9294/Asgard's Requiem: City of Memories

Asgard's Requiem: City of Memories
Date of Scene:	23 September 2019
Location:	Asgard
Synopsis:	Sif and Loki look over the restored City of Asgard.
Cast of Characters:	Loki, Sif
Tinyplot:	Asgard's Requiem

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Loki has posed:
There's something wrong with the City of Asgard.

The 'wrong' is immediately obvious, even if the buildings are there. It will come swiftly, what it is, and it's two things.

First, the buildings aren't exactly right. It's more like the warped memory of someone that isn't extremely familiar with every single part of the city: but very good, truth be told. Someone who was often out in the city, though it isn't perfect.

Second, it's empty of people. There's a lifeless quality to it, though it isn't dead: more like the feeling when everyone has gone to the palace for a feast, and the place is just emptied temporarily. It's a feeling of a hanging 'waiting'.

Sif has posed:
The sunlight falls through the enormous and dignified entrance to one of the open-air hallways lined with pillars. The gilding gleams, the ivory shines, and Sif's bootsteps seem overly loud even though she makes a marked effort to monitor herself. It is eerie, the silence, and the light-eyed Warrior scans her surroundings. It's just quiet enough to merit the smallest worry of an ambush; she's felt similar in hiding behind enemy lines, awaiting the command to attack.

In her silver armor and red battle-leathers, with her dark hair flowing loosely, she pauses at the converge of another set of halls leading up left and right. If anyone is here, it might be...

"Loki...?" Her voice, pitched to carry and yet softly, carries through the reaching foyer of the royal palace. "Thor?" She tries too the eldest Odinson, on the off-chance he's returned rather than lingering on Midgard.

Loki has posed:
From around a pillar, Loki appears out of nothing. "Lady Sif," greets the enigmatic mage smoothly, and moves his head to the side, as if not really giving her full attention; he may be busy, and this is just an illusion sent with minimal effort. Still, his minimal effort does always look and sound just like the real thing.

"This way," says Loki, striding off swiftly down through the pillars, to the exterior, away from the throne room. In fact, he'll lead her out of the palace area entirely, towards a square at the base of the palace area. There are some clear ritual circles set up on the smooth stones, swirls of yellow and bronze magic coiling up and around them through the air. Loki is also present, and the illusory one will fade out.

Sif has posed:
Turning in place in a weak swirl of her split skirting, Sif then brings her palm away from the pommel of her sword. It is just Loki -- //just// Loki, she thinks to herself even as she gives him a small incline of a nod by way of silent greeting. The tall mage does appear distracted and in quiet curiosity, the Princess of Vanaheim follows him as he travels away from the palace proper.

When Sif espies the true form of the Trickster, she lets out a short huff of a sigh: it's passing frustration at having been so easily convinced at the visual truth of the illusion yet again, but she lets the emotion slide away like a droplet of water from a duck's back.

"I thought your task done yet?" Her glacially-blue eyes slide from the circles in their glittering show and back to him as she stops short of him, within an arm's reach in a display of trust.

Loki has posed:
Loki always sees such things as displays of trust. Sometimes he'll use them to stab. At the moment, though, perhaps he is on good behavior and/or distracted. He turns his head to look at her, with a few movements of fingers, and gives her a 'sunny' little smile. Loki's happy. That can mean a number of terrible things for other people.

"There are some small holes. I am turning back the hands of time to inspect what it was, and make minor adjustments. No sense in doing this halfway," Loki preens.

His hand turns a little more, and the circle turns with it, like a dial. Illusions spring up all around them: ghosts of people walking, laughing, a child with an Asgardian kite in the shape of an eagle. A building missing, like a ghost.

Right in front of her, Loki makes a clear point of pulling a building out of the ground, into the spot where the ghost outline was. The people, the ghostly memories, though: those are still just ghosts.

Sif has posed:
Loki's smile is returned by the Warrior in a flicker of a curve. It's as if Sif isn't entirely sure what to do with the expression both on herself and on him. She's well-schooled in how a smile can mean trouble where the Trickster's involved.

"Of course not," she agrees smoothly with him. Watching him at his work, her attention shifting from his motioning hands to the sudden appearance of that-which-was, Sif remains silent. A sense of melancholy threatens at her to see the finery on display, to see the Asgardian populace appear in translucent happy glory but as shades rather than someone she could greet in reality.

