Even a God Can Need a Friend [Open to friends]

[pirateangelbaby]

[OOC: This post and its threads may contain Endgame spoilers. Potential trigger warnings include depression, alcohol abuse, and suicidal thoughts. (See the bottom section of Thor's updated permissions page for more detail on relevant warnings, Thor’s triggers, and a disclaimer about his narration style.) If you intend to tag Thor and are sensitive to this kind of content, please let me know before we begin so that I can provide a safer roleplay experience for you. Individual threads on this post will not be warned for on a case by case basis.

Thor has left his current address with the remaining Avengers, Loki (coldsong), Prometheus (liverfree), and Sif (lady_sif). Other close friends are welcome to visit by getting coordinates from those listed, which may be done offscreen (of the Avengers, Rocket is the most likely to be out and about in the Nexus right now) - if in doubt, please ask the relevant mun. This post is intended to provide Thor with moral support as he grapples with his mental health; each thread will be treated as though it is a different day entirely so his mood and the immediate setting may vary. I do not mind slow tags, and this post will be perpetually open for a long while, so don't worry if you can't get to it right away but still want to play.]


Above the Arctic Circle, in the far north of Norway, the village formerly known as Henningsvær sprawls out across a tiny chain of islands. Despite the approach of summer, the weather is cool and overcast, sea breezes often sweeping through the narrow streets. For those approaching by road, the small single-lane bridge leading from the mainland now boasts a hand-painted sign in Norsk and Asgardian runes welcoming visitors to Asvera, which the local humans have taken to calling New Asgard. Population: 832.

Though much of the world still feels half-empty and apocalyptic, there is little of that here. Asgard has filled the empty spaces, each house claimed and occupied, as well as several hotels that once served seasonal tourists. Fishing boats come and go from the harbor, dock workers hard at work learning to repair nets and lines, others processing the day’s catch for consumption. There is no market, no selling of goods; everything is distributed communally through the grocery on the main island, every citizen entitled to a share, every citizen expected to work to support the others, save for the children who are too young.

The village is quiet, but busy. There is always work to be done, or new skills to learn to survive in their new home. The king, however, may not be so easy to find. Here in the tiny Norwegian village, there is no golden palace to give visitors a place to start looking. Perhaps it’s best to ask for directions.

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[sweetcandygirl]

Harley has been helping with the care of some of the Asgardian children in the Nexus. And spreads her own optimism and cheer, wherever she goes. She tries to be there for these people... those that mean so much to Loki... in any way she can. In small ways.

Today, her goal is to check in on Thor. Loki has told her about Asvera. And how to find it.

She PINpoints in a good distance away, so she can walk towards the village. Harley has an armful of some new goods for the grocery. And is dressed warmly for the day. A lesson learned from Winter to be prepared.

Harley has no problems being social, or asking questions. And she is very determined to find who she is looking for. Thor is important to her, as a friend. And important to Loki, as an alternate brother. And those are solid reasons to keep her search.

[pirateangelbaby]

Harley is not the first person to donate to Asgard's coffers, and the woman running the grocery is unsurprised but grateful for more supplies to go around. She hesitates a little when the visitor asks after the king, however; everyone in town has nightmares, both while sleeping and while awake sometimes, but what little she has seen of the Allfather suggests his mental state has suffered greatly from the war against the Titan, though he tries to hide it from them. It's possible he may not want company.

But, she also reasons internally, if the king does not want visitors, surely he would have no difficulty throwing them out. So the hesitation passes, and the grocer directs Harley to the far end of the southernmost island, past an overgrown football pitch and up a rocky bluff to a lighthouse keeper's cottage.

It's quiet out on this far end of the settlement, away from the rest of the houses and their people, with only the wind and a few scattered seabirds for company. There's a low murmur of sound from inside the house, though the cadence suggests television rather than a conversation, and though there is no reply to her knock on the door, it will open easily under her hand, left unlocked and unguarded.

The inside is still decorated mostly to its previous owner's tastes, with tasteful pictures of mountains and ships on the walls, most of the decor about two decades out of date. It smells like dust and alcohol, and the old television casts a faint light over the living room as it shows some local television program, illuminating the man sitting on the couch.

