9466/Questions and Quid Pro Quo

Questions and Quid Pro Quo
Date of Scene:	07 October 2019
Location:	Royal Palace, Asgard
Synopsis:	So many questions, so little time, so much illusionary stardust!
Cast of Characters:	Sif, Loki
Tinyplot:	Infinity Stones

---

Sif has posed:
The city continues to swell as the populace of New Asgard returns to its home-world. Sif sees familiar faces here and there even as the Aesir watches she walks along the main rue leading up to the palace proper. She's greeted with respectful nods and here and there, grins from those familiar with her through her connections to the Einherjar and, more famously, Thor and his Warriors Three.

Within the palace, the air is cooler and still, stirred only by the movements of courtiers and the changing of the royal guards with their fantastical weapons and near-horned helms gleaming in gold. In her own armor and battle-leathers, sword at her hip, Sif makes it clear by her sweeping travels and stoic set of lips that she's uninterested in speaking to anyone beyond a certain Asgardian mage. After all, Thor's not on-world -- he's like as not on Midgard on errands of his own.

A silence almost peaceful hangs in the centralized gardens sequestered within the wings. A roofless courtyard, Sif steps into it after closing the heavy wooden door behind herself. Leaves upon the small stand of trees have gone golden with the season and reflect upon the small pond designed into the confined garden. One leaf floats upon its surface. Sif wanders over to watch it with her arms lightly crossed.

"Loki...?" comes the whisper even as the Aesir watches her reflection's lips move.

Loki has posed:
Like a breath on her neck, Loki's responding to her. As if he were just behind her, there's a little movement of air, as if he were really there.

"Lady Sif," Loki replies, very quietly, very close.

Sif has posed:
Fine hairs on her neck rise. Very slowly, Sif inhales and attempts to fight down the sudden leap of her heart up into her throat. Schooling of many centuries of fighting and the refinement of court keep her from clearing the carefully-laden rock tiling around the pond itself. Her reflection continues to stand alone, insofar as she can tell.

Her voice doesn't gain too much volume. It seems more appropriate to remain soft-spoken. "I shall be candid with you: I sought you to ask you questions. Is this not a good time?" Her eyes can be seen within the reflection on the waters to slide to one side, as if to catch him in her peripheral vision perhaps. Regardless, she dares to slowly relax the folding of her arms and slip out a hand in offering past the round of her opposite bicep tentatively.

Loki has posed:
Loki appears in the reflection in the water, shown clearly behind her, yet is he actually there? Loki has a distinct enjoyment for his interesting style of being elusive. The voice does come from the same place, though.

"Questions, hm. I could drop what I'm doing. Would these be Quid Pro Quo?" Loki wonders, teasingly.

There's a pause, as the reflection considers her reflection, head angled, but smile is kind. "You seemed just about ready to leap from your own skin - yet it is you that asked for my attention. Has something gotten you alarmed?"

Sif has posed:
To see the element of Loki's expression shift towards teasing in amiability has Sif's shoulders lowering the necessary touch to encourage the rest of her readiness to recede. Looking down upon the water, she meets the mage's eyes and returns the smile in truth.

"I did not expect to be caught off-guard. It is a rare art, to do as such," the dark-haired warrior murmurs with chin tucked. "Few are able to do so...and...I suppose it might be 'quid pro quo' if you are willing to set aside your tasks for a few minutes of socializing."

Her smile sharpens as she adds in light tease, "They do say on Midgard that all work and no play makes one very dull."

Loki has posed:
"I did not say I was working," Loki answers her, and abruptly steps out from around her, fully revealed, though he then disappears from the water's reflection. Because he's entertaining himself: as if he stepped out of the reflection to materialize next to her. There's a showmanship to it, a brazen quality to such insane skill being used in such a minor, unimportant way.

Loki crosses to seat himself not on the raised stone edge of the fountain, but in the grass to the side of it, reclining back on one hand in the clean new blades of grass. He's dressed richly, his robes often worn when he has court duties. Today is white with gold details - mostly gold, embroidery showing motifs of rune patterns. His hair is ponytailed, but pieces of the front have escaped.