A few steps back has her looking upwards at the scaling height of the building suddenly present and solid and then over at Loki. "I understand now, I think. You search for loose stitching in the tapestry, where the needle skipped."

Loki has posed:
"While I have the reference so easily accessed, I can correct a few things that were missed in the initial revival," Loki says, in a grand way. It's braggy: there's no doubt about that. However, it might be hard to argue that he doesn't have full right to brag about this.

"We'll need to start organizing the people in New Asgard. Mind working with Thor to set that up?" Loki asks, his manner relaxed but delegating. He shouldn't have to do everything, it says. "I think some of them suspect what has happened, it is not a full surprise. I was looking forward to their faces."

Sif has posed:
Sif continues observing the transparent memories move about them both. A glance over at the focused mage is accompanied by a small knowing smile. Her palm lands on the outer wall of the building most recently ressurected, as if to touch it were to confirm its presence -- or bless it as a thing reportable rather than a rumor.

"I do not think you'll be deprived of your amusement in the matters of facial expressions." A fingernail taptaps on the finely-hewn stone before she steps back again with a pleased nod to herself. "Many think this all to be hearsay, though few speak of it with vitriol. An Asgard revived is a dream to many. I think you will make many empty hearts full. I do not mind speaking with your brother, no," she continues, walking back over to stand beside Loki again within reach. "He will be glad to organize the repopulation of the city. It is...lonely at this time." A side-long look towards the Trickster. "I expect you will be present when he brings forth the exodus?"

A thread of teasing can be sussed out; Loki, miss a chance to preen before the masses?

Loki has posed:
"Perhaps in some form," Loki declares in a lofty way, as if he might not need to show up. Of course he'll be there. This selfless humility is actually beautifully crafted: the response feels and sounds deeply honest and devout. But it's Loki. It doesn't matter how skilled he is with that lie, it's a lie. Even if it's extremely convincing. Which may cause lots of discomfort: it's a reminder of how /good/ Loki is at lying. Usually he doesn't showcase it.

Loki then begins to move, bringing the circle WITH him: it hovers along the ground, oddly mobile: it wasn't painted onto the floor as it appeared. "Besides, Odin may desire to announce it," Loki adds, tone slippery.

Sif has posed:
The display of silver-tongued speech-craft has Sif's face settling into distant neutrality again. It is difficult to suspect one thing of the mage and to hear another and then to hope (against hope) in a long-standing habit only bolstered by the trust on display by Loki's brother. If Thor ever began to treat the mage as truly questionable, the Princess would no doubt, and with regrets, do the same.

Sif walks with him, her hand rested at her sword-hip while the other hangs unconsciously readied. "I would not be surprised if the All-Father choose to speak of this. I look forward to hearing it. He is always plain-spoken in matters." Loki gets a searching side-eyeing. The smooth mention of Odin has her cautiously optimistic.

Loki has posed:
"You're no fun," Loki says, changing out of his previous 'character' suddenly and without warning. He's grinning again, but the mantle of donned humility is dropped just as quickly as it was applied. "Restoring Odin is not a sure thing. Much of that will depend on Thor and Hela. If it were just me, that would be a real promise," Loki says. His tone is very mixed: he has to get the others to do a lot of heavy lifting, which is good and bad. He won't have as much credit for it. "Although I'm leading that effort as well; none of this moves without my hand."

Humility, what is that.

"Aren't you happy?" Loki asks suddenly, looking at her very directly.

Sif has posed:
Given the Trickster God is directly beside her, the Warrior-Princess chooses manners -- and not to roll her eyes at the dropping of an air. Loki does it with such ease, with no more effort than slipping a cloak free of one's shoulders. A small corner of her wishes she had the ability to be so convincing in turn.

"Yes, you have carried the burden of the city's revival," Sif agrees in a courtly tone as they travel. His question honestly disarms her as does the focus solely upon herself. She stops walking and looks between his green eyes.

"Of course, Loki," she replies, sounding bemused at first. Her brows unknit slowly. "I have missed this place; your home, your brother's home. The long hours I spent in the palace in the company of the royal family had turned it to a home for me as well. Am I happy?" Optimism brings the corners of the Princess's full lips to rise again in the rare small, true smile. It reaches her eyes and melts some of the coolness found within. "My heart sings with it."

