Thor has not often responded to Loki's messages, especially in the early days after the Culling, too lost in darkness to do anything but try to sleep away the guilt. Later, when Banner had insisted he get out of bed and at least pretend to live, he had found a little solace in the unexpected outreach, find some sense of grounding in a predictable routine, something his life is sorely lacking otherwise in the wake of the slaughter.
He has yet to find stability, but it helps to draw him closer to it, a little at a time.
It's enough that he holds together well enough as he arrives at the little house, the Bifrost burning its knotwork into the soft grasses. For a moment he just stands and breathes, the weather of this place tugging at him differently than New York, and casts an eye over the cozy cottage. The girl sitting on the porch is vaguely familiar, and Thor feels a stab of regret that he hadn't learned all his people's names before so many were lost. Who else has he forgotten? But he manages a faint smile anyway, because she is living proof that something of Asgard survives. One of his people that he has not failed as harshly as the others, someone who might not now live if not for the evacuation to the Nexus.
"And so I am," he answers, a little surprised not to see condemnation in her eyes. It would be less than he deserves. Nor does he feel terribly much like a king at the moment, clad in fresh Midgardian clothes, the left arm of his hoodie bunching oddly around the prosthesis. But Stormbreaker hums solidly in his hand, giving him the strength to weather whatever tempest his people throw at him in their grief. "You're Fǫnn, right?"
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He has yet to find stability, but it helps to draw him closer to it, a little at a time.
It's enough that he holds together well enough as he arrives at the little house, the Bifrost burning its knotwork into the soft grasses. For a moment he just stands and breathes, the weather of this place tugging at him differently than New York, and casts an eye over the cozy cottage. The girl sitting on the porch is vaguely familiar, and Thor feels a stab of regret that he hadn't learned all his people's names before so many were lost. Who else has he forgotten? But he manages a faint smile anyway, because she is living proof that something of Asgard survives. One of his people that he has not failed as harshly as the others, someone who might not now live if not for the evacuation to the Nexus.
"And so I am," he answers, a little surprised not to see condemnation in her eyes. It would be less than he deserves. Nor does he feel terribly much like a king at the moment, clad in fresh Midgardian clothes, the left arm of his hoodie bunching oddly around the prosthesis. But Stormbreaker hums solidly in his hand, giving him the strength to weather whatever tempest his people throw at him in their grief. "You're Fǫnn, right?"