1963-11-10 - Not to be 'Tamed'
Summary: Amora returns to Midgard to carry out her punishment—serving Sif.
Related: http://marvel1963mush.wikidot.com/log:1963-11-08-returning-emotions
Theme Song: None
sif amora 

Amora staggered briefly as she teleported back to Midgard. The back of the Asgardian mansion before her and stretching up, tall and proud into the sky above. It was morning, and the crisp fall air permeated the fallen leaves on the ground to those that clung to the branches of the trees of the yard. The Enchantress caught herself on the railing of the back steps, dragging herself inside.

A wave of her hand had her transformed into a mortal guise, but gone were the severe wardrobe, the tucked bun and glasses. No, now she was the proud, angry woman that had run around Midgard months prior. Her golden hair hung free down her back, and she wore a barely there, skin tight, sweater dress of the deepest green. The hem cutting high on her thighs, and a golden belted chain of heart shaped links hung low on her waist. Thigh high boots with heels that clicked followed her steps as she entered the mansion.

"Where is /Lady/ Sif?" She growled to a startled servant, grabbing them by the arm and halting their progress.


One could claim connection to the Bifrost, but most Asgardians who travel to and fro on a constant basis would know that tell-tale sign of it being summoned and dropped down nearby. Sif was one of those types, who frequented traversing through the universe, through way of Bifrost or other means. So the arrival of Amora, while expected, was a slight shock. She had hoped to gather her herself. But the time was now, and there was little time to prepare.

Thin walls make up the architecture of the embassy, the growled tones were heard but not the words from Lady Amora. Sif, dressed as plain as ever, Midgard flare of a plain black blouse and long, flowing skirt worn. And she was in a pair of slippers, her own hair notched up in a bun, all too regular. All too normal. Descent down the stairs came easy, her hand gripping the banister as she stops near the bottom, her lips pursed tightly as she lends an ear to the noise.

"I am here." She calls out, remaining in her place. She does not move until she sees the state in which Amora has returned in.


Amora dropped the grip on the servant's arm, turning to stare up at Sif. Emotion clouded her eyes, razed and burned hot and cold all at once in a flash of her eyes. She clicked her teeth together, inhaling sharply through her nose as the goddess straightened herself to her full mortal-guised height… and promptly dropped to one knee. Her head angled low, and a hand raised to her chest.

"I come in duty and in service as commanded by the Queen." She practically growled out, her gaze held low to the floor boards. She did not move from her position, glaring daggers into the floor as if it was at fault for her position in all of this.



So whatever Frigga had done, had worked. While there was still a little bit of anger held towards Amora for her dealings within Midgard, and the attempted attack on Thor (which took her a while to see the 'light' of), she holds her breath and waits.

The kneel was a little surprising, the growled words were not. And it took a moment, a very long moment for Sif to finally move from her position at the stairs and into the foyer.. and beyond. Out of view, Sif retrieved a lone chair, picking it up with one hand which was carried as if she were to parade it around the Embassy. The chair itself was soon dropped down upon the middle of the floor, and promptly sat upon. The dress was fixed upon her legs, spread and sprawled out, one leg crossed over the other and a lean created as she considers this entire gesture.

At no point did Lady Sif offer movement, she allows Amora to remain there for a time, her elbow planted upon the arm of the chair as her fingers captures her chin, watching.

"Rise and face me." She says quietly. This was going to be hell.


Amora remained as if a statue as Sif turned and left from view. Even as the Enchantress watched from beneath a fringe of golden hair, her gaze quickly lowered away from the raven haired warrior as she sat. Her hands curled into fists, hard enough that the whites of her knuckles were visible before she rose as ordered. The muscle in her jaw tensed, her teeth grinding together as she faced Sif.

Yet Amora did not speak. Head held high she met Sif's gaze evenly, despite the fires that roared in that veridian gaze. No magic kindled at her fingertips. No threats or promises were spoken up. No gestures made. Nothing. But the look held everything and more that Amora felt and it was nothing positive toward the warrior before her.


It was like poker face meets poker face. Sif had a hell of a one. Where one would gloat and parade around the fact that Amora has been put in a position as such, Sif -understands-. And there was no pride in it. None. Though there was a slight tic of her eye as she averts her gaze towards the left, giving a nod to the servant who had ushered Amora inside, giving them two the room of peace.

