. At least there are no abrasions and no one was stomped!

Her knuckles then reach to rap lightly at his door. "Prince Loki?"

Loki has posed:
Loki is having a meal. He's seated at his beautiful long mahogany table, with it's finely carved legs, covered in a silky dark green draped cloth. There is an array of food there: a roasted duck, fruit, a basket of baked scones with flecks of cranberry, coated with vanilla and pecan flecks and sugar baked into the tops. A warm scent of honey clings to the air from the roast, and a scent of cooked vegetables as well.

"Sif, come, join me," Loki greets with a gesture of hand towards himself, and the splendid repast. "You must be starving after your adventures today?" Loki guesses. The little bird is nearby, perched on the top edge of a chair; his little tail flit-flits a little, as if he were rather proud of himself for being such a good messenge-carrier.

Sif has posed:
Sif's entrance into the room isn't as shy as it might have been such a time back, but she's still certain to close the door fully behind her with marked care. As always, her armor gently rings upon itself as she walks over, a quiet smile softening the sharper lines of her general expression.

"I would be delighted to join you, Loki." Her voice is low in the confines of the warmly-lit room. She takes up a seat to the mage's side and takes a moment to whistle in a sweetly-silvery manner towards the magical little blue bird with its delightedly flicking tail. "He is a sweet creation," she murmurs of the bird itself, then glancing over at its creator. "And you were sweeter yet to send him to confirm my safety. Thank you." Her hand, free of gauntleting but for a leather half-glove with fingers freed, is offered out towards him with her forearm rested on the table.

Loki has posed:
"What makes you think I created him?" Loki asks lightly. He looks at her hand outstretched, as if perhaps tempted for a moment to do something mischievious, but does in fact not follow the whim, and aligns his hand smoothly to hers. He curls his fingers across hers, his smile sleek and sly, eyes a little hooded.

"He serves when he wishes; no magical slave, that one," Loki smiles. The little bird seems to agree, hopping in a circle, and then disappearing with a flash of blue wings. Loki seems amused by the process. "I would not /dream/ to interrupt your mighty fight. But you cannot hold it against me, wanting to watch you in your element," Loki teases.

Sif has posed:
"Oh?" Sif is transparent in her surprise -- she'd made the assumption indeed that the wee bird was a creation of the mage. Corrected, she offers the creature a nod and a brief apology: "I knew no better and beg pardon." Away the bird goes and she looks over to Loki again. His fingers get a familiar squeeze. The teasing brings the Vanir Princess to smirking.

"If you watched at all, then you saw little of mine own action. Lady Caitlin was quick with her laser-weaponry and it was more than sufficient to scare off the beast. Granted, I do wish I had the opportunity to at least attempt to steer it by the antlers, but it was already greatly irritated and my opportunity lost. The next time, I think," she states with an airy sense of agreement as to her own plan. Clearly, it's a brilliant one, picking a fight with something strong enough to send Einherjar through a wall with one sweep of its head. She reaches with her free hand to pluck at one of the scones and bring it to her plate; her other fingers are left warmed within Loki's own hold.

Loki has posed:
Loki moves his other hand to offer her wine to go with the food, tilting the liquid into a glass for her, and then setting it down to partake of his own. "Ah, you have caught me; I missed much of it," he admits with a laugh. "I did not send that style of scout. Perhaps you'll take that as a vote of confidence in your abilities," Loki suggests, neatly twisting to adjust the narrative to make himself look good.

Loki lifts her hand towards him to press lips briefly to the side of her thumb, jade eyes full of dancing light, before he sets it back down. "I wanted to speak with you, of a grand winter feast, now that we have our home restored to us, some of the traditions should return as well. I intend a focus on music, encouraging many of our people to participate, to write anew, or to remind us of our heritage here by breathing life into ancient songs."

Sif has posed:
It's with a lauding lift of her wine glass towards Loki that Sif agrees, "I believe I shall take this vote." Her chuckle to follow blends into a sipping of the wine at hand and, as always, it is sumptuous in taste. His kiss to her knuckle has the Princess giving her beau a plainly-pleased look through the fall of her lashes, very overtly coquettish by the counter-glimmer of her own pale eyes.

To hear of plans, especially regarding the bright and warming premise of music during cold and darker hours, has Sif setting aside her wine glass with interest twinkling about herself. Her fingers do a riffling curling squeeze of contained enthusiasm about the mage's limber fingers even before her mouth catches up.

"I can think of nothing better to celebrate the first winter spent in Asgard in too long. To have such music and song...yes, I agree so. Let anyone who wishes to share their creation come forth, or those who, as you said, might remind us of triumphs over adversity when the light is farthest from us. Oh, yes, Loki, yes!" How endearing: the Princess //does// have dimples when she smiles hard enough.

Loki has posed:
"Exactly. I should not be the /only/ source of music and culture around Asgard," Loki says loftily, as if he were personally responsible for the entirety of the current arts of Asgard, and woe, the burden is a heavy one for the master of arts to bear. Yet he bears it with such dignity and /humility/.

