9141/Asgard's Requiem: Damn it Loki

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Asgard's Requiem: Damn it Loki
Date of Scene: 10 September 2019
Location: Sanctum Santorum - Base Floor
Synopsis: Sif seeks Thor... and finds him in Loki's care at the Sanctum.
Cast of Characters: Sif, Loki, Thor
Tinyplot: Asgard's Requiem


Sif has posed:
Quoth the raven evermore, "...Loki's up to something." -- in more words or less, and in far more refined language, no doubt, given Hela sent the birds on the wings and wind to her Valkyrior. One reached the Princess of Vanaheim and it's in Greenwich Village she arrives with the blink of an eye. Teleportation is so very useful sometimes within the world itself; otherwise, the Bifrost crosses immense distances throughout the World Tree.

The late of night has fallen on the neighborhood. Very few people are out and about, and anyone loitering is probably either high or coming home from a late shift at work. Overhead streetlights gleam on silver armor and the scabbard of her sword as Sif walks the short distance from her point to arrival and to the front steps of the Sanctum. Her eyes slowly rise to its roof and pan across its front, wondering silently just what it contains now -- now, as opposed to before its current Sorcerer took up residence.

With soft steps, she mounts the stairs and then raps on the front door imperiously. Sif doesn't dent the door, but there's a demanding aspect to the five knocks. Straight-spined, her chin lifted, she then sets back to one heel, her hand resting on the pommel of her sword in long-habit.

Loki has posed:
The huge, regal doors open broadly, with no one apparently present to have done so. They are also far too ancient looking to be automated by technology: the place scents of magic.

"Lady Sif, what an unexpected pleasure," sounds the silver tongued voice of Loki, resounding through the foyer of the exotic Sanctum. The magical power of the place has a slight reverb. "/Do/ enter at your leisure."

Still, Loki isn't visible: the sanctum itself is speaking, though it may feel that Loki "feels" to be upstairs, or the voice came from there, perhaps he is just out of sight.

Should she join that voice upstairs, the doors of the Sanctum slowly close, with a finality that is not very subtle.

Sif has posed:
It is a display, seeing the great darkwood doors slide open without a butler on the inside to enable the movement. Sif blinks, her expression open in momentary surprise, and then it closes down to stoicism, her lips pursing. This is demonstrably Loki-like behavior, the grandiose elements of magic on display. With little apparent fear, the Warrior crosses the boundary into the Sanctum itself.

The air inside is crisp to her senses, almost as if wintermint were to become a physical aspect of touch, and she looks around with practiced care to track where the voice supposedly emanates from.

Up the Grand Staircase she travels in silence. The woman rarely speaks; in fact, it would be a hard tie as to who is LESS verbose, she or Hogun. Bootsteps lead her to at least the hallway just off the second floor landing and she looks about. Fingernails drum on the metal of her sword's scabbard.

"I have entered, Prince Loki. Am I to be received here or elsewhere?" she asks the empty air of the grand brownstone.

Loki has posed:
"I did not expect you; grant me a few moments to prepare for your arrival, won't you?" teases Loki from directly behind and to her left, after she's come up the stairs. He's just to her peripheral vision, materialized there while she was looking about the other way.

Loki's dressed comfortably regal: no armor, though there's a mix of leather in his garb. This is his preferred attire from walking Asgard, this beautifully tailored and lightweight mix of fabric. It mainly features a long with extensive golden embroidery along the sleeve-caps, worn over an open-throated poet shirt of black. It's deliberately handsome, particularly with the shampoo-commercial way he's draped his dark hair mostly on one shoulder.

Sif has posed:
The flutter of magical appearance in her side vision has Sif turning to face the Prince. Smooth, the rotation, and it sets the lustrous veil of her night-black hair to falling forwards rather than contained entirely behind her slim argent pauldrons. Very subtly, she loosens her grip on her sword -- a knee-jerk reaction long-drilled into her during her centuries of time spent with the Valkyrie. With what appears to be utter sangfroid, her eyes travel from his face and to his feet and back. Then, facing him completely, the Princess inclines her chin as one royal might to another.

