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."