"This is not favorable to me either." Sif finally starts. "I'd rather see you in chains and stripped of the magics until such time you have earned to wield them again. Or perhaps ferreted into a dream of your own making which would in-turn, become your nightmare." Her hand drops now, both of them joining within her lap. She wasn't fit for this. To rule, to lead, to become Princess of Asgard locked in marriage with the Thunderer. To breed. No, she was meant to fight. But her own reservations with what may or may not come were brushed aside for now.

"So, I tell you what. Whatever you want to say to me? You do it. Do not hold back. Every, small thing that you can think of. You say it. And you say it now, for this will be your one and only chance to air your grievances." And she gestures for her to start, chances are? She possibly hadn't gotten her entire spiel out.


Amora's brows shot upwards at Sif's words, as she glared at the seated woman. Her arms folding over her middle as she tossed her hair back over a shoulder. "How kind of you." She muttered, her voice crisp and cold like shattered ice. Then she was moving, manicured fingers lashing out to try to grasp Sif's hand and direct it toward the place where her heart beat steadily.

"I want you to kill me. I want you to run that pretty little blade of your's through my heart, because such a thing 'tis kinder than this punishment the Queen hath placed upon me. I would rather /die/ upon your blade than watch as you wed and bed the man I have loved for centuries. I would rather be ended at your blade of victory than bend knee to your rule and your children. I would rather be in Hela's kingdom than to suffer and serve under your reign." She growled, letting go of Sif's wrist if she had managed it.

"I would rather be dead than pretend at this charade cast upon me in a most cruel and vicious torment. Than to suffer these feelings and be forced to serve /you/." She snarled, "And you would be wise to do it now."


Sif wasn't kind; she really was just ensuring that she wasn't poisoned when she takes a drink from the water she keeps at her nightstand!

Though she listens, her wrist snatched from its gathering spot upon her lap, a slight lean forward so that the reach of it all isn't too much of a strain. And those words? They cut. They hurt. Granted Lady Sif was no fan of Amora. But again, she understands. She too, felt the same before. And now that vitriol was directed to her and yet, her heart skips a beat at the pain of it all. Amora was back. (Narrow minded!)

"Hmh." She finally murmurs, leaning back into her chair to study Amora for a very long moment. She was watching every tick, every inhale of breath, every glitter within the eye and sway of a stray strand of hair that moves when she does. And then down, right towards Amora's feet, back up yet again and then she smiles. "And you know that something like that is impossible. While I would have eagerly done so when you committed your atrocious act upon Midgard, to end your suffering…" She shakes her head.

"…you just may get your wish." With that, Sif stands, her arms raised as she gives a languid stretch. That stretch serves two purposes; to pop her back and allow Amora's words to roll off of her. Lady Sif does not weep in public. (Though she definitely would later tonight, alone. Over a keg of mead.) "Time for us to get to work. Follow me."

And with those words? Sif saunters off. Towards the study that Loki so happily occupies, with the thanks that he was not there this morning. But yes, towards the study where books were abound as well as a liquor cart for their personal use.


Oh the Enchantress was whole once more, and present in all her glorious array of emotions that she wore on her sleeve. "Why would you not draw your weapon on me? Tis a thing you have entertained, I am sure of it, in our long years. You've won. I may be forced to concede and acknowledge your victory, but it does not mean I am declawed. A monster injured and cornered is all the worse for their pain. Why not strike me? You'd not see recourse against your actions, for none live that would care nor mourn my passing." Her voice dropped an octave, but no less rich with tension and barely held in emotions.

Yet she trailed behind Sif, much like a cat whose fur was ruffled and stood on end. Green eyes sliced over the room, noting the books, the liquor and the alike. Her jaw clenching as she fell silent, a hand falling to rest on her cocked hip.


"I blame the people of Midgard." She says straightly. The door, once entered, is closed and locked as she begins to make her way around Loki's desk. There was a moment where she stares at the top of it, then turns away, her eyes lifting to the row of books there.

"There is no need. Your death does not suit my goals." She reaches out to take a book from the shelf, then strikes her way through the area towards the opposing side of the desk, motioning Amora forward. "Sometimes a monster who hath been injured during battle or otherwise need not put to death. But a guiding hand, nurturing, and care." Though, there was a grin that rests upon her face. "Or a thing in which to punch to unleash all of their furies until they are made whole again or anew. I am not the mothering sort, Amora. But as I had sworn my sword to you in the heat of emotions when you were first felled, beaten, torn down and resolve removed. I do now." Her fingers gesture her forward.

