Sif's laugh joins his when feet leave the floor and she's still grinning when Thor sets her back down, a hand lingering on his elbow as long as his remains on her shoulder. "We will," she agrees. She squeezes his arm and then laughs again at mention of battlefield antics, scoffing, "Please do! You could all use the practice."

One more thump and then she's pulling away, headed for the door to order more wine. That the prince is present means refills are close at hand, and in a minute or two she is setting flagons down before him and retaking her seat. She kicks her feet up onto an empty chair beside Thor and pours for them both.

"So," she says, leaning back with her cup, "Do you care to talk about this lunacy matter now, or later when we are drunk, or not at all?" She did not miss it nor his look when he said it, just postponed asking, selfishly preoccupied. Now that it is foremost she looks mildly concerned in the manner of someone who is actually at least moderately concerned but making the effort to downplay it, more than willing to listen but not about to force him to speak.