Sif had been a surprise. Sometimes she dogged his thoughts; sometimes he completely forgot about her. He wasn't sure what status she had been, to him, when he ran into her at the party, either forgotten or fondly remembered; all he knew was that, for the moment, he was pleased to see her, as he usually was. While she could be aggravating, she did not stir up any immediate emotions of dissent within moments, as his brother often did.

And at any rate, they were deep into their cups now, as the saying went. It was refreshing to have someone to drink with who could keep up, even if she got a bit rowdy (but he was used to that, after being raised a prince of Asgard, where everyone got rowdy eventually, including him). The evening, the idea of a new year, barely registered with him. Like Christmas, it just seemed an excuse for everyone to make merry, and he supposed he was thawing a bit. Being away from Midgard, where he had dug in, helped with that. The hotel was more rejuvenating, and so was Sif.

“So,” he said, taking away her empty cup and putting his own, full one in her hand, motioning to waitstaff for refills. “Pirates?”

[closed to Sif! ;)]