10540/Eve of Mischief

Eve of Mischief
Date of Scene:	25 December 2019
Location:	Cunningham Manor, South Shore
Synopsis:	Sif encounters a Loki, and seeks to entertain with ice-skating.
Cast of Characters:	Loki, Sif

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Loki has posed:
"I.... am //bored//," Loki informs Sif from where he's laying to the side.

Loki was not there a moment before, laying on his back on her bed, one arm partially dangling off of it in reckless abandon. Or maybe he WAS there, but was invisible. It might not matter; he's there now, and airing his grievances with the world.

A bored Loki is one of the most dangerous things the world can suffer. It is the warning shot of massive proportions, and a choice: does she entertain the trickster god, or does she allow him out into the world in that state?

Sif has posed:
Sif's reflection looks up at the mage's sudden appearance on her master bed. Her fingers, involved in plaiting her long lustrously-dark hair, pause. Rotating her seating in the darkwood chair set before the bureau and its ovaloid oversized mirror, she gives Loki a small, knowing smile.

"And what a state to find oneself in," commiscerates the Aesir warrior as she goes back to braiding her hair. It hangs in a rope down the left side of her chest. She currently wears a comfortably-fitted silk tunic with sash tied about her waist, its color a glossy evergreen, overtop a thermal long-sleeved shirt white as fallen snow. Her tights, tucked into knee-high boots, are a deeper burgundy-red. She's decidedly festive by coloration, at least, though understated at best. "There are a good number of trifling things to be done around the manor, Loki. I've promised my staff a batch of slow-cooked eggnog, for one. There is a last present I neglected to wrap and have just remembered." A short sigh for this. "I have also been wondering at whether or not the tennis court, if flooded over by hose water, would make a sufficient ice skating rink." She glances over at the balcony doors, as if she could ascertain by this alone.

Loki has posed:
Loki closed his eyes, giving himself over to his bored state, perhaps. The calm before the potential storm. Loki rolls his eyes and looks over at her as she mentions 'trifling things'. "I am not a servant," Loki says, a scoff in his tone. What, does she expect him to do things like making drinks or tending to presents? She must be confusing him for the help.

Still, though, Loki follows her gaze towards the window, and says serenely, "/That/, however, I could do. A pity I don't have those weather orbs anymore, the whole of the area could be encased in frozen ice, like a snow-globe," Loki comments, as if that might be a good time.

Sif has posed:
In a steady pattern, the braid comes closer to being completed, down to its ink-brush end. Sif shifts to bring a leg to cross overtop the other. Her boot-toe idly bounces a rhythm in empty air to a song only she can hear. It means sitting up a little higher yet in her chair, but at least the poised straightening of her back brings her into a comely light.

"Perhaps let us start with the tennis court? If it seems like the enjoyment might be extended beyond its boundaries, we'll entertain the other option?" There we go, braid done. Plucking a length of leather from the bureau's countertop, she deftly ties off the hair and then allows the braid to fall back behind her shoulder. "Here, come, Loki." Rising to her feet, Sif then walks over and stops to lean down overtop the mage's reclining form. Her smile stops an inch before his own lips. "Let us indulge in an old pasttime, hmm? I bet that I am still the more accomplished skater of the two of us."

He gets a quick peck on the lips before the Vanir Princess then turns to go collect a long winter coat, lined and long enough to fall to her knees -- and, surprisingly enough, a pair of ice skates from the very back of her closet.

Loki has posed:
At first, the bored mage is showing irritation. Loki is being difficult in order to just cause problems for his own entertainment, quite possibly. That's where boredom comes into being dangerous with Loki: it stems into being aggressive very quickly.

"You want to skate around on a frozen tennis court," Loki repeats, as if she weren't really offering him something that was good enough. There's still rebellion on his face as she leans in close, though he started to be receptive to a potential kiss, eyes narrowing just a little.