"Well met, Prince Loki. You appear in good health." Her glacially-blue eyes meet and hold his own without fear. "I will be blunt. I received word you had taken on the mantle of Migard's Sorcerer Supreme. Is this true?" Her carriage is flawless, the Princess of Vanaheim, and her beauty in contrast to his own is more sharp, like a blade.

Loki has posed:
"It would appear so," Loki counters in his slippery way, as if that were slightly funny to him to say in that manner. Still, he'd rarely show weakness to anyone, so this may just be his way of being amused at her reacting to an illusion of him, as if it were in some way going to reveal much of anything.

"I currently hold the position, as the previous Sorceror has stepped down, due to his inability to provide proper service," Loki replies. There's nothing in his tone that is anything other than informational, but his words carry his personal flair for the dramatic. "As it is quite a /scandal/ I have lessened the blow to him as much as I was able, easing other mages into the change." Meaning, Loki hasn't been very up-front about it.

Sif has posed:
Again, the woman settles into a stance still unconsciously ready to come to blows. It's no sleight on Loki, not in the least, merely long-habit to set one booted heel behind the meridian of the other.

"I see. It could be seen as a disservice to Midgard, to lose one of their own in the position of honor. I hope you have not come to blows over the ascension with the other mages in your efforts to remain completely translucent." A muted tone of irony laces the last thought in particular. "It would be difficult if the Midgardians found fault in the transition of titles. We, as Asgardians, have been on good terms with them for centuries."

Sif does look away from the Trickster God to the Sanctum itself, idly curious despite herself. "Where might I find the foregone Sorcerer Supreme of Midgard?" Her eyes flick back to him again.

Loki has posed:
"Blows? Hardly," Loki says, with a scoff in his tone. "Please, I would expect you would know me better than to suggest I'd jump to /violence/," Loki says in his slippery, yet extremely convincing manner. She, of course, may recognize the tone: doesn't mean one is immune to it. Thor sure isn't.

"Besides, I do hope he will become worthy again very soon, for I expect to have other duties. I do not hold this mantle with any lengthy duration in mind." Loki adjusts his position at the bannister, and then gestures, "Would you like to be seated? There is a comfortable den and study."

"Mmmm, I believe he is practicing medicine for beasts nearby. I don't have an address, I have had other matters than to be seen as following the /poor/ fellow about."

Sif has posed:
The tone is recognized, given these two have known each other in spans of time inestimable by mundane Midgardian standards. Her solemn expression breaks in the minute lift of one dark brow and the twitch of pursed rose-pink lips. To hear of where the previous Sorcerer Supreme is roughly located is a relief to a mind such as Sif's -- it gives her hunt-and-peck search throughout the city at least someplace to start, even as vague as 'medicine for beasts'.

"Other duties? Other matters than being certain the man is still alive? In order to avoid suspicion being cast upon yourself?" Though Sif is certain to add, belatedly, "Thank you, your highness, but I am comfortable standing at this time."

Loki has posed:
"Yes, other matters that are far more important," Loki says, with a smile in his tone that's likely both uncomfortable but also designed to provoke curiosity. After all, what could it be that Loki is so self-satisfied about? It could be a new horror of an idea: and that is, indeed, probably more important. Even if it's important because it may be necessary to try to stop him or draw him away from what he's doing!

"My duty is first and /formost/ to Asgard," Loki states. "Perhaps you want a glimpse of my project? So long as you are also prepared to offer your apologies for doubting my priorities."

Sif has posed:
"Your priority will ever be Asgard, this I know, but your own personal comfort takes a close precedent," Sif replies evenly. "And resonably so, for how can you guard your people if you are otherwise engaged with defending yourself? Ever have the Princes been bold in vouchsafing the throne of Asgard."