Loki has posed:
"Good," Loki says, looking at her for a long moment, his direct question is followed with the most 'Loki' sort of behavior there is: he's mildly smiling, but there's no immediate knife. He originally showed as happy: and he is happy. There's some games in that, of course, though they lack the bite of when Loki's actually out for blood or vengeance.

"I didn't do all of this for myself, of course. So I want everyone to like it. I want you to like it," Loki says, approaching in front of her, into personal space, quite possibly. Loki has a way of just sort of doing that; it's part of his subtle snake quality. He attempts to reach a hand out to her shoulder to rest it on her armor pauldron, his smile actually kingly.

If Loki could maintain THIS persona, maybe a lot of things would have been different. A lot different.

Sif has posed:
Sif's face turns to look at the hand rested on her shoulder. Her expression silently conveys a disbelief, as if to ask, '...how on earth did that get there?' Still, her eyes return to Loki and now...what's this? A //smirk//? The only time the Princess tends to display an amused little curl of a smile like this is when a challenge is leveled. It melts away more of the habitual standoffish persona she displays.

"I do like it, Loki, very much so," she replies, her voice light and distantly amused. "It is a great gift."

Loki has posed:
Loki only has a few inches in height on her; the lanky mage doesn't tower over the tall Valkyrie. He's built very similarly to a Valkyrie: a slim power, instead of the heavy and impressive build of his brother. Loki's eyes are a sparkling, pleasant emerald cast in the gold of the Asgard city; lighter and alive, instead of the flinty jade they so often become when he lowers his continence.

"Well, I need to one-up myself over previous gifts," Loki says, attempting to turn that hand to pass the backs of his fingers against her dark hair. His amusement is evident, but at this proximity, he doesn't have a physical upper-hand. He's probably well aware that she could stop him.

That's part of it, maybe. The mage takes risks. "Though I'm unsure about restoring the Asgardians that died. They've moved on," Loki says, with a restrained unhappiness under the tone. "Pulling them back may do more harm than good."

Sif has posed:
Her smirk deepens; the understated lift of her chin at knuckles brushing against her hair is akin to a cat's mild warning: touch as you dare, I may swat. No wonder he risks it. Sif has masterful swat when goaded. Granted, the midnight-dark locks are soft and lustrous -- perhaps it's worth the risk.

"I would not dabble in the state of death. Or, at least, not without garnering the thoughts of your sister." Hela, Goddess of Death. "She knows far more than I do of the pitfalls." The Princess sighs, her eyes sliding to one side. "Though...perhaps let your gift be unsullied by the possibility of a painful outcome. Let the fallen remain in Valhalla and revel." Her eyes find his again, solemn now, their color quiet like a spring-fed pond rather than frozen over. "They have earned their rest."

Loki has posed:
"It will be up to Hela, then," Loki says, as if he decided to accept Sif's advice. "Best left to her. I appreciate your thoughts on it," Loki continues, as if he hadn't already decided to do exactly what Sif just suggested. As if he hadn't already decided to leave the negativity anyone might feel about the dead not being back on Hela.

"You know, I can reverse this," Loki says, hand still near her hair, indicating it. "But I'm not going to," says the trickster, cheeky.

Sif has posed:
"Of course." Sif retains her polite air and the faint dimples at her cheeks. Despite herself, and caution, she's pleased to hear agreement from the mage rather than a dismissal of her thoughts, as if they were trifling. However, his jab about her hair earns him a much harder, sharper smile -- knife-like, that melts away into a wry squint through her dark lashes.

"I did not think you ever intended to. After all, you found the farce so amusing the first time in our youth. I'd even propose that you prefer it darker than its previous golden state, but that would be assuming something of you...and I would never do that," the Princess says so very mildly in her own brand of cheeky retort.

Loki has posed:
"Does a spike of hatred for me well up in your chest every time you see a reflective surface?" Loki questions, thoughtful, as if he hadn't thought about it before. "Or has that spot formed a callous around your heart?" Loki passes a hand up through his own dark hair, pulling it more to the left side in a dark, wavy mass.

"Children express feelings in foolish ways," Loki says, in a very open-ended way.

Sif has posed:
Sif eyes the motion of his hand and her attention returns to his face, still tinted with droll amusement.

