9666/Feast of Gowns and Poets

Feast of Gowns and Poets
Date of Scene:	20 October 2019
Location:	Palace, Asgard
Synopsis:	Sif speaks to Loki during the Asgard Feast.
Cast of Characters:	Loki, Sif

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Loki has posed:
The celebratory feast to ring in the newly restored Asgard was clearly going to run not only throughout the evening and night, but over the course of days. There was much to celebrate, though, and the ability to party or be happy about much of anything had been few and further between.

During the central feast and dancing Loki was very present, but when the heavier drinking began, the mage was elusively missing. The party, though, was well into full swing, and the mage generally was not a face involved in such parts of festivities, and if he was missed, nobody thought much of it..

Sif has posed:
Mead, sweet and heady, seems to bring out the social butterfly in Sif. She had floated from hand to hand, surprising some courtiers with a far cheerier greeting than originally expected, and eventually must take a breather. The Valkyrie drifts to the edges of the gathering amidst the shaped hedges and the winkling creatures still cavorting about with fluid freedom -- a small bluebird lands nearby and flicks its tail at her, head tilting back and forth in mimicry of true avian curiosity. She grins despite herself, grateful for the small charming touches intermingled with the grander display of the decorated garden. The night breeze is redolent with mead and food clustered in the party proper, but here on the fringes, it smells of cooler greenery and the earth exhaling upon the fall of night.

Her eyes travel through the faces and find one in particular missing. Her dark brows meet.

Turning away from the sound and noise on display, she takes a step from the party grounds and into the garden proper. "Loki...?" comes the soft call far beneath the reach of cheerful clamoring.

Loki has posed:
One of the silvery animals, a big wolf outline of fluttering etherial blue and purple magic, looks up at her from nearby, large blue eyes bright, before it looks away, towards the far end of the garden area, and then melts away into nothing. The indication is quite clear, though: that way lies the goal she seeks. Therein is the path to Loki.

Following the direction indeed will find Loki; expecting her, perhaps. He looks much as he did from the feast, but taking some time aside, to himself, out of the clamor of the explosive event, for ... whatever reason.

He has a wine glass in his left hand, but seems to simply be standing in the garden. He turns to look at her as she arrives, though, with a curious slight lift of brow.

Sif has posed:
Watching the lift and disappearance of the bluebird, her smile remains on her lips until she looks back down the path. It briefly morphs to mild surprise before Sif nods at the four-footed mystical courier and then the small grin reappears once more. Wolves...of course.

Her steps announce her easily enough even if any other sense might not. Her soft-soled boots still turn gravel in places, their toes peeking out upon each forwards step from beneath her dress's hem.

"It is loud, I agree." Modulating her voice appropriately for the distancing from the feast, she steps up comfortably beside Loki with hands primly held before her waist. It is a rarely seen poise to be held about herself; wearing armor seems to bring out the militant side of her nature, after all.

Her eyes search his. "If you would have me leave you in peace, I understand. While I enjoy a gathering as much as the next Einherjar might, there are times necessary for silence and solitude."

Loki has posed:
"I enjoy a performance and party as much as any," Loki says smoothly, slippery in his phrasing. "But at some point it does become a cacophony of noise and belligerence and /rude/ commentary that I feel should be beneath many of us," Loki continues. He watches Sif in a lofty manner, that also speaks of some current distance between them: invisible, yet oddly tangible. Loki the outsider is feeling the sensation of what he is.

Yet his smile remains, even if it doesn't come up into his eyes. "Though I /do/ like that the cacophony is in my honor, and I am hardly upset at the emotions behind it."

Sif has posed:
Subtle narrowing of her eyes means the Valkyrie, born and bred to court, has caught the shading in both the mage's body language and in his words. It darkens her regard beneath the veil of her lashes and she looks askance, towards a collection of starshine-lined butterflies glimmering around one of the many seasonally-flowering bushes. Their wings flash like living sapphires against the night-darkened leaves.

