9941/I have my own castle, you know

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I have my own castle, you know
Date of Scene: 06 November 2019
Location: Asgard Palace, Asgard
Synopsis: Loki and Sif attempt to charm each other.
Cast of Characters: Loki, Sif




Loki has posed:
The palace is warm despite the cool weather outside, particularly in the private rooms. It's easy to shed the chill once coming inside: perhaps due to the bright and strong fires in the hearths, or some magic, or a mixture of those.

Warmth follows Sif inside as she passed by an astute guard on the way into her chambers. The door closed, assuring that she's alone with the solumn closure.

Except that she's not. An invisible, amused voice near her shoulder betrays entirely something else: that the illusion-tossing mage is, actually, also present, and probably shadowed her for quite a while. He's still invisible! "Mind a visitor?" Loki's cheeky tone queries.

Sif has posed:
While Sif's hand was near her sword, it interestingly does not immediately go to rest upon the pommel as seen so many times before when she startles. Recognizing the voice, she instead continues unbuckling the belt about her waist and glances in the direction of the unseen voice with a small, amused smile on her face.

"Loki..." Her chiding is gentle as she then steps across the expanse of her room, her booted footsteps fading to near-silence as the demarcation between flooring and rug begins. "You do know how to bring my heart into my throat yet. I do not mind a visitor, no. I sought my chambers to set aside my armor, not to escape from all in the palace." Brumeoalfold is respectfully placed upon its wall-hanger before Sif turns again towards the door, eyes searching. Her fingers get to deftly working at the criss-crossing mounting of her chest-armor at her side. "And to what pleasure do I owe your presence, my lord?" Friendly teasing still wends through her words.

Loki has posed:
She's expecting him by the door, but he's not there. He's made an appearance on the ample rugs and furs near the fire, seated, one leg stretched out, the other knee raised. There's amusement on Loki's features, but also a somewhat self-satisfied arrogance quite strongly there as well. He's dressed to seduce, as it were - meaning, his sleek leathers and mixed detailed cloth jerkin, but no heavy cloak; his attire speaks of expecting to remain indoors, and not out in the view of others, in particular. Seeing how easily Loki slips invisible, that's hardly something as it is, though.

"/Grueling/ day as usual of training, lady Sif?" Loki asks companionably, draping one hand against raised knee, and settling back in a royal recline. His hair is partially back: the front pulled into a half ponytail, the rest loose at throat and neck: a more casual look for Loki overall, speaking of comfort with her. Or at least the projection of such.

Sif has posed:
Indeed: in her peripheral vision, he is suddenly registered. The mage is rewarded with the smallest intake of surprise that Sif cannot hide as she turns to look fully on him. She does, however, turn her head to hide away the majority of her smile, as if to play shy for a passing moment. It won't be well-hidden, however, to one as keen as Loki -- that, and the light blush to include it. He's always a pleasant sight in his current garb.

"I would not claim it was grueling, but...long in the manner of training the young and impetuous, yes. Thankfully, I did not lose my footing this time around." She smirks, remembering the bruises and the mending to follow from her last altercation on the training grounds. "And yourself? Grueling day as usual in court?" Her chest-armor, now removed from about her leather corset beneath, is hung up with care upon the mannequin. Next come the gauntlets, with fingers of one hand uplifted while she watches him and unwraps the leather ties with long-practiced lack of attention.

Loki has posed:
"I know you don't need help, but.... permit me?" Loki's voice, right up next to her now, comes, as he reappears just to her right, hand inches from her forearm and the gauntlet there. He's being playful in several ways: both with the shifting proximity, the illusions, and the offer. The illusion still remains on the cushioned furs near the fireplace, and so is the one right next to her: which is actually illusion? Loki and his mind games: it might well be neither.

"No, I was not at court. I have been elsewhere in the galaxy, actually," Loki supplies evenly. "A perk to the Space Infinity Stone that I have yet to tire of."

Sif has posed:
"Oh." Another small sound of surprise at the Asgardian mage's appearance is followed by a laugh unhelped. "I do not mind, no. Please, assist me." Sif's words are delivered with a teasing and courtly politesse. She does momentarily squint over towards the fireplace questioningly before bringing her attention back to the Loki nearest to her.

"I can imagine it is similar to my Brumeoalfold, perhaps, this Infinity Stone, though...of a higher calibre in power. It requires finesse, no doubt," she comments, looking between those brilliant jade-green eyes of the Trickster. "Of course, you can assume I am curious as to where in the galaxy your travels took you."

