1963-09-18 - Omens of Lady Sif
Summary: Before Sif returns to Asgard, she stops to have a talk with her appointed instructor, Daimon Hellstrom. She relays the truth of her life and the path she must walk, an omen of her future.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
daimon sif 


Daimon sits in the study, casually flipping through a book. No, not a magick book, he's just doing a bit of reading. T.S. Elliot, in this case, the Wastelands. Lovely poem about desolation and human misery, just the thing for an early fall evening.

He glances up as one of the servants comes to the door. He's dressed in a tuxedo, his face hidden behind a run-marked, blank mask that converts his will and takes his memories when the night is through, "Someone to see you, my lord. A very well armed…goddess. She seems most insistent,' he says.

"Ah, the Lady Sif. Yes, please show her in," he says, setting aside his book."


Sif stands in wait; her armor clad upon her body, in preparation to return to Asgard in but a few hours time. There was a minor upset. It truly bothered her about all of this in which she chooses to call her own actions into question. But not this moment. If she were to have a tutor, a teacher, one that she learns from and follows in the ways of Midgard, she saw fit to see that he knew that she was returned.

And the unreturned there after.

After the servant steps aside; Lady Sif brushes past. "I have come because you are my instructor." She states, profoundly. "I have returned. But only for a time, for my duties carry me elsewhere. Home." There was a little hesitation as she watches him, the book that he holds. In fact, the entire room itself was examined with a careful eye. "Science?"


Daimon smiles and shakes his head, "Magic," he says, "Sorcery. Call it what you will. I know little of science and most of it I learn from Walter Cronkite on the news. Lovely man, bushy mustache," he says.

He rises from his seat and offers his hand, guiding and steering her to a nearby loveseat that they might sit and chat. "Leaving already? I'm disappointed to hear it, I was so looking forward to our lessons," he says. "Dare I ask what draws you away? A great serpent god devouring the World Tree? Dread Odin, grown ancient in his wroth, slipping into madness? Or is it Asgardian Thanksgiving or some such?"


Sif takes a pause, then grins. "Science." The shield was shrugged from her shoulders as it was given to the lone sentry standing near, her back free so that she could move around as she will. "I do not know of whom you speak." She murmurs quietly, his hand drawn up and hers placed into his as he leads her towards a loveseat. As she settles into the seat itself, her jaw tenses and steeles.

"Yes." She murmurs with a nod. "I would love to say that it is family business that draws me away. But I do have a duty to my Princes to see them unharmed in their current.. state." She coughs slightly. "There is a court. Prince Thor intends to present a mortal woman of whom he wishes to marry to the All Father. She is a Princess in her own right, I hear." Was there jealousy there? Possibly not. But.. she was curious.

"I suppose that this new development into the life of the Prince is what drives and causes me to seek thee out."


Daimon steeples his fingers, "A marriage alliance, eh? I'm not sure what anyone in the mortal realm might have to offer a god, but I suppose there's no accounting for taste. And you have a responsibility to protect him? Do you suspect this Princess of foul play, ensorcellment?" he asks.

"I hope your duties would not keep you away long. We hadn't truly gotten started on our lessons yet."


"Yes." Sif murmurs. "I will confess that the woman is stunning in her own right. Though I am unsure of what the Prince sees in her. I suppose that is why I am also here. To .. know the wonder and marvel of the mortals of Midgard as the Prince proclaims that they do not need us." She frowns. "No, I do not suspect such. I do truly believe that his courting of her is genuine." She knows her best friend better than any. And he seems.. of clear mind and heart.

"I have time now. That is if you do not mind that the lesson itself is swift. An introductory course if you will."


Daimon smiles, "Of course, I would be happy to instruct you, although humanity is a broad lesson to be taught. Perhaps if I knew what held your interest most?" he says.

"As for your Prince, well, sincerity is not the same as wisdom. That he is befuddled by a woman of mortal blood does not necessarily mean he should marry her - there are consequences to such things for beings of power such as we. More so for her, honestly, than for him - she should be wary in her own right of the danger she may find herself in as his wife."


Sif smiles, her shoulders lowering as she leans back into her seat. One arm hooks along the back as she lifts forward again, then back. And along with an added bounce. That bounce itself makes her armor clink and chink. "Social status." Sif states clearly. "Upon the eve of our first meeting you spoke to me of the placement of women. Expand upon this." She gestures.