Thor is wearing his arm today, a half-empty glass bottle dangling loosely from metal fingers, and his hair has grown out several inches since Harley last saw him, his beard starting to look a little wild too. At first glance he looks like he's watching the TV, but the look in his eye is too distant to be paying attention to it or the sound of a visitor, lost in thought. Or memory.

[sweetcandygirl]

Harley keeps an observant eye on her surroundings, as she journeys past the overgrown football pitch and up the rocky bluff to the cottage.

The way the door opens reminds her a little of those creepy abandoned places, that are popular spots for murderers. Or spooks.

Harley finds herself staring at a sight that is familiar to her -- from long ago -- of the many times she found Joker watching the news, but not really watching the news. Of how distant Joker seemed to be. But how dangerous he was... all the same time.

Carefully, Harley moves forward and removes the half-empty bottle from those metal fingers. "You hungry?" She is more than prepared for him to react in anger, based off past experience. She is already moving, to avoid any sudden lashing out at her. "I make a mean omelette."

[pirateangelbaby]

This is not the first time Thor has drifted like this, a sensation that has become common in the days since the war of the Stones. As if from a distance, he becomes aware that he is no longer alone when he sees movement pass between himself and the television, though he offers no resistance to having his drink pulled from his hand. He should do something - turn to look, try to speak, something - but his body does not belong to him in this moment, and it does not respond to his commands.

Who is that? The voice is familiar, but he cannot place why, and the visitor has moved away from where he can see. A small frown pulls at his brow as he wonders if maybe he is seeing things that are not there, now, and the little jolt of fear is enough to get him moving again, enough to sweep his gaze around the room to find her again.

"...what?" She asked him a question, right?

[eumenis]

The Council was absolutely not in favor of Furiosa visiting other worlds. The Nexus proper is risky enough, as Winter proved. But she already made a commitment to help Thor's people in any way she could, and after learning that his world and Rocket's are connected, after hearing more of what's happened, she is determined. And the Council of the Green Towers learned that Furiosa is still perfectly capable of putting her foot down, making a decision and sticking to it doggedly whether anyone else likes it or not.

In short, she argued them into doing what she wanted, and if anyone was surprised, they shouldn't have been.

She arrives on the island with an escort: two War Boys from her old crew, the most loyal and reliable she's got, aside from the Ace. The taller of the two, dark-skinned and broad-shouldered but with a sweet, youthful face, is Crux. The smaller is Spanner, and he bears some unfortunate burn scars on one arm and across his forehead and throat, and maybe elsewhere on his body, too, for the way he walks, but his blue eyes are bright and alert. He's an observer, and no less protective of his old boss than their larger companion.

The trio arrive via PINpoint, with Crux and Furiosa carrying gifts. The Citadel doesn't have much to share, but they had a bumper crop this year, thanks to the gifts of so many seeds (and perhaps some kind of indirect blessing from Hazel). They've brought cut sugar cane, a few sacks of sorghum and dried fruit, and some tanned pig and camel hides. Mostly it's meant to be a friendly token. Anything the Asgardians really need they can discuss later.

They land close to the sea, and while Furiosa anticipated the cold and dressed herself and the boys accordingly, she did not expect this heaving, chilly, salt-smelling desert of water, and all three of them are transfixed, lost in awe at the sight of it. Whoever notices and comes to meet them will hear soft murmuring, the woman explaining to the two younger men: "...fish comes from, yes. Well, some come from freshwater, too, but the sea is much bigger. Do you know what tides are? It's when the moon pulls on all that water and makes it come up higher on the shore."

"Wait, how high?" Spanner sounds nervous. "It ain't gonna drown us?"

"No, no, just a couple feet. Look, when we go home I'll read you a book about it."

[pirateangelbaby]

Though there is no longer an All-Seer to keep an eye out for visitors, the little fishing village is small enough that the presence of strangers does not go unnoticed for long, particularly those who have arrived bearing gifts. A young Asgardian girl, who looks to be about sixteen by human reckoning, is on her way to the general store to fetch supplies for the dock workers, and approaches Furiosa and her War Boys once she sees the goods they carry. Her hair is in a simple braid, her hands and clothes bearing traces of dirt from her labors, and her gaze lingers very little on the visitors' war wounds.