Another scan about the second floor ends with the Warrior giving the stained-glass window above the Grand Staircase a lingering second of appreciation. She recognizes the godly symbol though she would never call Agamotto her own deity. "Of course I am curious. By all means, show me your good work. Lead on," and she gestures with a fluid motion of her hand towards Loki, as if he might take it in turn and act the gentleman to visiting royalty.

Loki has posed:
Loki flashes a smile, dissolving...

No, the whole of the staircase dissolved, including Loki. And the wall, and everything else, as the power of the magic in the Sanctum rearranges for her as Loki teleports them elsewhere. Using magic in the sanctum is easy, trivial, really, for the Supreme. It's made to be that.

Yet there's an odd sensation, too: the magic is a little strained, a little cloudy: like a window that is fogged with breath. Then things clear up.

The room is a beautiful magical solarium: meaning the ceiling is a mighty display of the galaxy: stars, planets. In the center is a huge floating orb. Midgard, clearly.

Loki appears not long after, materializing. He gestures over the orb, and illusion seems to fall away, leaving a vision of the Ragnarok-wrecked Asgard. It's a horror of death and loss, suddenly.

Sif has posed:
Despite her professed choice to take up sword rather than magical scepter, Sif can sense the discordancy in the aura within the Sanctum as reality around her rearranges itself according to its current master's whims. Inhaling slowly, she releases her breath slowly as the newfound space comes into crystalline clarity and being around them both. Her eyes wander to the ceiling in its celestial splendor and despite herself, the corners of the Warrior's lips rise in a rare moonbeam of a smile. The finesse of well-learned magic never ceases to amaze her.

Loki's appearance has the expression vanishing, as if she might have been caught reaching for the cookie jar, and she quizzically looks back towards the blue-and-green planet on display. A hand rises unbidden to her lips at seeing the remnants of the place she once knew as Asgard.

"...it pains me, to see it," she admits in a whisper, her fist now resting above her sternum as if to salute a fallen comrade.

Loki has posed:
The globe in the center, with the rifts of lava and destruction, is certainly a horror to look upon. "I know," Loki says, simply, looking at the planet vision as well. His slippery smile drops away from his mouth and eyes, as he actually takes a look at it, for exactly what it means, what it is.

Loki hadn't really taken it in, not for a while. Sif's eyes are probably on the globe itself, not the prince: so it's safe enough to allow a real reaction to be exposed. He felt the loss as strongly as every Asgardian.

Still, he comes out of it, and spins his hands towards the globe, causing it to spin, rotation. Across Asgard, the thing begins to play in reverse, as if he were reeling it back towards when it was in full bounty. Grass returns, fire pulls away as cracks seal back up...

Sif has posed:
Sif is enthralled with the destruction on display. It took such a cosmic force to bring the world to ruin and it's like a train wreck: she can't look away, her brows knitted in an equally-bared display of grief. However, motion to her side has the Princess pulling her attention away from the dreadful magnetism of the fire-baked sphere if only to see what it is. Loki's hands entice the mystical display to spin and...

A step towards the blossoming greenery and healing fissures is silent if no less elegantly hopeful. Sif's fist remains at her chest, the other hand clutched about the grip of her sword, her lips parted. Halting herself a safe distance yet from the centralized orb, she then gives Loki a wide-eyed look.

"You can return Asgard to its former glory...? This is what you intend to do, as Sorcerer Supreme of Midgard?"

Loki has posed:
Asgard starts to reform, pulling backwards in time. It's not a long process, it's fairly quick, the little show. But then it stalls out, it slows and stops, before actually reeling all the way back. Most of the huge torn sections haven't happened yet, the bulk of the destruction yet to happen. The buildings still stand, land back to green and beautiful pavements of marble and huge structures of might are battered, but yet to have collapsed...

"Intend? No. This," Loki gestures at it, "is my project's /current/ status. There is more to do, as you can tell," Loki says, with a deep pride and satisfaction in his tone. "I do not just plan it. I'm /doing/ it." His jade eyes flare with his echoed smile.

