9326/Asgard's Requiem: A bit of a hand

Asgard's Requiem: A bit of a hand
Date of Scene:	26 September 2019
Location:	Fortress Asgard, Kvalvika, New Asgard
Synopsis:	Sif helps Loki heal his hand injury, and exchange words
Cast of Characters:	Loki, Sif
Tinyplot:	Asgard's Requiem

---

Loki has posed:
"Lady Sif," approaches one of the Asgardian royal guards, moving towards her and stopping nearby with a respectful incline of her head. "Prince Loki requests your presence, when you are available, at his pavilion," the guard says simply.

Loki's pavilion has been set up for months in the palace structure that was never truly finished. It was Loki's personal spot to live in luxury, regardless of what the rest of the building of New Asgard looked like: a fancy little island among the stark stone fortress.

Sif has posed:
The falling light of evening glints across the recently-cleaned sword. Sif, standing by the window of her guest-room and having paused in bringing the buffering cloth along its keen edges, quarter-turns to face the guard. Her glacial-blues linger in a brief silence before she nods towards the messenger.

"I shall arrive in short time. If you were bid to return my word, do so." The cloth then continues to slide as she finishes out her task. There is a zen-like contentment to be gained in doing it -- to being absolutely certain she is fully equipped to handle any physical fiasco to break out in her presence.

As she mentioned to the guard, the Valkyrie is a shadow outside the pavilion flaps in short time. Clad in her silver armor and red-dyed battle-leathers, sword at her hip, she pushes aside the hanging fabric to enter. She announces herself with, "And what news have you of Asgard then?"

Loki has posed:
"Not a battle; you came prepared for one, I see," Loki observes of her attire and posture - and perhaps the scent of polish and leather treatment from the maintenance of gear.

Loki is reclined on one of his specialty couches - a deep sea green velvet affair, long Chaise with beautifully sculpted back armrest in the shape of an expressive, elegant swan. He is not in battle gear: hardly, it may feel like she just came into his private area and he's not entirely dressed. He is, of course - though he generally doesn't go out in public without his mage attire or a version of his sleek leathers. This is more of a comfortable open-necked black linen shirt, slim black pants, no boots: those are nearby. The all-black attire and dark hair make him extra pale; or perhaps he has bloodloss. He has some kind of strange cuts on his hands, but he doesn't call attention to them, just is relaxing, it appears.

"Asgard," Loki says, after making her wait a moment, "is prepared to welcome Asgardians again," Loki announces, smoothly, grandly. "Thor is making preparations to begin to dismantle New Asgard. Things could not be better, would you agree, Lady?"

Sif has posed:
The Warrior-Princess isn't about to deny Loki's claim. It is of second nature to be conscious of her surroundings and to chase down the threads of discontent, whether or quell them or encourage them to the results best suited for the situation at hand. A faint smile lingers about her lips regardless as she observes the Trickster's sprawl across his chaise-lounge.

"Indeed, I cannot find a single complaint immediately in mind," replies she with a note of light amusement. He's quite the display. "Even I cannot complain about peace engengered through the dream-come-true that is a renewed Asgard. I simply prepare for the potentiality of concern, which haunts the shadows cast by such happy news." As usual, she takes up a stance of readied relaxation, palm resting on the pommel of her sword. "I note your hands appear greatly healed. What of this?"

Loki has posed:
"Not a single complaint? I won't share mine with you, then. Let's remain positive," Loki says. He may be aware and deliberate about his 'display' on his couch. The whole tent around them is something of an extravagant display, though none of it is more interesting than Loki. By design. The whole presentation, much like Loki's castle on Asgard, is set as a backdrop to make Loki appear all the better.

"Interesting that you bring up my hands; that is what I've asked for your presence on, as you are one of the few that /know/ about it. It is never good to allow the people to see negativity or flaws during a time such as this," Loki explains. "I procured a healer to work with me to abate much of the problem, but a small amount remains. I have an idea to remove the last of the residual, should you think yourself up to the task."