"I will openly admit the garnering of compliments over the centuries has provided a balm for the sting. Rather than the light of the sun, I hear of raven feathers and the velvety darkness between the stars. Poets have such a way with words," she shares before agreeing, "And yes: to be young is to be full of follies. It is how they learn, the young, through their mistakes. One only hopes time and living tempers the foolishness into something more palatable in turn."

Loki has posed:
"Are you far more palatable now, then, do you think?" Loki asks smoothly, looking over her some, and seeming to need to actually consider it: the answer isn't immediately obvious to him. He does let go of her hair though, dropping his hand entirely back to rest at his side.

"Sadly, I don't think you get to decide that," Loki teases.

Sif has posed:
The Valkyrie shifts her weight and while his own hand retreats, both of her palms move to firmly anchor at her hips. Bladed, her beauty, and well Sif knows it -- and how to manipulate it in turn.

"While opinions may take rise like birds from a glen, I know full well my own influence upon the decisions. Very few are brave enough to sample. Let those with stout-hearted spirits try their luck. I may not stick in the craw." Loki gets an obvious once-over from mussed hair to booted feet back back up. "I have less edges than some," she fires back lightly. "Velvety, the poets claim, remember?"

Loki has posed:
Loki taps his chin once. "Maybe I should have done a different disfigurement. Maybe a large mole. It's not too late," Loki says, entirely ignoring her response, by the sound of it. His smile is very self-absorbed and amused. Just the usual, with Loki.

"Velvety, I think, originally came from Thor, not a poet," Loki reminds, a ripple of a laugh in his eyes.

"Speaking of /that/, though. Would you like to know a fun secret?" Loki asks, stepping in closer, as if it were important to share it at a conspiratorial distance and volume, even though the city is deserted of all Asgardian life. Still, it makes it feel more important, and the gesture, he's sure, will draw her to lean her head in to hear. It's just a natural thing, after all.

Loki abruptly shapeshifts; it's fast, within the span of a blink. "/Many/ of those quotes originated from my trickster of a brother," the shape and voice of Thor sighs heavily, as Loki assumes the form. It's not the current vision of Thor: it's a 'younger' one, from before the fall of Asgard: it matches the location, the golden city. "The number of times, I daresay, could well shock you, Lady Sif," states 'Thor'.

Sif has posed:
"Your brother is an excellent poet when he puts his mind to it -- and do not think me incapable of returning your favor, Loki. Magic runs in my blood, quiet though it may be." Sif then sighs, her smile thinning. What? The Valkyrie leans in, her lashes slitted, only to be utterly bamboozled by the swift shifting. Blinking, nearly owl-eyed, she mouths at hearing the truth -- or at least, a potential facet of it.

"I -- you -- I am well shocked," she admits in a rare showing of bare opinion in a matter, sans trappings of courtly manners or battle-bluff. Flustered now, her cheeks pink. Clearing her throat, the Princess repeats herself. "I am well shocked, yes."

Loki has posed:
The brash, bright blue eyes Loki is currently emulating squint at her just a little, and a smile grows. Loki's having a fun time being a mimic, just to mess with her, most certainly. "For example, do you not recall the fight against the spiders at the gray orchard?" encourages 'Thor', tone eager, as he always is to return to some memory. "Whereupon I fell into a entrancement from the spider queen and forgot all about that /close/ moment we had just before that?" 'Thor' looks skyward, as if remembering fond, distant things.

Sif has posed:
The color deepens in the Princess's cheeks upon hearing //this// version of the tale. Oh yes, she remembers the gray orchard well enough, the ancient trees strung with sheet upon sheet of thick webbing and the fruit unfit for consumption. Ripe, the melons were absolutely consumable; it was the risk of bringing down an eight-legged fiend upon the unknowing or unprepared. Her throat shifts before she speaks again, voice enviably composed despite the blush.

"I wondered how any red-blooded male could have forgotten the promises I whispered in the shadows of the willow tree by the orchard's well. The spider-queen's mesmerism did its work well," says she, lifting her chin yet again.

Loki has posed:
"That was...." Loki orients slowly, his eyes panning over the city, and then indicating towards their southwest. "Near the cavern of time. It was three days, if I do recall? Quite the adventure," Loki continues in Thor's robust voice. Further proof. Unless Loki is lying, and was just spying on them: there's other possible answers here. And then clear blue eyes come back sideways towards her, with a cunning expression that immediately makes the shapeshift mean /nothing/: it's an expression Thor doesn't wear, let alone in a look aimed at her.

