Head Full of Doubt/Road Full of Promise } for Chinathor

[bornandforged]

He has not been the easiest man to find of late, though Sif has not really been one to talk on that score. Avoiding the embassy in New York for the palace at home, and then the palace for her own retreat, and then that for her family's estate on a different distant patch of coastline has left her out of pocket for a week before her appearance today, now, here. She steps out of a neat tear in the world, blade returned to its sheath as the rift's smooth edges seal shut behind her.

"Thor," she greets him, a hand clapped on his arm to aid in announcing her presence in case his name wasn't called heartily enough to do the trick. Her smile is as friendly as ever, the threat of nerves well-buried beneath cheer. "How goes it here with you?" she asks. She looks to survey their surroundings, his hide-out here away from the court. While faced away her shoulders find a way to straighten one last fraction of a degree, and when she turns back it is with hands caught before her, knuckles interwoven and left to rest on shining plate.

"There is a thing I would speak with you about," she says, not because she wasn't really interested in discussing his recuperation after all, but because finding the gauzy corner of the bandage here now in her fingers and the delicate new skin beneath already stuck and pulling it is too much to resist the urge to rip it off. She finds his eyes, "To do with Loki, and with me."

Comments

[erud_ther_buin]

Thor's choice of hideaway indicates clearly who he's hiding from. The riverside establishment is a glory of burning lanterns and resined bridges aglow in the light that they cast, and dark drawing rooms connected to bright banquet halls and gondolas that ferry distinguished persons to and from the pier. Diplomats from the forming troll nations sup here, besides pretty girls from Vanaheim and discomfitted elves in very fine robes. It's not the sort of place the King ever goes, but any political delegate would find their way here at some point or other.

Thor has the best room at the joint, of course. "Greetings, Lady Sif." He takes the arm to his shoulder with a smile, doesn't immediately reach for her in turn; his hands are occupied with a long sheaf of parchment, a map sketched across it in careful detail, red lines flowing along what are unmistakable demarcations of territory. Thor closes the parchment carefully with his enormous hands, then sets it down on the table. There are other parchments there. Thor has probably been procrastinating reading them between waiting for folks to show up and make their cases in loud voices, rendering said reading unnecessary.

He doesn't try to hug her, which may suggest he knows what this is about. Instead, Thor settles his stare on the woman, his features pleasant, but not quite as easy in their warmth as he typically would be, seeing his friend after extended absence. "I won't be coy about it," because he's Thor, obv. "Loki and I have spoken. Do you come to discuss your plans to journey beyond the boughs of Yggdrasil?"