9213/Potstickers and Ladies

Potstickers and Ladies
Date of Scene:	15 September 2019
Location:	Chinese Food Restaurant - Two Bridges
Synopsis:	Sweet and Sour GORE
Cast of Characters:	Darcy Lewis, Sif

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Darcy Lewis has posed:
Darcy only really comes here for the pot stickers, and the management KNOWS this. They also know that when she shows up in her office attire, she's after ala carte items and might have to make a fast exit. They know the account to charge her meal to already and that when working she typically orders water to drink. She greets the hostess, the matron of the establishment, with poorly pronounced Mandarin - at least it's polite - and shown to a table by a window. She settles back with her drink to peer out the window.

Sif has posed:
For now, even if she remains distantly aware of the uncertain state of reality around her through senses long-honed and innate to her bloodline, Sif does her best to ignore the faint scritch of misaligned magical leylines around her. It's not unlike someone drawing a sun-dried plume up her spine, ticklish and uncomfortable, and the Princess of Vanaheim arrives at the Chinese restaurant with a small vee of annoyance between her brows. Still, knowing how easily the expression can be misinterpreted in all Worlds on the Tree, she smoothes it to solemnity again.

"Good afternoon," she greets the hostess after entering with a tinkle of bells tied just beneath the line of the door frame. In a svelte black leather jacket, longer wine-red blouse to flare about her hips, and dark jeans nearly midnight-blue, her boots make confident sounds until she reaches the cash register. "I would like to order food to go, please." From the pocket of her jacket comes a folding of bills. "If I could have..."

The order is given and Sif pays enough to cover a goodly tip as well. She's always liked this establishment; it brings back memories of time spent with other members of the Warriors Three over sake. A glance over her shoulder towards the window has her lifting her brows. Is it? It is.

"Lady Darcy." The Goddess then begins to walk towards Darcy. "It has been some time, I did not expect to find you here."

Darcy Lewis has posed:
With a start Darcy pulls herself from her thoughts at hearing the name. Very very few people call her 'Lady'. The slight worry of thought fades into a big bright smile at seeing this woman, and so Darcy pushes up to her feet to meet Sif. Her arms lift up and open, offering and asking for a hug from the taller warrior.

"Holy shit! Sif! Oh my god, woman! It's good to see you! It has been a long time! Way too long. Sit, talk to me. Unless you're busy? Are you busy? Cuz if you're busy..."

Sif has posed:
Darcy still feels smaller and more delicate in the Goddess's arms, familiar despite the time having passed with Sif's absence off-world, but she returns the hug easily enough while lacking any of the ferocious force she might bestow on a fellow Asgardian. These friends are few in number.

"I have no immediate business to attend upon. I await a message after sending one of my own. You appear to have not settled in yourself, however." Her glacially-blue eyes flicker from the glass of water and back to Darcy. "And you are dressed as if you have recently left your place of work. I would not be cause for trouble if you are needed elsewhere."

Darcy Lewis has posed:
"Yeah. I just got here. I'm on my lunch break, but it's fine, it's fine. You're never trouble, promise," Darcy says, steping back from the hug to tug-tug Sif to her table so she can sit. She retakes her seat when Sif moves to sit herself.

"Ugh. Sorry. Imma spaz today. Work's got me all wooo. How ARE you? Whacha been up to?"

Sif has posed:
With a confident grace, Sif seats herself across from the SHIELD agent. The Warrior's lustrous dark hair isn't left down today; rather, it's done up in a simple if intricate knotting at the back of her skull, easy enough to accomplish without a handmaiden's assistance before a mirror.

"I have been off-world for some time dealing with matters of state. That, and visiting with my family. Before you ask, they are well," the woman says, and her tone closes off that avenue of conversation with an easy verbal snip. "I recently returned upon receiving word that the brothers Odinson were both present in the city. I could not miss my chance to speak with both and be certain they were well." Her smile is sharp, somehow, as if it weren't all delightful.