Sif has posed:
Her boots make no sound on the carpeted flooring of the temporary abode as Sif travels further in. She allows her eyes to wander as she listens, though Loki's particular vein of conversation has her pausing by a small decorative table with a jewel-dotted knicknack upon it. It looks magical -- she doesn't touch it. Instead, her glacial-blues slide and land upon the Trickster. Unable to conceal all of her curiosity, she replies,

"You offer laud via aid on a silver platter, Loki, and tempt more by plucking at my pride. 'Think myself up to the task'," she echoes quietly with another of those mysterious little smiles on her face. Her travels bring her over now towards the far end of the chaise lounge, where she stops to rest a palm upon its backing. "How can the Princess of Vanaheim assist you?"

Loki has posed:
"Hmmm, you're right to call me out on it," Loki says, thoughtfully, surprised. "I am unused to not having to /convince/ others that they should work towards my goals. Generally there is such suspicion. Is this what you and my brother experience all the time? Others willing to aid without any sort of recompense?"

There's a pause. "Recompense would be the wrong phrase. It would suggest someone had to suffer," chuckles the trickster. "But never mind that. You'll want to remove your gauntlets, but the rest of that can stay, if you're certain of potential war within my pavillion." He's teasing, but it's also a delay tactic. She may recognize it. He doesn't like what's coming, probably.

Sif has posed:
"Generally speaking, others are content to lend assistance when I ask for it, but not everyone finds themselves in harmony with me. I too experience denial many a time," the Valkyrie explains, her voice surprisingly gentle and perhaps uncomfortably understanding. After all, she's known this particular mage since childhood. His tease makes her nose wrinkle slightly, but by the way she arches an eyebrow and continues eyeing him as she begins unbuckling her gauntlets, she's agreed to assist him.

"I presume this will be uncomfortable for at least yourself. Am I to expect pain as well?"

Loki has posed:
Loki looks skeptical about her comment that she experiences denial. He has a hard time picturing that, but he doesn't verbally disagree with her. Had her tone been more confrontational, he might have moved to do that, but her more gentle empathy derailed his retort. He moves on, instead.

"No; that 'pleasure' will be all mine. Unless you want it. I'm capable of opening up a psychic link, but I think you'll be better at what I'm asking of you if at least one of us can concentrate perfectly," Loki answers. He's talking around the issue. And it's Sif, he can sense she may call him on THAT, too.

"The problem has been that I cannot both extract this remnant at the same time as I'm healing or dealing with it. You're here to soak up the tiny remnants I draw to the surface into a magical siphon I made. It should work fine."

Sif has posed:
"Ah, I see. I am to be the sponge beneath the lanced wound. So be it."

Sif then places each gauntlet aside on another small table tucked against the far side of the chaise-lounge. Stepping around, she looks down upon the comfortably-esconced mage and lightly folds her arms. "It occurs to me, Loki, that you have never been forthright about precisely what has been lurking in your veins. It appeared to me not so long ago to be extremely uncomfortable and...blue." She lets that observation fall with deliberate weight, as if she might have a suspicion as to what caused his issue.

"That, and you will need to move your feet in order to me to settle myself." She assumes to take a turned seating on the lounge before aiding him.

Loki has posed:
"Not to worry, no one will enter and see you seated close to me on my chaise," Loki teases, moving to sit up and draw one leg towards himself, the other now down to the floor. It's all just bullshit, really, Loki's usual play and games that's distraction from what he's actually doing. He's also removing the device he mentioned from a small wood box at the edge of the chaise that probably wasn't there a moment ago until he summoned it.

"Ah. Don't be frightened away if I reveal it's nature, though," Loki smiles some. He lets her seat herself, and frowns somewhat avoidant. He COULD look in her eyes and lie to her, but he's not. "What do you know of the infinity stones?"

Sif has posed:
Sif narrows her eyes at the teasing and seats herself properly on the lounge as if to make her point that she doesn't care for the opinions of others in certain matters. Her armor gently rings where it brushes against itself, proof of its fine make and her care. His hesitant words have her frowning again.