Her demeanor is respectful, polite, someone who has been living with her own nightmares but has managed to bury herself in fulfilling work to cope. She introduces herself as Dagmar, and offers to help carry their offerings as she is headed that way already.

A troubled look crosses her face when Furiosa asks after Thor, and she tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear, biting thoughtfully at her lower lip. "He is likely at his home, to the south. It's the only house set apart from the others, past the landing field."

Furiosa will not have to go entirely that far to find him, however. Ever since Harley has come to stay at the little lighthouse-keeper's cottage, she has been stubbornly insistent that Thor get out in the sun every so often, though she is not always successful. Today he’s only made it as far as the overgrown football pitch in his backyard, its greenery flattened and trampled under dozens of feet as the Asgardians had stripped the escape pods to bare skeletons, leaving only the brightly-colored Commodore intact.

Thor is in one of the clearer patches of earth, lying on his back with his right arm behind his head and the black metal of his left resting on his chest, watching the thick gray clouds slowly roll by overhead. His hair has grown since she has seen him last, long enough that dirty strands poke out from under the knit hat he wears, though there is no hiding the growth of his beard. He looks more tired than contemplative, and does not immediately notice he has company.

[eumenis]

There are some mild exclamations from the War Boys about the name Dagmar, only because one of the Citadel Tribunes is the Dag, whose moniker may or may not be short for something else. Only she knows, at this point, and she only talks about things she wants to talk about. Furiosa reflects that of all the Sisters who might be brought here to visit or help, she would be the best.

But that's something to be considered later.

She leaves the boys to attend to putting things away, giving them carte blanche to do whatever other work they're fit for and would like to do. Engines, carpentry, and simple labor are well within their wheelhouse, though Spanner is more physically delicate. Furiosa herself has no fear of the place or the people, and that's reassuring to them, although there's a little argument that they're supposed to be guarding her before they finally let her go off to see Thor alone.

She's slow on her journey to the lighthouse-keeper's cottage, looking around her, enjoying the glimpses of the Old World, rock and plants and freely-running water. Others might mourn how low Asgard has fallen. She sees wealth and beauty, and thinks it fitting.

Thor, by contrast, looks better fit for the Wasteland now than ever. The lack of vanity in his dirty locks and lengthening beard is a surprise, though as always Furiosa's skewed standards mean she's not as troubled as many might be. Her gaze goes to the left arm, which she'd been told he'd lost, but she wasn't sure what to expect as far as a prosthesis. It looks smooth and fluid, almost a part of him.

"Thor," she calls his name before she gets too close. It's not a good idea to startle people. "Hey. Thor, it's me."

[pirateangelbaby]

If it’s work they’re looking for, the War Boys will find no shortage of tasks to keep their hands busy. Without any beasts of burden to pull carts and carry loads, and with the roadways too small for many vehicles at a time, manpower is needed to carry supplies wherever they are needed. There is a greenhouse being constructed on the westernmost island, and more hands will be welcome to help steady panes of glass as they are lifted into place. One of the fishing boat engines is not working quite right, and though the technology is fairly primitive compared to what the people are used to, they have yet to develop the expertise needed to understand the problem and correct it. Everywhere there are small things, here and there, little bumps in the road as the Asgardians adapt to their new home.

There are times where Thor feels he should probably be helping, himself. Odin never would have, but Odin had far greater things to concern himself with than pounding nails and mending clothes. Here, Thor has no such excuse, his duties as king reduced to brief meetings with the tattered remnant of his council and little else. Every now and then, he’s even managed to venture forth far enough to see where even his unskilled hands might be welcomed, but he can’t fail to notice how people look at him now. Not everyone is satisfied with their lot in life, though few have dared to complain where he can hear, or maybe it’s his imagination that puts those frowns on their faces. Worse than that is the pity he thinks he sees, the judgment; they are enduring and adapting, why isn’t their king? And for that, he has no answer, only avoidance.

He’d probably fuck it all up, anyway.