Loki has posed:
"It does, but it makes extreme travel a ... snap," Loki says, snapping the fingers of his right hand and grinning sleekly at her. "I /do/ feel spoiled by it. But that's not a problem, so long as I do keep perspective of how truly amazing it really is," Loki explains with smooth arrogance, moving to turn her forearm over if she allows, long fingers gliding down the straps and laces to smoothly loosen the item and draw it off gently over her wrist and hand, eyes on her face, smile private.

The other version of Loki at the fireside fades away after it lifts an illusory chalice of wine at her, taking the chalice with it. "I was looking into word of a location of another of the stones. But I'd rather be here, and now."

Sif has posed:
"Mmm...another of the stones?" Sif, content to let the mage divest her of one gauntlet, offers out the other arm already rotationally correct for the strapping and laces. She does glance over at the empty collection of furs by the fireplace and back at him, wearing a similarly secretive smile in appreciation at the nuances of his illusory art.

"I am..." Her brows draw together as the Vanir Princess further collects her thoughts, distracted momentarily by the sensation of his fingertips at the gaunlet's ties. "I am curious as to why they have been so...prevalent as of late. Am I mis-remembering that the Stones were to be kept far apart as for their own safety if not the universe about themselves?"

Loki has posed:
"You're not misremebering," Loki says, with a quick smile for her, leaning in a little more near her cheek, but he doesn't get closer: instead he draws a hand up to brush a few fingers to her cheek near her ear. Playful again, a tease, but subtle: a little flirtatious dance he's doing, it seems, as he pretends to focus on the other laces on her other forearm.

"In fact, I had three in my possession," Loki mildly brags, with a lofty pride to his tone. "Which is why I relocated the Sceptre which contains Mind, and made Dr. Strange warden of the Time stone. I feel it would be /prudent/ to know where others are."

Sif has posed:
Wearing her enigmatic little smile now, as if she were quietly keeping laughter contained at his antics, Sif then leans her face into the soft touch against her cheekbones. Her eyes half-lid contentedly in clear appreciation at his overt gesture of affection.

"I do remember that you had possession of three once. It was no small thing," the Aesir acknowledges. Her fingertips beyond the half-unlaced gauntlet curl to brush at Loki's own forearm in mirroring of his playful motion. "But...you did say that you wished to be here and now. My last question will be of how many you are certain of now?"

Loki has posed:
"Certain? Five, I think," Loki replies, though he has clear distraction in his smile as he removes the gauntlet fully and steps across - closer to her instead of going around her, to set the pieces of armor down next to her mannequin. "The three I've seen, and then two others. Which, I should say, are very, very far away from us. Well. For someone without the ability to warp across space, anyway." Loki lifts one shoulder, and looks over her current attire, and any remaining armor. "Shall I give you time to change further?" he wonders, with a courtly respect, and incline of head: to stare up at her with his glittering green eyes as he angles his head forward just 'so'. It gives an evil glint to his expression and grin, but not a //dangerous// evil.

Sif has posed:
"Goodness, you have nearly located them all." Sif is, by all appearances, truly impressed by this given her rise of brows. When given that particular look, however, she arches one eyebrow all the more imperiously and returns his regard levelly. The barest smile curls at her lips.

"If you could, yes, please, though...you were so kind to assist earlier. Would you mind the buckles at my back? For the pauldrons, you see." Turning in place to present her back to the mage, it's apparent that the cross-strapping does hook at its X-meeting point at her mid-spine. He gets an oblique look over the line of her shoulder, coquettish by dint of this alone without the way a reach back pulls her hair forwards and out of the way.

Loki has posed:
"Mh, looks complicated," Loki teases, a smirk in his voice as well as his tone. He taps the buckles, though, and magic comes in, to undo them all at once. He moves his hands foward to catch the upper back of the pauldrons, though, stepping in close behind her and handing her the pauldrons forward for her to set aside.

A grin surfaces before he bends and very deliberately puts a kiss in the exposed neck from where she'd moved her hair aside. "Anything else I can do?" offers the sly mage. "Further perks to my courtship as yet untapped?"

Sif has posed:
A soft chuckle rises from the Princess at his comment at the armor's catchings. "I have faith in you." With his assistance, Sif is able to shrug from the pauldrons and reach out to place their on the mannequin's shoulders. They gleam, part of a nearly complete set; she still needs to slip the gaunlets into place, after all.