Darcy Lewis has posed:
In the middle of her work day, Darcy's hair is in a neat little twist and bun as well. The sweep of her long bangs, tucked behind her ears, give it a messy sort of appearance.

"Oh. Well, I'm glad they're good," Darcy says, a little off put by how quickly Sif shut that down. Darcy wasn't going to ask, not really, but with that door shut firmly, Darcy refrains from poking.

"Umm.. well, I've heard that Loki was around but i haven't run into him. I did see Thor a while ago? He came to my friend's birthday party, but he sometimes gets busy so... Did you... I could try to call him for you?" Darcy offers, sounding a little not sure about it. Maybe it's the sharp of Sif's smile.

Sif has posed:
"Thank you, but I have been able to speak with both brothers since my arrival back on Midgard," the royal demurs with a noticeable decrease in the edge of her curled lips. "It was good to see them both. I know well how Thor has a tendency to galavant off of his own accord and having not heard from him in some time, I was displeased. His brother is doing well."

Well enough, given his current escapades, but then again...Loki's always up to something.

Sif glances over as both orders of food arrive. Darcy's order is placed before her and the far heavier collection of boxes in two bags lands before the Warrior. "Thank you," Sif says to the matron politely and then pushes her bags to one side. The styrofoam box containing the crab rangoon is fished out and with polite gusto, the Asgardian shoves it into her mouth, heedless of crumbs or heat.

Darcy Lewis has posed:
"Oh. Okay. Okay, good," Darcy says, relaxing a bit. At the large bags, Darcy is ready to give Sif a polite out to go make her delivery but then out comes food and NOM! The mortal giggles and reaches for her chopsticks, fishing up a pot sticker to offer over.

"Well. I'm glad. Pot sticker?"

Sif has posed:
"Yes, thank you. Here, an equal exchange: one of my rangoon for your potsticker." Sif pinches the triangular browned tip of one of the fried-dough pockets of deliciousness and hands it over to Darcy, again heedless of its temperature. The SHIELD agent may be wise to take it in her chopsticks rather than with bare fingers. The potsticker is set aside on a napkin and Sif gives Darcy a level, openly curious look now.

"Tell me of what has occurred in my absence, Lady Darcy. If there is one thing I have learned of Midgardians, it is that while dull days may exist, they do not exist forever."

Darcy Lewis has posed:
ooh! Rangoon! Darcy happily exchanges, and yes she collects with her chopsticks and not her fingers. she can see the steam.

"Oh, god. Sif! Craziness. And then boredom, but then craziness. How long have you been gone again?" she starts, trying to figure out WHERE she should start, and then what all she should say.

"There was this robot thing? Not like New Mexico Robot Thing. This one looked human and could talk and everything. It was cray. Everyone thinks he's a psychopath. I had my reservations, and then he skipped Dodge, and now I don't even know what the fuck. And then yesterday? Boom! Random talking space ship lands in the park and then takes off like nothing. Ugh. I don't even know how to write these reports some days," she settles on, giving some details without unloading everything. "Oh! And this place? Newly refurbished. Some cracked out speed demon guy thought it'd be fun to nab me and the employees and things just to make some poor teen chase after him. Teen's home now, though. Thank God. I need to follow up, see if his Grampa got told or whatever. Stupid low level not having contacts when i need 'em..."

Sif has posed:
Sif eats as she listens, and with her immediate hunger satisfied, she's more dainty about rifling through the many boxes of her order to pick out a little bit of everything. Her own chopsticks get utilized to begin pulling strips of barbecued pork from a small box and she glances up at Darcy to ensure the young woman's aware she still has an attentive audience. The language on display doesn't seem to raise a flag at all in the Princess.

Swallowing her mouthful, the Warrior nods. "It seems you have a penchant for attracting unwanted attention at the worst times," Sif observes rather bluntly. "At least your training has kept you safe. I am glad to see this restaurant survived the attack." Her eyes briefly travel around it. "I would not have known if you had not informed me. Surely you will be able to speak with the necessary parties about this young person. You are a member of SHIELD, no?" An eyebrow lifts.

