1963-09-10 - Squalor
Summary: Falling through a Nexus point into Midgard, Sif finds the path to home and meets an unlikely tutor.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
daimon sif 


It took Daimon a bit of time to trace the remnants of the portal. It hadn't been to Hell, at least, he'd been able to determine that, but he wasn't familiar with the dimension of origin in this case. One of the higher planes, closer to Heaven, but not quite that either.

The woman carrying the imprint, though, definitely had signs of being an angel. For one, she was gorgeous. For another, he was pretty sure there was a chance she might try to kill him.

"No wings, though," he says aloud as he manifests behind her, dispersing the illusion of invisibility from himself with a soft flare of brimstone. "Just what are you, exactly? You're quite a looker for an extradimensional invader, but looks can be deceiving. I would know, I'm an expert on deception."


It has been two days. Two days. She could already feel the magic thrumming in the air, how close she was to the axis point of where Heimdall would allow her home. It was like a breath of fresh air. She really didn't love nor miss anything that had to do with Midgard but she longed to feel the wind of Asgard in her air. Even the breeze that hits her just right at that very moment brings memory to it all…

Until the voice rips through her senses which has her turning part way, her hand upon her broadsword ready to strike.

But alas, she could not. She promised long ago that she would not bring harm to the Earth realm peoples.. well.. Not much.

I am Goddess." She says confidently. "And you'd do well to leave my side." But, at times his company would be favored.. if he didn't smell like walking Hel himself. "You are peculiar, however.." She murmurs quietly. "Come. We will walk."


Daimon smiles, "Ah, goddess, that explains it. Which pantheon? You don't look Egyptian, which is a shame, I hear they're a peculiar people. They used to marry siblings, you know," he says, trotting up casually to walk alongside Sif.

"Peculiar. That's one way to put it. I suppose I might qualify as a…demi-god. I'm half-human, but my father is…not so much. I'm not sure his title would mean very much to you, however - in this realm, he's fairly well-known," he says. "What brings you here, Goddess?"


Maybe Daimon could see it.

The faint glow upon the horizon as Sif could see it herself. Maybe it was because she was his only sister; and how he spoiled her with special gifts that show that he was there waiting for her to cross that line. But there was little to no smile upon her face. Little to no spark of life save for the sheer determination at which she walks. Her armor, dark red like blood and slightly rusted, has her sticking out like a sore thumb with her shield upon her back and sword upon her hip. People were watching, yes. And she did nothing to hide or conceal. She was the fairest of the fair.

"I know of them." Is all Sif says, her eyes cutting into the distance, gaze flitting back and forth. "Your blood smells of brimstone." Sif remarks. "Which leads me to believe that your Father possibly deigns in a place most dark and hot."

She takes a step into the middle of the street from the sidewalk, and begins to walk the path.. right in the middle of traffic. "I fell into this place. I am unsure if it is by the will of the All Father or naught. But I will see to myself that I return. For it is not long now." She finally takes a look towards him, then frowns. "You do not belong either."


Daimon smiles, "You presume correctly. He and I do not see eye to eye on many things. I won't claim to be virtuous, far from it, but I don't revel in evil to the degree he does - I'm just a little bit of a sadist," he smirks.

"I don't belong anywhere," he says, "So I learn to make the best of it. This world isn't so very bad at all. You might even like it here, if you give it a chance. Although we would definitely need to get you a new outfit - you're going to stick out like a sore thumb in that," he says.


Sif stops in the middle of traffic, her lips working into something akin to a smile, never even flinching as a car honks it's horn and speeds right on by, tires squealing in its wake. "Prince of Darkness, are we." She says, a slight hint of sarcasm in her voice as she turns and continues to walk along the street. Surely, she was causing a lot of hell by doing this, people stared and stopped, others point and carried on..

"And you presume that I dislike this place more than our current conversation." She looks down towards herself, then up towards him..

"Sore thumbs do stick out." She looks at her own hands. "But are you insinuating that I look as if my thumbs are sore?" She nearly became angry, but she was obviously listening to his quiery. "And what is this outfit that you speak of?"


Daimon shrugs, "Prince of Darkness, Prince of Lies, Prince Betwixt A Lady's Thighs, it's all the same to me," he says.

