now the winter's icy hands have found you

[lady_sif]

She doesn't know it, but she has been this cold before. She has stood on a world of ice and fought and bled, but it hardly matters now. This is her world now. The all-encompassing press of icy wind bites into her wet skin as she scrabbles out of the frigid, churning surf; it doesn't even occur to her to wonder who or where she is, or why, or how.

There's a sword in her hand, which will probably interest her later. For now, she can scarcely let go of it for how tightly her hand is clamped around the hilt. Climbing up the beach to sturdier embankments of snow-covered soil and stone, she uses the weapon as a tool to gain purchase, to cut a path before her. Her boots crunch through the snow and she stops for a moment just to breathe. The wind feels like needles in her lungs, freezing her from within while her wet clothes begin to freeze her from without. Her sword is already rimed with ice.

She moves on, not looking back. Perhaps she can find a shelter, or build one for herself. She knows how to do that, she realizes, and it's the first thing she knows about herself apart from what is immediately obvious to any onlooker, if there were any to see her in her sorry state.

Is there anyone else? Surely she can't be alone. She had to have come from somewhere, after all. Somewhere people regularly carried swords, she supposed. Asgard. Yes. She is from Asgard. But this isn't Asgard.

Trying her voice, she calls out a soft 'hello,' but the word is carried away by the wind. "Is anyone there?" Would they hear her even if they were?

She keeps walking.

Comments

[coldsong]

Loki has been playing at becoming the wind. Shapeshifting is both a genetic gift and a magical art, to him. When he was an infant, his response to being scooped up by a strange enemy was to attempt camouflage. He wasn't the first Jotun to do that. But no Jotun born ever tried to shift into something incorporeal. That takes more inspiration, and more power.

It's difficult. To become a host of ice particles riding the wind was the first step, and he can do that with ease now, but his ambitions are still greater. He's flying amidst the dance of salt-wind and rime when she appears, and for while he's inclined to just ignore her, because existing as something so far from a two-legged corporeal form with beating heart and lungs that crave oxygen is all-absorbing, meditative, almost a trance state.

But her voice is sound, and sound travels through the air, and he can feel the vibration. It's familiar, so familiar. He drags himself back toward the ground in a rush, a weird hissing torrent of ice and salt and dust that coalesces into the shape of a pale, dark-haired man with wide green eyes and an expression of confusion.

Sif. That's Sif, and he thought for certain she had died at Hela's hand. But here she is, quite possibly freezing to death in the Nexus.

Thor would be so very upset. Loki's brain is still half in the sky, but part of it is very sure of that fact. The rest of it is trying to decide how it feels. He decides to pre-empt the inevitable internal debate and simply run the few steps to catch up to her, holding his hands up and pulling the cold away from her with seidr.

"How in the name of all that's holy did you fall in the water? Can you feel your fingers and toes?"

Hi, Sif! How are things?

[lady_sif]

The cold turns off, almost like a switch, and it makes her stagger a little. Granted, she still is in the bitter grip of the sheets of ice that her clothing and hair have become since she climbed out of the ocean. It'll take a bit longer for her to thaw, even if the air around her is warmer now.

Her mind and body feel sluggish, and when she looks at the man who seems to have appeared out of nowhere, she does not recognize him. "I d...don't know," she says, shivering. Her teeth chatter when she speaks. 'I don't know' is the answer to both questions. She'd become so focused on her perpetual forward motion that she'd lost track of her own body. She looks down at her free hand and tries to flex her fingers with only mild success. Her feet feel like stone, like blocks of ice.

"Where are we?" she asks, leaning subtly forward. "Who are you?"

[coldsong]

If she weren't Asgardian, he suspects, she might well be irretrievable already, a dead woman walking. Sif was always made of sterner stuff than she looked to be, though, even for the Aesir. And in fairness, she looked pretty stern.

Clearly, she's fallen into the Nexus somehow, by surprise. He eyes the sword in her hand, mildly concerned she'll attempt to use it on him once she recognizes him. That could get awkward. But she doesn't recognize him.

