#cllintverse

Agent Barton has helped some. He doesn’t seem to want to deny her answers, but his unease is palpable at times and she is caught between wanting information and being hesitant to force it. This may be a long process, she needs him as an ally, not at odds. So Sif dries her hair after the odd mortal shower, still a little surprised at how easily it dries. It feels strange and she can’t pinpoint why. 

She doesn’t have much of anything to put away, Clint has given her a few things in addition to what Coulson and his team had set her up with. He promised to take her into town tomorrow, get what she might need once they had her settled. Sif wasn’t sure what that might even mean. She was sure of so little. She sat on a strange bed in a strange mortal clothing that smelled of strange soaps and through the cracked door nosed Clint’s dog. Italics didn’t seem so strange. “Maerr dyr,” she cooed as it made its way into her room. The dog seemed well to know her which was both soothing and maddening. It helped in certain ways, gave weight to Clint’s words when he told her things, but it also frustrated. A dog knew more than she did. 

Italics jumped onto the bed to settle next to her and Sif couldn’t bring herself to shoo him away. She merely gave him a scratch behind the ears then went to turn off the lights and get into bed. Italics readjusted as she did, curling up next to her feet with a sad noise. That was no good.

Sif flicked on the bedside lamp and sat up in bed. She beckoned Italics into her lap and as the dog laid his head there she began to pet him and it maybe did her some good too. She found herself telling the dog to settle, that it was alright, that if she could do this he could too. Without thinking she spoke all of it in the old language. Maybe because she wanted to be in Asgard, maybe because she was afraid of forgetting, maybe because her mind was busy piecing everything back together.