"I will not be frightened." This apparently must be said, her tone absolute. "As to the infinity stones...only what the tales tell us. That they were once celestial beacons, collections of energy from a time long before even the All-Father, when the universe itself was new. That there are not many of them, but the powers they hold are wondrous." A pause and she more cautiously asks, "Are you implying use of these stones...?"

Loki has posed:
Loki looks at her steadily, now, watching her as she explains what she knows of the infinity stones. He nods a little bit, agreeing with her description.

"Would you like to see one?" Loki asks.

Sif has posed:
A breathless stillness enters Sif's straight-spined poise. Her chest can be seen to slowly rise in a prolonged silent gasp, in tandem with the lift of her dark brows. Her mouth opens and nearly closes before she swallows. Her attention upon Loki could be construed as intense, keen like a blade, almost electric.

"With assurance of my safety, yes," she replies nearly sotto-voce. "I would know what it appears to be, in case this becomes necessary knowledge in the future."

Loki has posed:
Loki sets the device he'd removed from the box aside -- between them on the couch, actually, within easy reach. He stretches his hands and wrist with a neat little flip of motion. It's showmanship, really: he likely doesn't need to do it at all. He draws two intersecting circles in the air: one with his palm sideways, two middle fingers inward, a latticed oval. The other hand comes up in a sweep underneath, pressing under the oval, and he draws a portal into existence.

"It is not safe, but I will contain it. But, do not try to reform it into a magical ether and bind it as a power source into your casting, or it will corrode the magical conduit very, very painfully in your veins ....create much agony," Loki says. So that's what happened: the mage tried to do something with the powerful stone, and it hurt him. "I could have rebuilt Asgard in a night, if it had worked."

The portal open, he draws the brilliant, glowing blue Tesseract out of it, within it's technological box. It rests on Loki's long, splayed fingers. "It is within this; I've come to respect the need for a container." Obvious reasons.

Sif has posed:
Sif watches the graceful gestures with an impatience only slightly tested by the grandiose nature of them. It is an odd familiarity in light of an uncertainty like an infinity stone. Her regard rises from his summoning motions to rest upon his pale face as he gives his learned warnings. The Valkyrie's features flicker through a wince; there is pity for both the pain and for the failed grand plan.

To see the Tesseract in person is to make her break her miliaristic poise. Her hand rises to rest overtop her sternum in a fist. Its cold cubical gleam catches in her eyes as she looks up from it to Loki. "I can imagine the bite of an infinity stone is vicious," she murmurs. "It is no small wonder it caused distress."

Her lips purse and then smooth once more. "Let us progress then."

Loki has posed:
"There are different ones. This is Space," Loki clarifies. "Locations. Linking together. Bridges. Distance is nothing, to Space." He doesn't linger on it when she wants to progress, he flips his hands a little and the cube is gone in less than a blink. Loki's always been good at sleight of hand, and revoking a spell is barely a thought, usually.

"Yes. So we're removing what it left behind, when I was using it. Instead of hundreds of years, it was far shorter. But now we do this," Loki shrugs. He draws his black sleeves up towards the elbow, and then removes the device from the couch to set it in her hands. "You're going to pull it across the strands of it -- this sharp tip here -- and don't stab me with it."

Sif has posed:
The ease at which the Tesseract in its confinement is vanished still makes the woman seated on the chaise-lounge blink. His information, in combination with the lore she shared earlier, has her rapidly recalculating just how powerful she thought Loki was in his mage abilities.

With the device in her hands, however, she becomes completely solemn and attentive. It would not do to hurt him even accidentally -- an embarrassment to them both, a slight upon her own claim of steady hands, potentially a political issue to anyone wanting to cause trouble. The device gleams in a confection of engineered coppery metal and crystalline glass, looking somewhat akin to a blunt-ended needle if someone wielding magic had gotten to it.

Oh wait.

"You have not earned any of my ire recently. Your skin is safe." The mild tease is to abate any worries -- or at least attempt to. A deep inhale...and exhale. She sets the bronze tip at the crux of his left elbow and nods. "At your readiness."