"I cannot speak for others, but I will readily acknowledge that lips become looser for the ale's influence," she agrees quietly. Looking back to Loki again, she tries a small smile; understanding shines muted in her glacially-blue eyes like a candleflame behind gauze. "But you speak truly: the emotions are of gratitude and affection."

Gravel barely turns beneath her sole as she steps closer that she might mold herself to his side; hands lifted intend to curl about his inner bicep and just above his elbow, all the better to rest her cheek against his shoulder.

"But I must say, the court was surprised to see me in a gown. I believe they fully expected me to arrive muddied from the training grounds." A little chuckle shakes her shoulders even if it's accompanied by an eyeroll.

Loki has posed:
Loki watches her consider the illusions, the magic and decorations, the butterflies shining silver in front of the spirals of the golden city and palace stretching out around them. He can see other couples of Asgardians moving in other areas of the garden, comfort, laughter from them. Jealousy of that, brief and cutting - as well as the urge to mock them, out of his own envy, comes to a weird little halt as Sif touches his arm and puts her cheek to his shoulder.

Loki turns his head towards her, in a mix of surprise and inner self-chastisement. What is he jealous of? The purity of it? He flicks the wine glass away in a quick dispel, and puts the hand over her fingers that curl around his upper arm, thumb never her chin.

"I think you are right. We both were out of 'character' tonight," Loki agrees evenly. "Or just more complicated," he smirks.

Sif has posed:
"Mmm...more complicated, I think," Sif replies after the sweet musical hum of thought. "But what is life without moments to shine?" Her face briefly turns away to watch the distant figures no doubt stealing their own quiet away from the bubbling mirth centered yet around the feast-laden tables.

"For...example." Interesting: a blip of uncertainty from the Valkyrie appears in the broken thought, but she seems to pull herself back together quickly enough. "Allow me to show you." Now there's an almost breathless note even as she shoots Loki a quick bright grin glittering with nerves. Stepping away from him, she holds her hands up and out to the sides -- there's even a little twiddling, as if readying herself.

Away from the denser collection of light, the fabric of her dress seems to have gone charcoal-dark, as if it were collecting shadow. The barest shinings of the pattern appear as natural movement makes the dress shift. Sif tries to keep a straight face as she then sketches a runic symbol at the height of her solar plexus atop the corseted portion.

Magic shimmers out over it to bring it down into a velvety blackness rather than light-sterling silver; the designs shimmer across it in auroral hues of fire and ice again. A turn in place has the skirting flaring out and on its edges, fae-fire dances like phoenix feathers before settling like newly-fallen snow. It's a juxtaposition of colors suggested weeks back in the garden by the Prince himself.

Coming to a halt, the drapery of the dress curls and then falls about her legs once more. "They call it 'illusion fabric'," she informs the Trickster with a smile almost shy on her lips now, even if she's bold enough to continue holding his eyes.

Loki has posed:
"/Do/ they now," Loki says, watching her. Her dress reflects off his eyes, changing their color some, though the jade tone stays consistent under it all. He watches her show with a robust, steady interest, his smile vague. When he's prepared for something, Loki's mask is flawless, and he's wearing it now. The show is completely at risk with no evidence which way he feels about it.

"It is almost as if you were intending to match with me," Loki says, head tilting the other way, like a fox at a hare. He lifts his hand, fingers splaying, towards her solar plexus at the corset.

A fiesty smile shows, and in a masterful adjustment of hand, he works through four sigils in a quick, complicated order with his lean fingers. The magical pulse is tangible, as he brings a pulse of his own magic into the fabric: the gold and kaelidescope rainbow that shimmers through the very palace itself, the walkways, the bifrost, all of it surges through like a lit fountain under her feet, flowing up into the dress in bursts of frothing molten magic. The phoenix colors remain, the feathers blazing over the bust. Loki steps towards her, smile sleek.

"Were there a queen, you'd make her feel a pauper, tonight," he says, leaning in, angling his head towards her cheek.