"Positions have changed. Yes. But 'tis no different. And 'tis no different that I shall see you put to the worst of all punishments should you raise a hand to -attempt- to strike me down." The pages of the book were flipped, settled upon Yggdrasill. Her eyes searching, fingers pointing towards a lone branch upon the pictures. "We travel to Vanaheim in three weeks time. I will require preparations for our travel, for others shall be joining us upon this trip." She pauses, then continues on. "From there, Hel." She casts Amora a slight look, not untrusting, but gauging her reactions.


Amora's gaze dropped to the book, irritation flaring hard and bleak upon her perfectly sculpted features. A sneer pulling at her lips as she stared down at the page and heeded the warrior woman's words. A twist of her lips peeling back to reveal a flash of white teeth, too flat to be of any real threat, but the expression was impossible to mistake.

"You know in your heart that I am a wicked thing, I shall never be satisfied and shall ever strive further toward my own destruction and the destruction of all I desire and disdain. You run a fool's hope to think I might yet change or come to be of some use. Do not look to such a folly as to keep my round. For as soon as I've a chance, I shall strike at all you hold dear. I say this not as a threat, but as a warning. Strike me now while my emotions yet run hot and ill-tempered enough to desire my own end. For I shall never be tamed or kept, nor shall my feeling cool like some volcanic sludge. I shall merely burn the hotter in the darkened confines of my own ends." She muttered, narrowed eyes focusing closely on the page.

"Why do you require me on such a venture? Why go to Vanaheim, or Hel?"


"Mmh." Sif murmurs quietly, both hands pressed to the desk now, her eyes drawn sideways towards Amora. She knew what the gesture meant. She knew that Amora meant what she had spoken. It was words that were not going to be taken lightly. A threat was a threat, even well intentioned. Even well meaning. Even as Amora begged for an outcome that may satisfy her and none other. But her head shakes at the temptation of it all. Her well-being was under fire and yet, that narrow vision of Amora doing good remained prominent.

"I understand." She says with a blow of a breath. "Whilst you threaten me, keep focus." She grins, then nudges the book towards Amora, standing upright only to settle upon the edge of the desk. "I am securing a passage with Heimdall to Vanaheim for our Winter Solstice celebration. I deemed it so, that you work to bring good tidings to our sister realm as a show of faith in our unity. There is.. a tease after all, that my brother and I hailed from such a land. And we will honor it as such." She quirks her lips then, and with an idle shrug of her shoulders akin to Loki's on stylings, her face falls flat. "Do not worry for Hel. Just know that we go there." At least she's keeping that bit in the dark.

"My intention is not to tame you, Amora, by the by."


A flicker a glance was spared up from the book toward Sif, a curl of her lips following in a look of utter disgust as Sif once more did not take up her sword and run it through her chest as she had pleaded, begged for. Then she was folding her arms over her middle, her feet shifting on her heels as she stared at the raven haired woman opposite of her.

"Then what is it that you would call bending my will to serve the golden crown that would sit upon thine head? To force a servitude upon one that would rather dwell in Hela's realm than in one in which /you/ ruled? 'Tis the word that is a most fitting description, for what else might you call it?" She sneered, her gaze narrowed.

"Tame is the term you desire for one such as me." She leaned forward, pressing a sculpted nail against the book's pages before her. "For aught else do you do with wild creatures that would sooner bite a hand out stretched than preen for affection?"


"Bending your will?" Sif asks, standing upright now. She was not much taller than Amora, possibly a touch shorter due to the hills, but her near vacant expression was pressed upon, her head tilted ever so slightly. It was as if there was no life there, her eyes fluttering closed as she takes in a breath, a sigh exhaled as she strolls towards the chair that was near to there to take a seat. A flopped, ungracious seat. But a seat none-the-less.

"You speak as if I put this upon you, this tragedy of a punishment." Her hand flits, nonsense. "You speak as if I wrote runes in the sand to try to enthrall Thor so that he could bed me in front of someone whom he asked the court to permission to wed. You -speak- as if I were the one punished and sent to Karnilla to learn her ways. You speak as if I attempted to bring Midgard down to it's knees to /kowtow/ before me!"