"What knowledge do you seek?" Loki asks generously.

Sif has posed:
It still makes Sif's breath catch to see the shift from one plane to another -- or the revelation, whatever the Liesmith felt most appropriate at the time -- and like as not, that was the purpose of the display. Magic is not entirely her forte, after all.

"Forgive my assumption," the Valkyrie murmurs, mostly to herself through her small smile as she turns to watch the mage ensconce himself on the fresh green spread. Verdant, thick, the scent of it displaced by weight rises even as Sif steps a few steps to then seat herself on the stone-work edge of the fountain's wall quite close to him. Soles remain flat upon the grass and her palms upon her thighs as she considers his question.

"Such an offering in itself, your words -- I might ask how to pluck a star from the night sky." By the quirk of her lips, Sif is jesting. "Though I know that if I ask in earnest, I might receive, and as such, I demur. I wondered instead about your sister, Hela. She has been on my mind as of late."

Her risen palm half-overturned from its placement on her thigh then falls back, silent apology spoken in it should the overture be perceived as nosy...though admittedly, it is.

"She is the Queen of Niflheim and, as such, the commander of the Valkyrior. I ask..." Sif's brows knit and she looks askance for a second. "...what you think of her." Asking brother of his sister, apparently..

Loki has posed:
Loki reclines, somehow making the grassy spot just as luxurious as a bed piled high with pillows. Perhaps moreso in a way, since the green vibrancy sets off his golden attire as even more rich, instead of competing with pillow-pile.

"Hm. Hela. Yes," Loki says, his playful expression crunching down, like an inflated ballon punctured. He thought these would be questions about other things, it appears. He drops his eyes to some of the grass near his arm, playing with a blade of it. It looks a little like he's losing the interest he'd had in the game.

"I had not met her until Ragnarok, when she surfaced. It was a stressful situation, and it's clear she wanted the throne. Still does, I expect," Loki gives. "I don't think she'll be a fan of restoring my father, is how I'd put it." Loki smirks briefly. "But she's direct, so I don't think anyone has to worry about her hatching any plans secretly." That's something Loki does.

Sif has posed:
Sif drags a line repeatedly with her nail along the thin legging-layering beyond the edge of her battle-leather's skirting, above the top of her boots. She nods and her eyes drop to her hands. Her nailbeds are clean, at least, if not kept shorter than is fashionable at court and free of polish.

"I wondered as such...in her interest in the throne. Thank you, Loki. I ask in relevance to my sworn duties as protectorate of the royal family." The mage might make the leap in logic: protect the royal family, have to protect Hela in turn, and clearly the Princess wishes to not step into such a conflagration.

A leaf flutters down to land on the fountain wall beside her to make her look away from him. She smiles just a little as she picks it up by the stem to twirl it in her fingers. "I believe I worry overmuch," comes the soft confession. "She seems content with her lot." Her eyes lift to him again, he appearing so comfortably in his sprawl on the greenery.

"What task were you at if you were not working then?"

She'll take a chance to ask another question yet given the Trickster didn't chime in with his own.

Loki has posed:
"Perhaps," Loki says. "Odin locked her away for a reason." Loki inclines his head, gaze sliding from the grass to Sif, his smile prompting but private. He's giving her room to make her own thoughts up about what happened there, though Loki probably does have some answers.

"Quid pro quo," Loki barters as she asks about the task. He doesn't ask anything, but does point at the grass next to him. And then looks at her with a relaxed patience.

"Though if you fear being seen with me in huddled, close conversation, I understand. I would say I lack the stigma I once had, though."

Sif has posed:
Sif subtly lifts her chin. "I do not fear it."

Aptly aimed, intentional or not, to pluck at the strings of her pride alongside the quietly petty delight she takes in snobbing courtly expectations. The fallen leaf is left to sit upon the fountain's wall.

Her armor rings quietly as it always down when she rises to step from inlaid cobblestones to grass. With comfortable grace in the confines of the silvery pauldrons and chestplating does the Princess then settle herself to one hip, her boots tucked beneath her. Now more upon his equal line of vision, Sif looks between his eyes.

