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?”
no subject
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?”