Thor's house is in a better state than he's prone to keeping it if left to his own devices, thanks to a helping hand from Harley. There's not nearly as much dust as there might be otherwise, and only a few empty bottles clustered on the coffee table in front of the couch, which is unquestionably the messiest part of the room with a nest of blankets that look like someone suspiciously Thor-sized has been sleeping there for weeks on end. The decor is still mostly as it was when he moved in, however, with framed paintings of sailing ships and mountains and the like, though the gleaming battleaxe propped up in the corner is unmistakably Thor's.
For a very brief moment, Thor considers taking Stormbreaker with him, just in case. In case he needs a quick exit, or in case there is trouble. But something inside of him rebels at the impulse, uncertain if it's because of who that axe was forged to slay, or simply because he has had more than his fill of war 'til he is sick from it. He doesn't want it. Not now.
So he takes nothing but his arm, reattaching it with greater ease than Furiosa, and gives her a nod before he can change his mind like the coward he's become.
The sudden temperature change is a mild shock, if not unexpected or unpleasant. Thor has experienced deserts before, most recently in New Mexico, but even inside this earthen cavern he can still feel the tug of the weather in his bones. The atmosphere feels dryer than in Puente Antiguo, if not quite as hot as Muspelheim, and the parched air and earth speak to how long it has been since this land has seen any rain.
Thor has endured far greater heat, of course, but he sees no reason to be more uncomfortable than he needs to be. He hesitates a moment, realizing that his arm may draw more attention than intended, but Furiosa's confidence in displaying her prosthetic openly encourages him to strip off the hoodie and tie it around his waist, where he might easily put it back on if needed. "Lead on," he murmurs, loud enough to be heard over the drone of the generator. And as he follows, he turns his head to look around, curious despite himself to see what Furiosa and her people have made of their home.
no subject
For a very brief moment, Thor considers taking Stormbreaker with him, just in case. In case he needs a quick exit, or in case there is trouble. But something inside of him rebels at the impulse, uncertain if it's because of who that axe was forged to slay, or simply because he has had more than his fill of war 'til he is sick from it. He doesn't want it. Not now.
So he takes nothing but his arm, reattaching it with greater ease than Furiosa, and gives her a nod before he can change his mind like the coward he's become.
The sudden temperature change is a mild shock, if not unexpected or unpleasant. Thor has experienced deserts before, most recently in New Mexico, but even inside this earthen cavern he can still feel the tug of the weather in his bones. The atmosphere feels dryer than in Puente Antiguo, if not quite as hot as Muspelheim, and the parched air and earth speak to how long it has been since this land has seen any rain.
Thor has endured far greater heat, of course, but he sees no reason to be more uncomfortable than he needs to be. He hesitates a moment, realizing that his arm may draw more attention than intended, but Furiosa's confidence in displaying her prosthetic openly encourages him to strip off the hoodie and tie it around his waist, where he might easily put it back on if needed. "Lead on," he murmurs, loud enough to be heard over the drone of the generator. And as he follows, he turns his head to look around, curious despite himself to see what Furiosa and her people have made of their home.