"I will not pry further into your family's reasonings...though I note that you did not answer my question, your highness." Dark eyebrows lift towards him expectantly. There's a twinkle of amusement in her air. "Am I prying therein as well?"

Loki has posed:
Loki doesn't do anything, other than just recline there in perfect contentment. This isn't a game he's played just once before: no, this is an old favorite. Trades of easy things that escalate, within answers he's willing to give.

"She's ambitious, powerful, and entitled," Loki says with a quick, fiesty smile. "I like her." His lips move in a larger version of the same smile. "Though only recently has she respected me for my magic, I think. Before that?" Loki rolls his eyes, shrugs.

"Let's see, what was I doing... that was your next question." Loki smiles vaguely. "I recently regained access to the Sanctum of Midgard, and was looking at something there; why so curious?"

Sif has posed:
"Mmm..." Plump lips close in a hum even as the Aesir plucks a piece of grass. She lifts it for perusal before deciding it's not the right blade of grass, apparently.

"I ask because I am between tasks myself and wishful to hear of those beyond my own." It has the ring of truth even as she pulls yet another wide strand of grass from the carpeting beneath it. Fragrant and sweet, she then smiles in secret amusement to herself. Centering it stretched between the alignment of her thumbs, the Valkyrie then blows air softly through the narrow parting centrally. A high carrying note is heard at first as if she were tuning it.

"What were you looking at?" Sif continues to smile to herself as she blows through the fine aperture once more and a more musical bird-like call emerges -- a childhood trick long-appreciated by the Princess.

Loki has posed:
Loki watches her with her musical blade of grass, and idly debates upon which version of the truth he'll reveal to her. He watches the delicate manipulation of the grass strand with a relaxed manner, as he considers his 'answer'. He does reach over to he pauldron, and 'pings' a note off of the metal with his fingers, in a harmony to the note she's created. He laughs a little bit.

"I had left some things there. I was deciding how much I cared about recovering them. It isn't important; they can remain there in that library for now," Loki answers. "There's also an open connection to here from the Sanctum. I've yet to close it."

Sif has posed:
"It is true: it does not do to leave idle ends without snipping." Clearly pleased by the mage's joining of her somewhat youthful funning, Sif smiles enough that it gleams in her icily-blue eyes. She shifts her fingers about and blows across the blade of grass once again, making the timbre undulate more slowly in a sound so very close to an actual singing human voice -- goddesses with an understanding of music make disturbingly masterful distractions when hidden during skirmishes. The hope is Loki will join in yet again somehow.

Regardless, the display pauses as her gaze flicks to him again. "If I felt inclined then, given the open connection, I could step within the Sanctum myself heedless of the current Supreme?"

So many questions!

Loki has posed:
"I don't see why you'd want to," Loki answers dubiously, which is also, perhaps, a way of saying yes. "They're very testy in there," he says, with a visible smirk - that's what he thinks of that. "One of them in -particular- is very disrespectful with me," he continues, lofty. "Eventually she may learn, but it isn't my job to teach mortals manners. If you do go, I do not recommend dealing with the current Supreme's obnoxious little lover."

Loki observes the serene note once again, and plucks a grass blade. His makes a 'BLARRT' sound like a tuba. "Mine's broken," he says, snickering, tossing it aside. Illusionist fun!

Sif has posed:
Sif lifts an eyebrow. "I shall endeavor to -- "

Normally solemn, the Valkyrie actually //giggles// to hear the blade of grass apparently 'malfunction'. Her hands fall to her lap as she rolls her lips, gone momentarily shy at such a display. Then, composure regained, her regard returns to Loki. By the microtells, there are still echoes of laughter tucked away beneath her breastbone.

"I shall endeavor to avoid this particular mortal if she is lacking in manners -- perhaps the household as a whole unless it becomes necessary. I am sorry to hear of their attitudes."

Loki has posed:
Loki reaches across to take HER blade from her, and trill it. It's sweet as anything, just the same as when she made it make the sound. He keeps it, clearly finding it improved to the one he tossed aside.

