That takes a couple moments to really sink in as Thor just stares at them, speechless. But eventually he does blink, and give a nod to the Valkyrie, who throws a sarcastic-looking salute before she turns to walk off. Thor swings the door a little wider and steps back, uncharacteristically hesitant. "Well... come on in, then."
Between the amount he's already had to drink and the depth perception issue, he keeps his hand on the wall on his way back inside. It's a cozy little place, especially for a man of Thor's size, though he carries himself differently than he used to, head and shoulders bowed as if his grief is a physical weight pressing down on him. It makes him seem smaller, almost, despite the dimensions of the house.
Most of the decor is clearly left over from whoever owned this cottage before Thor, a thin layer of dust settled on various knickknacks on the shelves, artwork of mountains and sailing ships on the walls. The layout is simple, but most of the rooms look like they've seen little use, save for the living room. The couch sports a small, messy pile of knitted blankets, its accompanying coffee table strewn with empty ale bottles piled around an onyx-black prosthetic arm, and there's a small stack of kegs against one wall that are stamped with the same dwarven symbol that had been on the mead Thor had shared with Steve all those weeks ago. Stormbreaker stands propped up in the same corner, its metal head gleaming brightly despite the shadows around it, clean of any dust. A television that looks to be twenty years old sits against the wall, volume low as it displays reruns of a Norwegian drama.
It isn't a total pigsty, but Rocket still looks around at the interior in mild dismay. "Well it ain't exactly a golden castle, huh?"
Thor doesn't quite flinch, busying himself with trying to pull a knit hat over his hair one-handed, not really sure why he's bothering. They've already seen it. Habit, maybe. "It suits me all right. Sorry, I don't... usually have visitors." He almost goes to clear off the table, but he has nowhere else to put the bottles, so he gives up and sits down heavily on the couch instead, avoiding meeting their eyes.
no subject
Between the amount he's already had to drink and the depth perception issue, he keeps his hand on the wall on his way back inside. It's a cozy little place, especially for a man of Thor's size, though he carries himself differently than he used to, head and shoulders bowed as if his grief is a physical weight pressing down on him. It makes him seem smaller, almost, despite the dimensions of the house.
Most of the decor is clearly left over from whoever owned this cottage before Thor, a thin layer of dust settled on various knickknacks on the shelves, artwork of mountains and sailing ships on the walls. The layout is simple, but most of the rooms look like they've seen little use, save for the living room. The couch sports a small, messy pile of knitted blankets, its accompanying coffee table strewn with empty ale bottles piled around an onyx-black prosthetic arm, and there's a small stack of kegs against one wall that are stamped with the same dwarven symbol that had been on the mead Thor had shared with Steve all those weeks ago. Stormbreaker stands propped up in the same corner, its metal head gleaming brightly despite the shadows around it, clean of any dust. A television that looks to be twenty years old sits against the wall, volume low as it displays reruns of a Norwegian drama.
It isn't a total pigsty, but Rocket still looks around at the interior in mild dismay. "Well it ain't exactly a golden castle, huh?"
Thor doesn't quite flinch, busying himself with trying to pull a knit hat over his hair one-handed, not really sure why he's bothering. They've already seen it. Habit, maybe. "It suits me all right. Sorry, I don't... usually have visitors." He almost goes to clear off the table, but he has nowhere else to put the bottles, so he gives up and sits down heavily on the couch instead, avoiding meeting their eyes.