9940/A Tour on Horseback

A Tour on Horseback
Date of Scene:	06 November 2019
Location:	Outskirts of City of Asgard
Synopsis:	Sif takes Caitlin on a brief horseback circuit outside of the City of Asgard.
Cast of Characters:	Sif, Fairchild

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Sif has posed:
Sif doesn't appear Midgardian in the least where she stands off to one side in Central Park. In her silvery armor and red battle-leathers, lustrously-dark hair braided back to fall down her spine and held at its base with a platinum cuff. At her hip, Brumeoalfold, the Bridge Between Worlds, capable of opening a portal with the correct motions and impress of will.

"You are comfortable, yes, Lady Caitlin?" The Aesir's glacially-blue eyes look away from a nearby pair of joggers in flourescently-colored gear and to the young woman beside her. "Remember that we will not be appearing in court. This is a pleasure ride, not one to impress any member of Asgard."

Fairchild has posed:
"Comfortable? Yes. Nervous? Yes." Caitlin adjusts her own armor. It's not nearly as refined as Sif's is, with a blocky and angular character that makes it look more like something from a Heinlein novel. She carries no sword, either-- instead her gauntlets reinforce her wrists and forearms, giving her a little more striking power. Delicate silver-inlaid wording spells out Latin words, glittering in the afternoon light. Her own hair's braided back and pinned at the back of her neck in a tight braid. Red bangs frame her face.

She adjusts the backpack she's slung over one shoulder, fit to bursting with 'essential gear' she insisted she'd need. "I guess I'm ready whenever you are. I won't get sick, will I? I get seasick sometiems," she warns Sif with a nervous drumming of her heel.

Sif has posed:
"I do not believe you will be ill, no. If anything, there may be an adjustment in atmospheric pressure, but it will pop in your ears if nothing else," the Vanir Princess replies with a knowing smile. "The horses we will be riding are kind beasts as well. They will not attempt to throw you despite your being Midgardian." Her reassurance is firm if gentle.

Pulling her enchanted sword from its sheath makes the weapon ring almost as like a crystalline goblet tapped. In a series of swift and sure slices on the air before herself, Sif then takes a single step back. The glowing lines in the air bend and touch ends to form a perfect ovalid circle that melts away internally like a watercolor left in the rain. Brumeoalfold is slid back into its sheath and the tall Aesir steps through and into the cobblestone courtyard just outside the royal stables of Asgard. Nearby guards recognize the Goddess of War after a moment and return to a relaxed attention rather than immediately address them.

"Come, Lady Caitlin, come and see which mount speaks to you," she says, holding out a friendly hand towards the young woman. If taken, she'll tow Caitlin along and into the stables.

Fairchild has posed:
"They can /talk/?" Caitlin balks, following along in Sif's wake. She stiffens when the guards snap to attention and wiggles her fingers with an almost apologetic smile as she's caught in the periphery of their respect for Sif's presence. Caitlin pinks a bit when the hand is offered but accepts it readily enough. The curl of her fingers suggests she's a lot more nervous than she's letting on, and caught between trying to look like a Midgardian Hero, trying to be demure and courteous as a guest, and trying *really hard* not to just goggle like a tourist at anything and everything around them.

It's about a 15-15-70 split, and her jaw mostly hangs loose as she looks around the golden city. "It's beautiful!" she says, awestruck. "It's like ... like everything here is a big church!"

Sif has posed:
Sif's laugh is warm and echoes through the stables. Multiple broad heads of all colors appear to hang out over the stall doors, some still eating mouthfuls of various grasses.

"The horses cannot speak, no, I meant it in your Midgardian turn of phrase -- to see which beast appeals to you, I should have said. The architecture is beautiful, yes." Her steps slow about a third of the way into the length causeway lined on each side by stalls, both occupied and empty. A glance back towards the entrance makes her sigh. "It is home...and I am grateful for its return to the very depths of my heart." Caitlin's hand gets a squeeze and then Sif extends an arm along the left-hand side of the stables. "Pick your mouth, Lady Caitlin. They are already wearing their tack save for bridle. Do ignore the horses to your right; they are for the soldiers and trained to war, not for pleasure-rides."

At least Typhon's not being a giant Pegasus brat in his stable. He must be out in his small paddock being a giant Pegasus brat instead.

Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin nods at the advice and starts meandering down the stable halls. She dutifully avoids the warhorses and walks near the ones chewing their cud. Some give her a look of disinterest, others go back into their stalls to resume eating. One of the massive Asgardian horses with a paint patterned coat nickers at Caitlin to get her attention; it works, and she moves over to him.