"I didn't /need/ to use the Sanctum to restore Asgard. But it was the best choice. They're sore about it. And that is all right," Loki says, without difficulty or concern. "I've done some very kind steps to get them to relax. I'm allowing them to be warden of an infinity stone."

Sif has posed:
Any momentary (likely affected) dismay at the stolen blade of grass is ameliorated by the ringing call to follow. It brings Sif to smile as sweetly.

"An infinity stone, is it?" By the lilting tone, the Valkyrie is intrigued despite herself. She saw the affects of the Tesseract, after all, as well as the immensely-powerful stone itself with her own eyes. "Not the one I observed within its confined keepings in your tent? Another?"

Another blade is plucked and this one sings higher than the one in Loki's hands this time when blown upon, almost winsomely.

Loki has posed:
Loki considers her, eyes narrowed. He adjusts his posture, and leans in, close to her ear, with clearly private information. Sometimes sharing a secret is as delightful as holding one or learing one. "I've had three in my possession," Loki brags quietly to her, close range, letting his grass flute fall away for the time being.

"I've moved two of the three to other locations. It's not ... prudent to keep them together; it could attract attention nobody wants," Loki says. "I have the most /useful/ of the three I've seen, of course."

Sif has posed:
Angling her ear towards him almost unconsciously must be Sif's apparent agreement to be secret-holder for this. She frets the inside of her lips as she listens and leaves her blade-cupping hands at her waist for now. Glacially-blue eyes widen before she looks over at Loki.

"And perhaps the most dangerous," the Valkyrie offers sotto-voce while remembering the toxic glowing blue substance extracted from the mage's veins. Her voice needn't rise any louder -- the jade-eyed magician is still quite close as is. "I am glad to hear they are separated. I would not readily wish scrutiny on Asgard right now, not while our people are returning to settle. Besides...there is a celebration to be had, if memory serves me well." A pleased little smile crosses her face.

Loki has posed:
"Dangerous?" Loki asks incredulously. He squints, nose wrinkling, brows lofty. "No, I don't know that I'd say that. I think I could make any of them exceptionally, mind-peelingly dangerous, in equal but different ways," Loki answers, settling his hands loosely near him.

"Time in particular is easy to really just make a drastic mistake with, without meaning to, and things really fold inside-out. Mind is sort of a world-slavery direction. Space, well; location, location, location." Loki makes a soft chortle of amusement. "Where is your army, or where is it not, I suppose."

Sif has posed:
Sif's own brows lift. "You speak of them lightly. I would be hesitant to handle them myself after seeing what the Tesseract did to you." She glances upwards towards the sky, blanketed with the colors of the setting sun. "That such powers would exist..."

Her eyes flick back to him and she smiles again, though with less intensity than before. "It was wise of you to separate them." This sentiment, at least, hasn't changed. She reaches out to very gently place fingertips upon the back side of his nearest hand; tracery follows along tendons where wounds once stood.

Loki has posed:
Loki looks down at his hands, he moves the digits slowly, and actually flinches when she reaches out to touch one of the tendons. He catches himself though, and turns his hand over quickly, to curl his fingers under hers. It is to physically indicate it's okay to touch his hand, despite the reaction.

"They melt mortals, and even some of us," Loki replies, after a pause. "The wounds were from magic I did with it. I'm powerful enough to just hold them, as long as I want," he says, in a strange, almost muddled (for Loki) sounding brag.

Sif has posed:
Almost -- almost the Vanir Princess pulls away in turn to see him twitch so heavily. The worry arrives and passes at having caused harm; the inversion and offering of his palm keeps her from retreating. Ever bold, the Lady Sif. Delicately still do the tips of fingers rest upon the life-line creases.

"I find it...frankly amazing that this is possible. To manipulate time itself...to displace entire pieces of reality like turning a stocking inside out..."

She looks at him levelly, her brows drawing to a gentle quirking, not so far from the mage still. "What is it like to hold them?"

Loki has posed:
Loki watches her a moment, and then sits up slightly... and in a very sudden blaze of extreme blue light, produces the Tesseract.