She tried to not let her anger rise, but it had. "I -do- not seek to tame you, Amora. But I seek to /use/ you. I seek to /use/ that anger at the benefit of thyself and nothing more! But is that what you want, Amora? For me to tame you? For me to pet your hair? For me to draw you into my bosom, tell you that everything shall be alright.. mend your broken heart by giving up claim to the Odinson and forsake thine own heart so yours can shine and be free?"

She would rise, but she was already settled. "My intention was to make this transition into your new role easy. To allow you to spill your hate, to form it into words before I set you to your duty. To enter into this with a clean mind and heart. Nay. I like this not. Pour me a drink, for I shall ponder my next words to thee. And allow me -SILENCE-."


Another sneer pulled at Amora's lips, her hands curling tightly into fists once more, and then she laughed. The sound cold and cruel and her expression twisted ever darker, ever more sour. "So that's what the Odinson said of me? Those are /lies/," She snarled, throwing up her hands as she waved her hand a crystal goblet appeared with the drink of amber mead filled to the brim in her hands.

The Enchantress leaned forward, setting it primly down before the raven haired woman. "I did not entice him to bed me out of some foolish, ignorant desire to mock his mortal pet. I did it out of the utter anger and hatred I held toward my sister for pulling him under her sway the night previously. /AND/—" Her voice voice and fell sharply, "Twas a simple loosening of my magic. Not the full power of my enthrallment. If I had, he'd have taken me then and there and not had the mind to argue, to ask I hold myself together once more. Which. I. Did." She puncutated her words with a tap of her nail against the desk.

"Then he accused me of having not changed, had I not changed I would have taken him with glee, but I did /not/. I drew runes in the sand out of anger and without intent to loose them. Do you not mutter under your breath, /my lady/? Twas an angry note, not intended to be used. I had erased half a dozen by the time he insulted me again and I lost my anger and drew upon magic I did not hold." She leaned back, crossing her arms.

"I was accused at having /lied/ to him when I had not. When I had gone above and beyond in my duty to him and to be /honest/," She hissed. "What I did as of late? Twas not what you think. None ventured to ask. None questioned it. I broke none of Odin's laws or decree's.. I gathered magic, beyond that? It certainly wasn't for Midgard.." Her voice dropped to a whisper.


Sif's hands immediately lift as her fingers press against her temple, rubbing clearly to nurse an idle headache. Soon after, the crystal goblet was taken, the contents spilled upon her hand but nevermind that, she drinks. And she drinks it as if it were water; inhales it as if it were the very air that she breathes.

"Then -tell- me your purpose, Amora. You do. You do and do and do but you have -YET- to explain your intentions. ANY intentions at all. You do without regard. You react without -thinking-." Her fingers lift to thump against her temple. "And I do -not- mutter beneath my breath. At the very moment he proclaimed that he was to take that mortal as his bride, I -told- him my intentions clear! To leave Asgard and the cadre to do what -I- wish and nothing more. This did not threaten his well being. This did not cause others to think that I shall strike him down with my blade. This did not bespeak of me bringing harm to those that are underneath the new Protector of Midgard."

She leans back again, head shaking. "I ask for silence and you tirade. Then spill your hearts content! -WHY-. I demand an answer where others do not!"


Perhaps, as if to mock the very question of 'why' Amora fell silent then, her lips pursed into a thin white line as she stared down at the woman and flicked her wrist—magically cleaning up whatever spilled from the mead while filling the goblet once more to the brim. She offered nothing to Sif's demands and allowed the silence to fill the room for a long time as she folded her arms over her middle once more.

Green eyes, heated with too much emotion and burning with all manner of feelings from hatred, anger and a faint trace of hopelessness, looked up to the ceiling. Her jaw squaring. "I was trying to control my anger at him the night of the blot. He accused me of lies, when I had been honest. He said that I had not changed and that I deserved to remain in exile. I didn't even /care/ about his mortal pet then.. just that he accused me of lies when I had told the truth.. I had intended nothing at all. Save to hold my tongue. I only wished to have my exile lifted so I might leave and do as I pleased." She muttered stiffly, finally.

"As to Midgard.. I was trying to maintain the thickness of the veil between the realms on Alfablot." She shrugged, her voice low and terse.

"In regard to my intent in those matters…?" She shrugged once more, a delicate roll of her shoulders.


