Though the village is in a better state than it was when Asgard first arrived, more supplies are always welcome. Compounding tragedies have left them all with so little to their names, so few belongings that have arrived on Earth intact, and most of what they’ve found in the houses here are foreign and strange if getting more familiar with use. Clothing, medicine, entertainment... all is as needed as food, and now that they are beginning to grasp the fundamentals of both fishing and gardening, food is a less dire need than the rest.
Diana’s offerings are accepted gratefully by the grocer, as is the loan of her wagon and the Pokémon to pull it. In return, the grocer calls for one of the town runners, a young man who looks to be about thirteen by human reckoning, to locate the king for their visitor. “This time of day he should be at the greenhouse,” the lad says, scrunching up his freckled nose as he tries to recall if he’d seen Thor there today. “I’ll take you there.”
The greenhouse is on the far north end of the island, near the bridge that leads to the mainland. It’s rather small but newly constructed, still smelling of fresh timber and its unscratched glass gleaming in the weak sunlight, fogged up from the inside with moisture. Despite its newness, the plants within are more than just seedlings and sprouts. Herbs and vegetables both look like they’ve been growing for the better part of a year, some ripe with fruits, some blossoming and attended by little native bees and beetles. The air is perfumed with the fresh, green scents of life.
Thor is seated in the dirt along one wall, poking holes in the soil with his prosthetic hand and carefully dropping a seed in each one, peering at it closely with his good eye to make sure his aim is true. He looks tired, but focused enough for such casual work, his hair tied back in a simple ponytail and his arms dirtied up to his forearms. A hoodie lies discarded on a low table toward the center of the greenhouse, leaving him in a sleeveless shirt and dark pants, a far cry from the armor he’d once fought her in.
He catches the movement of her entrance out of the corner of his good eye, and he raises his head to see who it is. “Lady Diana,” he greets her, surprise in his voice.
no subject
Diana’s offerings are accepted gratefully by the grocer, as is the loan of her wagon and the Pokémon to pull it. In return, the grocer calls for one of the town runners, a young man who looks to be about thirteen by human reckoning, to locate the king for their visitor. “This time of day he should be at the greenhouse,” the lad says, scrunching up his freckled nose as he tries to recall if he’d seen Thor there today. “I’ll take you there.”
The greenhouse is on the far north end of the island, near the bridge that leads to the mainland. It’s rather small but newly constructed, still smelling of fresh timber and its unscratched glass gleaming in the weak sunlight, fogged up from the inside with moisture. Despite its newness, the plants within are more than just seedlings and sprouts. Herbs and vegetables both look like they’ve been growing for the better part of a year, some ripe with fruits, some blossoming and attended by little native bees and beetles. The air is perfumed with the fresh, green scents of life.
Thor is seated in the dirt along one wall, poking holes in the soil with his prosthetic hand and carefully dropping a seed in each one, peering at it closely with his good eye to make sure his aim is true. He looks tired, but focused enough for such casual work, his hair tied back in a simple ponytail and his arms dirtied up to his forearms. A hoodie lies discarded on a low table toward the center of the greenhouse, leaving him in a sleeveless shirt and dark pants, a far cry from the armor he’d once fought her in.
He catches the movement of her entrance out of the corner of his good eye, and he raises his head to see who it is. “Lady Diana,” he greets her, surprise in his voice.