every sky has its beauty, ( open )

[atwar]

Date & Time: Today and stuff
Location: Training Hall
Characters: Sif & you
Summary: Since the aftermath of her confrontation with Loki and Thor's intercession, Sif's temper has been running hot and fast, but with all the turmoil and adjustments she's had little chance to address it. Violence is therapeutic.
Warnings: Only an angry war goddess.

The glaive slices through the air with a razored whistle, sharp and precise. Each movement is a paragraph, each smooth ripple of powerful muscle beneath skin a phrase, words in the sweat that soaks her hair and clothes and shines in the light off her skin.

To the side, in a pile against the wall, are training dummies: broken, splintered, destroyed beyond any hope of manual repair. She gave up on using those hours ago. It might provide a challenge, to control her strength so her fist doesn't smash through synthetics and metal, but Sif is not here for a challenge.

She is here because the wrath inside her needs an outlet.

Comments

[fe_male]

'Okay, I'm gonna let that one slide - it hurts, but I'll be nice this time - since we don't really know each other and you're not aware of how exceptionally talented I am just yet.' He's also actually walking over to one, toeing some bits and bats here and there to see if she actually did manage to destroy them beyond what he is willing to use. After a certain point it's just too much work to piecemeal shit together. Man he misses having his own proper workshop.

'But I'm getting an idea about your talents - jesus.'

[atwar]

How exceptionally cocksure this man is. It reminds her of Thor, and not in an entirely pleasant way. She rolls her eyes, swings her glaive up into a ready position and moves onto the next set.

"The Initiative is ill-equipped to play host to a warrior of Asgard," she agrees, "much less one of my skill."

[fe_male]

He glances back over at her, catching movement out of the corner of his eye. Well, okay then, not quite done yet. He could work with that, okay, sure. Hands on pockets, strolling around, poking at this and that, mentally catalogueing things for later, and paying more attention to the piles until she gets started on them, at which point it obviously switches over mostly to her, involved in the set as she is.

'Yeah, they're pretty ill. This a normal practice sesh for you or did you just decide when you woke up this morning to eat all the Wheaties?'