Thor tenses a little at the sound of his name, but when he lifts his head to see who is calling, his expression melts from discomfort to mild surprise. “Furiosa,” he says, sitting upright and clasping his hands in his lap, absently fidgeting against one another. He is annoyingly sober at the moment, only mildly tipsy, thanks to the efforts of his uninvited houseguest who has taken several opportunities to ply him with juice and soda when he’s meant to get a stronger drink. His voice is a little rough, and he clears his throat, which makes only a little difference. “I... wasn’t expecting you.”

[liverfree]

Prometheus does not send an announcement to Thor ahead of time that he's going to visit. He simply shows up in the village, and he has brought company: the Asgardian family staying with him -- a mother and her three children. The children -- twin girls and a younger brother, have come to play with the other children. The mother has come to decide if she is ready to relocate to Earth. The Nexus has grown on her, and she loves Prometheus like the uncle she never had, but these are her people, and Thor is her king.

With a quiet reassurance that he'll meet up with them later, Prometheus heads off to find Thor. He stops and chats with people along the way, recognizing the faces of people who have already left the Nexus. Sometimes he lends a hand, if it looks like they need help with whatever they're doing. He gives kids piggyback rides, and beams at any bit of good news he hears.

But he doesn't forget his main objective. Surely someone knows where their king is, and will point him in the right direction.

[pirateangelbaby]

Visitors are not too uncommon in Asvera, usually strangers making deliveries of supplies or equipment, whether they hail from this Earth or somewhere beyond the Nexus. At first, the Asgardians who’d arrived with the ships watch Prometheus with detached curiosity, but distant politeness gives way to warmer looks as the children run to him fearlessly, familiarly, and a few of the adults he’d helped shelter greet him in passing.

Even when Asgard had been at the height of its glory, then-prince Thor’s comings and goings had often been known to the people, mostly because in those days he had flown overhead with a none-too-subtle crack of thunder in his wake, or lit up the horizon with the rainbow flare of the Bifrost. Now, his presence is quiet and subdued, but the population of the tiny islands is so small and intimate that it is more difficult not to know what one’s neighbors are doing, at times. Prometheus will not need to ask many before one young man has an answer for him. “I saw him walking toward Odin’s Tower this morning,” he says, pointing toward the next island across the bridge. There is a tall rocky bluff on one side, overlooking the sea to the east and topped with greenery. The clouds seem to hang lower there, a shade or two darker, though the air smells only of sea salt rather than an oncoming storm.

Upon arrival, Prometheus may note the Bifrost rune burned into the earth, near a blackened patch that has withered as though death itself touched it. Toward the edge of the bluff is a large boulder wide enough for three men to sit on, and it’s there that he will find Thor, looking out over the sea. His hair has grown long enough that the ends escape from beneath the knit hat he’s wearing, and the fullness of his beard is rivaling Prometheus’ now. Even from the back, the slump of his posture makes him look weary, and the bottle he raises to his lips might be partly to blame.

[liverfree]

Prometheus thanks the man warmly before heading along the indicated bridge. The view has him a little distracted while he walks -- he's never spent much time in Norway. Occasionally he goes to the Nobel Peace Prize ceremony in Oslo, but otherwise he's seen little of it. It's a marvelous sight, although somber, too. The water reflects the clouds overhead; it's not at all the brilliant blue of the Aegean Sea that he's accustomed to.

He spots Thor easily enough, making his way to the boulder. The patch of dead earth catches his attention a moment, but he files away that for later. Right now, he's focused on the fellow deity who looks as though his burdens, self-imposed and otherwise, have not lifted any since the last time he saw them.

"Hello, friend." He takes a seat, close but not crowding. "How's the arm treating you? Any complaints?" His gaze drops to the bottle but he doesn't comment on it. Instead, he looks out to the sea. "It's beautiful here. You might have to change your sign by the time this week is through. I think Hertha and her children are ready to leave me."

[pirateangelbaby]

Not expecting company, Thor startles when he realizes he is no longer alone, a brief flash of alarm flicking across his face before he recognizes his visitor, and the tension bleeds out of him again. Unlike last time, he’s not able to summon a smile for his friend, but last time he’d still had hope.

That is gone, now.

But Thor is still here, for reasons he cannot fathom. And though he’d come out here to be alone with his thoughts, the solitude weighs on him heavily anyway, the guilt something he cannot escape from no matter where he goes or who he’s with. It may as well be spent in the company of a friend, now that he’s here. So after a long hesitation, he waves vaguely with the bottle in invitation for Prometheus to join him.