But the kiss pressed to the nape of her neck has the Aesir woman letting out a quiet shiver of a sigh. "As yet untapped..." comes the murmured echo even as her head tilts back to see if she can't lean her temple against Loki's cheek. "This is magnanimous of you, my lord -- such an offer."

Turning in place now, so close in the mage's personal space, Sif looks from his lips and up to meet his eyes. "I would have you kiss me as to steal my breath before you take your momentary leave to allow me my wardrobe change." Oh Sif, bold as always, her mouth now barely parted in anticipation.

Loki has posed:
The mage's eyes narrow, in that very familiar way, of Loki making a judgement. Often a bold response or retort comes out of such a face: a narrowing of eyes, and suddenly a room is full of poisonous serpents, for example.

The room fortunately does not fill with serpents, but bold action comes come from it. Both hands slide up to her cheeks, fingers into her hair on either side, thumbs up against where her earlobes join at her neck. And the grin quickly morphs into a direct kiss, cupping her face with a guiding intensity. And it's one that lingers, and evolves in tandem with his hands moving to draw more of her close.

Sif has posed:
And how Sif steps further into his space, now sans her armor and in the supple formings of battle-leathers, red and cream-hued alike. Her arms slink up around his neck as if to anchor herself in the moment because, frankly, her heart is up in her throat against the odds of her earlier joking. Her lips are soft and giving beneath the intensity of the kiss and she sighs in the back of her throat.

There's even the subtle lift of one foot from the rug nearly to her booted toes in counter to the Princess's famed stoicism.

Loki has posed:
His intent was to bring her to a breathless state, and there's a rise to that challenge, for certain, from the silver-tongued mage. Truth be told, there was some of that silver tongue involved here; he'd be a fool not to, when the intensity becomes so strong.

As the kiss parts, Loki's expression shifts, like a shimmer of heat over desert sand: a quiet, elusive thing. "Are you happy, with me, Sif?" Loki asks her, from barely inches away, his watchful, intelligent eyes tight on reading her face, her eyes, for hints of emotion.

Sif has posed:
When the kiss breaks, the reveal of Sif's glacially-blue eyes comes slowly. She seems to be awakening from a reverie by the dreamy glazing of her darkened pupils, half-hidden away by the lining of her equally-dark fanning of lashes.

Her throat works. "You..." A soft laugh as further blush colors her cheeks. "You have stolen my wits, Loki, a second, please." Her arms don't loosen but for a little about his neck as the intensity lessens without dispersing entirely.

"Yes," Sif then says, her smile appearing like the dawning rise of the sun. "Yes, Loki, I am happy with you. We have much to learn of each other yet, but I cannot count myself as anything less than content in your arms."

Loki has posed:
"I'll steal more than that," Loki baits sweetly, his quick wit sharp but not mean. He chuckles but his smile changes as he also eases out from the kiss. It's put a very unusual expression on his face: the smile's there, but his eyes have relaxed, that narrowed tension that is /always/ there just isn't. He's actually relaxed enough to guard drop, at least for the moment.

Loki weighs her answer to his question, with a measuring caress of a curl of her hair between fingers of left hand. "I might already know a great deal about you," Loki whispers to her. "We'll have to improve on what you know of me." Such as kiss style, it seems, because he leans in for another.

Sif has posed:
A curling seedling of some clever response must wait for the second kiss's landing. Sif sighs approval nonetheless as she leans into his body all the more. Now the foot, dropped to rest upon the toe of her boot, does fully lift from the finely-patterned rug beneath them.

Indulging herself in it and the closeness of Loki's taller frame against her own, it takes several seconds for the Vanir Princess to part from the kiss and truthfully, it's really more for a full breath of air because she's as dizzy as she's ever been. "...indeed, I..." Sif blinks dozily up at the mage. "...I can at least claim proof that I know of your silver tongue," she whispers with a smile lazily curling her lips.

Loki has posed:
"Claim 'proof'?" Loki snickers immediately, his expression mercurial as ever, swiftly changing. It isn't mean, but it is amused. "Who would challenge on such a thing?" Loki plays with the side of her hair with one hand, spinning strands of it against his long fingers. "Have you not been asked if I've hypnotized you?" Loki questions evasively, with a lift of his dark brows, turning his head to take in both of her blue eyes with his own green.

