pirateangelbaby | Even a God Can Need a Friend [Open to friends]

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Even a God Can Need a Friend [Open to friends]

[OOC: This post and its threads may contain Endgame spoilers. Potential trigger warnings include depression, alcohol abuse, and suicidal thoughts. (See the bottom section of Thor's updated permissions page for more detail on relevant warnings, Thor’s triggers, and a disclaimer about his narration style.) If you intend to tag Thor and are sensitive to this kind of content, please let me know before we begin so that I can provide a safer roleplay experience for you. Individual threads on this post will not be warned for on a case by case basis.

Thor has left his current address with the remaining Avengers, Loki (

coldsong), Prometheus (

liverfree), and Sif (

lady_sif). Other close friends are welcome to visit by getting coordinates from those listed, which may be done offscreen (of the Avengers, Rocket is the most likely to be out and about in the Nexus right now) - if in doubt, please ask the relevant mun. This post is intended to provide Thor with moral support as he grapples with his mental health; each thread will be treated as though it is a different day entirely so his mood and the immediate setting may vary. I do not mind slow tags, and this post will be perpetually open for a long while, so don't worry if you can't get to it right away but still want to play.]

Above the Arctic Circle, in the far north of Norway, the village formerly known as Henningsvær sprawls out across a tiny chain of islands. Despite the approach of summer, the weather is cool and overcast, sea breezes often sweeping through the narrow streets. For those approaching by road, the small single-lane bridge leading from the mainland now boasts a hand-painted sign in Norsk and Asgardian runes welcoming visitors to Asvera, which the local humans have taken to calling New Asgard. Population: 832.

Though much of the world still feels half-empty and apocalyptic, there is little of that here. Asgard has filled the empty spaces, each house claimed and occupied, as well as several hotels that once served seasonal tourists. Fishing boats come and go from the harbor, dock workers hard at work learning to repair nets and lines, others processing the day’s catch for consumption. There is no market, no selling of goods; everything is distributed communally through the grocery on the main island, every citizen entitled to a share, every citizen expected to work to support the others, save for the children who are too young.

The village is quiet, but busy. There is always work to be done, or new skills to learn to survive in their new home. The king, however, may not be so easy to find. Here in the tiny Norwegian village, there is no golden palace to give visitors a place to start looking. Perhaps it’s best to ask for directions.

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Had a son. Thor nearly asks what became of him, but if the story ends how he suspects, he does not want to hear it now. There is too much grief already on his shoulders, mourning for strangers he's never met and never will. "Good memories, I hope," he says instead, not quite sure what he will do if the answer is no, though there is nothing in his friend's manner to suggest it will be. "I doubt I could've hidden myself as well as you have," Thor adds, thinking back to the one and only time he'd had to try. He'd failed then, too, although perhaps that had not entirely been his own fault.

He doesn't laugh at the clarification, though something like a smile pulls at his lips for a moment, a faint echo of the broad grins he'd had for his friend before. "They may have to find different hobbies here. But you're welcome to visit them anytime you like." After everything his people have lost, Thor would rather cut off his remaining arm than take anything from them again.

His gaze does not follow the Titan's, looking back out toward the sea. "A little. We get shipments of supplies from Svolvær every fortnight. And there's a village on the other side of the mountain," he adds, gesturing vaguely toward the mainland, and the mountain that looms up shortly after the shore. "Sometimes the humans there pay us a visit." All things he's heard secondhand, however.

"The best memories." Ones tinged with nostalgia, an emotion that the forward-thinking Titan doesn't often allow himself to express. "He was a king, you know. A wise and noble leader. He inherited the best of what his mother and I had to offer. He lived a long time, longer than most humans, but he was mortal." He sighs, a sad smile gracing his lips. "After he passed on, it didn't feel right to stay among his people. That's when I started traveling... and you're right, it wasn't easy. Hard to explain how you manage not to age." His smile turns amused. "I got accused of being a witch a couple times. Or a demon. The demon one was kind of a funny story, actually, if you're interested?"