It is a marvel of magic and otherworldly brilliance, a cube of intense power and presence. It has a thrum of a life. Or lives of the infinite universe?

Loki doesn't hand it over, but he does directly show her. He's acting casual, but there's a caution in his manner, an awareness: he knows what he's holding, it appears.

"Take a guess?"

Sif has posed:
Her sharp, soft inhale catches in the base of her throat at the sudden revelation. Such a glow emits from the Tesseract; Sif hazards she can even catch the most minutely visible waves almost as mist about it, pushed outwards by what could count as a heartbeat dancing to existence itself. Her irises go another hue more intense for the light's shine upon the contours of her face.

Again, she meets Loki's gaze.

"As if you might hold the universe in your hand," the Aesir warrior surmises in something nearing a whisper.

Loki has posed:
"It's just illusion," Loki says. "I'm not going to actually bring it out and melt anyone's face here," he teases. Or is that the lie? Is it real? Loki holds it loosely, and then flips it in the air once, catching it, and smiling at her, playful. It erupts into a slim blue rose, and then vanishes in a burst of dust.

"They vary. The Mind stone felt the most interesting to hold. Like you could peel open your whole reality and there is the Astral plane, where everything is possible and impossible," Loki describes, dropping his hand back to cover hers. He misses it, akin to Thor missing a hammer. Loki liked that sceptre. "This one is more like trying to hold a vast energy into a tiny place. Pressure."

Sif has posed:
For a moment, after being informed that the Tesseract might not //actually// be present, Sif can't decide if she's relieved or disappointed. It flickers through her face in microtells while she lets out a slower silent sigh. The leap of her heart settles after the twinkling downfall of azure-blue mica-crystals that melt into nothingness.

"A thing never to let slip through your grasp," she concedes. Her thumb slips up and along the long bone of his finger to rest atop a knuckle.

Loki has posed:
Loki looks at the cloud of glittering blue, and lifts his body little -- to blow into it. All of the specks of glittery sparkles flood into her face harmlessly, while Loki grins like a satisfied cat. It's illusion, there's nothing to even get caught on anything --- except that, of course, he makes it cling to her like super-glued flecks of starlight. Some of it is on him, too: his ability with illusions is hard to describe as anything but masterful.

"Nothing to sneeze at," he jokes.

Sif has posed:
"Oh!" Sif blinks markedly a few times. Minute glittery beacons wink at her dark lashes and wiping at her cheek with one hand proves her palm devoid of the dust, which means...the illusion is masterful as always.

"Loki, upon my face, must you?" She still laughs despite herself, given the assumption based off the starflecks she can see upon his own skin. To shimmer is not a terrible thing. "Am I expected to sneeze now? My nose does not tickle," the Princess informs him in a lofty tone. A turn of the bracer on her arm allows her a rudimentary reflection to consider. "Oh, it is rather charming...but what will I tell the court if they ask? That I reached into the night sky for it?"

Loki has posed:
"How awful. You've got illusion stuck all over you now," Loki says, cheeky and fake-dismayed, propping up his upper body, and reaching out towards her cheek, to brush a few fingers over it if she doesn't pull away - to clearly help remove some of the sparkles, which he promptly attempts to show her as being stuck all over his fingers, now, like a fine dust of starlight.

"Just can't ever keep the magic out, try as you might," Loki teases, flexing the fingers together, and smiling, attempting to wipe a bit more from her chin. "You're suggesting you'd lie? For shame. /Lies/, Sif?"

Sif has posed:
"Oh, I would not lie," the dark-haired woman, still shimmering as if coated with mica, claims of the instance. Another little laugh leaves her as she shakes her head at Loki. "I would tell them magic and all would be well and true. Besides, I have been told that I am a terrible liar."

Sif holds her face still as she lets his fingertips trace along the gentle point of her chin. Soft, the skin beneath the illusory breath of starlight, and pinpoints glitter on her lips as she smiles gently without revealing teeth.

Loki has posed:
"Good. I don't think that's a lesson I want to teach you," Loki decides, attempting to gently hold her chin, with a thumb just under her lower lip, considering her. He looks from one of her eyes to the other, his own green eyes reflective of the illusion: or perhaps he put the illusion of the sparks in his own eyes. It must be purposeful.

