Be civil, Sif told herself as she looked at him. Be civil, be collected, be adult. Don't smash his face into his glass. In Asgard a thought like that never would have crossed her mind, but in modern America it was taking an extreme about of willpower not to do just that. Sher flexed her hand into a tight fist where it rested on the bar and then let it loosen.
Hadn't she always been good at letting his words (mostly) wash right over her? That was the part of herself she needed to keep hold of here tonight. And so she smiled tightly and said, "very kind of you. Tell me though, is New York a small place, or are you stalking me?"