She looks at him, wide-eyed and shivering and strangely almost helpless, and suddenly he's a boy again, exchanging glances with her as some misadventure Thor has proposed blows up in their faces. It's disorienting, and he doesn't like it, but perhaps his heart is not entirely calcified, either.

"You are in a place called the Nexus," he says. "But questions can wait. Even such as you can die of cold out here, lady. Let me get you to shelter and dry your clothes."

He extends a hand. She has no reason to trust him, of course, but if she doesn't know him on sight, she has no reason not to trust him, either.

[lady_sif]

If she weren't Asgardian, she'd likely be nothing more than a corpse in a snow drift by now. It isn't how she wants to die, nor does she imagine it's how she would have expected to die when she knew herself, if the sword is any indication. It hangs limp at her side, not flashing up and at his throat as he might have anticipated.

A scant second passes as she looks him in the eye, assessing him for any sign of something familiar. He seems sympathetic, and she has the presence of mind to know that she will die out here in this wilderness without his help, without ever knowing if she was leaving behind anyone to miss or mourn her. The thought chills her as much as the driving wind and snow.

Whether he is worthy of her trust or not, her shaking fingers slide into his outstretched palm. Her life is entirely in his hands, though she has no memory of their history to make that ironic.

After a moment, some life seems to bleed back into her hand, and she squeezes his where they are linked. "The Nexus," she repeats in a contemplative voice, following where he leads her. "And how... how shall I call you?"

[liverfree]

Prometheus has been patrolling the ever-shrinking circle of torches that mark the line between storm and safety, occasionally crossing over when it looks like there might be a straggler in the snow.

The faint voice catches his ear and he hurries to its source, although it does take some time. He's dressed for the weather, baklava covering his face and fur-lined hood pulled up tight. When he finally reaches Sif, he waves to her in alarm. Those frozen clothes might as well be a death sentence out here.

"Hello!" he calls, somehow louder than the wind. "Hello, miss! Come with me, please! I'll bring you to shelter!"

[lady_sif]

'Shelter' is all she needs to hear. She musters her strength and follows him, not minding his strange attire.

"How far?" she asks once she's close enough that he might hear her. Her voice is weak at this point, and where she might have been wary under normal circumstances, her desire to survive the cold overrides all else.

Pretend I wrote 'balaclava' up there and save me from eternal embarrassment. >.>

[liverfree]

Prometheus offers her an arm, if she needs assistance. "Not far," he assures her. "See those torches there? There's shelter right on the other side."

And indeed, when they pass the line of torches, the storm curiously abates. It is still bitterly cold, and dark clouds hang ominously above, but it's a sight better than whatever they were walking through moments before.

There are rows of tents and other makeshift lodgings, as far as the eye can see. The ground beneath, where not covered in snow, is cobblestone. "Here," he says, directing her to a fire barrel. "I'm going to find some dry clothes for you and a place to change. My name is Prometheus, what's yours?"

[he_put_the_devil_in_me]

There's a lot of creepy crunchy sounds out there in the snow and ice, but the darkness and the whiteout doesn't bother Matt Murdock one bit. He's been volunteering as security for the duration of the storm, guarding a safehouse full of people and supplies, and unknown people showing up is definitely a cause for concern.

He can hear the way the ice crunches and creaks on her outfit as she moves, the sharp screeching of a sword being used in a way it's not entirely meant to, the wheezing of lungs being gnawed by the chill. Whoever this woman is, she's not one of those creatures prowling beyond the torches, which means it's a damn good idea to make sure she gets someplace warm before she succumbs to hypothermia.

"I'm here," he calls out to her, probably before she sees him, bundled up in winter gear, beanie pulled down to cover his eyes, a pair of high-tech electrical batons tucked into the sides of his boots. He can tell from the shift of her clothes that she's not dressed for the weather, even if she wasn't soaking wet and swiftly turning into an icicle. "There's shelter this way. Are you hurt?" He doesn't smell blood, doesn't hear the creak of broken bone, but there's more that can kill a person than that.

