pirateangelbaby | [IC, open to all] Thor Fight Club

It's a beautiful spring day in the Nexus, rolling green hills boasting bright splashes of color where flowers have blossomed in all their glory, birds singing in trees sheltered with new green growth, and the sun is shining merrily through puffy white clouds, the breeze only a little on the cool side.

In one of the flatter fields out towards the Wilds, however, things are not quite so peaceful at the moment.

There's an enormous rough ring marked out with scorch marks in the grass, large enough to rival the gladiator arena on Sakaar, and on the edge of the ring there's a cloth laid out with a small variety of weapons that look... well, very second-hand, to put it mildly. But enough to give a good selection of swords or axes or hammers, with a shield or two for protective options.

Thor stands to one side, checking his armor to make sure it's securely fitted before battle, training session or not, and can't quite chase away the grin on his face in favor of a more serious, kingly expression that he probably should be wearing. Learning to compensate for his missing eye is a matter of life and death, probably, whether his or someone else's, but he can't help but feel excited to face something other than a half-assed training dummy shoved into the corner of the cargo hold.

Right, then, who's up for a little sparring with the god of thunder?

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"No."

"Steve Rogers told me about them. The other not-quite-Me and his Twin Sister. And from what he explained... it doesn't even sound like we got our powers the same way."

"I'm a Mutant. I have the X-Gene."

"I'm the son of Magneto."

If nothing else, firsthand experience with a multitude of distinctly different Lokis lets Thor easily get his mind around the idea of this young man being an alternate of someone else he knew.

Not that the rest of what he's said makes much sense, but never mind that.

"Well, you use it well," he says, finally letting up on the storm, the rain ceasing as abruptly as it began. Thor's arms are still reddened and aching, but they're well on their way to healing. His armor, on the other hand, has a thick band of lumpy, badly melted duct tape stuck on it still, and Thor makes a face when he realizes it's still there.

Peter removes his googles. The rain has washed away most of the mud. But he will still want a hot shower later.

He notes the face that Thor makes. "I can get that cleaned up... properly for you... in a matter of a few seconds."

"Can you." It's not really a question, and Thor arches an eyebrow in challenge to the youngster. It's only fair that he should clean up his own mess, after all. "It was a good effort, by the way. Maybe next time use something a little less, ah, flammable."

"Hey... I hope you don't expect me to strip it off you. I am sort of already seeing someone." Peter chuckles.

"I always carry Duct Tape with me. What else would you suggest?"

Thor outright chuckles at that. "No, just this... mess... will be fine."

"Chains fit to hold a god are hard to come by, I suppose, but that might be what you'd have to resort to."

"It is better to clean armor when it is off the person wearing it. So if you have to change... I can wait." Peter can be patient when needed.

"A god? Apocalypse told others he was a god. But to some he was just a very powerful mutant. What makes a god, a god?

"That won't be necessary." Thor is already unbuckling his cuirass, divesting himself of the upper half of his armor in a practiced motion. Beneath he wears a padded undershirt, which has obviously escaped the duct tape inferno that's marred his outer layer. After a moment's hesitation, he also unstraps his vambraces. He always feels a little more naked without them, in a way that going shirtless doesn't, but they're just as covered in melted goo so it can't be helped.

He rubs at the scar around his right wrist absently, paying far more attention to the youngster's question than his old habit. "Depends on who you ask. Power alone isn't enough, neither is being worshiped. There's something about it you have to be born with, I think, or bestowed on you by the Norns. You can't just say you are one and have it be true."

"He had power. And he had others who worshiped him. I don't know if he was connected to the Norns... since I don't know who they are. But he almost destroyed our world."

Peter takes half a second to get proper metal cleaning items, while he continues the conversation with Thor. He can speak normally, while his hands go a mile-a-minute.

"Then again... some call my father a God of Metal, and I think that gets to his head."

"The Fates," Thor clarifies, rather used to having to explain. "Powerful spirits who weave the loom of future-sight."

He peers at Peter's hands as they work their magic, rapidly cleansing his armor of the tacky ruin. Not quite as smoothly as Loki would have done, but his sorcery is different, of course.

"No one who calls themselves a god is bound to be humble," Thor points out, amusement in his voice. "Though it can be learned."

"Future-sight. Is that sort of like when a Mutant has the ability to see the future?" Because Peter knows a few who have that power.

"I think Erik is beyond learning humility." Peter tsks his tongue a little.

"I have been learning about metal. To connect to him." And that explains a little about why he seems to know what he is doing with the polish. "But he is on another mission. Another quest to find the best of the best."

[IC, open to all] Thor Fight Club

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