"If not, I'm almost insulted. So many seem to think my power is not only limitless, but without any moral." Loki leans forward a little, to brush his nosetip to hers.

Sif has posed:
"I know it to be otherwise." The most gentle pressure of her hair being toyed with doesn't seem to bother Sif overmuch; it provides mild sensory distraction against the other interests of her fingers returning the favor. Winding up a lock about her pointer finger at the nape of Loki's neck seems just the thing to do.

"Though...have you hypnotized me, my lord?" A coy tilt of her head follows as the Aesir warrior teases. "I would not know, being the recipient of such a gesture. Or rather...have I hypnotized you? Perhaps you have fallen under my spell of wiles."

Loki has posed:
"I don't need magic to do it," Loki boasts slyly in return. "Just skill." He narrows his eyes playfully, flipping the hair back over her shoulder neatly, eyes drawn to it, then back to her. "You've entirely forgotten about your change of clothes, I suspect," Loki adds, inclining his head towards the side with her hand and wrist connected to the fingers that toyed at his nape.

"Your wiles? Hmmm," Loki weighs her with an appraising look. "There /is/ something hard to resist about you."

Sif has posed:
"Yes, well...it is gratifying to hear that my own magics can impose their will where I wish it," Sif replies in a light and courtly tease. Her fingers continue to loosely tangle and toy with the raven-dark hair at the mage's nape, never once attempting to tug. "Though you are entirely correct: I will grant you that, until you mentioned it, I was not thinking of changing my attire in the least."

She looks between his gemstone-green eyes, her own still somehow both soft and sharp at once, proof of his kisses and their influence. "If you would grant me but a few minutes, I shall join you in the hall outside?"

Loki has posed:
Loki draws his hand down her arm to her hand, and lifts it to breeze his lips over the back of her knuckles. Somehow, possibly more an intimate, measured gesture than some of the other attention, with his eyes fastened on hers. "Of course," purrs the mage, stepping back, trailing fingers over her wrist and palm, before he smiles just a little bit more. He lets go of her hand and walks towards the doorway, opening it... glancing back with a liquid smile, and stepping out.

The door closes. Is the illusionist even gone? Perhaps he is. Perhaps not.

Sif has posed:
Loki garners himself another hollow inhale for the brushing kiss to her knuckles; indeed, somehow it is more brazen yet given the gravity of such a move in their usual courtly spheres. He is fully able to watch Sif wring up the fall of her leather skirting with one hand while the other rests fisted to her chest, as if to keep both from straying elsewhere or reaching for him on his polite retreat from the room. The door closes with the narrowing view of the Princess turning in place with a smoldering glance shot over her shoulder.

Indeed, it isn't but a few minutes before she emerges from her room in something far less battle-worthy. Clinging to her legs is soft, dyed doeskin in midnight-blue tucked into knee-high all-usage boots. Her dress, long-sleeved and belted about her middle with lengths to decoratively fall centrally from its buckling, is in fabric azurine, like the deepest hues seen in a peacock feather under sunlight. It has a modest neckline with a gentle pointed dip to reveal her collarbones. With her hair pulled up into a hasty lover's knot, Sif looks about for the mage who left her knuckles tingling.

"Loki?"

Loki has posed:
"I'm here," Loki says, from his position leaning up next to the wall to her right, just past a column. It partially obscured him from view: a natural state for Loki, to quietly wallflower and observe a situation or hallway. He appraises her with a thoughtful look, moving over next to her, a brush of fingers on her bicep to her elbow, against the soft fabric of her sleeve. At first she might suspect he was moving into position to offer his arm to her, but his fingers attempt to trace down to her wrist and hand, fingertips seeking to brush her palm and fold her hand in his. It's a different message than a courtly elbow.

"Lovely gown," Loki approves, complimentary, relaxed at her side now, a lift to his chin.

Sif has posed:
As if conducted by the travels of his fingertips, Sif begins to lift her arm with a questioning glance from his hand to his face. When his fingers wrap about her palm, however, she smiles gently and returns the gesture. A half side-step brings the Vanir Princess further into Loki's orbit and signals subtle claimancy on her part where the holding of hands might not make a bold enough impression.

So bold, as always, dear Sif.