"I presume you dislike the place because you're a goddess and you're down amongst the hoi polloi, mingling with the mortals. Historically speaking, your kind come down to fight or fuck and you're not precisely dressed to seduce," he says.

"I'm insinuating that no one's going to mistake you for anything but what you are, which is fine, but will attract attention that you may not desire. The outfit of which I speak is this fine suit of armor, which no doubt offers protection while, at the same time, signalling to all of these local yokels that you are not from around here," he says.



The look that Sif gives him at the last title he proclaims is crude. There was a furrow of her brow and a slight shake of her head, which actually stops her in her tracks as her fingers lift to press her dried, bloodied hand against the bridge of her nose to squeeze. And with a grunt and a sigh, she continues forward, her head held high and pressed, even as a bus nearly clips her shoulder as she continues down the path.

Must be an Asgardian thing.

"I am here for neither." She answers in a clipped tone. "This is the path that I am set upon and I shall see my way home." But, there was a small gathering following the two in the middle of the street, which causes Sif to stop and stare at those gathered, then soon turns towards Daimon as he explains what an outfit was. Her hand presses against her middle, knocking on the suit of armor, then she murmurs quietly. "I am listening." If they were going for this thing called 'outfits' she needed one, as soon as possible.


Daimon walks along beside her, backwards, although he seems to unerringly step around anything in his path, be it pole or person. He even skips a little bit, hopping up over a fire hydrant and coming down on the other side lightly.

"Women, at least in this era, don't tend to wear armor. Or be warriors. Although the tides are shifting on that, they're a long way from reaching shore. For the moment, you will stick out unless you're clad in silk or cotton - a dress, a blouse, a skirt…they even have these things called miniskirts now, if you're of a mind to show your legs," he says.

He raises a hand, 'I'm certain you have objections. I'm not saying these standards are correct or incorrect. I'm simply stating the norms as they exist within this earthly continuum.'


Sif looked at Daimon as if his head just grew three sizes. She was appaled at hearing of such, so much that she allows the flow of traffic to continue by crossing the way nearest to him towards the sidewalk.

'Bout time!'
'Freakish cow!'

They weren't happy commuters, that was for certain.

"And these mortal women wear cloth and skirts to show their legs for what?" Sif looks down at her own legs, clad in braces to protect her shins. Even her own skirt was riddled with protective metal that attached to the waist as well as her midsection and bust. Her vambraces were patted to ensure the fit but still, the man has a point.

"Then we shall acquire these things post haste. And the journey to my homeland shall continue undeterred." She pauses, then adds with a snarky grin. "Lead the way, Prince of Darkness."


Daimon laughs. This should be an interesting shopping experience. He leads Sif along towards a nearby boutique, a little Bohemian in taste, but like to have minis for the college crowd. They aren't far from NYU campus, "Often to attract a male, a potential mate. Women here have, for centuries, been dependent on males for their living. At the same time, women are beginning to understand both the power and pleasure of sexuality. They are starting to throw off their constraints, starting with the ones that cover up their legs," he says.

He leads her inside, snapping his fingers at a saleswoman whose eyes dilate almost instantaneously, the Prince of Lies' serpentine gaze capturing her, "Hello…Darla, is it? Yes, find what you have that will fit the Goddess here…I'm sorry, I didn't get your name and I can't pluck it from your mind as I do Darla's."


Sif follows the man wordlessly. He does not pose a threat; she wasn't so cold-hearted and ill-thinking to figure that he would accost her at any second. But then there were others, others which make her place a hand upon her blade with the way that they turn to stare, and walk on their paths as if they were seeing a dream.

"On Asgard, they consider a womans hair as her attraction. Hair golden, that shines like the sun or dull as the hay the mares eat. That is beauty." There was a slight hitch within her voice, but it goes unnoticed once they enter into the boutique.

And Sif nearly rears back in horror.

She says nothing, however, for fear of offending the woman. She does taste the magic in the air as the man plucks the womans name from her mind as if it were an apple from a ripe tree. This causes Sif to chuckle ever so slightly, her footfalls loud as she approaches the woman with a hand gesturing towards the store. "Lady Sif." She states. "And I require only the best." Need she say more?


