There was absolutely no part of Sif that was surprised at the things she overheard coming out of the room. It had nothing to do with who was in it but more to the fact that hot-headed tempers were common enough traits on Asgard. Injured and stubborn allies too were things she knew quite well and, when those two things combined? Well, again. She wasn’t surprised when she heard tones rise and get sharp. She even gave the whole thing a modicum of respect by turning her ear more away from it and affording a personalized sense of privacy to the two. Certainly it was true that the whole ward could hear them and that unless she actively plugged her ears she could too, but she wasn’t actively trying to listen for the moment at least.
The whole thing, the battles she’d seen since somehow coming to this realm, the way the heroes of this place so willingly placed themselves in the path of that which required a force to be righted, it helped her better understand what it was Thor had seen of value on Midgard. Though he’d never told stories of its mages, nor its gods and goddesses (and part of her suspected it was because he had not yet met them), Sif could see the noble and heroic nature of its people. She could see how Thor had potentially become taken with it, even if nothing in particular she had seen of Jane Foster would lend weight to this notion. It was a thought to ponder, something to occupy her mind and prevent her from eavesdropping more than she her nature would mandate, and Sif took it without hesitation.
At least she did right up until the point that voice snapped her attention back to the reality around her. It was one she knew instantly, even before her mind had fully processed the question, and one that would see Sif half turn in its direction with a creeping smile on the corners of her expression.
“Hello Bobbi Morse.” She spoke calmly, cleanly, even respectfully. It was a tone she used rarely, and certainly not while standing in a place like this one. “I do believe she has reserved her lashings to be that of the vocal variety for the time being.” There was an almost an amused hint to her voice then as she shifted, giving the woman a more proper hold of her gaze and her posture. “I trust then that you know this Francis Barton?” Because Bobbi had specifically asked about him, which struck Sif as evidence enough for that conclusion.
“She is very cross with his decision making.” Sif added, tilting her head in the direction of the door.