He's not expecting an enthusiastic response, but he'd like to keep the conversation light for a little while longer. To give Thor something else to think about besides loss.

"Yes, I think the pokémon are right out, unfortunately. She can always come back to the Nexus when she's older." He's thinking about the logistics when Thor makes his offer, and the Titan's entire face lights up, as if he can't help it. "Thank you, friend, I appreciate it. They've become like family, to me." And unlike humans, he can have so many more years with them.

He looks out that way, towards the mainland. "So, not too much mingling yet," he muses thoughtfully. Of course, with an entire world in mourning, now's not exactly the time for traveling.

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."

It's not as though Prometheus didn't suffer through his own trials, but he's had over thousands of years to move on, to give his mourning a home in his heart where it can rest comfortably. Thor's wounds are all so fresh. The Titan knows better than to offer that tired old adage: "time heals all wounds". Not when his friend is in the thick of it.

So, a humorous anecdote it is. He turns to face Thor, already gesturing with his hands as he sets the scene. "It was the 7th century, in Greece. I was living in a small coastal village, assisting some of the local architects with their designs. There was a convent just up the hill, the nuns -- religious women who had pledged themselves to God -- would come to town regularly to run errands and perform charitable deeds.

"Anyway, I was trying to keep a low profile, but you know how it is. You somehow survive a fall that would kill a human, or you display a skill that shouldn't be possible. I was in my pottery studio, at night, working, when suddenly in bursts this nun with a crucifix in her hand. Nice woman, middle-aged, probably the scariest thing she'd ever worked up the nerve to do. I tried to calm her down, but she was convinced that I was a demon, and she was waving about a scroll as proof, claiming it had my likeness on it. Well, I took a look at the scroll..."

He leans in and lowers his voice, his eyebrows raised knowingly. "It was porn, Thor. Detailed drawings of a bearded demon having his way with women. Some very satisfied-looking women, if you know what I mean. Before I knew it, the nun was all over me, begging me not to have my way with her, to stop seducing her with my devilish looks!" He laughs, blushing at the memory even now. "I managed to convince her to go back to the nunnery, that if she prayed hard enough, she'd get what she wanted. And then I packed up and left town. But I did call in a favor from Eros. Last I heard, she had quit the nunnery and married a local fisherman. A very happy local fisherman, I'm quite sure."

His laughter fades, his smile turning more serious. "Yes, we all need the family we can get. So long as you and your people will have me, I'll visit and do what I can to help." He places a hand on Thor's shoulder and squeezes gently.

Despite his melancholy, Thor finds himself more invested in the story than he’d expected, watching his friend gesture expressively as he weaves the tale, building up to something. And that something is not exactly what Thor had expected either, startling a brief laugh out of him. “No,” he says, as if disbelieving, imagining the dumbstruck look that must have been on Prometheus’ face the moment he’d realized what he was looking at.

His smile is a small, subdued one, but it’s there nonetheless. “A happy ending for all, I suppose. Better than being chased out at swordpoint. Did you ever go back?” Judging by the blush on the Titan’s face, Thor is going to guess the answer is probably no, if a memory fourteen centuries past can still summon that shade of red to his face.

The gesture may be a more solemn one, but it is no less appreciated. “You’re always welcome here,” Thor tells him, managing to meet his eye for at least a few moments. “You... you’ve already done so much for us all. We... I owe you a debt.” Whether it’s friend to friend, or a king owing an ally, it makes little difference to Thor.

His lingering embarrassment over sharing the tale is well worth the laugh he gets in return. The levity is fleeting, but it's one moment that his friend isn't burdened with his own sadness. "No," he admits sheepishly. "Not that anyone would remember me, but that scroll might still be out there. Better not risk it."

He gives a nod of gratitude at being welcome among Thor's people. "Consider it a debt that can be paid at your leisure, without interest," he says warmly, patting Thor's shoulder before letting go. He'd never insist that Thor owes him anything, although truthfully, he does not not. But he will not insult the generosity of a king.