"But other magic, if you desired, maybe," Loki says, with a slippery quality, that suggests he is talking about magic, but also isn't. Elusive mage that he is. His eyes fall to her smile and her mouth, thoughtful.

Sif has posed:
The magician has slipped past her courtly-claimed defenses just like that.

Little frissons dance down her neck and cloak her skin. It's an electrical line of connection in their shared gazes and at a far distance, Sif is frankly aware of the little gambit played by bringing starshine to reflect in his own eyes. It doesn't mean it's ineffective.

Would that her voice be more serene, but there's a breathlessness to it to bring more rose-petal pink to her cheeks. "And what magic is that?" It seems a silly question to ask of Loki while nearly the most pertinent.

Loki has posed:
Loki draws in, subtle and confident, the dark hair loose from his ponytail catching stray fireflies of the sparks of the dissolved illusionary Tesseract. There's stars in his hair, around them. It's magical and seductive. And deliberate.

Loki brushes more illusions away from her cheek, creating little swirls in the air, leaning in close: enough to place his nose just a glimmer away from hers. He takes in her pale, usually frozen eyes with a relaxed quality.

"No preferences?" Loki asks. "Rather I choose?" Loki asks, playful.

Then, there's a little something in his gaze, as if he were reacting to something. It's very, very subtle, but it does cause him to hesitate.

Sif has posed:
Constellations appear in the near air around them both that seems to have drawn so close alongside the Prince. Is that the the outer spiral of a galaxy spread in an arc of scintillating luminous points? Does its very leading edge break upon Loki's cheek or is it that it wraps around behind him before misting off amidst brighter points? Sif honestly can't tell.

Her vision has closed down to the gleam of those jade-green irises. Phantom pressure lingers where his touch removed more of the illusion to spread it around them; the garden's lanterns seem like distant suns burning so far away, dulled and almost sullen in contrast.

Glacial-blue in her own eyes has darkened and melted both. Her tongue tips her top lip for an unconscious second. "It might be best. You steal my wits," the Valkyrie admits very softly. Slipping downwards along his facial features, her regard ends up on his lips in turn.

Loki has posed:
Why hesitate? Loki isn't even sure at first. But he's checking for signs of her making fun of him: of her, ultimately, rejecting. It's Loki that does those things, but like any liar, he expects others to lie. He's not trustworthy, therefore nobody else is, either.

The hesitation? It's all projection. And the studying watch of her face. And the lack of trust, because he himself can't quite accept trust happening. And his insecurity leaks into his mind like a cancerous thing.

Loki smiles though, recovering fully on the outside, and draws the thumb over her chin and side of her lips... and sends a little magic. A psychic spell, one of his most subtle little feelers. To check: is she messing with him?

Sif has posed:
Celestial incandescence twinkles all the brighter in the most minute manner as if she'd gone temporarily fever-vision. Sif doesn't note it beyond the most basic recognition of her sight reacting. She's still wondering how longer she'll have to hold half a breath.

It comes in snippets: the Princes is impressed -- flattered -- wistful -- tizzed under tightest reins -- spellbound -- wondering -- wishful -- there's not an inkling of laughter present in her mind but for turned at herself in turn:

As if she might impress the Trickster God.

The brave Sif, bold Sif, swords-woman and Shield-Maiden, she who eschewed nearly all who sought and seek for her.

She who spoke softly in the shadowed fall of the willow tree.

It seems a sin to speak, so Sif remains wordless and looks between his starshined eyes.

Loki has posed:
The plan comes together quickly. Loki doesn't do things on whim, usually. He's a strategist. Having a /plan/ makes him feel like he's not spinning wildly out of control. It's important to have control, to anticipate what's coming. To engineer the flow of events that are playing out around him. That's what truly caused him to hesitate: something was happening that wasn't planned by him.

Is it still happening? Maybe. But holding onto that lifeline of that he's in control at least a little-- maybe that's needed for his brittle ego.