Though, the matter of the Prince comes upon them once again, a slight frown drawn upon her. "I am well aware. Though my concern should not lay with her; as he proclaims that she is well enough to take care of her own." She closes her eyes, then shakes her head. "Enough of the Prince. The women."


Daimon cannot help but appreciate how well Sif wears that armor - he is what he is, after all, and makes no apologies. "I fear we do not have many women of anything close to your caliber here in the mortal realm, Milady - if there are any at all," he says. "If he is drawn to a mortal woman, it must be their very mortality that draws him. Their frailty, the way they pursue life so desperately, knowing every breath might be their last. They are creatures of passion, first and foremost, and it serves as both their strength and their weakness," he says.

"Mortal women are in the midst of a shift. For most of the history of their kind, women have been mothers, tenders, caregivers. They have been kept away from power, from war, from prestige, outside of a few royal bloodlines. But women are becoming more and more insistent on having the ability to determine their own lives, to no longer be as beholden to husbands and fathers as once they were. This will create…turmoil, in the years to come."


"That is well and true." Sif was not shy about compliments; though her brand of taking them is rather crass and possibly rude. One might consider that she has a stick up her bottom, and that very may well be the case. "But a thing so fragile.." She marvels at the thought. "..if I were to take a mortal man I would expect him to know to fight. To know not to defend my honor, though it would be much appreciated behind closed doors." She looks up then, towards the servant. "Fetch me a glass and some of your best meal."

As the conversation continues, her brows lower. "It is almost like a slavery in a sense, that these women suffer through." She shifts more towards him now, the armor making it easy so, the way it flexes and bends as a leg lifts to cross over the other. "It is almost much like Asgard. Women have their designated roles but their voices still resound to the All Fathers ears." She draws in a breath. "Change is turmoil. Change is hard and it is unforgiving. This is something to be expected as the women of this world come into their own."


Daimon nods, taking a sip of his sangria as he watches the Goddess pace a little bit to and fro, "Chaos and flux. Situations in which I and mine thrive. There will be great good and great evil alike in the years to come, and those like me who seek profit from either," he says.

"I would defend your honor, milady, not because you have need, but because any man who questioned it would be a fool. And I have little sufferance for fools," he says.


"And would you seek to profit?" She asks honestly.

The servant returns in quick order, and as she settles back down upon the couch with her own sangria and .. some odd mix of meat, cooked upon a platter, she sets it in between and begins to carefully pick over the contents. While her face remains a stoned gaze of beauty, those eyes lie by the way the curiosity looms within.

"It seems that none suffer a lot these days. And ye being The Prince of Hell Realm.." She draws in a breath. "..one would easily think that this is a ploy. The eagerness to teach." She sips her drink, "Corrupt." She shakes her head. "Idle musings of an old mind. But pray tell, the changing of the minds. How can something so subtle bring about such great evil?"


Daimon smiles softly, "Because change brings fear and fear becomes hate. There will be those who despite the world shifting under their feet, who will do anything, sell anything, buy anything, just to try and make it all better, all the way it was," he sighs. "I do not think I will profit, only because I find such short-sightedness…a tiring form of evil," he says. "It takes no elegance to despise someone for being different."

"And I have been the target of such despisal, in my time. I would much rather help the revolution burn it all down than play the fascist and try to smother it in the crib," he says. He nods to the dish she's eating, "Korean barbecue, although they strip it from the bone in the kitchen. Supposely makes it more tender," he says with a soft shrug.

"Do you yearn for Thor yourself, Milady?" he asks bluntly. "There are legends, of course, which might hint at you being more than mere compatriots - but others that do not. It does not seem a…settled matter."


The words of Daimon send Sif into a quiet whirl. Her fingers idly toying with the meat before she soon snatches it from it's place to pop within her mouth. The mixture of flavors were electrifying and thrilling, despite the grimace that is worn upon her face as she chews. Korean barbecue. That was tucked away within the inner recesses of her mind and filed away for later. "It is most delicious." She states. "Though one does not hope it is an actual person that we feast upon and a brutish animal instead." Her crude humor gains a smile, and a sharp little laugh that was soon quieted with a sip of her sangria. "This drink is delicious as well. Cuisine, is our next lesson." She tips her glass into the air, though it was soon placed upon the table as the question was asked.