Loki has posed:
"Recently. Let us hope I don't have past offenses to pay for tonight," Loki mutters, with a funny smirk and roll of his eyes skyward. "Don't think about those, let's focus," Loki adds quickly, tongue of silver set to repair that little issue. No sense in her starting to recall THOSE right now.

The spell comes quickly without fanfare, but so does the change in Loki's demeanor. He loses his smile and begins a more eleborate spell, with intense focus. Jaw tenses hard, veins apparent in his temples and neck, a flinch comes into his eyes as he works through the elaborate incantation. His lips move in a few whispered vocal parts, and then the magic bends up through his arms and fingers.

The mage shudders visably, trying to hold his breath, as the network of injuries in his hands and forearms glow with the magical residue. It is as if his veins were full of a frightening, ghastly bluish translucency, which has swollen to the surface and cut his skin open to escape. It bubbles out in awful trails, starting to pool around the cuts, while Loki very obviously suffers.

Sif has posed:
Momentarily diverted by the shift in his demeanor, the dark-haired Valkyrie then returns her focus to the device. It has begun vibrating in low pulsating hums in a deliberate cadence, as if it were attempting to follow the very beat of its creator's heart. She pushes aside worries and concerns with the single-mindedness of the Goddess of War; for once, the blank state of mental landscaping is to benefit rather than bloodshed.

Sif moves the device down from the crook of his elbow, following the veins as she does so at a deliberate speed. Rather than being removed in the manner of a vacuum, the violently-blue essence of the Tesseract appears to be absorbed into the tip of the needle-like device. The cylindrical chamber begins to fill drop by drop with the venom of the infinity stone.

On a whim, she beguns to hum. It is a gentle cradle-song she and every child of their generation knows, connected to memories of shooing away the night's deepest shadows and ushering in certainty instead of nightmares. Trained as she was and Goddess as she is, it is a golden melody, low and sweet.

Loki has posed:
Loki has to just focus for the most part. His tension is palatable: he continues a cast, and then stops, concentrating to just hold the spell in place, though his hands go into a painful looking rigor mortis. He doesn't direct her, he's trying to keep everything well underway on his end.

He does allow himself to shut his eyes, though, letting her do it without him hawkishly watching her. Some extreme level of trust from the mage, to not only show considerable pain, but to risk, too.

Sif has posed:
The melody continues to wrap around them in an especial magic belonging to the Valkyrie. Her own gaze, half-lidded and darkly-lashed, continues to mark the progress as she returns to the bend of his left elbow again to trace down another set of veins. It's perhaps a blessing that this is the last branching road she must follow on this arm.

With mindful movements, she then switches to the right arm. Again, the tip of the needle lands and then begins drawing downwards. The cylinder is nearing half-full of the glowing azurine substance.

Towards the end of her anti-tattooing, her tune changes to something lighter yet, a well-known bardic ditty about the sunshine on the beads of dew on a spring morning --

Or is it the one with the more ribald lyrics? Old tunes do get reused.

Loki has posed:
Suddenly Loki pulls away and the spell breaks. "Hold for a moment," Loki says, voice harsh, angry, and tongue lashing due to the level of pain there. The blue ichor, though, sinks back in and Loki reacts to /that/ with a compressed breath of agony, cradling in the wrist towards his chest, and twisting away from Sif. Nope, not going to show off the pain. Yowch. He stays turned away, working on suppressing his reaction to it, and getting his focus back.

A few deep breaths later, he turns back around, streaked with sweat, reinvokes the spell, and waits for her to continue.

Sif has posed:
The device lifts with the controlled speed and angled deference of someone long-used to the sword at her hip. Sif stops humming mid-note and seems to hold her breath, her gaze losing its distancing of focus. Her glacial-blues watch him carefully. She makes no comment as to the slip in the process of removing the blue ichor; patiently waiting is something the Goddess can do with ease.

Once Loki returns to the casting and summoning of the Tesseract's poison from his veins, she dips the coppery tip to the crook of his right elbow. Again, she takes up where she left off in the song as she directs the device's absorbant powers down the last chaining vein in his arm.