Darcy Lewis has posed:
Darcy pffts the fact that she is a Trouble Magnet. She loves Sif's blunt for just this reason, and Darcy rolls her eyes.

"Yes, well. I'm just awesome like that. It was either my training, dumb luck, or my foul mouth. Cracked uot speed head flung me into a wall once he had the teen. And no. The restaurant didn't really survive. It was shut down for a few months while they rebuilt. And yes. I talked to just about everyone I could whom I found was connected to the boy," she replies before grinning to make the younger prince proud.

"Oh yeah. I am totally a SHIELD Maiden." Get it!? HAHAHAH!

Sif has posed:
Her pun makes the Goddess across the table snort in an unlady-like manner, but still...that's a faint smile, one of the few true ones since Sif's return to Midgard. "Indeed, you could be one if only because your foul mouth attracts the trouble you so often deal with. You should be well-versed in sudden skirmishes by now, I would think," the Asgardian teases with courtly lightness.

The matron of the restaurant stops by to drop off a glass of water for Sir and refill Darcy's glass, having noted the Princess was seated rather than gone with her order. Sif thanks her once more. The water disappears in quick speed, swallowed as long-practiced in the mead halls with another beverage entirely, and the empty glass is set aside. "Are there other events that I should be aware of? I have not been on Midgard for over a year's worth of your time," she notes, glancing away from the window and to Darcy again.

Darcy Lewis has posed:
"I'm definitely better than I used to be," she start, that is until Sif asks if there was anythign else. Oh boy! Is there.

"I had my annual review, and got a field assesment, against Barton of all people. Checked his ass into a wall. It was dope," Darcy bubbles, grinning hugely between bites. Sif is trying for courtly lightness despite the unladylike snort. Darcy? Rolls right over ladylike.

Sif has posed:
Her thoughtful sound is musical in a surprisingly pure way, slipping out like a sparkle of light on water. "I believe I have a vague memory of a Barton. A coworker of yours, if my memory serves me correctly. He..." She squints somewhere over Darcy's shoulder for a second, thinking. "Ah, yes. He had a way of framing things I appreciated. The militaristic impudence is refreshing and reminds me of my own comrades."

Now Sif focuses on plucking collectings of soft noodles from a taller box. Chowmein, perhaps, chicken by the pale meat and vegetables scattered throughout. "I am glad to hear that you are well and the world has not quashed your spirit. Allow me to see if I have a tale worthy of sharing with you that does not involve the monotony of diplomacy in court."

What she means to say is, what is her most bloody battle tale of late.

Darcy Lewis has posed:
"Yup. Mr. Archer Boy. May thought it'd been funny to make us parkour against each other, and then let me have my skates," Darcy adds, grinning into a bright laugh at the world squashing her.

"Well. It tried. Had a friend die, but she came back to life, which is super weird, but I'm handling it... mostly alright," is amended. Darcy sips at her water before diving back into her sweet and sour chicken and lo mien noddles. That whole plate is covered in the sweet red sauce.

"ooooh! Sif story time!" Darcy bounces happily, shoving food into her mouth so she'll stop talking and let the vanir princess speak.

Sif has posed:
"I am glad to hear your friend is recovered." It is a platitude meant entirely in truth, for Sif's had similar situations. Someone rising from the dead is shocking enough, especially if enough time had passed for any acceptance of loss to sink in.

The Warrior dabs at the corners of her mouth against any trace of sauce and then looks levelly once more at Darcy across the table. "My tale contains many instances of displeasing bodily damage to my foes. Is this going to be an issue given we are currently enjoying delicious food? I do not want to cause you any nausea."

Darcy Lewis has posed:
"Sif. Darling. I'm not really too squeemish," Darcy assures her friend, smiling at her. Her non chpstick reaches out, offering to be taken in a very human sign of comfort. It's much easier to focus on that than on her friend's death not-death.