[lady_sif]

"I am uninjured," comes her strained reply. "... I believe I am uninjured," she amends, because even if she is, she hasn't noticed. Any pain she might have felt is replaced by the numbing cold, but she's been able to walk this far so it means nothing is broken, at least.

For someone who can barely speak, she makes a lot of noise, body rattling with cold as it moves. Her heart beats on beneath the surface layers of sound, slower than the average human's might be expected to, and with a different rhythm. It could be chalked up to the cold, probably, dragging her under into the darkness. The snow squeaks as her weight compresses it into tiny pats of ice under her boots.

He doesn't look Asgardian, at least not from his manner of dress. His face is half-hidden, but his voice is clear. "I think I'm lost," she says, as if that could quite sum up her situation. It feels like a start.

[he_put_the_devil_in_me]

Good, she's alert enough to respond coherently, that's a good sign. Now that he's pretty sure she's not about to take a swing at him, he reaches out with gloved hands to grasp at her upper arm, intending to help support her weight and steady her as they trek back toward the safety of the torches. She sounds heavy, and he quickly confirms that when he coaxes her arm around his shoulder so she can lean on him for warmth as well as support.

Better hope she doesn't collapse before they get there, then, because even if he can cope with being a crutch, he's not about to be able to haul this much deadweight anywhere, let alone to safety. Whatever she is, she's not human.

Keep her talking, Murdock. "I'm not surprised, this place is a mess outside the torches. Are you with one of the scouting parties?" He doubts it, given her state of dress, but it's the first thing to come to mind where she'd have to answer him.

[sweetcandygirl]

A bright pink shape approaches. Is Sif seeing things now? The pink definitely stands out from the endless white around them.

"Who is asking?" The woman belonging to the pink jacket asks. A fire sword flares to life in her hands.

[lady_sif]

"I... I don't know," she replies. The sword doesn't make her flinch, though maybe it should. Instead, her own sword is brandished, at the ready in spite of the shock of pain in her hand at the sudden movement.

"I am no threat to you," she says, and she's fairly certain that's true.

[sweetcandygirl]

Harley has enough medical knowledge to note how that sword almost hangs in Sif's hand. Like she can barely lift it high enough for battle.

So her sword is extinguished and returned to a sheath on her back.

"Okay. I believe that. I am coming forward to help you. Put that sword away. And I can make sure you get to help."

[outpostcook]

There's a small man trudging through the snow, distinctive in his heavy winter gear. He's carrying a torch, and his scarred face suggests that he's not unfamiliar with violence. He sees a human figure, one hand on his pistol. He doesn't think this woman is a threat, but in these conditions it's more an instinctive reaction than anything. He removes his hand quickly. She has a weapon of her own, an impressive one.

"The name's Joseph Kinner," he says, torch lowered. "Formerly of the 1938 Secondary Magnetic Expedition. Who are you? 'Pologies for the gun, but we're in the middle of a real nasty winter. There's nasty things running around. Might wanna find shelter soon - I can help you, if you want. It's a walk, but not too far. There's safety in groups."

[lady_sif]

Sif turns to the light, drawn towards it like a moth would be to any flame. The fingers clutching her sword twitch when his hand moves to his weapon, but she doesn't raise it. The gun doesn't seem so threatening to her, perhaps.

"I would tell you my name if I but knew it, Joseph Kinner," she says. She hasn't encountered any creatures thus far, but the mention of them makes her cast her eyes around for any unexpected signs of movement.

"I can walk--that much I know. Show me where the shelter is?"

[outpostcook]

"Forgot your name? I'd help, but I don't know where you came from. Maybe we can find someone back at base who knows you."

Kinner tucks the gun into his coat pocket, out of view but easy to reach if the creatures were to appear. He isn't about to take any chances with them, and it's very easy to be ambushed in these conditions. He's always keeping his eye out.