"Nearly there," she comments in a whisper.

Loki has posed:
Loki finally dares to look, as they're just about done. As the last of it finally is pulled into the device, he relaxes: and then lets the spell drop. He could tell it was complete - his veins were no longer shrieking with agony, it was very apparent.

"Uuuugh," Loki explodes out, dropping backwards limply against the couch's back support, head rolled back, looking up at the ceiling of the pavillion. He's out of sharp things to say, just damp with the stress of it, eyes closing.

Sif has posed:
Marking when the mage's attention shifts, and feeling the spell break like the shift in barometric pressure before a storm, Sif pulls away the device. She considers the limp, black-clothed rag that composes Loki on his glorious chaise-lounge before she glanced to the device. Very carefully, she turns it over in her hands. The glow of the Tesseract's ooze is enough to shine weakly against her face.

"This may be something to bring to our healers, in case of a future incident," she muses quietly. "Though truly, it is yours to do with what you will. It rested in your veins as it stands." Turning in her spot, the Valkyrie sets the device carefully down beside her gauntlets. Once she's turned back to face him, her hands end up in her lap in a juxtaposition of primness, counter to the gleam of her armor and scent of cleanser on her sword.

"Do you have servants to tend to you?" Sif then asks, pragmatic as always. "Or at least a fresh change of clothing?"

Loki has posed:
"I look so terrible?" Loki chuckles aloud, which evolves into a soft laugh. It is the relaxed ease of someone no longer in pain, or someone that just ran a marathon. How does he feel? Glad to be alive, and no longer running. Loki releases a deep breath, and moves to slide back into the position he'd been in on the couch -- meaning, his legs come up across her lap. BECAUSE of her primness.

Loki relaxes, apparently uncaring about the sheen of sweat. Or aware and leaning into it. "I'll clean up momentarily," Loki grants, as if lazy. He gets to rest.

"Trust you to want to make use out of my vein poison." A slight scoff is in that comment. "You don't want to keep it? Something to remember me by when I'm away?"

Sif has posed:
It is deeply tempting to tell the Prince precisely what he looks like, especially when he asks a question like that. Sif simply remains in place even when his legs show up. Granted, her hands do move and hold above his shins as she frowns down at them -- as if they were an overly-friendly cat the Valkyrie did not expect to suddenly possess her lap.

Her hands end up folded away into the same light crossing of arms Loki saw earlier. It seems to be a tic posture in the Aesir Princess for how often she shows it, indicative of a cool exterior being shield against her lesser-shown emotions.

Still, his comment about the device has Sif glancing over at it. Dryly, she replies, "It would make a fascinating if eldritch conversational starter on my work desk -- or perhaps the world's most occult night light. Are you certain you wish your momento to be a vial of esoteric venom? I would think you might prefer something less threatening."

Yes, that's the barest hint of a smile on her lips.

Loki has posed:
"You're suggesting a vial of esoteric venom isn't an appropriate symbol for me?" Loki parries in answer, while still reclining. He wasn't certain if he'd get away with placing his legs there, but he was just too relieved from the absense of pain in his hands to mind too much.

"Perhaps a jeweled dagger instead, with second blade in the hilt," Loki asks, one shoulder lifted in a shrug. He then flexes both of his hands, and flips them down across his body. Instantly, he cleans himself up, and also changes his clothes slightly -- a version of his mage wear, comfortable to recline across, say, a throne in, but not so casual as what he'd had on.

"Ahhh! I missed casting without pain. Bliss, I tell you," Loki purrs. He promptly summons a glass of wine, and offers it to her.

Sif has posed:
"A dagger would be equally appropriate," the Valkyrie replies, her tone not changing from the mild sarcasm. Her lips still faintly dimple regardless. A lean-back becomes stillness at the sudden pop of magic being used so close to her person. Blinking in surprise, Sif does take the glass of wine. Its deeply ruddy reflective surface is considered before she sips at it -- surely a show of trust in the Trickster mage in turn, the lack of long hesitance.

