Sif was waiting with theoretical patience for the meeting to begin, an apparently placid smile on her face. She was aware Loki was displeased with her, though she had no idea why. She had tried to convey respect for his time and effort and agreement with his points when last they'd talked. But the sorcerer was prickly and moody, and after all, he was a god of mischief, so who knew what he was thinking?
She had brought a flask in case Val needed it, or needed to be distracted, and promised herself that no matter how upsetting the meeting was, or what Dame Agatha would have to say, that she would not touch it herself.
Battlefields were her natural habitat, and while this was one in its own way, it was the kind she enjoyed least.