He gestures in the correct direction for the stranger to reach the safe zone. "Once you're past the torches, you're safe. Follow me. It ain't far from here - there's food and shelter at the Crossroads Cafe, though I warn you, it's crowded."

[walking_on_fire]

Sif's words do not fall on human ears, but rather the alert Pokemon that happen to be scouting the outer perimeter. There's a soft change in the nearby wind, going from a bitter cold to a reassuring warmth, the humming of insect wings replacing the howling vortex. And out of the blue, dropping from the skies in front of Sif is a giant moth-like creature. It stares at the female warrior with blue eyes, hovering lightly over the snow, slowly melting the frozen landscape.

The way it looks at her is almost longing, as if wondering how or why a woman such as herself has gotten lost out here. For now, it seems the creature has no intent of attacking.

[lady_sif]

It's safe to say that when she called out, she hadn't expected a reply from a creature such as this. She steps back, uncertain, but when it doesn't make any advances or strike at her, she relaxes. The heat rolling off the creature is such a relief, though the change in temperature is so abrupt that it brings a new kind of pain as she begins to warm up again.

"What are you?" she asks aloud, more to herself than anything. She doesn't expect a response, but she's grateful all the same.

[walking_on_fire]

Volcarona, alas, is a Pokemon that rarely speaks its name. However, it can understand Sif's words with ease and hovers ever closer. The ice on her blade and the sign of wet clothes is alarming to the Pokemon, but it cannot express any worry so easily. Instead, Volcarona lowers itself to the ground, back turned to the warrior.

Her wings beat slowly, but the message is clear as the Pokemon keeps her soft silky back to Sif. Something in the distance howls, which can only mean threats are coming and staying here is not safe.

Flee or fight. If this creature can fly, it most certainly can take her to safety.

[lokiyouarenothelping]

Loki really never sets out to help anybody here. Honestly! This place is full of only strangers, after all.

But when hearing a voice out there, well, what choice does he have? Strangely enough the cold's never bothered him anyway, and there's somebody out there who might freeze! Getting smacked with winds and snow isn't greatest experience, but it'd be the same for him in Spring, to be honest, if there was suddenly lots of rain and storm.

And so he sighs and heads into the vague direction of the voice, shouting, "Over here! Can you hear me?! OVER HERE!!!"

[lady_sif]

In the wind and cold, a voice to follow is better than nothing at all, though it's difficult to determine where it comes from at first. She follows the sound until she sees the young man... more like a boy, once she gets a closer look. She's at least a head taller than him.

"Aye, I hear you," she says. "You ought not be out in the cold," she admonishes, even as her teeth chatter. "From whence have you come, and can you find your way back?"

[lokiyouarenothelping]

"Same to you, my Lady, I'd say you are the one out in the cold," he replies lightly, and his teeth don't chatter at all. In fact, he doesn't look cold. No shaking, no shivers. Just a light sight when snowy blasts of wind get a bit too much, though it does seem likely he'd react the same if they were warm.

"I've came from a warm library, and I can lead you to a warm cafe or inn, if you'd prefer. I can refrain asking your name etcetera till we get there."

[making_sacrifices]

Allura immedietaly notices the sword, but that doesn't change a thing. A foreign warrior on not, this person certainly needs help. If she's a warrior, that's good, maybe she has more endurance. And endurance is very important in survival. Princess Allura makes her way as quickly as possible to her.

"Are you alright? Can you walk? I'll lead you to the nearest building, so if you can, follow me, please. If not, I'll come back with help!"

[lady_sif]

"If I am all right, I cannot say. But I can walk," she says. It's the one thing she's certain of, in fact. She can swim and she can walk. Everything else is largely a mystery.

[making_sacrifices]

"Good. I can lead you to safety. You can lean on me me, if you need. If you have some trouble walking."

Allura's smiling, but she's talking in her take-no-nonsense Princess of Altea voice, right now. She really hopes the lady warrior'll listen, and not try to do anything paladinly stupid. Which she normally wouldn't mind much, but, in this weather...