"I can imagine it is like resetting a loose joint, perhaps?" It's a honest question on her part for the small lift of her dark eyebrows. She sips yet again at the wine before glancing down at his legs -- and then back to his face.

Loki has posed:
"More like..." Loki gestures a little in the air as if he were going to find the words there and pluck them from it. He does summon his own glass, so he does find wine in the air.

"Extracting the series of knives that have been stabbing you for weeks whenever you moved," Loki clarifies with a harshness to the tone. "And don't tell me to not stab - it still worked out for the good of Asgard," he says, crossing his legs some, one heel over the other, as if his position across her was not even part of the situation. His mild amusement with messing with her is normal, though: it's fun to try to get the stiff woman to be tempted to loosen up. "To going back to Asgard," Loki suggests, extending the glass towards the one he made for her.

Sif has posed:
"Mmm, yes," Sif agrees, and loosens up enough at least to clink the wine glass against the bulb of the other one held in graceful hands no longer rushed over and about with the painful-looking scars. "And to the removal of knives," she adds, " -- because having had to remove them from myself before after battle, I cannot imagine the process was anything less than agonizing."

Another sip of the wine finds it lush and unusual to her tastes. After all, the Aesir Goddess is more likely to be found quaffing ale with her fellow warriors in the mead halls. "Have you returned the gardens then?"

Loki has posed:
"Is that a request to go and see them?" Loki asks, swirling the wine around in his glass as he smirks across it at her, one eyebrow up. "If so, you can take us; I've done enough heavy lifting, and deserve to be pampered for it," Loki decides lavishly, with a pretend little yawn. It's hardly true, he is pleased to do magic, it appeared -- unless he's actually very drained, and this is just a way to cover how exhausted the whole series of events has made him. He looks fine, but how much is deception, as always? He had massive wounds the last time she saw him, and there was deception then.

Sif has posed:
Sif's lips shift at the display of the yawn. Ever so slowly, they begin to turn up at their corners, as if she were attempting to halt the burgeoning smirk trying to imprint itself there.

"You deserve to be pampered, is it? I unfortunately cannot teleport an entire palanquin with servants to bear you and hold my wine in the same breath. I would not want to accidentally leave you somewhere in the Milky Way galaxy, given your tired state." Her words are almost singsong, delicately teasing in her way. "I did see you yawn, Loki. Perhaps you should rest, no? Or is it that you fear for my safety in the gardens? That is noble of you."

Loki has posed:
"I already have a pavillion in Asgard, I need not to bring this one," Loki quips back. "It's next to my castle." He liquidly grins into his wine, having a long draught of it, and stretching his head back, to look at her narrowly through half-lidded eyes. Of any expression, this is one of Loki's most classic ones: this bemused, self-pleased grin down his nose at others, one eyebrow lifted just a hair. Snake ate the canary.

Loki adjusts his legs across her lap, folding his ankles the opposite way, moving his feet a little bit, just being himself. There's no false quality to his behavior - at least, not until he comes up with a new game. Perhaps that's the true measure of him being tired: how many games are currently in action.

Sif has posed:
Sif simply returns his expression with a variant of the one most commonly seen on her: forebearance tinged with the off-chance of action. "You truly do seem content where you are," she notes. "But if you wish to accompany me, who am I to insist? Or stop you? I am fully aware of the power you possess."

Especially now after having seen proof of the Tesseract and its manipulation by him.

"I will inform Thor if you end up succumbing to the need to nap near the Simbelmyne flowers. I do remember a grassy knoll nearby beneath a tree that provided the best shade. I look forwards to finding it again."

With a final deep sip of the wine she was gifted earlier, she turns to place the glass beside the glowing device and her gauntlets. The latter she plucks and begins to affix to her hands again. "If you could move your feet, your highness, I may be certain of myself," she murmurs, attention visually (at least) on the leather strappings.

That subtle smile still lurks.

Loki has posed:
Loki reaches across with a flash of magic, stealing the right gauntlet while she's strapping the left one back on. Because games. He inspects it, looking at the armor in his hands, turning it over and flicking thumb and forefinger against the metal --- and doesn't move his feet at all.