It also has an intelligent, sharp focus to it: Loki looks into people, sees something in them, and there's a 'knowing' quality to being able to do that. "Perhaps the spider queen hit you too, if it's only 'promises' you remember," Loki teases, but lifts one shoulder in a shrug, smile roguish.

Sif has posed:
If the Trickster means to bring a very comely blush to Sif's face, he's managed it by now. Still, with her chin subtly lifted and her spine straight, she faces down the not-really-Thor and his dimples and damn them in combination with the reminders.

"Perhaps she did," the Valkyrie demurs. "But I have memory enough of other matters entirely, which..." Again, her throat moves and she dares to look away from Loki-in-disguise towards the cavern in question, far beyond the gleaming golden towers and majesty of the city as a whole. "Thor is not aware of." A faint laugh and she looks back at the Trickster now, tongue momentarily tipping her upper lip. "I tested his memory too, you see, and as you claimed, he did not remember...but I see this is because he was not present." A beat. "I wondered how he knew of my preference for snowdrops. He has never shown an interest in the gardens."

Loki has posed:
"No, he doesn't retain accurate information," Loki answers automatically, with a scoffing shake of his head that comes with a twist-roll of eyes skyward and press of lips in a firm line. So many times Thor has adjusted a story or thought that Loki liked something he didn't - or just didn't /care/ to remember it.

"I mean, he thinks I love 'Get help'," Loki mutters. Blehhh. Humiliating.

"Did you visit the gardens before you called for me?" Loki asks, with a sudden perceptive pleasure, his gaze like a swiftly drawn dagger. It comes with a crossing of his currently burly arms over his chest, though there's no flex to it, because Loki's not paying attention to his acting at the moment: the shapeshift wasn't forgotten, it's just not the focus. The body language is Loki's, which has a contrapposto feel, instead of Thor's more direct stance.

Sif has posed:
While not-quite-Thor is lifting his gaze upwards as if to plead for sanity in regards of his brother's propensities, Sif continues watching his face. By the way her lips are twitching, she's not sure if it's treasonous to agree or disagree with this truthful state of the Thor's behavior. Or to be amused by it, by how her glacial-blue eyes twinkle despite herself.

"He does think you delight in 'Get Help'," she agrees most helpfully. Her regard slides off to one side. "I did visit the royal gardens, yes. All of Asgard is blessed for them. They hold such rare beauties and I look forwards to walking in them once more. Shall I call for you next I walk within?" Her question lifts like goosedown between them even as her gaze does as well to his face, the faintest smirk on her plump lips.

Loki has posed:
"He DOES." Loki releases a weird little growling groan from his throat about 'Get Help', long suffering and pained. It isn't an alien expression from the Thor-visage: in fact it usually is done because of /Loki/. Sort of a strange twisted irony, something the brothers share, possibly without knowing. Although Loki might know: Loki knows many things.

"Then you'd have witnessed the snowdrops," Loki answers her comment about the gardens. He looked at her side eye, but stops doing that, and orients on her more fully. A dangerous thing, often, to glean that amount of attention from the mercurial god. But it isn't like Sif can't handle herself.

"Call for Thor; see who you get," Loki teasingly reminds. "Or I prioritize checking the palace and gardens over these random dwellings, and you're more certain who you've got."

Sif has posed:
The similarities between the brothers are noted and at some perfectly logical distance, Sif is impressed at the momentarily perfect shift into imitating the elder brother in his younger age. Then comes the focusing of attention and her smile sets itself, her eyes half-lidded.

"I am fairly certain that if I called for you in particular, I would get you and not Thor. While he has successfully imitated YOU before, I am in doubt at his ability to take on a guise to fool me. But so it shall be. Should I have need, I shall call for you in the gardens." The Valkyrie glances away again towards the palace. "Have they been fully reborn as of yet? Or are they of trifling necessity in comparison to other architecture in the city?"

Loki has posed:
"Yes, I'm sure you often have need," Loki snickers, with a bit of sarcasm. Loki is fairly sure she'd prefer to avoid him, and be super-pals with Thor whenever possible. He does lquidly slip back to his own form, during the time she glanced away towards the palace. It's possibly jarring to look back and see the change back over, particularly when Loki's pretty close physically. He wasn't touching her, though. He's also following her gaze over to the palace area.

