1963-10-02 - Sybil Ofasgard
Summary: Sif and Daimon discuss her new identity.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
sif daimon 


Daimon leads Sif into the room, while Amora goes to attend to nose-powdering or whatever such fuss ladies get up to. When he sees the martial cant of her arms, the expression on her face, however, he freezes, recognizing that she is an extraordinarily dangerous creature.

"Milady, dare I ask why you seem…more than a little hostile? I did not invited the Lady Amora, she came to me. If she is your rival or your enemy, I did not know as such, but she seems harmless enough. Perhaps a bit…amoral, but that rather goes with the territory, does it not?" he says, bemused by his own pun as he prepares himself for flight should it come down to it. Luckily, they're in his place of power.


Yes, she was martial.

Her sword was soon taken out in that instant as the tipped edge was pointed in his direction. She was ready to fight, not flight in this instance, yet confrontation seemed the kindness thing she could do in this situation. It was unlike her to act without knowing.. though the incantation was raging through her veins in that moment of a perceived threat.

"Do not think me jealous, dear Instructor, to her presence here! I've known her since you were naught a thought! And while alliances are shaky at best I will -not- allow you to.. feast upon one of my kin!" Her lips crumble into a slight scowl as she takes a step forward.

"I should have known thy to be a partaker of the flesh! Cannibal! MOST UNCLEAN! You shall not add asgard to your list of feasts!"


Daimon stares for a long moment and then cannot help but laugh, "Oh, dear Sif, the intricacies of language can be most tricksy, it seems. I promise you, dear lady, cannibalism is the furthest thing from my mind. Were I to devour the flesh of a woman, I promise, t'would be yours, and t'would only be the dampened flesh between thy legs. And then, I would use tongue, not teeth, to eat it raw," he says, bluntly.

"Now put your blade away before you cut me with it. I would be most cross at being subjected to its sharpness," he says. "I have many bad habits, I will not deny, but devouring the unwary is not among them."


His laughter would have truly provoken her ire. She was ready to stick him like a pig and do away with the bad parts until he actually clarifies. And in depth. In fact, the depth that he goes to explain his words causes her hand to slowly lower, her eyes to slightly widen, and a bit of redness to pinken her cheeks. Yes. She was blushing, the blush that was soon thought about, and tossed away as she slams her sword into the sheath that was attached to her shield with a loud *CLACK*.

"Swine." She snaps out. Then turns promptly away, marching towards the door to rest the shield and sword against the wall.

"My arrival, as I mentioned earlier, is to see where we are with my identity. While I would wish to lean upon my brethern at this time, it seems that.." How in the world should she put this.. ".. I am going to flounder no matter which route I chose." She clears her throat. Fandral the Dashing was a bit unavailable. "What have you for me."


Daimon smiles and shrugs lightly, "To swine, I have no choice but to agree, although my kind tend to be goats, if we're using livestock," he says with some bemusement. He goes to one of the divination tables, pushing aside a book and taking a seat.

"Nothing too elaborate. A passport and visa, marking you as a Scandinavian citizen visiting. Officially, you work for one of my 'foundations', most of which do little more than launder my money," he says. "In many ways, you can be whoever you like. Live the life of an ordinary mortal woman, here on Midgard, should you choose. Perhaps then you might understand them better," he says. "Sybil Ofasgard," he says, throwing the pictures and ids down. "I presume you have your own intentions for housing, but I can find you an apartment if you need in the city. Now, in terms of the more existential aspects of your identity…well, we can discuss philosophy as you like."


Sif follows him towards the divination table, her vambraces slid off and rest upon them as she settles into her chair as well. She listens, her eyes lowering and alighting upon the pictures and ID's, which were soon pulled towards her to look over. They were well done, not that she would know anything about identification when it came to Midgard, but the pictures of herself were captured nicely, even if she herself didn't take it.

"Sybil Ofasgard." She says to confirm this. "I've had a few citizens from Asgard come here ahead of time to set up a place for me to live and train. It's out in Westchester. Where there are cliffs and rolling hills. Though I am unsure how the winter will treat the horses, I will need fortification."

As for philosophy, she had no clue what he meant. Even the stare that she had given him told so. "Excuse me?"