He glances down at his arm when asked, and though most of it is hidden beneath his sleeve, the black of his hand stands out against the gray fabric regardless. “No complaints,” he answers in a rough voice, and decides not to mention the part where he does not always wear it at home, for fear he will seem ungrateful. There are simply days when he does not feel worthy of the gift - or much else, for that matter - and sometimes it is easier to blame his lack of motivation on only having one arm to work with, as if that was not his choice all along. “It... served me well,” he adds, and takes another pull of the mead. What happened at the Garden was not the arm’s fault, after all.

Thor’s hand shakes slightly as he lowers the bottle to rest against his knee, and the change of subject comes as a flicker of relief. “Good thing we haven’t had an official one made yet. They... they are well?” he asks, though that seems obvious, and he had never before needed to be reassured of such things. A little belatedly, it occurs to him how much work Prometheus has been doing to keep his people safe, and so he adds, “And you?”

[sweetcandygirl]

Harley has stayed with Thor for over a week now. There were moments when she left the cottage (and he might have hoped that she gave up on him), but it was usually always to get supplies.

Two days after she announced she was staying -- her supplies included a hammock for her to sleep in, a few changes of clothes, and a trampoline.

She has done little things to get Thor onto a routine. Starting his day with breakfast (which she never forces him to eat), and getting him juice or soda in the afternoon so he doesn't spend the whole day drinking. And once in a while, she convinces him to go for a walk. Or to see the work that is being done around the village.

The greenhouse idea was supported by Harley completely. After all, it would be good for the Village to produce their own vegetables and fruit. So as the greenhouse is built, Harley does her best to get Thor interested in the process.

One day, when she disappears for supplies, she comes back to the Cottage with another woman with her. The tall green-skinned woman attracted some attention when she first arrived at the Village. There were a few men who wanted to keep on following her (and Harley too). But all she had to tell them is to keep up their good work on the repairs needed around the village, and they were more than happy to oblige.

Harley entered the cottage with a big grin. "Thor! We have some company!"

[pirateangelbaby]

Having constant company is... strange.

It hadn't been like this at the Avengers compound. There, he'd had his own room, a private sanctum where he could close the door and lock himself away from the others for a while. At least, until they became concerned enough that Banner would come in to check on him. But here he's open, exposed, and while Harley gives him space at times, it's different knowing that she is still there. Watching when he loses track of time, staring dumbly at the television while seeing none of it. Listening when he wakes from a nightmare, tangled in blankets and gasping for breath, unable to calm himself and sleep again without the warm embrace of mead to muffle his screams.

He's lost his temper once or twice, irritable beyond even his own understanding, resentful that he's being nursemaided and even more upset with himself for needing to be pestered into eating, or taking a shower, or getting out around the village, fully aware that he should and yet often unable to make himself do it on his own. He doesn't understand himself anymore, trapped in a cycle of apathy and frustration, and running under it all is the deep guilt which colors his every move, his every thought, reminds him that he doesn't deserve this kind of care. Not him.

But not every day is a wholly bad one, either. Though it's hard to get himself out the door in the first place, there are times when he's come back feeling... not whole, not healed, but less gloomy, maybe. Once he even let the sun come out, for a little while, making its slow loop around the horizon yet never setting fully. And there is something oddly soothing about watching reruns of some cartoon together, with Harley curled up in the armchair and laughing at the antics of the animated characters on the screen.

Today, he's making an attempt to comb his hair after too long of leaving it alone, grown long enough that it's snarled beyond the limits of his energy and patience to fix. He grimaces a little when she calls out, and jams his hat onto his head, uncaring that it will only make the problem worse in the end, before coming out to see who is calling on him now. One of his people, he assumes, up until he lays eyes on a woman he's never seen before in his life. "Oh. Uh... hello."

[sweetcandygirl]

Harley has stood by Thor during the ups and downs. Even when he lost his temper. He might get angry at his situation... but Harley understands why he is angry. And lets him vent his angry his own way (it has not been directed at her in any physical or mental way).

Harley beams at him, when he makes his appearance. The woman beside her stays close to Harley for now, a curious glance around the building.