For the moment, there's no need to be snide or awful or any number of things Loki often wears as defense. He did do this, he actually is showing proof of potential that perhaps only Thor believes could be there in him. For the moment, it's there.

Sif has posed:
Her lips purled in surprise, Sif looks again between the Trickster God and the Asgard on display. Truly, talk about your fixer-upper, but she can see the potential hanging as clearly as Damocles' blade. The world itself has the chance to fully regain its verdant beauty and impossibly architecture -- buildings she had known since childhood, halls and gardens she had walked not but a century ago.

"Do you know if it is possible for Heimdell to send us there now? To walk upon the land and see beyond your sorcerous viewing?" she asks, a breathless note in her voice. "Does your brother know of this? Thor must know?"

Loki has posed:
"It's possible. /I/ can send you there, as well," Loki says, shrugging, "but I'd suggest you ask Heimdall, so you're sure it's not a trick," he laughs. It's somewhat annoyed, that laugh, but not unrealistic. He knows how skeptical sif must be.

"My brother knows. So does Hela. They're lending their support. I'd /appreciate/ you not spreading it all over yet: should something explode, it would be hard to let everyone down," Loki adds.

"The cost is very high, but worry not about it. It's my duty to shoulder it for my people," Loki says, grandly. He's enjoying this position, but there's no direct lie in his voice, either.

Sif has posed:
While she doesn't join Loki in his amusement at the quandry of a Trickster God offering proof of a job half-completed, she does allow herself the ghost of a wry smile at the mention of the most watchful of Asgardians. Looking away from him, her lips then thin -- does Hela support this endeavor? The ravens seemed to indicate a distrust, minor as it may appear. An itch to begin her hunt makes her shift in place, weight from one side to the other in her boots. Ambient sorcerous light winks off her armor.

"I do not intend to spread hope if you yourself are uncertain of the results. I wonder though, Loki." No royal title used this time and Sif gives him a searching look. "I would know the cost of this effort. Do not think me irreverant or mocking of your work, this is..."

Her voice fades into silence. The sight of an Asgard partially-bloomed wrenches at her heart. "Our people would know home again," she then continues as her eyes take in the World revolving against the imaginary vastness of a twinkling universe, her tone unusually soft and wistful.

Loki has posed:
"It's taking a lot of power and energy resources," Loki says, airily, as if it wasn't that big of a deal. "Some overpowered relics are giving up their lives, such as it were, for a noble cause." Loki takes in the change in use of his name, and watches her with a direct, straight stare for what might be an uncomfortably long beat.

"I would say... what I'm doing should never be attempted by any lesser mage," Loki admits, stuffy. He then releases a 'khhh' sound, rolls his eyes, and revokes the illusion covering his left arm.

It's pretty brutal looking, with the bandage on it, and long streaks of blood showing through down the wrist. A few fingers are exposed despite being damaged: presumably for casting, despite the well-wrapped palm.

"Obviously it's worth the minor discomfort," Loki says. It looks more like horribly painful, suggested by the way his fingers are curved a bit unnaturally.

Why did he show her? Possibly to impress upon her that it's serious.

Sif has posed:
His brief pointed gaze is met and held, a quiet parry in glacial-blue hues. Sif waits patiently to see what her question entices from the Asgardian mage beyond a momentary mild hackling. The plight of magical artifacts brings on a narrowing of her regard of him, if only because she doubts they were offered up in sacrifice for his efforts -- but then again, the Warrior could be wrong. The only certainty with Loki is his uncertainty, in her experience.

However, the Princess of Vanaheim, with her cool reserve, isn't unmoved by painful damage accrued. Her lips part in silent surprise and she frowns to see the injury wrought from fingertip and up away, hidden beneath the sleeves of his poet shirt and embroided clothing.