"Thank you kindly, Loki. It is one of my favorites, I admit. It is comfortable and fulsome to wear." Her leanly-muscled form moves gracefully within its confines as if to accent her point as she begins to walk, leading in no particular direction at first but down the hallway and towards the more public sectors of the royal palace. "I thought we might walk the gardens, if you do not mind? Time spent in the training yards is well and good, but I believe the winter honeysuckle is just beginning to bloom and I have been missing its scent for..." Her short sigh and winsome smile should say the rest: since Asgard had been lost.

"For a long enough time," Sif finishes nonetheless.

Loki has posed:
"We //could// do that," Loki agrees, letting his tone wander, as if he had some other idea that might be far better - and mysterious, of course. His leading tone teases, but he holds back whatever it is with a smile, moving by her side now, thumb moving over the back of her hand: comfortable, it appears, though he also seems alert. Loki rarely does anything at all without full intention about it, weighing cause and effect, particularly when it comes to the court and his personal status in it.

Sif's words of the scents do distract him, though, and he shoots a sideways look, with a quick perk of smile. "It felt far longer than it actually was. Mourning made it feel a lot longer," Loki says. "Which involved quite a bit of research on my part at the time, rather than mourning. There's always a //way//."

Sif has posed:
"Of course," the warrior beside him concurs with a comfortable ease. No doubt the servants they pass and the few stewards are noting the display of their united front in both shared presence as well as hands enfolded. "There tends to be a way. Knowing such a thing kept a kernel of hope alive in my heart -- that, and dreaming of the honeysuckle."

Sif tips her chin down and laughs mostly to herself, experiencing a moment of self-consciousness. "I know, it seems zealous of me to linger on the little plant, but there are fond memories found in its scent. I should see about having the gardeners bring a potted specimen into my room. Perhaps I can encourage it to flourish on my balcony."

Loki gets a quizzical glance now. "But your tone earlier suggested you have some other idea lingering on the tip of your tongue, my lord?" Her lips purl into an innocent and clear attempt not to smile.

Loki has posed:
"I'll summon one for you, should it please you," Loki tempts her, turning towards her, his free hand coming up towards her shoulder, with an undoubtedly flirtatious look, and a little spiining motion of wrist. The illusionist draws up the scent of honeysuckle in a burst of intensity, invisible, as it is only a trick of the senses. Still, the illusionist knows his craft.

"It does still linger," Loki agrees as she inquires. "I did realize that you have never seen the interior of my castle," Loki says, as if that were quite odd. A little grin follows. "Few have, save for the inside of the dungeon." Deadpan, but he smirks. "I joke. I'd not keep prisoners in my home; they have always been sent here. My castle is a place of lore and magic."

Sif has posed:
For all that Sif leans back slightly at the eloquent motion of the mage's hand, the rising sparkling scent of honeysuckle is enough for her to inhale and then exhale with clear pleasure on her face. A touch of pink graces her cheeks at the gesture. Secretly, the Vanir Princess hopes the floral note will cling in her hair.

But the invitation to visit the mysterious castle set a comfortable distance from the Golden City is enough to make Sif openly curious and more than a little interested. "I did think it a place for study rather than scrutiny of ill will. I would delight in visiting your castle, Loki. Shall we away?"

Loki has posed:
"Well, I would not say that study is specifically never inclusive of a scruity of ill will," Loki teases her. His studies can often go that way. "Mine or others'," he smirks slyly. He watches her exhale, and smirks, leaning into her space further by drawing her hand and arm towards his hip. He turns his body into her front a little, chest close to hers, and moves to brush his nose a little against her cheek. Entirely playful, and his eyes are flooded with that mischief. A pure look at what Loki is, more than anything else: that teasing game, that flash of free, mercurial will.

"Then we go," Loki says, opposite hand starting in on a quick combination of runes and gestures, as he calls to his castle's summon links.

Sif has posed:
Dark lashes half-fall to shade her eyes as if to play at modesty, but Sif returns that cheerfully-troubling smirk as best she can. Even as they pause in one of the grandly-designed hallways of the royal palace, arcing high above in ceiling and flooded with the fall of light to glow off tapestries and Asgardians alike, she brings up her free hand to gently rest upon his chest.

Looking away from his refined face, she watches keenly how his will is imparted upon the air with the certain confidence of an artist sketching at an easel. While she can define parallels to her own sword's rendering of reality for portal access, this is another talent entirely.

Loki has posed:
Loki flicks his eyes to her: not just an artist sketching, but one that knows he's being watched, and has done this painting so many times he can do it while flicking a cool grin at the audience. It isn't a portal, it's a teleportation, which means his hand in hers is abruptly important as the palace whirls around them in streaks of light, and they reappear in the overwhelming interior hall of Loki's castle.