"This is Pamela, my BFF. Pamela, this is Thor." She makes the introductions.

"I asked her here so we could get a great start on the greenhouse. Pam is the best when it comes to plants."

Pamela glances over to Thor. And nods softly. "Nice to meet you."

[pirateangelbaby]

Had Harley told him that her friend was coming? Thor doesn't remember, though this would hardly be the first thing he's forgotten in recent days. It should make him anxious, but for some reason the flare of nervousness is muted, and he nods slightly to Pamela in greeting.

"And you," he answers, his gaze sweeping over her. She does not look entirely human, though what else she is, he can't tell. But then she is not the only one in the village right now who might stand out a little; the handful of Sakaarans gladiators who survived the massacre have decided to stay in Asvera too.

Though he has found it easy to lose track of what's discussed at his council meetings - if they can be called that - he vaguely recalls mention of the greenhouse construction being completed. "You're a farmer?"

[rogueinladysclothing]

She hadn't expected to hear much from or about any of the Avengers who had stumbled into the Nexus after losing so much of their universe for a long time. The news that Thor had settled, truly settled, with what remained of his people in a place that was both suited to them and so similar to the origins of her own home city made Amelia all the more eager to offer any assistance she could. It was a touch selfish, though she barely even admitted that to herself, but Thor was a friend of Steve and that was reason enough to put her hands to work for his cause.

Stepping out of a portal atop a hill above the city, the rogue has to take a moment to ground herself.

It was so strange to see the sea again. To look out over the horizon and know that the other side was so far that it wasn't possible to reach it with her own two feet. It takes the breath from her lungs as she stares out at the deep blue waters and breathes in the heady scent of salt and life that exist only in places like this. Turning from it feels impossible, and for a few moments the rogue allows herself to dwell on thoughts of the place that was once her home and how much this place makes her ache for that.

But she's not here for herself today. If anything, she's here for the distraction that helping others will bring. Thor has suffered as much as Steve, and that helps keep Amelia's thoughts where they need to be.

Tucking her hands into the pockets on the inside of her light cloak, the rogue makes her way down the hillside toward the center of the town. Every step feels like one closer to where she came from before running into the Nexus, and it brings an unwitting smile to her face as she watches the Asgardians at work in the market and out on the harbor. Her fingers twitch with excitement at the prospect of doing things she grew up learning and watching, and she eventually takes down the fancy braid crown she did for herself to put her hair into a more laid-back, over-the-shoulder French braid that's better suited to the work she hopes is ahead of her.

"Excuse me," she calls softly as she approaches the market. A few faces turn to her, and she finally remembers to quiet her smile into something more appropriate for the mood of the city. "I'm an acquaintance of Thor and I was told I might be able to help you all while you settle into your new home. Do you have anything you need assistance with until I find him?"

[pirateangelbaby]

In a community this small, new faces stand out, and Amelia is subjected to some mildly curious looks as she strolls through the village. They're getting used to strangers coming and going, offering supplies or aid, and a few who came just to gawk at their new alien neighbors. The latter were not quite as welcome as the former, of course, and they have yet to see which of those she is.

One of the Asgardians she speaks to is a young man, maybe twenty years old by human standards, his long hair pulled back in a messy bun, and his beard trimmed close to his jawline. His clothes are almost all Earth in style, jeans and a rugged jacket, though his boots are heavily worn Asgardian leather. Like most she's seen, there's a somber sort of air around him, but he meets her eye without hesitation and looks her over. The need for extra hands is less dire than it was when they first arrived, but there's still more than enough work to go around. "I haven't seen the king today, but if he isn't at his house, he may be at the greenhouse," he tells her, slightly apologetic. "If you want to work... what's your trade? Are you any good at identifying plants? Many of the local herbs are strange to us and we don't know what they do."

[rogueinladysclothing]

Amelia's clothes are a mix of modern and old as well today: sturdy jeans are tucked into her usual leather boots - daggers included - and are accompanied by a basic black long sleeved shirt under a leather underbust corset. She feels all the more at home as she notices the amalgamation of clothing styles, but her attention doesn't linger on it for long.