Sif has posed:
"Good. I was wondering if you had retained this trait," Sif replies and then nods decisively. The tale to follow is expansive and does require some gesticulating, mostly to mime the Princess's own actions during battle. It would seem gradiose, her motions, but they are utterly factual sans weaponry.

A mild issue might be her volume, which translate clearly enough to the counter. No doubt the restaurant staff is grimacing to hear about what color someone's blood was or the fall of someone's intestines from their stomach or the screams of great despair when Sif was stalking towards a small group of soldiers, her visage bespattered in gore. "But you see, I was not in a berserker rage, so they died swift and honorable deaths," she's sure to amend.

Darcy Lewis has posed:
It's like the best of slasher gore, Sif's Tale. Darcy is slurping up noodles the whole time. Sweet and sour sauced covered noodles. It looks like said blood splattered intenstines, and Darcy does NOT care. She oohs and ows and winces and yelps at all the right moments during the story. When it's done, Darcy applauds, putting her chopsticks down to do so.

"God damn but did I miss you telling stories. Fuck, I got the chills. Shit, man," Darcy says, shivering with the thrill of the telling.

Sif has posed:
Sif grins at the applause, surprised and delighted to have it happen as a result of her story. She was, internally, uncertain as to whether or not it would be well-received over the red-sauced noodles.

"You are too kind, I think, Lady Darcy, but I thank you. I am...how do the Midgardians say... Rusty. I am rusty at the art of it, but with more time spent around my battle-brothers, I will amend this state," she assures the young woman across the table from her.

Darcy Lewis has posed:
Those assurances have Darcy giggling into a hunk of red sauced chicken.

"Rusty my ass. That was amazeballs as always. God, I wish I could tell stories like you. Mine are super lamezor." Not that Darcy's down about it. The idea makes her giggle and laugh, like it tickles her insides.

Sif has posed:
"The more you dine with the eldest Odinson, the more you will learn of the art. It took me many years to perfect." Like...easily three-hundred, with her courtly upbringing initially. "It is in the movements of the body, I believe. One can tell a tale and then there is showing your audience of your fury, of the grace of your weaponry as it falls, and they will be transported to the place of the battle itself. I do not believe in stamping tankards until they slosh, however, and leave that to the more uproarious tale-tallers."

Like Thor.

Sif considers the spread of boxes before her and then begins parceling them away into her two bags. "I believe I have kept you long enough, however. I would hate to be cause for disciplinary action upon you for a repast taking too much time."

Darcy Lewis has posed:
"Okay okay. Even if I was going to blame you. I know that May's usually okay with me rolling in late if I'm wrangling Asgardians," Darcy says, finishing her last two bites and then wiping her mouth on her napkin.

"Can I walk ya out? Part way to where you're going?" offers the mortal. Because if Sif's in the direction of the Trisk, it's a great excuse, if not well... there's always next time.

"Oh, hey. Have you figured out a phone yet? Or do you need help getting one that can withstand, you know, you?"

Sif has posed:
The plastic bags rattle quietly as Sif collects them over her arm with adroit ease in her extra-worldly strength. She slides out from her chair and rises, back straight and carriage already enviously composed.

"Of course you may walk with me, Lady Darcy -- and yes, I have my own cell phone. It is extremely similar to technology utilized in other Worlds within the tree and this made it not a difficulty to understand. I admit that I wished it was unnecessary, but it is apparent to me that communicating solely with ravens draws uncomfortable attention with Midgardians." She gives Darcy a small, teasing smile before turning to walk towards the door, slow enough for the young woman to easily follow.

Darcy Lewis has posed:
"And I'm not good at talking bird," Darcy quips, moving to fall into step with Sif. As she goes, the mortal tries to sound like a raven, doing a lame caw! Caw Caw! Caw, mothercluckers! It's really a terrible bird call, but Darcy does not care. She just walks with Sif as long as she can before she really just needs to get back into the Triskelion and make sure Agent Dumbfuck hasn't screwed up the supply drops, AGAIN. Fuck, why the hell is he not in Siberia yet?