"You twist your words even now, Loki. Minor discomfort? Hsst. Whomever bandaged your hands did well, but not well enough." She steps towards him now and her own hands lift, palms up, as if she might silently ask him to further show his state without words. "Can you not pause in your work to allow yourself time to heal? To breathe? We are made of stern stuff, this I know well, but there is time." Stopping before him, Sif searches his face as if she could see more beyond the illusionary wall Loki puts forth. She can't, of course, but the impression is aided by long-knowing the Trickster God. "Your brother could bring you aid, perhaps? Where may I find him?"

Loki has posed:
Loki fans his hand as if fanning her worries away, the illusion returning. Not even the mild tremors of his hands show: he's got beautifully realistic illusion when he sets his mind to it. He makes up his own reality, and the Sanctum has only improved the ease of it while he's the master of it's power.

"Twist? Hardly a twist: merely being kind, so as to not worry you, dear Sif," Loki replies, tone silvery and gentle.

Then, though, she pushes on the Thor issue. Loki's expression locks up some, like a vault. It's such a subtle change, but Sif has known Loki a long time. When Loki locks up, he smiles a little bit more, just a hair, and generally moves, to distract. He does that now, he prowls towards the vision of their home, eyes panning over it, then to her.

"He did bring aid. It's my turn, now."

Sif has posed:
For his comforting words and dismissal of his state, Loki earns himself another knowing look. Mulishness and pride run thick in the blood of the Odinsons, even if this one might not claim parentage.

"I mean aid in terms of elixirs, balms, sturdier bandaging to ease your discomfort in your time of effort," the Princess explains even if it seems redundant to do so. She arches an eyebrow before looking beyond him, to the sphere of a World she once knew well. "Your avoidance of answering where I may find your brother does not settle me." Turning to fully face him now, he who paces like a panther bereft of his limb, Sif opens her palms out at her sides again.

"But I do not mean you harm, Loki, not in any manner. Trust me," the raven-haired woman asks again, her wintry-blue eyes softening at him in a rare outward showing of empathetic understanding. Indeed, she's known him a long time.

Loki has posed:
Loki turned his body mostly away from her, but when she attempts to show him empathy, he looks over his shoulder at her, with his eyes slightly narrowed. Loki, prince of lies, is always distrustful. It's that he doesn't usually wear that distrust in a place someone can sense it from. He actually rolls his eyes at her empathy, a smirk sliding into place, but it's all just defensiveness. Loki and his need to always dodge, even if it isn't necessary. Loki of always having an escape.

"Do you trust /me/, though?" Loki parries, eyes back to the project, though he allows the illusion to drop this time. Maintaining it isn't really necessary now.

It reveals the damage is all over the place, including some blood vessel problems in his left eye. For an Asgardian, that's some heavy magical impact.

Sif has posed:
"Hsssst." Sif faced with the full visual brunt of the damage taken sounds like an annoyed cat. Her variant of post-incident nursing is apparently to glower someone into finding a bandaid, though the meeting of brows smoothes away with long-practice into a mask of poignant patience.

"Do you hear yourself? I am in your current abode without a single enchantment on myself against your wiles. Not once have you moved to threaten me, nor have I you. I have offered you aid as well as accepted your word that you have done no harm. And: -- "

The Valkyrie holds up an imperious finger. "Not once have I brought up your attempt to 'fix' my hair. Though, now that I have, I must thank you for it. What gloom it once brought me has changed in the centuries since passed. I find myself enamored of it now." A shrug of her head and shoulder brings it to fall in its lustrous waves down behind her back again. "Name to me another woman of blood and bearing who would spare you the agony of revenge over such a thing as this."

Her point she comes to and repeats with gentle insistence, "Trust me."

Loki has posed:
Loki looks at her obliquely, as if he weren't buying any of it. It's one of his more obnoxious expressions, this flippant indifference. Teenagers employ it a lot to parents, usually just after or before an epic eyeroll.

"All right, all right, I'm convinced," Loki says, moving across the room a little to one of the comfortable armchairs, and seating himself. Normally he'd be more regal, this is a more pained and careful.

