There's a flash of recognition in her eyes when Steve introduces himself, and Rocket shortly thereafter, so she's heard of them by names, in any case. "I'm the Valkyrie," she says, with a little less self-loathing attached than she would've had a few months ago, and she doesn't offer a hand to shake. "Just call me Val; most people do." By her own insistence, mostly, but she would rather use that than either title or name.
Mention of Thor brings a tension to her jaw, like she's biting back a comment not fit for company, at odds with the way her hardened gaze seems to soften just a little. "Don't worry, you're in the right place. Not sure if His Majesty's fit for company right now, but I'll leave that up to him." The Valkyrie looks like she's thinking about saying something else, but she turns her attention to the ship instead, peering around Steve - and over Rocket's head - at the cargo sitting just past the ramp. "Appreciate it. I'll get some people to offload it while you're doing your housecall."
Rocket is no fan of people poking around his ship while he's not there to supervise, and if these Asgardians looked as desperate as some of the folks they've been helping these past few weeks, he'd insist on staying behind to make sure they don't strip the Benatar like they're tearing apart the escape pods. But they look plenty calm, in comparison, and besides, if they wreck his ship he'll know where to find Thor to complain. So he takes a moment to briefly outline which crates are up for grabs before they set off toward the south.
By sheer coincidence, their landing spot is only a few minutes' walk to where the Valkyrie's taking them, just across the football pitch and up a short trail to the top of the southernmost bluff. A small lighthouse and a little cottage sit alone on the rock, overlooking the sea that encompasses the entire southern horizon. It's quiet, almost deceptively peaceful, and far humbler than the golden palace that Thor used to call home. The Valkyrie studies them both while they walk, making no secret of it. "So you're his Avengers, right? The whole 'Earth's mightiest heroes' thing. He told us about you a bit, before everything went to shit more than it already had."
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Mention of Thor brings a tension to her jaw, like she's biting back a comment not fit for company, at odds with the way her hardened gaze seems to soften just a little. "Don't worry, you're in the right place. Not sure if His Majesty's fit for company right now, but I'll leave that up to him." The Valkyrie looks like she's thinking about saying something else, but she turns her attention to the ship instead, peering around Steve - and over Rocket's head - at the cargo sitting just past the ramp. "Appreciate it. I'll get some people to offload it while you're doing your housecall."
Rocket is no fan of people poking around his ship while he's not there to supervise, and if these Asgardians looked as desperate as some of the folks they've been helping these past few weeks, he'd insist on staying behind to make sure they don't strip the Benatar like they're tearing apart the escape pods. But they look plenty calm, in comparison, and besides, if they wreck his ship he'll know where to find Thor to complain. So he takes a moment to briefly outline which crates are up for grabs before they set off toward the south.
By sheer coincidence, their landing spot is only a few minutes' walk to where the Valkyrie's taking them, just across the football pitch and up a short trail to the top of the southernmost bluff. A small lighthouse and a little cottage sit alone on the rock, overlooking the sea that encompasses the entire southern horizon. It's quiet, almost deceptively peaceful, and far humbler than the golden palace that Thor used to call home. The Valkyrie studies them both while they walk, making no secret of it. "So you're his Avengers, right? The whole 'Earth's mightiest heroes' thing. He told us about you a bit, before everything went to shit more than it already had."