The castle is certainly styled on the golden peaks of the Asgard castle, but it has a dark tone to it, high contrasts of black and silver along the exterior lines of walls and the shape to the domed ceilings above them. It's more like cathedrals: to the worship of the occupant, to impress and paint such a picture of magical potency as to leave visitors quivering like jelly.

Magic is everywhere: there's moving bookshelves, stairways that glint with transparency. It's a funhouse of desires and impressions, much like Loki's mind. Layers of things, mirrors that lead to other places or dream states. A hall is full of portals, just to their left, each glimmering with some place or land: or perhaps just an illusory dream.

It's sensory overload, a lot to take in. And Loki's there, proud as anything. He releases her hand to stride into the center of his magical insanity, and splays his arms apart and open, like a magician accepting applause for his act.

Sif has posed:
Sif breathes in, a reaction to the castle in the Golden City melting about her like a stellar watercolor left in the rain. Dizzied momentarily as she stands newly arrived in the mage's domain, the Vanir warrior first looks up. Such lofty heights with shadows darkening corners ask for her to peer harder -- or perhaps lure the unwary to peer to see what peers back.

Her hands, freed, rise to rest at her chest, clasped unthinking before her breastbone as if to keep them from wandering to anything at all in the room. She lifts her eyebrows to see the living bookshelves and dares a step forwards to crane her neck out farther. The portals beckon to be discovered by their tempting show of places unknown. Still, the Princess's gaze unerringly returns to Loki and his proud stance.

"Loki, it is...a thing of wonder," she breathes, absolutely true in her opinion. Never has she seen such a masterful multitude of major and minor magic manifested.

Loki has posed:
From the walls, multiple automotons suddenly start to move. Their heads lean out of alcoves. Silvery and covered in green runes, their bodies are long and willowy, joints made of magical glowing sinew between the rock-like forms of their limbs, bodies, torsos. Long blades jut from the backs of their arms like scythes, as they peer out at the intruder.

Loki spots them and does a bit of a gesture, and the automotons settle back in. Hundreds of them: those are not pillars, those are a scary amount of guards. Loki ignores them entirely and approaches her with a serene smile.

"It's not the /palace/," Loki scoffs, "...I think in many ways it's better. But less famous. And, of course, mine." All of the above being very important items. "Library towers are upstairs, left... my quarters right," he says, with a general zigzag of 'tour' in the motion of hand. "Magical servants everywhere, of course."

Sif has posed:
At the sudden liveliness of what are not pillars, but instead magicked beings run entirely by mystical energy and clearly enchanted to consider all save for Loki himself as potential trespassers, Sif does gain an extra inch in height. Her hand can be seen to reach to grip for a sword not present and her jaw sets. It's a shift in personality quick and easy as the draw of a dagger, from ornamental beauty to edged Goddess of War.

However, it seems the display wasn't deliberate...at least, not at first, given the mage's shushing motion returns the automotons to their places on the palace walls -- more like an automated sensing set off by a presence not-Loki. Sif releases the readied tension in her shoulders on his approach, her glacially-blue eyes flickering to his face.

"You are well-attended," she notes to him, attention briefly scanning both sides of the broad room to insinuate the automotons specifically. "You must accomplish much here without being interrupted or disturbed with the help to bring to hand." A sigh releases another modicum of tension from her. She looks to both sets of transparent stairways gleaming like whispers of daydreams and back to Loki. "Do I get a tour of your abode...?" Her lips rise in a small smile yet.

Loki has posed:
"Not yet," Loki says, moving to cross in front of her, and extends a hand to tap at her side where she's missing her sword. "Would you feel better if you were armed in here?" Loki asks her, his tone slippery. It's a dangerous tone: that admitting it might also suggest something else. It's a Loki word trap, quite possibly.

"Old habits, I'd imagine," Loki adds, watching her. "If you think I'd bring you here to harm you, we have an entirely other thing we need to discuss, I suspect," Loki says, head lifted, an arch to his regal dark brows and narrowing of emerald eyes.

"I think it would be /better/ if you took it as that I don't /bring/ people here." Loki's suddenly turning away, but saunters towards the stairs which lead to the library a half dozen steps, before looking back to her, his expression muted.