The peck is returned, though it doesn't last, as he'd prefer. When she instead pulls away and offers a challenge, well. Loki mulls over how he feels about that, watching her from where he is, though he did roll to lay on his side instead. He's dressed in muggle-wear: all blacks, with a long fuzzy black woollen overcoat. That is, the coat materializes as he moves sleekly to his feet and puts his hands in the pockets. His long black hair is loose and down, sleek raven-feather glossy to the shoulder.

"When is the last time you skated, that makes you so confident?"

Sif has posed:
"Not so long ago." The brunette's melodious voice precedes her as she appears in her own winter coat, a thing in subdued steel-grey but for the creamy fluffing of fur about the collar and deep hood. "I believe the...mid-1800s, if memory serves me correctly. I was spending time in Sweden and could not resist the lure of one of the forest lakes. It was akin to skating upon a mirror and very charming," Sif shares with her beau as she sweeps by him. The half-lidding of her pale eyes and subtle smirk invites him to follow. "I did not fall once."

Opening the balcony doors, she then steps out and towards the half-moon curve of steps leading down onto the paved spread of the back deck on the base floor of the manor. The grass is already twinkling with frost and her breath shows pale in the air. "Come along, Loki, it will be fun!" A very girlish note has crept into her voice somehow, full of repressed excitement.

Loki has posed:
Loki rolls his eyes some, but the slight smirk that flashes is an instant of warning that he's about to do something. And then he does it. There's a shapeshift, quick and easy, as the mage flips forms, into that of a black owl. With that, he's winging over above her, a black arrow of silent feathered wings that glides out: well ahead of her.

The Loki owl alights on the edge of a gate near the tennis courts, well within her reach when she manages to catch up with him. His eyes are massive, reflective, and a pale green. And still wear the expression, somehow, of being somewhat judgmental of the fun level.

Sif has posed:
With his sharp owl ears, Loki won't miss the faint chuckle from the Princess. She makes her way across the expanse of lawn at a more sedate pace than his brisk winging, her boots softly bending the crispy grass and leaving behind darker footprints as proof of her passing. Her ice skates are slung over her wrist by their tied laces and the metal blades gleam fitfully in the dispersed glow of city-light.

She reaches the fence and its gate, attended by the dusky-dark owl with his spectacularly-contrasting eyes. Then, leaning in again, Sif bestows a kiss upon his feathery forehead. "Loki, would you rather work your wiles upon the court or shall I fetch the hose? I admit, I prefer seeing your prowess in action," Sif admits, giving him a smile now as she stands there, gloved hands rested atop one another at her waist.

Loki has posed:
Loki mulls over if she's been suitably nice enough to him to deserve the request, his giant owl eyes examining her, gleaming with the light from the home. With a small burst of motion he flares his wings, waggles his tailfeathers just a little, and hops off the fence, immediately returning to his own form in the same motion.

"I am /far/ better than a /hose/," Loki informs her, affronted, but then focuses, dropping his palms low and out to each side, taking a breath. The cold air of the area draws in, swirls of chilly, sharp air pull towards the mage. They turn to spirals of condensed frost, as he manipulates the magic of the environment.

A circle of magic appears around his feet, a spinning wheel of blue, while he walks forwards, taking the circle with him to the court. With a flex of body, left hand then right hand move out and up, elegant as he casts: first a blast of water, that sloshes forth like a tidepool on the ground. The first hand smooths the water, then a second hand comes in, fingers curling like talons, drawing forth freezing air, then curling into a fist.

As the fingers suddenly tighten into that fist, the whole of the water freezes hard. A lash of cold magic circulates, spinning outwards. Loki looks self-importantly at Sif. "Your frozen surface, my lady."

The frozen area glitters with sparks of magic that flutter up from it, curling in swirls of snowflakes and frozen air, here and there amidst the strange magical 'lake'.

Sif has posed:
A little dip of Sif's chin nods agreement with his thoughts on matters. She does her best to keep amusement from her face and succeeds, all the better to not prickle the mage's pride. "This is an irrefutable truth, Loki," she murmurs, her voice pitched low as to not distract him once she realizes he's begun his casting. Rather, the Aesir warrior stands motionless in the cold, still air of the winter evening and watches.

