1963-11-12 - A Reluctant Arrangement
Summary: Alexander arrives at the Bellator, where his father has asked Sif to take him under her wing. Neither are amused by this, but agree to it reluctantly.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
alexander sif 


Alexander is /not/ in a good mood. After his encounter the other day, with a young mutant who rather thoroughly embarrassed him, and broke his nose, the young God of Fear received quite explicit instructions to take a meeting in Westchester. 'Instructions' and 'take a meeting' are kinder ways to say it, but it was made very clear to the youth that there would be no argument in the matter; he required a firmer hand, and a more present figure of authority in his life, apparently, and he was lucky to get off so lightly, considering the source of the command.

Alex heals much more quickly than any normal human being, and so the broken nose is all but recovered; light bruising under his eyes remain, and a sharp eye might note that he's just slightly misshapen still, but that's a temporary aesthetic shortcoming, which will pop back into place soon enough. The damage to his ego will be more lasting, a fact made even worse by news of the incident having reached the ears of his kin on the higher planes. Nonetheless, he arrives at the designated address, on time. He carries his sword, the Grasscutter, sheathed at his waist, but is otherwise dressed in his usual regular clothing. He knocks, waiting patiently for the door to be opened for him. In truth, he is not sure who he is here to see, only that he should be expected.

*

Early to rise; it has not been Sif's motto since she's come to understand and favor the joys of the Midgard Sleep-In ritual. But all good things must come to an end. For a contact from other sources (time subjected) breaks this habit like a glass. For the past few days she has risen with the sun, made preparations, dealt with things she did not wish to, and finally arrived at the Bellator which was her home to sleep soundly in her own bed.

The knock at the door has her eyes lifting, the wisp of dark hair that was held high with ribbons intertwined into braided locks falls before her eyes, her hand lifts and brushes away those wisps as she rounds the counter top of the kitchen towards the door. It was a slightly long stride, the Bellator in itself was large enough to house two families with multiple children, there was still much unpacking to be done but it was taken to task at a very slow rate. For drinking and feasting was the usual modus opperandi, not home making.

But once she reaches the door to tug it open, she was revealed. Her mortal seeming dressed in a lovely wisp of a black and red-trailed gown, obviously bought and purchased from Alfheim, silks entertwined in a complicated fashion but -fits-. There was a smile, brief as it was, her arm sweeping to allow the man entrance. "Alexander Aaron." She says with a little bit of finality. "Welcome to the Bellator. House of the Warrior."

*

When the door opens, Alex snaps to some semblance of attention, and he regards the woman a moment. Not /at all/ what he was expecting. He gives a respectful bow of his head, "Good morning," he says politely, and steps inside as the woman gives him the signal to do so. Once inside, he relaxes slightly, taking a moment to glance around the room before turning his attention back to Sif. "My father sends his thanks, for agreeing to see me under such circumstances," he says to the woman. His tone is one of rather forced politeness; there's no warmth there, simple regurgitation of prescribed statements. His father told him to be polite, and so he is. Respect and obedience was ordered, but nothing further. Alex will grudgingly abide by the letter of his orders; attend the meeting, do as he is bid, show proper decorum and respect.

*

The door was closed as soon as he clears the entrance, locked with a faint twist and click with a final look outside. With hands pressed firmly against the other behind her back, her teeth clench against the other as she gives a shake of her head. "I will admit that I was surprised that your father reached out to me. One would assume that those of me and your fathers ilk, ran in the same circles and as such we have a close bond. But this is not the case." She begins to walk now, following the path that was previously lined towards the kitchen.

"So your performance is not necessary. I like it not." Her lips quirk faintly as the brighter room was favored, Sif returning to her task which has her perching upon the opposite sides of the counter top. A knife was taken, as well as an apple, which was peeled quietly before she speaks. "I am Lady Sif of Asgard. Goddess of War. There are others like me here, and should you come across them, you shall treat them with the same regard as you would me here. Understand?" She looks up then, and down. "Your father did not exactly outline what he's wished of me, but I assume that he has told you. What is it."

*

Alex is more than a little bit surprised at the woman's curtness, but at least she's given him leave to drop the false pretence. He follows Lady Sif as she moves from the entrance into the kitchen, sharp eyes taking in his surroundings and committing them to memory. "Understood, Lady Sif," he says perfunctorily. He lets out a very short breath, almost a sigh, or sorts, at the question of what his father wanted Sif to accomplish regarding his son. "My father wishes to see me ascend to Olympus, when the time comes. I cannot do that until I have proven myself worthy of the honour," he explains. "And he is.." Alex pauses, grimacing somewhat. "Dissatisfied with my progress. He believes I have not respected the power I have been born to, and require a mentor to show me how a God should behave among mortals," he explains, the frown never really leaving his face. In short, Sif, young Alex here needs some sense of honour, duty, and respect beaten into him. Can't have a Godling going around using his rather substantial power for such selfish, prideful reasons as Alex has since arriving in New York. He was meant for better things. "My father must think much of you, Lady Sif, even if you share no close bond, or he would not have sent me."