Silence. Lady Sif was an apt listener, just as she was spotting a game. Though if she did, she did not reveal it. She considered the subject dropped. "And the lack of trust within everyone else has landed you here to darken my door." There was a shrug then, her hand whittled away of liquid and goblet filled anew. She drinks yet again, then lets out a slight little sigh.

"Mayhap this is my punishment as well, no?" She asks, her voice lightening. "Yet I intend to make the best of it while you continue to dwell. I may not tame you, Amora. But you shall learn. And you will learn that the tasks I set forth to you may earn you a place in Valhalla after all. You wish death, while I may not grant it I will see to it that you've -earned- it." She smacks her lips then, her blue eyes a-glitter.

"Until the time of our departure I wish you care for Fandral. I worry for him, yet I know he will be well. And until our departure you shall reside in my manor, not here. So I shall ask Heimdall, under guard, that you shall retrieve your belongings to fill your new room as you need." She thinks about this now.. then nods. "You shall not care for Frick or Frack. You shall not care for my horses within the stable. You shall not tend garden. And when the first snow falls upon this dreary land, there shall be another task set to you but not as of yet. You need time." She rises then, both hands smoothing down her dark skirt.

"I've mind to forbid you for stepping foot into the Embassy but I do know that others wish to see you whole. Angry as you are. Envious as you are. Heartbroken as you are. But -you-."


A thinning of her lips follows, "I do not desire Valhalla." She muttered, eyes narrowed as she dropped her gaze to the table briefly and back up to Sif with a flicker. Amora exhaled through her nose a sound not unlike a sigh, a hand rising to drag through golden locks.

"He gave unto me /his/ emotions in hopes it would save me from Karnilla's workings, when I chose them freely. I did not wish to feel." She turned her gaze back to Sif, folding her arms over her middle once more. "He was left empty, and he could have died from such a foolish act. I /asked/ the Queen to return his feelings, what she did with them I know not other than that she healed him while extracting what he gave to me out." She squared her jaw briefly, turning away and staring out the window.

"He was a brittle man that sought out a way to end his pain because of the loss of you. A deity of desire such as we are do not handle rejection well. Tis not in our natures." She exhaled another sigh, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose in a decidedly mortal gesture. "Where is he being kept? If I tend to him it shall be in a manor ill-fitting a shared living space, for I am well aware of what needs done. Though I dislike it, tis your /command/.." She drawled the word out.

"I care not where you see fit to keep me, /your ladyship/, it is not as if my words shall sway you."


"I consider it noble." She tries, for the life of her, to recall the discussion with Fandral. But all she remembers is being there, being hopeful. And happy. Thinking about it now lights the fire within her, her expression changing. "Fandral will be fine. He'll be alright." Those words seemed all too automatic, but it immediately switches itself off with a slight shake of her head. With a clearing of her throat, she gets back onto her demands.

"He's being kept here in one of the spare rooms. Hilda has attended to his needs of food and drink. Whatever you need to do, do it. We shall see him wielding his sword sooner than not." She lets out a soft sigh, then shakes her head.

"Your words will not sway me, no. Not yet. But until then, make preparations for our travel and for your new accommodations. I require peace now. Leave."


The Enchantress was by far a better user of magic than most in Asgard, particularly within the realm of emotions such as love and desire. Fandral's manipulations of Sif's feelings? That reeked in a wafting scent that had Amora leaning forward, her eyes narrowing faintly as she practically prowled closer toward the raven haired woman.

"Fandral was left on death's door, an aesir who thrives on tantric magic and the feelings of others cannot survive without that. Tis his life's blood. And one reason why I desired to not have my feelings. A hope that I too would waste away eventually.." She murmured, cocking a hip against the desk as she reached out a hand toward Sif.

"I shall have to bed him at least once to try to help heal his wound of nothingness. That does not bother you?" She hooked a golden brow upwards.


There was the mention of Fandral's well being again. Hearing that he was on deaths door brightened her considerably. She blushes well, both hands raising to cover her lips, it was a girlish thing. To hear that one was upon deaths door, gently rapping. It was enough for her to nearly lift out of the chair to break out into a song and dance, but she doesn't. Her knee does bounce, and that was the only thing that stayed her hand.

"No!" Sif cheerily chimes out. "Fandral will be fine. He will be well. Tis all he needs is rest and food and more good company to soothe his aches and internal pains. But he will be well. He will be with us again. I just know it." The hand that was reached out was grasped, lightly tugged as Sif moves to the end of her seat.