Daimon smiles, "Lady Sif. Royalty among the gods, who knew? Everyone likes titles, it seems," he says. He leads her along to the latest fashion, a mingling of proto-hippie bohemia and slick polyester, patterns and colors bright. "Peacocks seem to be the birds of inspiration at the moment. An awakening, now that they've invented impossible dyes and unnatural fabrics. Humans are ingenious creatures, many of them, if not always that subtle," he smiles.


"Not everyone likes titles." Sif comments quietly as he shows her along. Her hands reach out to grab and feel the fabric between her fingers, spreading the dresses wide until she finds something that she likes, taking it from the hangers and hooks to spread the garb in front of her.

The peacock color was the one that had gotten her attention. A beautiful mesh of bohemian greens and yellows, some flecks of blues and teals within and a lining of red. Her eyes nearly widen at this, and with a glance towards Darla, Sif gets to work.

Right in the middle of the store Sif begins to disrobe, showing no care for prying eyes, her armor clattering loud against the floor as she bears all for thine eys to see. The dress was picked up yet again, and soon slipped over her head and tugged down her body in a perfect fit. Save for the opening at the back. Which has Sif covering that by wearing her shield yet again, her sword belt gripped and sinched about her waist as her gladiator 'sandals' were put on again with a quick lacing against the shin.

"The fabric is thin." Sif comments dryly. "How are the mortal women not dead."


Daimon certainly isn't like to avert his eyes, hopping up onto a counter and waving a hand to dismiss the saleswoman. Darla's more than happy to go back to folding things in the inventory area, especially since she'll forget all about the unusual pair ten minutes after they leave.

"Because there is little war in this part of the world. Crime, yes - robbers, thieves and the like. Bandits. But war? War is something that generally happens far away here. The humans in this part of the world are soft and vulnerable and growing fatter every passing year," he says. "Which is rather wonderful, I think. While you seem fond of war, I am fond of leisure and sin, and there is little time for anything but wrath when war runs rampant," he says.

"The sword will make you stick out, too. Can you disappear it? If not, I can provide a minor enchantment. Free of charge, of course."


"I have little interest in fighting the battles of Midgard." She states, approaching the mirror to look at herself. With a twist, the dress itself flourishes, her hand pressed to her sides as she lifts upon the tips of her toes. It wasn't a bad look, it was something worth getting used to. Sif never bothered with colors save for the darkness of the red, sometimes the gold and white.. sometimes silver..

A scarf was plucked from the stand nearby, stared at.. then tossed aside in the bit of light, her gaze falling back upon Daimon with a slight shake of her head. "I'll not have your dark magics sully my blade."

She turns again, her hands pressed to her belt as a soft thrum is heard. It was a quiet hum, one that the most sensitive of ears could pick up. For her armor was there one moment.. and gone the next. This leaves her back wide open, her dress slightly slipping at the shoulders.

With a satisfied sigh, she turns with a flourish, her dark hair swimming in the air. "Shall we be off?"


Daimon seems to have altered his own clothes, now clad in a dapper suit, adjusting his scarlet tie, the black suit with a red pinstripe perfectly tailored to his specifications. Precisely where it came from hardly matters.

He straightens his pentagram cufflinks and bows, gesturing towards the door, "Apres vous, madamoisselle," he says. "Where precisely, I may ask, are we off to? Do you have a destination in mind or do we simply wander the Earth in search of adventure and fortune?"


Sif takes a moment to stare. He was a very handsome young man indeed. But there was an aura of darkness that surrounded him that nearly made her mouth dry. But nevertheless, she steps along side of him and begins to walk, waiting for him to open the door so that she could exit out into the sidewalk, though those that now pass her ignore her. Which was all the more better for her psyche.

"Asgard." She states, gesturing ahead. "The lit path ahead of us shows the way to my brother, Heimdall. It is there he will call down the might of Asgard and summon me to the bridge so that I can return home." Sif grins, even though she could use her sword, this was a show of respect. An ode to a brother who loves her dearly.

"I am certain that you and your filth are not allowed to walk the heavens. However, the way you teach me about this world is intriging, Prince of Darkness. And I shalll require further lessons." At least to see what the damn fuss is about. "I need to know why my brethren choose to live in such squalor. Filth."


