Nostalgia is a difficult thing for Thor, sometimes. For nearly fifteen hundred years, he had lived a charmed life, growing up in a golden palace with a mother and father and brother that he loved, with loyal friends who cared for more than just his titles and influence. Now, all of that is gone, and even the memories are tainted by the knowledge that he has now. That Asgard did not earn its glory honorably, that Loki had felt like an outsider long before he'd learned of his parentage, that Thor had been too blind to question beyond what he saw on the surface.

Yet still he clings to those memories, pretty little lies, because at least then he had been happy. He hadn't wanted for anything.

So he listens to Prometheus talk about his son, watches the fondness in the lines of the Titan's face, an old grief that has long since settled and scarred over, and he can't help but envy his friend a little for it. "Sure, I'm all ears." Thor does a lot of listening these days anyway, more than he used to. It's been a hard-earned lesson. And a funny story has got to be better than much of what he's heard, in recent times.

Prometheus' admission that he's come to see his refugee family as kin makes Thor's heart ache, and he drains what's left of the bottle in his hand, even knowing that he doesn't have another to replace it. "I'm glad," he says, and he really does mean it, even if he's having trouble actually feeling much of anything right now. "We've all... we need all the family we can get." A brother, a cousin, a friend. A neighbor. Someone to hold onto, regardless of blood ties. Asgard survives together. They must.

Needing something to do with his hands, but out of drink, Thor resumes picking at the label on the empty bottle, not really watching what he's doing. "Not really. They say this place used to be a tourist town, though."