*

Lady Sif raises the knife. "Just Sif." The knife was lowered then, the apple soon cut into slices upon the surface of the cutting board, which was soon swiped off by that same knife and into the bowl. But she listens without reaction, as if he weren't there at all, but one could note the slight tics that form upon her face told that she was thinking. She grips the edge of the bowl with a pinch, and soon lifts to place it in front of where she stood, the knife settled carefully next to the cutting board as if it were a precise movement.

"I do not think so." Sif murmurs quietly. "Your father must think of me as a motherly sort. It is clear and obvious that you need a guiding hand, discipline. Such as a mother who would turn her child upon her knee for toying with fire. Such as a mother would spank her child with a rod for breaking a favored dish. Nay. I assume he thinks that you need such."

She tilts her chin, a ghost of a smile given, though her blue eyes glitter with a little bit of cheer even though it does not match her current visage. "Once your time with me is done, he and I shall have words." Words meaning, fists. Swords. Shields. Battle-axes. Gods of War locked in battle, perhaps across the stars. But that was sooner to later than now. "Tell me, Phobos. What do -you- want?" She pauses for a breath of a second, then nods. "While he does have a point, that your gifts not be squandered, nor tempered to subjugate the mortals and bending them to your will. But tell me. What does the God of Fear truly desire?"

*

"I'm sure he would like nothing better," Alex says, allowing the hint of a smirk to touch his lips. Ares has never been known to back down from a fight, particularly against a worthy opponent; to do battle with another God of War would tickle him, at the very least. "What I want?" Alex repeats, questioning as though he'd never been asked that directly. His life has been tumultuous, to say the least, and his own desires have never really been addressed. He wants to please his father, claim his birthright, and fulfill his destiny. But those are things that he has been told he must do, and so they've become the things he believed he should. But his heart's desire, independent of expectations? "No-one has ever asked me that," he says simply. "And in truth, I've never really given it much thought. I want to prove myself. I want to show my father, and my grandfather, that I am worthy of them. I want to have a purpose in this world, for as long as I am here."

*

"He wouldn't like it after I beat his arse.." Sif mutters beneath her breath. "Eat your apples." She gestures towards the bowl before him, then reaches for the knife yet again, set to peeling another apple, this time for herself. But she keeps her eyes upon him, searching his expression as he thinks, lowering them once again to focus upon the peeling.

"I'm going to break you." Sif says plainly. And she was completely serious. "And only because you do not know what your heart desires, and you do not know what is best for your soul." The knife was pointed towards him then, circling. "These are my own rules that I follow. You can adapt to them or you cannot, but after your time here is done, you -just- may actually hate me and wage war upon us all." She laughs at that then, and begins to slice, the click-click of the knife as it touches down towards the cutting board.

"But you know the speeches and the like when you've been assigned a tutor, yes? Forget what you know.. you'll start from scratch.. surrender and do, do not, do, do not.. do.." Her head bobs faintly. "..we're going to figure this out as we go along but until then, I am going to give you a strict regimine and ritual to follow. As well as various assignments for learning and possibly for my amusement. There will be times that you would be used as a work-horse, a tool, and there are other times that you may be required to defend. To show heroism and selflessness. And there will be times when you will be forced to surrender. Though when? I know not." Sif's gaze grows vacant, her incessant babbling fallen to the way-side.

*

Obediently, Alex reaches to take a slice of apple from the bowl. "I will do as you bid, Sif," he replies simply, and pops the slice of apple into his mouth. Chew chew, swallow. Reach for another. "I know little of you, or of the Asgardian Pantheon, but I know my father. If he wishes me to learn from you, I will do so." Possibly because the alternative is for Ares to tear his son's head from his shoulders. The God of War is not known to be subtle. "Will I be required to reside here at the Bellator? I have committed my services to a group in Hell's Kitchen, who are attempting to track down a group of missing children. I hope that you will allow me to continue to render assistance there," he says, the statement /almost/ a request, of sorts. While he doesn't wish to abandon those he has pledged his services to, at the end of the day he can't disobey a command from his father, or the woman to whom his father has given authority. For all of his faults, he is at the very least an obedient son.