There's some ear-rubbing and some scratching, and Caitlin feeds an apple slice to him. Despite an earlier professed ignorance of equestrianism, she's certainly handling the animal properly.

"How about this guy-- is he up for a ride? Are you up for a ride? Guy-- er, girl?" she amends, quizzically.

Sif has posed:
"Of course. His bridle hangs here, next to his stall. I shall assist you in placing it upon you if you would like," Sif says as she walks over to join the red-head beside the paint-patterned gelding. "His name is Skjoni. Spotted one," the Vanir explains. "He is great of heart to match his size, but gentle despite this. I think you will find him a good friend on our ride."

She steps one stall down to what appears to be a blood-bay, his mane and tail as dark as her own hair. "This is Arinn. When I am not riding Typhon, he is my friend on our trails." The gelding, of equal size to Skjoni, tosses his head and tries nibbling on Sif's pauldron. "He is young yet, but he carries peace within."

After the bridles are slipped on their rides, both get mounted and comfortable within the saddles. Sif leads the way on their exiting of the stables and out towards a smaller gate on the outskirts of the city itself. It will allow Caitlin a great visual appreciation of the city if she so chooses before they exit through two large wooden doors and out into what appears to be a vast and verdant expanse of wilderness so closely beyond the city walls.

Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin sure seems to have a knack for the task of horseback riding. She rides with a loose-hipped gait that rocks atop the horses' broad back. With the combined weight of her armor and self, it's close to five hundred pounds of hero atop him. But Skjoni bears his burden without complaint, dutifully falling into line behind Sif riding on Arinn.

"Woah, we're--- how far are we going out of the city?" Caitlin inquires, uneasily. "I thought we were just gonna ride around the pasture. Aren't the woods, um... dangerous?"

Sif has posed:
Shifting almost as a cat's tail, Sif's braid flicks to one side on her back as she glances over her shoulder back at Caitlin. The Vanir Princess rides a bit more stiffly than her Midgardian friend, though this is likely through schooling at a young age and a momentary shine of the habit. Regardless of the propriety on display, it's clear the Goddess of War can keep her seat with ease; it is, after all, a necessity in battle.

"I did not think to travel very far. The woods are as dangerous as one makes them out to be. There are wild boar, yes -- bears, great red elk, panthers, and some wolves, though we count them as friends rather than foe. Not everything here is as simple as your Midgardian creatures." Her dark brows meet.

"No, I mis-speak, I think. Not simple as unintelligent, but simple as created. Here, some of the creatures are imbued with their own wisdom and strengths. I wonder at some of your Midgardian tales of mythical creatures being our own animals here becoming lost beyond the veils and ending up upon your world."

Fairchild has posed:
"I've been learning about that," Caitlin advises Sif. "I mean, the whole coterminate theory. Transdimensionality. Not learning a /lot/, some of the theoretical physics is over my head," she admits. Her horse trudges on stoically, of no opinion regarding the matter of high-energy physics. "Like, how you got us here-- that straight up defies everything we knew about timespace curvature."

A little pleasant wind rustles the trees overhead and Caitlin squints up at a flock of birds flying past. "I'm not sure I could come up with something capable of branching two spots in spacetime that'd let me send more than a qubit of data. Let alone two fully grown women to another world."

Sif has posed:
"The All-Father's powers are curious things, it is true." Sif slows her mount as she directs him to one side, all the better to let Caitlin pull up beside her. The horses are companionable and Arinn, at least, doesn't try anything to goad a reaction out of his path-mate. The cobblestones end and the road changes to a hard-packed, well-traveled earth.

"My sword is similar to Thor's Mjolnir, did you know? It is forged of Uru metal. The All-Father enchanted it before bequeathing it to me. It is..." She smiles over at Caitlin. "I am pleased to hear that your science is near to explaining its properties. If you ever do completely discern how the magic works, would you tell me of it?"

Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin nods at Sif. "Yeah, Thor mentioned that a while back. Or you did. Someone did," she amends. "I think someone ran a spectral analyzer on Mjolnir once. I couldn't make heads or tails of it and I've got an engineering degree that requires a lot of materials science study," she clarifies.