So it is that Loki's next moves are delivered in a very measured, masterful way. He studies her eyes, then lets her watch HIM study her lips... and then leans in closer, just a bare touch of lips to the side of her mouth. A soft, electric brush, to create anticipation.... and, perhaps deep down under his denial ... because he's still got the young boy in him, that didn't have a hope of being noticed by Sif, not with Thor always there.

Sif has posed:
Sif remembers to breathe right about the time she realizes the mage's focus is upon her lips. It flutters through her mind: are they oddly-shaped -- disatisfying -- too pale? Is there something //on them//, OH SEVEN HELLS -- the mind betrays all insecurities while her pulse flutters. The world has gone smaller and more narrowed yet around them in the haze of illusory diadems around them both.

Such a minute divide between them seeming to cross lightyears as he leans in brings her vision yet again to haze out briefly as her heart jumps. Sif's dark lashes flutter nearly shut for a second as relief washes over her to make her light-headed. She could laugh -- she could float away as easily as a leaf from the nearby tree planted beside the fountain -- she could...

Bold Sif, brave Sif: she makes to lean across the impossible distance again as if she would mirror the gift leaving her feeling as if she might explode as a firework herself.

Loki has posed:
As Sif worries and reacts, Loki has shifted on with his plan: moving just a little to the other corner of her mouth, to brush there, and then pause, with a slight tilt of his head. Questioning, but not really. He can read her, now that she's opened up.

The telepathic spell still being up means there's some interesting backwash of that for Loki to be... rather surprised by. Sif always seemed so distant, so impossible. Which made for a truly interesting challenge, true, but he got so wrapped up in looking at the distance and remembering the barrier that he didn't realize, perhaps, that he'd gotten inside it. And has probably been inside her wall for a while.

With renewed confidence, Loki grins a little bit. There's a touch of arrogance there, but it's just defensive, for Loki: He needs to act like he's got this, of course. His hand at her cheek moves confidently into the side of her hair to her neck. He's seduced all kinds of people, but he's stalling here, and can't quite pin down why. Still, he trusts his instincts, and continues the starry array of beauty around them: that also blocks out the rest of the world, too. "I think that is the first time I've kissed you as myself," Loki says, with a soft little smile. It's sass, but it also ...isn't.

Sif has posed:
Parried by the moth-wing's touch of lips to the opposite side of her mouth, all Sif can do is swallow and wonder if the flecks of captured stars really are shining as brightly as they appear to be. His palm gliding along the line of her jaw to the soft lustrous dark locks has her giving away more of herself: there's an element of a lean to it, as if the foreign touch were something sorely missed or longed for. Her eyes continue to hold his, still deep and dark.

"I..." Was it a vowel or a sigh? Both, perhaps. "...believe that is correct, yes," the Aesir warrior continues, her lips twitching up into a similar facet of smile. Granted, it's far less machination and more twitterpation in her own display. A healthy glow colors her cheeks now.

Loki has posed:
"And the best of the lot, I think, but I do have it in me to one-up myself," Loki says, relaxing now into his confidence of his plan. He's done this before. He can fall into knowing that he knows what to do. And push the strange uncertainty down.... he can examine that later.

Still, despite his big talk, he doesn't become aggressive; he moves his hand gently in her hair, thumb slid to earlobe, and allows her to hold his gaze with hers.

In a way, he can sense the parallel of her loneliness to his own: that foreign touch was missing, but he hadn't noticed it had been wanted. He doesn't want to draw away, not at all. What is this?

It's a lot to analyze, even for the clever trickster. And he's good at lying to himself just as he is lying to others.

Sif has posed:
More of a lean into the mage's touch follows the combing of his fingers. Sif indulges herself in this rareness of connection. It might be akin to taming a cat for all she remains still and yet content to linger within Loki's sphere of influence.

Delight -- disbelief -- his eyes are so very green -- she thought his hands might be colder, but no, they're warm against her skin.

Faint as a butterfly's flutter of wings, her laugh, and bright as sunshine glinting off water. "I do not doubt you." Her smile's still present yet. Her hands have curled up ever so primly atop the spread of her red battle-leather skirting in her lap.