Daimon shakes his head, "Merely an amusement for myself. Although, in truth, I imagine it's quite strange to be here, amongst the mortal kind, after so long in Asgard. Must be something of a culture shock," he says. "Humans often wonder about who they are - their purpose, their place in the scheme of things. Some believe in gods, such as yourself, to provide meaning to their lives, although many of the most worshipped have, if you'll pardon me, vastly more power than you or ryour pantheon. One does not trifle with the Triune God of Abraham," he says.

"Most importantly, the question becomes - what do you want to do with yourself here?"


Sif listens to him, wholeheartedly. Even though he did say amusing things at times, this was one of the times where she had no choice but to take him seriously. It was almost like an existential crisis, she really didn't know what she was doing there but all she knew was that she wanted to get away. Though, still in the same city of what she wanted to get away from, she was so far removed from anything and everything that the world passed her by.

She leans back within her chair, gripping one of the identification pictures with a slight little wiggle and wave within the air. What did she want to do with herself? "I don't know." She answers honestly. "I thought that once I was settled and in my own home, I would have a clear cut idea of what I am supposed to do with myself. I've yet to still ask the All-Father to be released from my cadre for a time but I am even unsure if that is the wisest choice." Fingers thump along the table top, causing the odd, intricate lights to light up with each press of her finger.



Daimon considers, "Well, the world is growing more and more troubles by superhuman threats, beyond the ken of mere men. A strong sword would do them good, I suspect. If you have the patience for playing the hero. I do not, but I'm not going to look nearly as good on the front of a newspaper as you would," he says.

"If you wish a more mundane life…perhaps doing some volunteering or work amongst mortals, getting to know them close-up. Perhaps work for women's causes, since that's becoming something of a cause celebre."


"You underestimate yourself, Prince of Hell." Sif offers up as a comment. "You would have a growing fan base of women kowtowing at your feet. If they were to see you upon the front of these papers. I require a drink." She sits herself up then, still hanging onto the ID. "As I am one who thinks that Midgard would learn to do and worship their betters, I do believe that they will need help. However, I wish not to do this in the eye of their public. But behind the scenes. Quiet. Disruption during the learning process is not ideal."

"A cause celebre.. explain this one to me."


Daimon snorts, "I have no need for fans kowtowing at my feet. That would be my father's ambition. I will take a select number of women on their backs," he says with a wry smirk. "I'm certain there are ways you could do it without calling attention to yourself. The work for the causes I mentioned could be simple and done in your mortal guise," he says, gesturing to the ID. "A cause celebre is a passion of the moment, the current vocation calling to those who look to do good in the world. It can be trendy and done for fame or fortune, but it's usually simply the good cause of the moment."


"I'm sure you would." Mephistopholes was quick with her requiring a drink. He returns with a drink that held two colors, one that she nearly wanted to stir to mix up. But instead, she takes a sip, her cheeks turning a slight hint of red as she rolls her eyes in favor of Meph. He was a godsend. "Delicious."

"I will take what you offer under consideration. Being a public face for women rights and sensibilities. It is a noble charge. I believe that could be my calling." Another sip of the drink is taken, one armored leg crossing over the other as her leg bobbles and wriggles, a little look of amusement rocking her features. And she says nothing as she sips, only watching her new tutor before she dips her hands into her armored corset to toss a set of keys into his direction.


Daimon raises an eyebrow a sshe reaches into her corset, only to have her draw and fling the keys to him. He snatches them from the air, dangling them, "Is this the key to your chastity belt?" he says with a teasing glint in his eye.

"Whatever you choose to do, I know that you will excel at it. That, at least, seems utterly certain," he says. He orders another drink for himself from Meph, the possessed servant doing little but nodding, instantly knowing his master's wishes.


"You know that I do not have one." Obviously the joke itself was missed, but she carries on either way. "No. It is the key to my domicile. Be wary when you let yourself in. You never know who's behind the door." She slowly rises, taking one more last sip of her drink as she reaches towards her side to unclasp her armor. "I am to retire for the night."

Without another word, she heads towards the door of the study, taking one step aside as Meph carefully opens the door in front of her, in which she steps aside. As the obediant servant delivers the drink, she waits until he was clear and well out of the room before she speaks.

"I do hope that I am to not retire alone." And with that, she disappears behind the door. She was not going home, that much was clear.


Daimon downs the rest of his drink quickly, papers and divinations and purposes mortal and divine forgotten.

"Mephistopheles, see that we are not disturbed for the rest of the night, on peril of what's left of your immortal soul," he says.

Yes, tonight would be a good night indeed.


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