"Perhaps a contest, I was considering. Or challenges. A good game," Loki adds, sleekly. Loki's games are often.... problematic for others. Since it's Loki. Some types of games aren't winnable, a fact which means that the purpose of the whole exercise was just entertainment for Loki. Whether he's thinking of that type of game or a more reasonable one? It isn't on his expression, though there's a catlike fierce quality there, one that is akin to a cat throwing a mouse up in the air just to observe how it lands in panic.

All of that is muted or hidden behind his sleek smile; he draws her hand in his towards him along the table, rubbing the soft swell of thumb along the side of her wrist.

Sif has posed:
Sif's dimples don't fade; she does lift an eyebrow at the refined peacocking of the mage, however, and reaches for her wine to sip at it. Why ruin the moment with a counter-tease about his pride? The Odinsons display it in leaps abounding as part of their charm.

"What of..." Her dulcet musing falls silent as she thinks, her eyes downfallen to her hand curled within Loki's own. Unconsciously, she mirrors the gentle sweeping of thumbpad along his own wrist in return. "I think a contest might be best. Many will participate, if simply for the laud a winner will receive before the court. You could offer a prize too, if you felt so inclined." Her eyes rise to his face. "Perhaps the Council of the Arts could provide judiciary presence when all is submitted for review?"

Loki has posed:
"/Perhaps/ they could judge," Loki says, giving her a side-eye as if deciding if it was intentionally a slight against his ability to judge an arts contest. There's a lofty little danger in that agreement, watching to see if she's relieved by his tentative agreement. Still, he doesn't linger over it, nor does he pin her to the wall with verbal knives.

"It /would/ rather be beneath me to both host /and/ judge a number of contests. I will delegate to them, it will make them feel important, to set up the contests as well," Loki decides, his pride assauged nicely. Loki, bored with his meal, looks pointedly over her. "Are you not famished from your adventure? Please partake, don't stand on ceremony just for me," Loki offers, eyes moving to the food she'd selected but not touched. "I cannot be /that/ much of a feast for your eyes," Loki comments, though his tone suggests he'd buy it if she admitted he was.

Sif has posed:
"You've had my hand held for a good amount of time since my arrival, my lord, and so I have been assuaging myself as such," replies the Princess smoothly as to his commentary. Her light eyes twinkle: touche. Still, with a squeeze and a plush smirk, she does retract her hand in order to serve herself up some of the duck and the vegetables.

"It is very diplomatic of you, Loki, to allow others to join in officiating your contest. I look forwards to seeing what comes of it. Who knows? I might submit a little tune myself should I find idle time as my muse." With impeccable manners on display, Sif gets to nibbling at her plated serving now.

Loki has posed:
"You can fight with one hand tied behind your back, can you not eat with but one?" Loki asks, as if shocked and liquidly disappointed in learning this information about her limits. How appalling, that she is so limited. He tut-tuts at her, with a cheeky smirk, drumming his now freed fingers on the tabletop, seeming to be entirely content to leave that hand idle while the other grasps his wine-glass to lift it to his lips.

"Diplomatic? I was going for regal, but I suppose it can be both," Loki grants her imperiously. He watches her cautious and princessly nibbling with a mix of amusement and judgment.

Sif has posed:
"I suppose I might blame my surroundings. Good company does encourage good manners, does it not? We are in no tavern," Sif notes as she continues working at her plate. She has her own airy amusement about the concept as a whole; Loki's teasing query about her prowess in battle highlights the delightful counterpart of her upbringing.

More wine is enjoyed and her poise mellows more yet. "And why not both? You are many things, Loki, but simple is not one of them -- and for this, I am most glad. I appreciate this greatly in you," she says, voice gone soft and fond, her smile at him equally so in the privacy of the room.

Loki has posed:
Loki laughs; it's both natural and cunning at the same time. "That's slippery and manipulative of you. I approve," Loki answers quickly, his eyes shining with a flinty, sharp quality, like the edge of a new blade. He moves his chair back a little, a slight recline to his posture as he observes her with the food, hands drawn in to weave fingers neatly across his slim abdomen. Her soft, fond tone reflects off his current keenly edged mood, but he doesn't move to lash back, just observes her, his lips playing with amusement only.

"It is well that you don't think I may have become lax during my new... 'altruism' path that I'm inhabiting at the moment," Loki snorts.

Sif has posed:
Her knife and fork pause in working free more sumptuous dark meat from the slice of duck on her plate. They gracefully cross, an unconscious maneuver on her part learned long ago, as Sif considers her beau right back.

"I do not think you will ever become lax. If anything, I hope you trust in the knowledge that I do appreciate you for who you are and for what you have done for Asgard."

Cutlery is set aside as she then reaches out and offers her hand palm-up yet again to him. "And for me," the Princess continues with an earnest gravity.

Loki has posed:
"Pray tell," Loki says, dangling the word like a little carrot, "What have I done for you that you particularly found noteworthy?" Loki says, interested. He settles with a small scooch in the chair, and gives her his FULL attention: evidently he is prepared to be extolled with his virtues and generosities.

Loki's hands open, giving her the full 'stage' to describe things as she may wish to. He's there to absorb compliments, of course. Or perhaps he's just playing: the mischief is there, just in the curl to his fingers as he watches her, smile subtle, eyes hooded.

As Sif describes the various positive feats, Loki begins a little play of various illusions around him to illustrate how amazing he is. This ... could go on a /while/...