(no subject)

[brosif]

Characters: Sif, Anya
Open? No
Where: Schwanheim
When: Afternoon of Day 10
What: Sif and Anya go shopping like girls do. Shopping and boys and chocolate, ladies, amirite?
Warnings: Potential anxiety attacks!


Sif walked towards the castle gate, ignoring the stares of the villagers. It was a lovely day -- all of the days here had been lovely, in terms of weather, which only lent the entire atmosphere of the kingdom an air of fiction.

Sif realized, objectively, that she did not know Anya Lehnsherr. She did not know the girl's character, how she might wield a weapon once it was in her possession. But evil men were allowed weapons all the same as good, and it would not do to leave a young girl without resources to defend herself.

She came upon the gate, and recognized the girl from the orb. She held her fist over her chest, in greeting.

"Well met, Ms. Lehnsherr."

Comments

[fridgetothefire]

"Well met," Anya answers, though she ducks her head for a moment rather than mimicking the gesture. She smiles a little self-deprecatingly right after, tucking a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. "Am I allowed to say that? Or is it a shiny just-for-Asgardians thing? Sorry, I don't really know the etiquette."

[brosif]

"You may greet me in whatever custom your people find comfortable."

She paused, remembering a time in the swamp bogs of Svartálfar.

"Unless your greetings are in any way mucus-based. I would seek to avoid that particular bit of cross cultural interaction." She paused, smiling in a way that was meant to be defusing if Anya's people did in fact greet one another by licking noses. "No offense meant."

[fridgetothefire]

Anya laughed.

"Ew, don't worry, definitely not." She shakes her head, then holds out a hand. "We shake hands, usually. Hold each other's fingers and move them up and down a few times."

She pauses. "Wow. It sounds a lot weirder when you break it down like that."

[brosif]

"Not especially, if you consider your background." She held out her own hand, and sook Anya's firmly. "Did the handshake not evolve from a need to check one another for weapons?"

She stepped back, glancing down to her side, where her sword was neatly hanging. "On Asgard, we assume everyone is armed."

[fridgetothefire]

"That sounds right," Anya admitted, "Though I couldn't tell you for sure. Mostly it's just what people do now, because that's the tradition." Besides which, in the circles she's used to, no one needs a physical weapon to be dangerous.

[brosif]

"Truthfully, I know very little of Midgard's traditions. You change so rapidly over the course of a millennium."

Horses to cars, tents to concrete. The halls of her own world lay unchanged. Shaking her head with a smile, Sif gestured towards the market.

"Shall we find you something suitable for killing?"

It’s said in the same tone another might use to talk about a new dress for spring.

[fridgetothefire]

"I guess we do, yeah. It's kind of a long time, to us."

She takes a deep breath, like a swimmer before jumping into a cold pool. Her smile is a little anxious, but absolutely real.

"Yes, let's."

[brosif]

Sif leads the way to the blacksmith. Two days in this kingdom, and it’s the one shop she has memorized the path to. She tries not to be mindful of the stares.

“I’m sorry, Anya, but I believe you will find this behavior quite common.”

One man’s eyes linger a little too long (and a little too low) for Sif’s taste and she casts her eyes downwards, towards her sword. He goes back about his business.

[fridgetothefire]

Anya's expression is calm, with a smooth, unruffled smile on her face. It's not too different from her usual look, except that the smile is smaller, more subdued, and rigidly unchanging. She walks through the crowd without ever quite meeting anyone's eyes, without acknowledging the stares at all.

"It's fine," she murmurs flatly. "I don't mind."

She's used to people staring at her, when she fails to blend perfectly into the background. Usually those stares were laden with scorn, anger, disgust, and even hatred, depending on how virulently anti-human any given member of her father's organization was. A little curiosity and inappropriate ogling is easy to ignore in comparison.

[brosif]

"Ah." She looked at Anya, recognizing something of herself in the girl. Growing up in Thor and Loki's company, Sif had gotten accustomed to being looked at -- appraised, really -- from an early age. Not from the princes themselves, but from those who wondered what exactly it was that she was in training for.

"I commend you, then. I never could bring myself to not mind."

[fridgetothefire]

She shrugs.

"You can get used to almost anything, if it never stops."

Which is, perhaps, too much honesty - but if it earns Sif's respect, there are far worse things to reveal.

[brosif]

"Almost," Sif affirmed, quietly. That was all she had to say on the subject.

Then, more brightly: "Do you have any training? A knife is just a sharp piece of metal without it."

[fridgetothefire]

She shakes her head.

"Not enough. I - a little bit of hand to hand, but not knife fighting. It wasn't - possible, at home. But I want to learn. Lady Alanna offered to let me train with her students."

[brosif]

Sif's face visibly brightens at the mention of Alanna -- she'd fought well in the forest, and had thus fully earned the warrior's respect.

"Lady Alanna fights with distinction. I am sure she will be a very capable teacher."

It was Sif's responsibility, then, to be sure that Alanna's student had a worthy weapon. She stopped just short of the blacksmith's entryway.

"Hold out your hands, please."

[fridgetothefire]

"Yes. But - just to say. If you have time, or, or the desire at all, I would never turn down extra teaching."

With that, she takes a breath, drawing herself straight up, presenting both hands. There are a few callouses, despite her sheltered life - mostly from working with machines.

[brosif]

At that, Sif’s expression brightens even further – the paths to her good graces are hardly clouded in mystery. The idea of having something tangible to do here – a student to train, instead of a vague foe to fight – is incredibly appealing to the woman some have nicknamed the goddess of war.

“It would be an honor.”

With a solider’s eye, she inspects Anya’s hands. They belong to someone willing to work. “You will develop a fair bit of calluses. I suggest wrapping your hands, after training sessions. I am not the most relaxed of teachers, and I suspect the same of Lady Alanna.”

[fridgetothefire]

Anya nods.

"I will," she promises. "I'm not afraid of pain, but I know you have to take care of yourself."

Yo Anya I heard you like metal so we put some metal in yo metal so you can metal while you metal

[brosif]

“Very well.” Sif finds no hesitation in Anya’s words, and opens the door to the shop. The blacksmith is hammering away, and Sif finds the smell of it – of steel turning to blade – welcome. The walls are lined with weapons, but it occurs to her that for someone of Anya’s size it may be best to have something custom made.

“Do you see anything that calls to you?”

WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS 8U

[fridgetothefire]

She takes a deep breath and immediately regrets it. She clenches her hands at her sides, holds herself rigidly upright as she steps through the shop, examining each piece.

"None of them will call to me," she says flatly. "I just need something - effective. Optimized for stabbing, not blocking. I don't have the strength or training to fend off a real warrior now. My best advantage will be surprise, and I need to do as much damage as quickly as possible."

WHY NOT

[brosif]

Sif notes the change in Anya’s bearing – the rigidity, the sharp intake of breath. It seems like more than being wary of weapons, especially for one who was so eager to train not minutes before. She notes it, but she does not comment – until it affects Anya’s training, it’s none of her business.

“True words.” For a moment, she thinks to ask Loki for a recommendation. But it is only a moment – the way habit used to call her to start setting a place at dinner for her grandfather, months after he’d died. She looks closely at the display, and pulls a small, simple knife from the wall. She holds it out.

“Let me see how you grip this.”