"Thor's here."

Sif has posed:
Following him at a polite distance, the Warrior-Princess then remains standing. Again she takes up her subtly readied stance and rests her palm on the pommel of her sword -- but only briefly. For all Loki intends to do his best to relax in the chair, his news appears to send a low-wattage of voltage up Sif's spine.

Maybe the Trickster God will relish the alertness to rush over her stance, in the lift of her chin and the intensity of spark suddenly found in her eyes, like sunlight off new-fallen snow. "You retain your long-winded, winding pathway to revelations," she comments lightly. "He is present within the Sanctum?" By the way her shoulder leads away by a mere centimeter, the Asgardian subtly telegraphs her interest in finding the blond and thunderous brother.

Loki has posed:
Loki does relish it. He watches her with his watchful manner, his green eyes glittering with the magical ambiance of the globe of Asgard not far from where he now sits. The chair is no throne, but it may as well be, with the prince's posture in it.

"Mmmhmmmm, yes," Loki answers. "He is recovering from our efforts on Asgard. Part of protecting him is to keep that secret. But I expect that you will, too. This is the safest place there could be." There's no lie in that, Loki clearly believes that to be the case, very apparently.

"And, I admit, easiest for /me/ to defend personally."

"Down the hall, last on the right," Loki says, in his imperial way.

Sif has posed:
Unable to contain her concern now, it leaks into Sif's expression to darken it. A curt nod of her head. "I shall return. I wish to avail myself of confirming his state." Which state this is, she doesn't elucidate, but the unspoken preference is alive at the very least. Rather, on her heel, she turns and walks in the direction Loki expressed. Leaving the solarium is to leave behind some of the wonder that comes of a masterful visual display of magic; the interior of the Sanctum remains not stagnant, but unsettled somehow to the edges of her senses. It's like the lightest brush of steel wool on skin.

Down the hall and the last door on the right. The Princess of Vanaheim yanks it open as if it would DARE defy her and, thankfully, none of the mechanisms or door itself is broken in the process.

"Thor?" Her voice, while not loud, is imperative in its summoning tone. She walks into the room, immediately scanning for the Asgardian's blond form.

Thor has posed:
    Standing in the room, facing one of the walls, and with a finger held up, a blonde mess of hair atop his head, the one eyed warrior-king has a finger pointed at the spine of a tome. Slowly turning his head to eye the source of the disturbance in his room, Thor's blue eye widens in surprise at the sight of Sif. He drops the blanket that had covered his shoulders and the giant of a man marches quickly to the raven haired goddess and sweeps her into a deep, primal sort of hug.

    The embrace of a century's weariness washes over and through Thor as he holds the woman. "I had no dreams Sif... None." He whispers as though telling her a secret warning.

Loki has posed:
Loki only gave Sif an elusive shrug when she declares that she's going. He expected as much, and telling her where Thor was also served as awareness that yes, she'd go stomping off immediately. Loki doesn't follow her, but if the group thinks they're not being observed, that would indeed be folly.

For now, Loki's not visible.

Sif has posed:
Admittedly, Sif stutters in her return-hug for a second, perhaps taken aback at the amount of vulnerability on display. There are warrior-sidehugs, there are forearm-grasps, but this? This is something she hasn't seen in some time. Still, her arms curl about him and the embrace is warm, firm, an attempt to soothe even as she whispers back,

"That is an uncomfortable deep sleep, Thor. We will speak of it in time." And more privacy, the Warrior Goddess seems to imply. Pulling away from him, her glacially-blue eyes search his face. In a conversational volume, she adds, "Your brother is present here. Do you wish to speak to him? I spoke with him not minutes ago. He had much news for me." Her tone impresses the severity of the situation at hand as well as tests Thor to see just how much he knows -- or is out of the loop.