"My castle is fully reborn," Loki answers. His castle, though, is not in the city, but to the southeast. "I've done... let's see. The full east side of the city here," Loki describes, using a hand to gesture, and then after a pause, smirks, and summons a little illusion view of the city on the ground around them. It's the whole city, in walk-through miniature, approximately five feet across. He gestures over the east side, lighting it up in glowing silver. "All of that end. Working across the front markets, and these residences. It's sort of boring, I admit." Which explains a lot of his breaktime to muck about with Sif. "I'm leaving the palace to last, because I knew it the best, so it's already accurate from my memory, should something go ... awry with me before then. You never do know, I've been attacked by a lot of obnoxious people lately."

Sif has posed:
Upon her attention returning to him, Sif levels a flat look at Loki, who is in fact now visually Loki once more. "Perhaps." That's all she manages in a composed tone of voice. She takes a step away from him after the magical miniaturized city appears on the ground before them both. As if she were making mental notations over a battle-map, her bootsteps take her around it in a slow, contemplative pacing. Her eyes flicker to the sector of the city in question now gleaming argent and the Princess nods.

"It is the fine details that matter most, I have learned. You have much patience to keep at your work. The people will be grateful. But attacked? When were you attacked? I have not returned to your place of work on Midgard, the Sanctum."

Loki has posed:
Loki is standing in the middle of his map. He has part of some markets and a tavern inside his right leg. He doesn't care, he stands in the illusory city like an enormous giant out of phase with it.

"I've finished with the Sanctum there," Loki says offhandedly. "The previous Supreme is resuming protection there. I needed to be freed up to work with Asgard." Totally wasn't driven off, no.

"The previous Supreme acted very impulsively, calling up /Dormammu/ of all things as leverage. Slight overreaction, I'd say, and he'll probably dump demons all over that city. I'm leaving them to it," Loki comments. He's staying out of that mess!

Sif has posed:
"Dormammu," the Valkyrie echoes, clearly surprised to hear of the gamble. The god isn't to be idly summoned or manipulated. Her chest rises and falls in a sigh while her eyes drop to linger on the map -- and Loki's boots, by proxy of his presence in the middle of the sector of the city devoted to foodstuffs.

"Given I have friends on Midgard, I might speak with the Supreme. It was indeed foolhardy, summoning Dormammu. I worry now for their safety. Regardless...we are better for your attention on the restoration of Asgard." Loki gets a nod. "I am sorry to hear that things came to blows. No doubt further discussion will clarify matters."

And add to the list of things to report to Hela.

Loki has posed:
"Oh, I'm fine; none of it came near harming or draining me. I had a servant and prepared defenses to deal with much of it," Loki shrugs, as if the fight at the Sanctum was really not anything important. Maybe at this point, it isn't. "It is not as if they claimed any of the relics I needed to continue my work here: I truly WAS done with the Sanctum and what I'd needed from it. It will be fine. If not, I suppose they can appeal to me to come back to repair the mess /they/ made, but I'd require apologies, at the very least." Loki shakes his head, smiling towards her, as if very doubtful humans have it in them to understand such meager and obvious propriety.

Loki strides out of the map, and it shimmers into mists of sandy silver as he dispels it. "They will be upset, but humans are selfish: their world can donate a small breath to Asgard without suffering for it. At least, until summoning Dormammu - which is their own foolishness." Not Loki's fault, that.

Sif has posed:
"If we are presuming they will be upset, I doubt they will call upon you to repair any mess they made," the Princess points out as she watches the miniaturized city fall to winkling pieces and dissolve into nothing. She glances over at the building so recently erected, as if to confirm that it too would remain present rather than disappearing so easily.

"I will also be certain to note, should it come up in discussion, that Midgard could not possibly be the only source for the use of the magic." Diplomatically, Sif assures the Trickster God of this as she looks upon him, remaining standing where she is for now.

Loki has posed:
Loki laughs a little, "Correct, but if you're going to chat with them, it may be /diplomatic/ to be able to say that I did offer, even if I'm not responsible for their demon troubles," Loki answers with ease. Loki's smooth as always, with his ideas underneath other ideas.

"It was barely a source; more of a site for where I channeled," Loki replies, as if surprised she'd think of it that way. "Most of it was from otherwordly magical relics." He crosses towards her, clearly intending to walk past her, but offered a brush of fingers to the back of her hand and forearm as he passses, a soothing motion. It could be taken as soothing, or creepy: but he doesn't mean it in the latter way.