Sif has posed:
Sif, at first, remains where she stands. Her brows meet despite herself. The proud Aesir's gaze then falls down and to one side for a moment; a gripping of the fall of her dress at her hip clenches and then relaxes.

"...I think each of us bear scars, Loki." Soft, her voice, in conjunction with her steps that move to follow him. They bring her up beside the mage and an arm lifts to offer linkage at his elbow. She looks between those brilliantly-green eyes of his. "Whether or not we allow them to shadow us as dark dogs in the night is another thing entirely. I am here, am I not? I am not afraid of you. Now, to be outnumbered? Yes," the Aesir tells him bluntly. "War is unkind to those who stand alone. It is hard sometimes for me to remain free of my shades. This place?" She half-turns to look around the castle built on imagination's shoulders. Her voice is softer yet as she meet Loki's eyes again.

"This place is free of my shades."

Loki has posed:
"Hmmm," Loki replies. He looks up at the ceiling, and the guardians around them. "This is /my/ shadow and legacy of my past," Loki replies. "The dangers that come after /me/," he shrugs a little, but wraps his arm around hers. There's a sparkle of some mirth in his dark expression.

"There are SOME that find me a villain, you know," Loki says, as if he were terribly insulted by that. "They aren't welcome here." He draws his other hand up, a sleek turn of wrist to touch two fingertips to her chin, then spread them up against her cheek in a caress, should she let him. It comes with a stirring of honeysuckle. Loki pays attention.

Sif has posed:
Lifting to follow his gaze, Sif's eyes wander the ceiling and then along one of the walls once again. Her face turns to his again once their arms are entwined; it means she chooses to lean into the mage's space with a shifting of weight, her hip barely brushing against the line of his thigh.

Again, the wisp of floral sweetness comes after the gentle passing of Loki's touch to her cheek. It makes the Princess smile all the more despite herself, fully aware of the gesture and at the same time, ever so pleased it remains secretive, a note between the two of them alone.

"It is to their loss that they remain close-minded in their views." Her comment comes as she snakes her palm up and around to alight overtop the mage's bicep. "Though I do understand the necessity of safe-guarding one's privacy. I imagine your library has many a delicate scroll or rare tome?"

Loki has posed:
"There was a time where I would have said some of the items therein should, perhaps, be in Odin's safe," Loki gives in answer, tone serene. "Now, though, after all that has happened? They were, and /are/, far safer exactly where they are, under my care. After all, I had to save the contents of Odin's vault at the time of Ragnarok," Loki says, with a slight shake of head and arch of brow.

"So much of what people claim is villainy really does change when the future continues to unfold. We can become heroes, mmm?" Loki winks at her, stepping in closer, lingering with his smile now close to hers, in the center of the cathedral-like center room, in complete privacy. Loki's element, the secret-lined castle of the lie-master's design.

Sif has posed:
Sif nods. It seems wise, his actions, and she glances to the crystalline stairwell seeming one minute to curl about in a helix of free-floating panels and the next twining through with veins of gold and silver in latticed walled steps. Who would dare attempt to assault this bastion?

Her attention shifts back to Loki when he steps in closer. Her eyes fall to his mouth and back to his eyes. A subtle lift of her chin is followed by the smirking murmur, "I did claim time changes all things, does it not? I am wise, in my way."

Loki has posed:
"You're saying I changed?" Loki asks thoughtfully, serene. He doesn't suggest either direction: whether he wants to hear a yes or a no. Perhaps it doesn't really matter, because he leans in to steal a kiss. The honeysuckle is still present, as his hand is still so close to the side of her cheek. It lessens as he draws it to where her shoulder meets her neck, settled there in a warm, comfortable manner. A new thing, what they're forming between them, and not always effortless, but still, something is being built, layer on layer.

Sif has posed:
The automatons can stare all they want in their cusp of readied state along the walls. Whatever's in the shadows above in the ceiling's heights can peer all day long. Sif, frankly, doesn't care.

Nor is she able to summon much answer to the truly pensive question Loki asks her. Rather, she's terribly distracted by the display of affection; blush rises to her cheeks, further charged by the sweet scent of winter-flowers. No doubt memory will bring to mind heated kisses with enough repetition in action and bond the scent as such. She fully steps into the mage's body and hums musically into his lips.

Apparently, it doesn't matter overmuch to the Princess how long it takes to see this fabled library belonging Loki. She's content to remain where she is for now, in the shadow of the Trickster and free of her shades.