Sif has posed:
Sif laughs once at the mage's claim, her gaze dropping momentarily before she lifts her face as if accepting her fate in his reaction. "Yes, I was, no matter the color you chose to wear."

A gasp leaves her as the atmosphere reacts to the Trickster's sly fingers as an orchestra might to a conductor. Its leaping upon the fabric and concurrent display of prismatic showiness has her looking nearly the part of Cinderella before the ball, delighted in a startled way.

"Oh, Loki...!" He's scored a visible flush on the Princess's cheeks having little to do with any drink she indulged in earlier. There's another bright flash of a smile on her lips before she angles in more deliberately to see if she can't sneak a kiss away from the party proper.

Loki has posed:
Loki returns the stolen kiss, but grins a little, and steps out to draw her in a spin, to scatter the golden illusions around her. They scatter, into the flowers of the garden, the creatures that still linger here and there. Is Loki doing it? Well, of course.

Proudly, he steps back in, one hand drawn to her back, the other to her other hand, as if to waltz, but he doesn't actually encourage any dance. No, he wants to talk a little more.

"I /want/ to be happy here, Sif," Loki says, drawing in close to her, his voice near a whisper, as if any of what he said were something to be ashamed of, something to be kept close to the vest. "I think if I let my guard down, it will all prove to be illusion. Is any of it real, or lasting?" Loki asks her. His eyes have lost their sparkle, but it leaves some of those scars on the surface; that's what's tarnishing his shine.

Sif has posed:
Light-footed as she's claimed before, Sif follows along in his lead, laughing as she does so. A rill of sound, it falls about them both in place of the flickering illusions of light returning to their native elements at their master's beck and whim. In long-practiced motions, the Valkyrie in shimmering dress matches up to the dancer's framing in the rest of her hand within his and the other upon his proud shoulder.

Her eyes search Loki's own yet again in the private stillness that next falls around them. Her brows quirk up. "I want you to be happy as well, Loki," she murmurs back to him. "How you shine when you are as such. Without sounding too much the philosopher..." So very gently, her fingers wrapped about his uplifted hand squeeze soothingly.

"Happiness is a difficult thing to find. I would tell you... Many times, I have had to ignore the imperfections that tarnished my existence with a force of self that left me bitter. You know well of what they call me around court." Her expression falls darker for a moment before the Vanir Princess looks back up into his face again. "To drop one's guard is to risk bruises, yes, but...to not court risk is to remain too safe, yes?"

Loki has posed:
"A risk can be worth it, yes; hardly I would say I ignore opportunity," Loki teases back. He's far too watchful and prepared for such things. "But more often, I believe in making one's own happiness, really. On my own terms," he determines, with a clear firmness coming into his gaze as he meets her eyes.

"I think I've made this. Built it. Hard work doesn't /always/ pay off," he smirks a little bit. "But we're entitled to a little, I think," he adds, finally, leaning to brush his cheek near hers, lips to her ear.

Sif has posed:
Her face lifts into a mirroring of the mage's curl of lips. "More than a little, I would think," Sif speaks softly even as she half-closes her eyes. His cheek is warm in its light touch; the lean of her face to echo the subtle affectionate gesture means the dress's fabric glistening like a black fire opal spun into being.

"Which means this too must improve your mood, given you are the architect of the beauty surrounding us this evening and sure to linger for many days yet..." Her voice then begins to rise in a lilting hum. The tune itself was already heard by the mistrel's flying fingers earlier in the party, but to hear it solo in the Valkyrie's voice is somehow appropriate in their section of the garden.

Loki has posed:
"Maintaining all this isn't /nothing/," Loki admits, without moving away from where his cheek has found itself near her ear. "But once again, worth the effort... the pleasure it's brought to everyone..." And the clear fame to Loki. Particularly, that, but what's the harm, while everyone is having a good time...

A smile moves: she'll feel his smile against her cheek, as his lips adjust, and he falls into dancing with her slowly, to her own softened humming, supplied so privately by the Valkyrie for the pair of them in the garden.