Thor has posed:
    "I very much do." Thor replies to Sif as the hug is quickly forgotten by the blond god and his fists clench, the sound of his skin grinding against his palms is almost audible, his muscles tighten in his arms. As though Thor prepares to punch his problems into submission again. "Loki. I am no fool, come out this instant." Thor demands, his voice booming and reverbrating what feels like the whole wing of the house.

Loki has posed:
"So demanding," Loki observes as he melts into visiblilty not more than a few yards to the side, in the room with them. It's a beautiful creep of magic in purples and blues that reveals down his body like a wash of watercolor to manifest Loki. He doesn't look injured. That's the illusion talking.

"How are you feeling, brother? The progress was excellent, I'm glad to report. The restoration is stable, and holding."

Sif has posed:
It's with a silent side-step and the return of a hand to rest upon the pommel of her sword that Sif stands now. She's erred on the closer distance to the elder of the two Odinsons, if again, not in insult to Loki but out of long habit. After all, she's one of the Warriors Three to Thor's lengthy history of battle escapades.

With her composure solemn and attentive, she glances between the two Asgardian royals. Having nothing to say currently doesn't mean her thoughts remain still behind her closed lips and bright eyes.

Thor has posed:
    "Ah, Loki, brother." Thor begins and lifts his hand to drop it heavily on Loki's shoulder. "How goes the reconstruction of our home? I feel such shame and regret for having to halt and rest. Some great drain was upon my form." The blond marble statue of a man says. He tries to lead Loki out of the room and back down the hall towards the area he recalls working on the project from so long ago.

Loki has posed:
Loki wasn't illusion, but the covering of the damage on his form was. Which means the heavy drop of hand does knock Loki a little more than it usually would. In Sif's mind's eye, since she's seen the blood on him, she might be able to picture exactly what that just did to the injured mage, though his pride keeps him on his feet.

Loki recovers with a roll of shoulder, but doesn't fight being led: possibly just to pretend he's not harmed.

"Yes, we /all/ do feel that regret to need a break, but you can see what we've earned in the Solarium. I /suppose/ we can take a trip, if you want to stand on the soil again," Loki answers. "Now that there's soil. And grass. We've gotten to grass." There's impatience there, but not strong.

Sif has posed:
Air slips through the barest parting of her lips which then thin; the thump, while well-meaning, must not have been comfortable at all. Sif had indeed seen the amount of physical trauma sustained by the Trickster for his efforts. She knows of the mage's tremendous pride well, and as such, makes no showing of pity. Strength is to be lauded. When the brothers leave the room, the Warrior Goddess is on the opposite side of Thor, given Loki's presence otherwise across the way, her pace easily matching theirs in turn.

"I would not say no to stepping upon the grass of Asgard again," she admits with the perfect amount of courtly interest in her tone -- even if her heart is dancing up near her throat at the idea.

Thor has posed:
    "Sif, that is an idea I agree with." The hammerweilder notes as he keeps leading Loki by the shoulder towards the Solarium. "Come brother, we will need thy magics. Ferry us across the skyways to the budding world of Asgard. I wish to step upon the kingdom." Thor says with vigor and vim in his voice as he seems to be waking more and more from his slumber.

Loki has posed:
"You're mistaking me for Heimdall," Loki smirks. He did, offer, though, so there's no real offense there. Loki eludes the shoulder-pressure with a slippery little twist, and rakes his hand through the visual of the Asgard planet in the center of the Solarium.

A blue cube around the size of Loki's fist emerges with the swipe: visible just for the barest of moments, before Loki uses it to quickly and effortlessly engage a portal, whipping around all three Asgardians and sending them plunging into the void of space.

Moments later, the group may find themselves on fresh, clean grass, as the planet, in the theroes of being reborn, rumbles and quakes around them. It is not angry, but more a sleeping giant: in a coma, this land, but healing. Yes, healing. Loki is standing, of course, and there's no sign of the Tesseract with him, just a quiet appearance of him looking at the land around them. This is Loki's home, too, and there's an electric quality to his eyes. It's happening. Their home.