"You know," Loki comments, "The enchantment on these could be vastly improved."

"Grassy knoll. That seems so /very/ familiar, now that you mention it. I might know where you are referring to," Loki says, lifting his eyes to the ceiling of the tent. "Seeing as I just walked through it, replacing every blade of grass to the proper place. Jogs the memory."

Sif has posed:
Sif pauses in threading the buckle of the left-handed gauntlet and lets out a slow, silent sigh. Pinching the end of the leather strap, she pulls it to a comfortably tight fit before simply putting out her hand for the filched right-handed gauntlet.

"If you have suggestions as to the enchantment, I will entertain them. I do not doubt your memory, Loki. If you are aware of the knoll I speak of, I have faith it will be there. I will test your memory, however, in how many branches hung out over the path rather than be trimmed back -- or the inscription on the stone tucked to the tree's base." Her eyebrows lift in challenge.

Loki has posed:
Loki needs to look at it a bit longer for no reason, eyes on it, instead of her patiently extended hand. He inspects it airily. He does have a good idea about what he's looking at: he knows a great deal about arms and armor - being a very fine swordsman himself although it doesn't tend to come up, being as his magic was far superior and rare amoung those he grew up with - though not as much as she, of course. Still he looks at her, and her lifted brow challenge. Remembering an exact inscription?

"It's there, go look at it to check," Loki challenges back, with a slippery little grin. He draws his legs away as well, granting permission. "Burden of proof rests upon you, Sif, as you question my perfection." With that, he hands her the arm bracer, but does brush fingers on hers as he does it.

Sif has posed:
Again, that mysterious little smile begins to show and remains banked, like coals. It brings a rare light to Sif's eyes as she takes back the bracer from him. The brush of his touch brings her pulse to dance visibly at her neck again in what could be mostly-contained surprise.

Recovering quickly enough, the Goddess rises from her seating. "I suppose I shall have to shoulder this burden. It gives me futher reason to linger in the renewed beauty of the garden." Even as she's affixing the right-handed gauntlet now, her regard slides to the mage reclining on the chaise-lounge. With a noticeable velvety brush to her tone, she adds in a lazy deflection, "Whoever said I was questioning your perfection? I simply test your memory." The buckle clips into place and she goes through a series of finger flexions as well as wrist rotations to be certain the armor is correctly sitting.

Of course it is.

Loki has posed:
"Speaking of perfection, I added poison to an as yet unrevealed number of the plants in the garden. The game is to figure out which ones," Loki says, placing his legs back where they were, since she has since moved, sensing the warm spot where she was against the underside of his legs.

"I say it only to give clear excuse to lingering even longer." Yes, that's why. "Ah! Wisdom from Lady Sif: not to question what's important when the subject is, as we observed earlier, either a dagger or a vial of esoteric venom. As swift in verbal repertoire as always," compliments the silver-tongued wordsmith.

Sif has posed:
Sif appears outwardly, truly nonplussed to hear of the new aspect of the garden. She turns in place and presents Loki briefly with her back. A palm over her mouth isn't dismay, however -- it's repressed amusement. Perhaps the miniscule joltings of her shoulders gives this away.

Clearing her throat, the Goddess then turns to face him again. "I look forwards to this challenge you have placed before those attending the gardens. Now, are you attending or not?"

The Valkyrie then gestures fluidly if vaguely towards the distant world of Asgard.

Loki has posed:
While she turned away, Loki adjusted his attire just a little. It's subtle; instead of trimmed in gold, it's trimmed silver, and his tunic is one of his more regal ones. Should there be people in Asgard, they shall be much impressed by his kingly outlook.

"Of course, I would hardly offer and then not follow through," Loki answers, moving to his feet with agility. He's tired, but he's masking it. So much masking, with Loki. The cracks in that usually only show in his moods: if he gets very moody, there's something up. For now, things have held. He moves to join her, but then flicks a wink and disappears: a little challenge of a race, no doubt. He'll see her in the gardens soon enough.