"Focus on what we've gained. Our people, and the heart of Asgard around us and underfoot. I know you can feel it," Loki says, voice warmly intense. "The life that has resurged back in what was a destroyed, ashy shell." The sweet smell of the still warm season breezes by, a mix of leaves, scents of linens hung out to dry at the residences just north of them. Loki just nods a little, smile subtle.

Sif has posed:
"True enough, and a good distinction to make," Sif concedes as to the offer. The further explanation as to the Sanctum's use has the Valkyrie nodding, her lips parted thoughtfully. This she does understand, if in a less detailed way, the minor mage at most in a broad comparison next to the Trickster God.

Her glacial-blue eyes fall to the glancing touch of his knuckles against the back of her hand and she stands there a second, frowning down at the ground to the side he slid past. It isn't discomfort, but a freeze-frame in wonderment. Lifting her face to the wind even as she turns, the familiar sweet moldering of fallen leaves greets her. The crisper note of drying laundry brings a winsome lift to the corners of her lips. Strands of hair blown out of place are tucked back with the brisk brush-through of fingers as she walks over to stand beside him again, her focus on the spread of the city below.

"It does still seem a dream," she admits, her voice hopeful yet. "And yet...yes. I know its pulse well enough. I cannot wait to walk the gardens once more."

Loki has posed:
"Sadly, it was /not/ within my power to bring that sense to New Asgard, the ground itself was not .... truly home," Loki explains, observing her reaction to taking in the feel of the land. There's a brief hunger to his stare.

Because Loki doesn't have the same full connection others do. It's not absent, but it isn't Asgardian. He's an outsider. But it's still his home, too. More than Midgard ever could have been or was. Loki returns to his circle from when she'd first encountered him, looking at it, and the buildings, with something of a pout. Boring.

Sif has posed:
"I do not think your people would cast blame in this account, Loki. New Asgard has been a haven in a storm and they are blessed for it. That there is even this dream to return to? This home?" Her sigh is quietly reverent, even as he moves to return to his time-altering rings upon the ground. A last deep inhale of what familiarities the wind can bring her, to strum chords of memory and set her heart to dancing, and the Princess then turns to observe him. She marks the Trickster's demeanor and smiles to herself, chin briefly tucked as if to hide the expression. Her steps to travel over to him are respectful as not to disturb the magical circles.

"Your task is almost complete. Rest as you need to. I can feel that this world is stable, it will be here upon the dawn of its next day," Sif tells him quietly. A hand rises and while her fingers curl at first, they then land lightly on his bicep. Away they go again, as quick and light as a bird passing upon a branch. "Even the Valkyrie must rest."

Loki has posed:
Loki's surprise that she voluntarily touched him isn't hidden perfectly well. He did mask it some, but the curiosity wasn't entirely banished from his expression when he turns to check her face for what tells he can read there. Loki has hoped to earn high esteem for this difficult move of restoring Asgard, but he couldn't /count/ on getting it. Still, it seems to be working.

A grin flashes, for multiple reasons. "Don't worry about /that/. I'm not in a hurry anymore. This place isn't deteriorating around my ears now. It's steady.... and it's a sure thing," Loki replies. "I wouldn't ask you to take my word. Even if my word /is/ good this time." He folds his arms, flexing his back, but the motion of arms isn't defensive: it's more an expression of subconscious self-comforting.

Sif has posed:
"I believe your word to be true," comes the consoling reply nonetheless. Sif looks between his green eyes, lighter for his current emotional state. "Given I can validate not only Asgard's existence, but its sense of being -- I did contribute to its state, after all. One knows one's own fingerprints...though I suppose it would be stitches, in this case."

One last consideration of the shimmering rings on the new ground of Asgard and she nods to herself. "I think I shall attend upon Midgard again. If the veils have been thinned without knowledge, they must be made aware. Despite their fluster, I still have a place in my heart for them." The raven-haired Valkyrie takes a number of steps away before turning to face the mage once more. It is to grant safe space between the circles and her own magic. A warrior's salute is granted to him with her forearm diagonally across her chest and her fist rested over her heart.

"Be well, my lord, until we speak again." And then, within the span of a blink, Sif disappears.