She who was once angry, was now bright. Reverted almost at the mention of the Warrior One. "It will help him? Heal him? Of course.. what am I saying.." Sif leans forward to brush her knuckles against Amora's fingers. "..you're the Enchantress. Fandral will be fine under your care!"


Amora hooked her hand sharply around Sif's if possible, tugging the woman forward while the other reached up to try to capture her chin between her fingers. And then The Enchantress leaned forward to press a kiss against Sif's forehead. Magic spilling over the woman, burning up whatever it was that Fandral had cast—Amora could sense and smell it in the air.

If she succeeded she would let Sif go afterward, her own green eyed gaze burning with what magic she held, the spell she'd used to try to break what Fandral had done was a powerful one. And as a result, tapped whatever reserves Amora had. Her illusioned, mortal guise, broke and she was left standing as her usual self. A panting breath escaping her as she leaned heavily against the wooden desk.


The rise was a welcome one. Why, Sif thought that Amora meant to give her a hug! Her arms stretch out and.. she was met with a kiss. A kiss that confuses her, that draws her eyes to roll upon the back of her head as the enchantment that was put upon her draws itself from her pores. Her shoulders slump, her head slowly pounding, washed anew with normalcy in all things. Why, she even laughed after battle. That was something strange in itself.

But as Amora leaves her, and her Asgardian seeming revealed, Sif slowly steps back and sinks back into the chair, her entire body left with a shiver. What the hell? Does she even dare ask? She was starting to feel a little sick.

"Amora.." She stammers out, her eyes closing, fingers pressed against her brow as she tries to still herself. "What did you do?!"


The Enchantress exhaled a heavy breath, reaching out for the glass she'd summoned before and greedily took a sip. A long one. Her expression darkening as she stared at Sif for a long moment. "I cannot use my magic /against/ those of Asgard. So worry not that I disobeyed." She muttered, she'd been muttering a lot, her tone was clipped and tinged with a hint of exhaustion.

"Fandral's magic was all over you, I tried to break whatever manipulations he placed on you, I'm not entirely certain if I managed it." Her lips curled, "Tis a spell of false feelings. To bring cheer and ease worry. It's stench was all over you." She waved a hand as if that would demonstrate what Amora spoke of.

"It would have worn off on its own, a few weeks maybe, if he did not reinstate it. Not too unlike my lips upon a man that desires me, but more subtle a thing is this. I had to kiss you in some manner, as /that/ is the only spell I still hold from before my exile."


"Fandral…" Sif murmurs quietly, her eyes closing, her fingers curling into a fist to press against her lips. Where there 'used' to be hope, there was a touch of anger now. How could he do this to her? But.. how could she do this to him. After he confessed. There was such a guilt there that she couldn't even comprehend. But it was over powered with anger and violation.. but why?

"I would have words with him.." She hissed quietly, that fist that remained against her lips nearly turned white with the pressure, though red immediately begins to trail down the heel of her palm and onto her arm. "More than words.." Her hand snatches down to press against her chest as she rises.

"I thank you, Lady Amora. Even though the spell itself seemed light in nature.. I.." She couldn't even begin to speak nor express the quiet gratitude, she was pissed. Rightfully so. "We shall have words.."


Amora's gaze lingered on Sif for a long moment, before she rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh, sitting on the edge of the desk now. "Because he shall most assuredly not be able to manipulate your feelings as he did so before again. Of course not, clearly you shall be able to ward off such a spell with words and brute force." She hooked a golden eyebrow upwards, lifting her nails and inspecting them as if for a flaw.

"Perish the thought that whatever reason he had for casting such a thing upon you before will most assuredly not occur again." She drawled, lifting her gaze back to Lady Sif once again.

"It's not as if I'm not more than his equal when it comes to such magicks. I'm sure you'll be fine."


Lady Sif stops at the door, intending to say more.. but she doesn't. She only, finally uncurls her fingers from her damaged hand, looking at the curved marks within her palm, drawing it to her chest as she turns to glance back towards the woman.

"Fix him." So she wouldn't have words with Fandral. One would almost think that Sif envied the fact that they were magical in their own right and she was not.

"We'll not speak of this again." And with that, she departs. Embarrassed, shocked, and highly pissed off.

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