The work she's offered is as close to perfect for her as it could be in a place like this. Dreams, she can be truly useful to these people. The thought warms her smile and she nods as she takes a few steps closer to the young man who spoke. "My family's business is spice trading. If you show me the plants and herbs that are unfamiliar to you, I can identify them for you and teach anyone who has the time to hear it." She tucks her fingers into fists and clenches them tightly to keep from getting ahead of herself. "Can someone show me where these plants are? If no one has time to stay with me today, I can harvest some and bring them back to explain over a meal later. If any of them interest your people, I can return and teach as many as you'd like everything I know."

[pirateangelbaby]

Spices, medicine, any kind of information will be valuable information to people who are used to herbs native to Vanaheim and Alfheim, though not so much Midgard. The young Asgardian looks a little surprised to have found something so appropriate to her trade, but a pleased look settles onto his features in short order. "There are some samples at the Healing Hall already, and some of the seed packets we were gifted are at the greenhouse. I was going to venture out to the mountain today to see what else is already growing wild, if you'd like to come with me."

Which mountain he means should be fairly obvious, as it rises out of the mainland just on the other side of the bridge that links it to the islands of Asvera. It is not a terribly tall or steep mountain, something that could be summitted by a dedicated hiker within an hour or two, and though it's quite rocky there is a great deal of green flourishing at its base and on its slopes.

He doesn't offer a handshake, since that's an Earth custom. Instead he bows slightly, respectfully. "My name is Vidar, son of Stian. Might I have yours, my lady?"

[lokilowkey]

It was a hectic thing, being a Loki. So many irons in the fire, and even when they weren't his, he was still expected to be the one to juggle them. But he was learning. It did mean he wasn't in the Nexus as often as he'd like but when he did come to visit again, he was dismayed to hear that his other-dimensional brother was not in residence. Even more so upset when he heard what had happened, how hard Thor had taken it. Not that he was surprised. The God of Thunder always was fighting for the good of others, and from what he understood this was a heavy blow.

So it was little surprise that the little godling showed up in town, the magpie on his shoulder looking less than pleased at the weather if the fluff of feathers or annoyance to his croaking was any hint, quite comfortable in snooping about and asking anyone who might frown at the little miscreant where he might find Thor. So here's hoping that he's not too busy because he's about to get some very noisy company!

[pirateangelbaby]

There are a few Asgardians who might give the wee little Loki a doubletake, old enough to remember when the sons of Odin were knee-high rascals getting into trouble every other week. Most of the survivors are young, however, and the elders are few and far between. There are a handful of Sakaaran ex-gladiators among their number as well, and to them, he's just another Asgardian child who surely must belong there.

"Oh, he's probably at home," one of them tells him, a tall kronan who seems to be taking well enough to the damp weather if the moss and lichen growing on his rocky skin are any indication. "Up on the big hill that way, see? Was all stormy last night so I don't think he's coming out today."

The house in question used to be a lighthouse-keeper's cottage, up on the southern bluff with an entire football pitch between it and the rest of the village. Or at least it used to be, before someone took a plow to it and dug it all up, leaving huge furrows that stretch from one end goal to the other, a hint of green here and there where whatever crops they've planted are trying to sprout. The house itself is small and white, and the door will swing open easily, unlocked.

Some of the decor inside is rather outdated, appliances dating back a few decades, including the television in the living room which is currently muted and showing images from some kind of drama. Half the paintings on the walls have been replaced by framed prints of Hubble photography, and there are a few knickknacks that might remind Loki of Thor, though it's clear he hasn't fully made the space his just yet. There's an uru-headed axe propped up in the corner next to a stack of dwarven kegs.

Thor has his back to Loki as he hammers a bracket into the wall above the mantel with his metal left hand, his hoodie's sleeves pushed up to the elbows. He doesn't look quite steady on his feet, peering at the positioning of the bracket a little too closely than is strictly called for, even if he does only have the one eye now. The smell of mead lingering around him a likely culprit as to why. His hair has grown out past his shoulders again, though he doesn't seem to have brushed it out when he got up this morning, and his beard has gotten fully and bushy. He doesn't quite notice he isn't alone just yet, stepping back to see if the bracket is level with the other one he's already placed. Eh, close enough.