There were plans to sit on the nearby bench within the confines of the low fencing and slip on her skates, but Sif is decidedly enamored with the visuality of the magic on display. Her breath leaves her in a little huffing sigh, almost stolen from her lips in shock as the temperature sways within the bounds of the backyard itself. What he creates is a veritable winter wonderland -- and it far surpasses anything a hose might have been able to accomplish.

"My lord, it is a thing of magnificence," Sif calls to him even as she's hastily working on tying the second skate into place. She hadn't lied: her motions have the confidence of long-practice and far sooner than later, she's gliding towards him as if she were on air rather than on ice. A lazy circling around him completes the paired lines of ice marked by the blades and Sif then stops brazenly close to him, enough so that her gloved hands gently curl into the lapels of his dark coat.

There's the kiss he was wanting earlier, its temperature in stark reversal to their surroundings, misted in rising flecks of stardust and frost. Sif breaks it to smile fondly up at him. "You do indulge me so, my lord, and I am pleased for it."

Loki has posed:
Loki may not have skates on, but he doesn't really need them. He's created the magical place she is skating on, and it bends to his will even so, while he is present. Cold magic in particular he has affinity to, and the place hardly feels odd or slippery to him. He's a veritable Elsa in his element: the cold never bothers him.

"It is a minor feat," Loki answers with a slight toss of his head. He's diffcult to read; when he wants to, Loki's lies are perfect. And he's in the mood to be a twisted, difficult character. Woe to her, that does care for him.

"I expect some spins," Loki says, drawing both of his arms out in a mock low bow, as if showing her how to end a particular skating move. He slides backwards from her grip, his smile sleek and tempting, drawing the other up, and flips around, a spin of heel on the ice, and smirks at her. And he's not even wearing skates.

Sif has posed:
As the mage slides effortlessly backwards from her -- sans skates, no less -- Sif loosely folds her arms and lifts one foot to rest the very tip of her skate upon the ice itself. It's a pert little stance in amused challenge, complete with a quiet taptap of one finger upon her bicep.

"Spins, is it? Of course, my lord." She feigns a curtsey with the hems of the coat pinched. Her eyes never leave his even as she bends at the waist. They flash even as she pushes back and into a lazy scratch-spin. With other leg crossed before the planted skate, Sif slowly draws her arms inwards to accelerate the tight spin into something nearly on a dime. The very tight backwards inside edge of her turn opens up into a broad glide away, her arms back as if she were set to take off into the air.

Then she curls into another languid spin, something akin to a donut, with the back skate pulled up and lifted to create a crescent moon of her body on the horizontal. All the while, she appears to be humming to herself, and her braid banners behind her with light weight.

Loki has posed:
"Yes, I said spins," Loki determines, his smile mercurial, and a mix of a smirk and an actual smile. He remains standing on the ice, with a better-than-thou expression often found on the faces of teenage boys dragged along to activities they find mildly embarrassing.

Still, she's having a good time, and Loki's often in the mood to show off, when the audience is one whose opinion he cares about. So Sif can count herself among those of opinions that matter: which is generally high in Loki's esteem (so long as it isn't ALSO a category of someone he's torturing for his amusement, that is).

Shapes of illusion come up out of the ice: skittering silver koi fish leap from below the surface in shimmering gliding shapes around her skates, and go swirling off in front of her. Tides of immaterial water flux out from where Loki is, as the fish and mystical sea life join her in curling dances of motion, only to melt away into the snowflakes as they reach the apex of each leap.

Sif has posed:
Slipping smoothly from the half-moon curl into something more appropriate to the barre and a ballet studio, Sif can't help the laugh as she holds the gliding arabesque form. How joyfully the argent scales of the koi-fish glitter. She dares to reach out as if to brush at them in passing with her fingertip, but they are but illusion. She's not dismayed, more amused in her understanding of their fleeting appearances, and brings her pathway to swing back and around the darkly-clad mage.