"There's a guy, a writer-- not a scientist, just a fictional-- er, bard, you'd say," Caitlin says. "Arthur Clarke. He said 'any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic'." A sidelong look is cast at Sif. "I mean my cell phone, for instance. Five hundred years ago it would have been a 'magic mirror'. /Me/, even, I'm a cellular recombinance. You'd need a hundred iterative generations of controlled breeding to develop my chromosomes from a single donor. All that work and effort and learning and failing we do in the name of science, and you've just..." she waves vaguely at the sheathed blade. "You just swing it around and *boop* between dimensions. We can't even keep our light rail system from breaking down in Manhattan twice a week."

Sif has posed:
Sif laughs again, but it's not unkind. It's empathetic, in a way, and understanding in another.

"Our own technology -- our magic -- it is imperfect as well, I promise you, Lady Caitlin. Should one mis-step within the Hall of Electrical Mirrors, one may plunge a portion of the city into darkness as well. Few are allowed within but our own mages -- engineers, as you would say on Midgard. To use my sword's power did take practice."

A hand rises up before her lips and the Vanir Princess giggles madly as a memory overtakes her. "Oh, but -- oh. Oh, the second time I believe....yes: the second time I attempted to open a portal to the shore of the Sea of Marmora, across from Loki's castle, I mis-envisioned my path. Oh, the amount of brackish water that flooded the practice chambers of the royal palace." It has her in stitches and Sif has to pause to simply laugh.

Fairchild has posed:
The laughs are joined by a titting from the redhead at Sif's hearty and uninhibited amusement. "Ok, I can see that being an issue," she allows, after the laughing subsides into chuckles. The sounds of the forest return cautiously around them. "I hope someday we figure out how to use something like that. Mass transit is one of the biggest roadblocks against becoming a spacefaring race. Not to mention the energy cost of using trucks and trains and planes to ship all around the world."

A sigh escapes the redhead. "So many problems to solve before we can start reliably colonizing space. I hope we make it. Humans, I mean," she tells Sif. "Sometimes I worry about us. I pray a lot that we're gonna make it to the next big step."

Sif has posed:
As the road curves about, it passes a break in the treeline. Beyond, the distant shore Sif just spoke of can be seen; even farther out is the flat silvery glint of the Sea, shining in the low-lying sun of the evening. Birdsong filters down around them and the horses keep at their content plodding, their ears flicking forwards and back as the conversation ebbs and flows.

Sif runs a knuckle beneath her eye before she sniffs, appararently having laughed herself nearly to tears. "I truly believe that Midgardians will continue on despite the troubles. Your people have heroes to stand and shine in the darkness who do not even have powers and abilities. There is light in every one of you and a perserverance revered around the galaxy. I name it 'perserverance'; others might call it 'tenacity' or 'stubbornness'. It can be a stumbling block, but it has also allowed your people to progress beyond nights lit only by fire. Has this been a peaceful process?"

Sif's expression is solemn even if her eyes glint eerily for a passing second. "I cannot speak for your people and war. I am aptly titled here in Asgard."

Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin shrugs uneasily. "It's not been ... entirely peaceful," she concludes, reluctantly. "I don't know why. Humans fight ourselves all the time. A lot of the time it's for property or resources. But there's sometimes it's about ... ideologies." She plucks a leaf off a passing tree and tests it with her thumbnail, examining the botany. "We talk about it in Church sometimes. I've got a lot of people in my ancestral history who did bad things to people for bad reasons." She sighs wistfully. "Can't pretend it didn't happen. It wasn't what you'd call honorable, for most of it. Some of it, maybe."

Sif has posed:
Sif nods, gone silent now to allow her trail-mate her thoughts without interruption. Her bright eyes fall to the leaf and its fate between Caitlin's fingertips. High above, sunset streaks the clouds in glorious colors made brighter yet by the atmosphere of Asgard itself; it seems to wish to make those on Earth pale by comparison. The Aesir warrior glances up now at the beautiful wash of hues and mildly purses her lips.

"I think all worlds have made their mistakes -- all of their people, our own included. We of Asgard are not perfect. Some of us may claim to be, but that is pride speaking. Hubris has been punished before here. One may comb the libraries in our more ancient texts to see this. Faith, however, Lady Caitlin." The Aesir looks to the red-head now and her smile is soothing. "Faith in itself, of a religious belief or not: I believe in this above all else. This, and hope, because nothing can extinguish these lights in a dark world."

A bird flutters by overhead, trilling its song, and the Princess turns Arinn back towards the city. "But come, let us return to the stables and we shall have a repast before I return you to your home. I promised not to subject you to the court and this evening, I shall not. Another time, when we are better prepared."