*

"You will learn." It was her turn to take a slice of the apple, and then another. Both pieces were shoved into her mouth as she chews whole-heartedly. "Yes. You will be required to stay here. I suggest taking up an empty room and making it your own." She gestures around. "Everything that resides within the Bellator shall be for your use. I will ask that if you bring another into these walls, use descretion. I sleep here. These walls are where I am vulnerable and where I am not. Respect, if nothing else. With that said, you may come and go as you please, given that you follow my ruling to the letter." She stands then, giving a tilt of her head as she begins to walk towards the doors that lead to the rear grounds of the Bellator.

"I will not stop you from assisting anyone. If you wish to save a life, who am I to interviene? Children, as they say, are our future. Follow me."

*

Alex gives a nod. "I will fetch my belongings, then," he says. Not that he has much besides what he's carrying already. He eats more of the sliced apple, silently thankful for the food; Alex skipped breakfast. Is it possible Sif detected this fact? "Good," he says in regard to the warrior woman's consent to allow him to continue with his previous commitment. "I would hate to have to break my word," he says simply, following Sif through to the rear grounds. "Does anyone else live here besides you?" He asks, curious for the sake of knowing what to expect, rather than out of concern for privacy or safety.

*

"A word is all we have in a world such as this as of late." The doors were opened with a double twist down of the handle, pushing them open as she steps out into the back porch. From there, the view itself is met with ruined grass; a large rune drawn and burned into the middle, surrounded by waist high gates and a wooden fencing designed to keep animals in. The area itself was spacious, grand as it were. A large barn off towards the side, and next to it, a smaller conclaive which houses wood-works and metal works and items therein.

There is also another stable, but that remains closed off as well. It does not belong to her at all.

"The Lady Amora. The Enchantress. She will come to live here soon. However, word of warning. Do not sleep with her. Ever. We believe that this is a means of her control of another man, and the very essense of her magic. She has recently come into becoming my Handmaiden due to her treacherous past. I suppose, in a sense, she is like you. But be warned, she is not. There is greed and selfishness there. And pure, untapped anger."

She begins to move towards the middle of the ill-built corral, her speech continuing. "This is where we will train. Soon, I shall have the Sorcerer Supreme fortify this area for the safety of us and my animals. Which means that nothing will get out, and the only thing that shall get in is the Bi-Frost. The inclimate water shall not touch this land, either. Think of it as, perpetual summer time." She grins then, turning.. walking backwards.

"Once per week, and two hours we shall train in various weapons. We shall focus on the mind and body, we shall focus upon discipline and control. We shall use wooden weapons. None made by steel. It will be repetative. It will be boring. But you will perservere."

*

Alex listens with interest, his mood improving slowly as he starts to become accustomed to his new surroundings. Might as well make the best of things, right? "I will do my best to resist her charms," he says in regard to the Enchantress. But surely Sif knows that asking a 19 year old boy to keep it in his pants.. well. You know. But he'll try. He nods along as she explains about the bi-frost, the warding, and the training, but on the last he can't help but comment. "You needn't be concerned for my safety, if that is your reason for insisting on wood over steel," he says. He decides against bragging about his own martial prowess, though in truth the concept of training from basics in the arts of combat gives him no end of frustration. He's not a child who has never held a blade, he is the Son of War. Even without his demon-led training, there is not a weapon on Earth he can't wield with nigh-unmatched skill. Arrogance, perhaps, is a trait to be ironed out.

*

"I say this for your own safety. She is not to be meddled with." Sif ends that conversation right then and there, not needing to speak upon it more. Point made! "As for the weaponry, I will and forever will be concerned. Especially where my own safety is concerned. I do not know you, and I am inclined to think that when a God of War contacts another to take one underneath their own wing, there is treachery afoot." She tsks quietly at saying that aloud, but her shoulders lift in a faint shrug.

"Wood. It is decided." With that said, she turns and makes her way inside the house. "Familiarize yourself with your new settings. We begin training at dawn, unless your promises send you elsewhere."

*

Alex nods again, saying no more about either the Enchantress or the weapons. He won't argue the point, especially when he has been ordered by his own father to give the Lady Sif no quarrel. "I don't pretend to know my father's mind, but for what it is worth, I know of no ulterior motive he could have in sending me to you. If it were war with Asgard he sought, his methods are much more direct. Subterfuge is not in his nature," Alex says, and then gives a little shrug himself. "But I will not begrudge you your skepticism." He can't argue with her logic on that front, at least. "I will bring my belongings today, and look forward to begining the training," he says with a nod to the woman. "My father's stated appreciation aside, I thank you for agreeing to his request. You would have been well within your right to refuse. I am grateful," he says, sounding sincere at last. It could have, after all, been much worse.

*

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