A little kick-turn and now, backwards, she orbits around Loki lazily again. Her braid flickers off her coat and she's wearing a vixen's grin as she arcs around in front of him. "Your illlusions are masterful as always, my lord." At this point, the Princess's cheeks are pinked from the cold and enjoyment both.

Loki has posed:
The vision of Loki, centralized, melts into flecks of snow and illusion, as Loki had moved, to slide along out to the other side of her, on a smooth course that way. Just to mess with her, maybe. Which one is actually illusion? Did Loki even move?

"No need for compliments," Loki assures her serenely, as if it were big of him to decline those. In a way, it is: Loki is a compliment sponge, that never has much problem soaking them up. He must be up to something.

The koi fish, shimmering, continue to move around her feet, urging an elaborate path alongside where Loki is. He continues to paint the landscape: a snowy bridge that isn't there materializes, a central point of focus of the 'scene', then other dancers, just shapes of wisps of bodies that swirl and spin around them, as if they were amidst a number of ice skating ghosts of some other realm, that had no idea they were even there. Loki moves near his 'bridge', standing upon it: it seems to be no illusion after all, but a real thing, formed of the ice itself.

Sif has posed:
His sly shift in placement, or in illusion -- or even in both, such madness! -- earns Loki an outright chuckle from the brunette still committed to completing her reversed circle about where he once stood. Now the air there is empty and filled with glittering diadems of ice -- or is it? Something for Sif to muse over even as the diamond-glossed koi-fish seem to urge her in the direction of the mage.

Again, with a swallow's grace of turn, she skates through the forest of incorporeal bodies made of phantoms in the perpheral and tricks of the eye in briefly coalescing snow. Her stop at the base of the bridge schuffs up a small wave of ice-shavings and then, with some measure of continued grace, she steps up it and up to Loki. Unafraid to linger in his personal space, Sif remains close enough that a lean of her head might rest her temple alongside his chin. Molding the rest of her body against the taller mage seems only natural to follow, her hands tucked into her pockets still.

"Compliments are appropriate when the moment inspires them," murmurs she, smiling to herself quietly.

Loki has posed:
"Your skating prowess is entirely reasonable in quality," Loki snarkily answers her. But he's just being peevish. To some degree he recognizes it, snickers broadly, and then turns towards her, drawing an arm around her waist as she tucks her body so pleasantly against his side there. He's warm, the flutter of his hair against her cheek is lightly warm despite being flecked with illusory snow.

Loki also puts one of his hands into her pocket, atop her hand, long fingers brushing over and between her fingers. His sleek smile isn't so leering anymore, as he turns his head towards her with a brush of lips to her nose. "You fit in well amongst my finest winter display," Loki tells her, with the full appearance of honesty. Though with Loki? Who really can know for certain.

Sif has posed:
Drawing her hand up and out of her coat pocket, Sif then brings the captured fingers of the Asgardian mage up to her lips. A small kiss purls upon his bent knuckle and lingers before she tucks their interlaced hands up beneath her own chin. This is hers now, it says silently.

"I would hazard to say we are a fine matching pair in this place." Her words are breathy little spates of warmth caught up in the space between them, what small amount there is. Sif upturns her face towards his, content to look into those fascinatingly-green eyes. "And what is this...?"

She looks between his eyes now. "I daresay you might be having fun." A cheeky little rosebud pucker of a smile follows, as if she can't help its appearance.

Loki has posed:
"I appreciate that //you// are having fun," Loki answers aloofly, as if unwilling to admit he might be having any amount of fun with this frozen 'lake' idea. He looks around slowly, then brings his gaze back to her, and her possession of his hand. His thumb draws out and teases her chin.

"Which is good enough," Loki admits, smirk appearing, but it isn't a nasty expression. Perhaps in this day Sif has saved many lives from the potential entertainment the mage may otherwise have sought.

Sif's a hero. ...and ended up with Loki by her side. Heroic actions indeed.