Cocoa is a fine thing, and one that Thor finds delicious, but a small frown still pulls at his brow. Not coffee? Why not? Even so, he doesn't object to her suggestion, faced with the more daunting task of standing back up. The fatigue weighing him down has little to do with sleep, and is uncomfortably familiar, a frequent companion after such episodes.
The lure of a hot drink helps though, as does the gentle pressure of Amelia waiting for him. They leave the lights off as they shuffle towards the little kitchen, knowing the layout of the house well enough not to need it, though Thor keeps his fingertips against the wall on his blind side as he goes. The windowshades are open, allowing soft flashes of lightning to illuminate their path. No longer looming low over the house, the storm is shrouded in clouds, its thunder subdued into rumbles. The rain continues its soothing patter against the roof, speckling the windows in a thousand tiny prisms.
Amelia's question keeps him from drifting too far, turning his head a little as he considers it. "Mm. Maybe." It does sound tempting. Even now, separated from the wind and rain by the walls of his home, the storm nonetheless sings to him in his bones, or perhaps it is the other way around. Perhaps there is no line between them, in the end. And maybe it will do him good to get out of the house, into his element. His tongue does not wish to cooperate well enough just yet, so he gives her arm a gentle squeeze where it is wrapped around him instead.
Thor comes to a gradual stop in the middle of the kitchen, mentally grasping for the next step and failing to find it. Not the coffeepot... They need milk, he can recall that much. Hesitantly, he continues forward toward the fridge.
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The lure of a hot drink helps though, as does the gentle pressure of Amelia waiting for him. They leave the lights off as they shuffle towards the little kitchen, knowing the layout of the house well enough not to need it, though Thor keeps his fingertips against the wall on his blind side as he goes. The windowshades are open, allowing soft flashes of lightning to illuminate their path. No longer looming low over the house, the storm is shrouded in clouds, its thunder subdued into rumbles. The rain continues its soothing patter against the roof, speckling the windows in a thousand tiny prisms.
Amelia's question keeps him from drifting too far, turning his head a little as he considers it. "Mm. Maybe." It does sound tempting. Even now, separated from the wind and rain by the walls of his home, the storm nonetheless sings to him in his bones, or perhaps it is the other way around. Perhaps there is no line between them, in the end. And maybe it will do him good to get out of the house, into his element. His tongue does not wish to cooperate well enough just yet, so he gives her arm a gentle squeeze where it is wrapped around him instead.
Thor comes to a gradual stop in the middle of the kitchen, mentally grasping for the next step and failing to find it. Not the coffeepot... They need milk, he can recall that much. Hesitantly, he continues forward toward the fridge.