[lokilowkey]

The doubletakes earn a cheeky sort of grin and a playful bow from the child Trickster when he spots them. He doesn't mean any mischief, but he's clever enough to make the connection of what they likely remember, and so leans into the expectation just a little.

"My thanks, ser!" The kronan is absolutely exciting to run across, and Loki has to reign in his multitudes of curious questions in the face of his self-appointed mission to Find Thor. Though that doesn't stop him asking for a selfie with him- Leigh would undoubtedly be delighted to see proof he was making friends.

In her dry, disapproving of his shenanigans way that was.

Youth certainly means it's quick enough for the godling to dart towards the house, mindful at least in his enthusiasm not to trample any of the furrows. And by some miracle doesn't slam the door open with how easily it swings inward at his touch. He pauses only a moment, curious gaze skipping over the place Thor had chosen for himself, while Ikol flutters over to land on the arm of the sofa, clearly judging the God of Thunder's brackets.

"Thor!" If he didn't notice, well this was his warning, the tiny Trickster all but bounding across the room to claim his other-dimensional brother in a great bearhug. Or well. As great a one as his tiny arms could manage. Surely enthusiasm made up for that detail though?

[truthqueen]

It hadn't taken long for Diana to find out what had happened when she came looking for Thor in the Nexus. Nor to find out where to go to find him. She'd paused on her way, so when she came to the small village the Asgardians had inhabited, it was with Britomartis trotting along with her, quite happy even with the wagon the Mudbray was hauling with a variety of things she knew they would find useful, from salves, to fabrics for more clothing or blankets, fuel for heaters, and other sundries. If she'd also slipped in books and sweets for the children, well it was little surprise. She got directions to the grocery to leave the load with them, offering use of the wagon and Britomartis to help with some of the hauling that was being done while she was there. The wagon was small enough to go most anywhere a person could, and the Pokemon was more than happy to set to work for a bit and enjoy the workout so long as muzzle pats were offered.

She was tempted to stay herself, to help more, but she was on somewhat of a timer here as the sword at her hip reminded her. So she'd asked for directions to where she might find Thor, both wanting to see how he was doing and in a bit of selfishness wanting the help. Her trouble was something she could handle herself but after all that had happened, she craved some small anchor to beat back the homesickness, and of all her companions, Thor was the one who reminded her of home the most, male or no.

[pirateangelbaby]

Though the village is in a better state than it was when Asgard first arrived, more supplies are always welcome. Compounding tragedies have left them all with so little to their names, so few belongings that have arrived on Earth intact, and most of what they’ve found in the houses here are foreign and strange if getting more familiar with use. Clothing, medicine, entertainment... all is as needed as food, and now that they are beginning to grasp the fundamentals of both fishing and gardening, food is a less dire need than the rest.

Diana’s offerings are accepted gratefully by the grocer, as is the loan of her wagon and the Pokémon to pull it. In return, the grocer calls for one of the town runners, a young man who looks to be about thirteen by human reckoning, to locate the king for their visitor. “This time of day he should be at the greenhouse,” the lad says, scrunching up his freckled nose as he tries to recall if he’d seen Thor there today. “I’ll take you there.”

The greenhouse is on the far north end of the island, near the bridge that leads to the mainland. It’s rather small but newly constructed, still smelling of fresh timber and its unscratched glass gleaming in the weak sunlight, fogged up from the inside with moisture. Despite its newness, the plants within are more than just seedlings and sprouts. Herbs and vegetables both look like they’ve been growing for the better part of a year, some ripe with fruits, some blossoming and attended by little native bees and beetles. The air is perfumed with the fresh, green scents of life.

Thor is seated in the dirt along one wall, poking holes in the soil with his prosthetic hand and carefully dropping a seed in each one, peering at it closely with his good eye to make sure his aim is true. He looks tired, but focused enough for such casual work, his hair tied back in a simple ponytail and his arms dirtied up to his forearms. A hoodie lies discarded on a low table toward the center of the greenhouse, leaving him in a sleeveless shirt and dark pants, a far cry from the armor he’d once fought her in.

He catches the movement of her entrance out of the corner of his good eye, and he raises his head to see who it is. “Lady Diana,” he greets her, surprise in his voice.