Daimon smiles, "Asgard, huh? Isn't that where you came from? I mean…why didn't you just stay there? Which of your brethren, exactly, is it who lives in the squalor around you?' he asks.

"Filthy I am and make no mistake about it. I don't put on airs or pretend," he says. "Well…maybe a little, but only for my own amusement. Shame is for lesser creatures," he says. "Not that you seem to have much of it yourself, from the view I got. Anyway, I don't have much interest in going to heaven - it seems rather boring."


"Yes. Asgard."

There was a purpose to her steps, even though she felt bare and a little bit light. She held a degree of elegance, befitting of a warrior woman and a woman as a whole. "My brother banished me to teach me a lesson. I find that my lesson has been learned and now he calls me home." She looks to him then, then out towards the beacon. And with a slight turn into a street, she sees the park not too far ahead.

"Thor, and his younger Loki. They find these mortals entertaining, even worthy of love of an Asgardian. I do not, however." A cold word from such a lovely woman, but at least she speaks the truth.

"You have no idea how wonderful Asgard is compared to this .. Earth." She smiles then, fond of where she comes from. "While I can see many, many similarities, Asgard is at best more advanced, more lively, more .. clean." She sniffs faintly, picking up on the quiet trail of engine exhaust. And hotdogs. Gross. "We are not far now."


Daimon shrugs, "Clean isn't everything," he smiles, "Dirt has a lot to teach, if you're willing to dig your hands into it," he says.

"But everyone likes their home best. Well, I don't, but my home was…complicated," he says. The old house in Maine. The dungeon. The library. The screams. Best not to linger there too long.

"If Thor and Loki are so drawn to mortals and you don't yet understand why, then I would suggest you haven't learned the lesson he's tried to teach you. Unless you think Loki and Thor are simply fools, which isn't…well, it isn't Loki's reputation, at any rate."


"Now, you sound like my father." Sif points out.

"I don't understand why because there were no lessons to teach. They've led their lives accordingly to their whims and I mine. Mine laid more in battle, where as they were led by love and other things.. human." She sniffs slightly. "Loki -is- a fool who seeks mayhem. Mayhem in which could topple worlds upon their knees just because he /could/. To say that he is a fool is right, but he is a right clever bastard. One whom I despise."

Sif stops in her place, leaning down to remove her sandals to clutch in her hands. The grass beneath her was soft, and while there were children present, the field in which they approach was empty enough for her departure.

"So, in order to prevent such a fallacy, I will learn. I need to learn. But not by them. As I said before their methods appreciate I do not." Her hand lifts to brush her dark hair from her shoulders. "Your methods, Prince of Darkness, are much more entertaining and suited to my needs." She turns to face him now, her face stern. "So what say you, Sir. Become my teacher and we shall meet again. Refuse…"


Daimon reaches into his pocket and draws out a cigarette case, embossed with the family emblem, taking one out and casually lighting it.

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of refusing. I've been far too entertained already," he smiles, "Threatening me won't do very much good, though, as a persuasion. I'd probably like to meet Loki, someday. I have a fondness for mayhem myself, albeit probably not to the world-wrecking capacity. Probably," he says.

"But yes, I'll happily be your guide to the mortal world. Come, let us get a bit of something to eat. I know a lovely restaurant. Have you ever tried Chinese food, your holiness?"


"T'was not a threat that failed to reach my lips. But a promise." No, she wasn't going to kill him, she was going to just.. never see him again. A man like him? It seemed as if that threat he'd fall prey to. "But very well.. you wish to meet Loki.. I shall arrange this union. Unholy as is. My price."

Though she takes a step back, her chin lifted towards the sky, the offer to eat.. 'Chinese'? Had her nearly reeling.

"If you so think that I am a cannibal, I shall skin you alive!" Yes. Chinese food means chinese people. "But I shall return two suns from now. We will begin our lessons then."

"HEIMDALL!" She cries out, as the sky begins to crackle, the ground beneath her feet glows in runes that would protect her travel. With a flash of light.. she was gone there after, leaving only burnt and steaming grass in her wake.


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