It wasn't like Sif to lie, but yet there was a tiny touch of shame that twinges upon her feature. "At times, I do." She admits, drawing out a little sigh as she leans back upon the loveseat. "Though the legends are usually wishes of mad men who speak in order to torture thy self. One would even say that Amora has put that out into the ethers to tease and tarry lies to bruise." Her lips purse tightly. "But aye. A thousand times aye. But a thousand more nay." She holds up two fingers, indicating that fact, drawing the circles in the air, fingers interlacing with each movement and moving apart.

"Such is not to be." She states clearly. "We both walk different paths that are interwoven by the fates. Slipping in and out of each other lives as we grow older.." She moves her hands apart slowly, then lowers them upon her thighs. "His is a path of Kingly righteousness. Maybe soon he takes the throne with his new princess bride. Continues to defend the Nine Realms until his successor takes his seat. But aye. My path is different than most in my station. Bloodied. Gruesome. Torrid and dark. One is not even capable of feeling this yearning without realizing this of herself. Aye. His best friend am I. Aye. Quietly wish that I could have been seen as something else, aye. And yet its too late. But there is also the knowing I will not because my road is permanently cut and altered to a new destination. Departure. From Asgard. From this immortal coil, aye. Death."

And then she shrugs.

"Forgive me. Must be the drink." The cup was lifted soon after, and a sip was taken. "Delicious."


Daimon listens closely and takes a long drink of his sangria as she tells him how she feels, "I will not speak ill of Thor - your words of him indicate that you still care for him, in spite of his meager treatment. But if he has anything resembling sense…" he shakes his head. "I would be very surprised."

"Why do you think your future holds such a dark path? Have you faced dark omens, portents of doom? Or are you merely bloodthirsty and unashamed?" he says with a wry grin.


"Aye. I do." Sif admits once again. The sip of her drink was taken, until she downs it all, finally tossing her glass aside as she clears her throat. "Prince Thor follows his heart. He also has his duty. I shan't dare come in between." She grins a little. "Don't be. There are so many of them that are after his heart that I do believe that all are the better. And I do believe they all would make him happy. And I also do believe that they would probably serve the Prince as needed and wanted. I am but a shadow of all things and forgotten." She curls her hand into a fist to thump at her chest. "For I am warrior, first and foremost."

His question prompts an easy answer, with a grin upon her face. "Both." T'was true. "Tis not a path that one who seeks love from anyone. Asgardian. Mortal. Demonic.." She grins towards him.. ".. faces. Tis a path of loneliness. Solitude. And a hard and bloodied end that is my right." She chuckles faintly. "One which I do not seek to come for a long, long time." A piece of meat was taken, and quickly felled by the gnashing of her teeth. "Servant! Bring more of this meat!"


Daimon nods to the servant to do as the lady pleases, although he says nothing of the provenance of the protein in question. "Ah, well, if he needs someone to serve, then yes, you are not suited for such. You are a goddess in your own right, cloaked in glory, even if it is a bloody and deadly sort of it," he says. "Let the golden son have his mortal, then. You are, as you say, a warrior. What need have you for sentiment?"

"But, should you find yourself in need of alleviation of that loneliness, I would be happy to be your companion. Asking nothing in return more than the pleasure of your company and the chance to see you in action. I think i would…relish watching you in action…" he says with a gleam in his green eyes.


"He needs a lot of things, at the very same time, he does not." She smiles at that, but then shakes her head faintly. "I am unsure if that is a need that is required as of late. Sentiment."

She does laugh however, her head shaking. "Prince of Darkness. Prince of the Hell Realms. Son of all that is unholy. It is a wonder as to why I chose you as my instructor and companion ad-litum. You do not skimp on honesty nor the truth of your words." She slowly rises from the seat, leaning in to take the tray of food, stopping once the servant enters and that tray was apprehended as well. "Fetch me a traveling skin." She nods her head towards the door, awaiting the servants return. "Perhaps soon, you shall see me in battle. And if the All Father wishes it, we shall travel the realms and I shall teach you instead."


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