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.
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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.