"I hate to ask, but how are you faring? I hope you are taking solace in the company of friends." Isolation is not a good look for Thor.

In Asgard-that-was, the king might have seen fit to offer a boon to such a friend, a token of appreciation and gratitude, no matter if it was accepted or not. Thor is in no position to do that now, without even a throne to his name, never mind a single silver in the treasury. It doesn't feel right, offering nothing but words, no matter how well-received they are.

Maybe one day. Right now, he is having a difficult time seeing a future where Asgard prospers as they once did. But it's enough that Prometheus accepts his thanks, meager though they are. At least it's something.

His expression sobers further at the question, and Thor looks away, though he impulsively wants to claim that he's fine and not to worry. Even he knows that Prometheus would not fall for it, no matter how earnestly Thor tries to pretend. "A few have come to see me," he says, which is not the same as him seeking them out, of course. "Harley's staying with me for a while." It's something he finds reassuring and aggravating in turns, chafing against being looked after as if he is an invalid, yet at the same time knowing that some days he is, no matter that his body is healed now. Why else would he struggle to get out of bed, or neglect to bathe and brush his hair? Why else would he feel so tired so often, when he does little to exert himself?

Thor continues fidgeting with the label on the glass bottle, studying it more closely so he doesn't have to look his friend in the eye. "I am... not well." It's a shameful thing for him to admit, no matter how many times he's told that it's to be expected, that he is not to blame for this weakness. He is a warrior, and a king, and a god besides. He's supposed to be strong.

Unless one is a Fate or a Norn, the future is impossible to know. There may come a time yet when Prometheus needs Thor's help, when their fortunes may be reversed. But that is not why the Titan offers his assistance, or his compassion. And anyway, an uncomplicated friendship with another deity is gift enough.

It is reassuring to know that he is being looking after, although it takes him a moment to place the name. "I have heard of Harley," he says. "She's... involved with Loki, yes? Hopefully I can meet her sometime." Normally he worries after humans who enter relationships with gods. Very few of them work out in his experience, and quite often it is the human who suffers the most for it. But from what he's been told, Harley can most definitely take care of herself.

That quiet admittance from Thor cuts his own musings short. He nods in sympathy, placing a warm hand on his friend's shoulder. Not to urge him to look his way, but merely to remind him that he is there to listen. "Weaker deities would break in your position," he tells him. "You are doing as well as you can be, under the circumstances."

It’s still difficult sometimes to think of Loki, no matter that he still has a brother yet through the Nexus. Even if all other memory fades, Thor is certain he will never forget that terrible moment on the Statesman where Loki had met his end. It helps, a little, that he still has a Loki he can see and touch, a shoulder to lean on when Thor has needed it most direly, the only family he has left.

Thor nods, swiping at the dampness of his eye. “Yes, that’s her. She’s around, somewhere. You might see her yet.” He passes no judgment on their relationship, of course; Loki is not the first Odinson to fall for a mortal, though he’d mocked Thor for it at the time. But Thor’s relationship had not lasted, and now that he’s seen far more death than any man or god should ever have to, he would be the last to begrudge anyone for the solace they find in each other, no matter how short-lived.

His laugh is barely more than a breathy chuckle, directed more at himself than the friend at his side. “You sound certain that I haven’t.” Thor himself is not so sure. He’d like to believe so. Yet he feels like a stranger living in his own body, his own mind turned against him. But Prometheus does not know the cruel twist at the end of the story, what had happened after the last time they’d spoken, and Thor finds the words spilling out of him before he consciously chooses to speak. “The stones are gone.”

"I'll keep an eye out for her. I've heard she's very colorful." He smiles a little, but otherwise lets the subject drop. He knows what it's like to lose family, although he was never as close to any of his brothers as Thor was to Loki.

(Although he makes a mental note to give Epimetheus a call when he returns to his Earth. Just to see how he's doing lately, not because he misses the idiot or anything...)

"You're with your people," he answers with that same level of certainty. It is true that Thor is up here instead of down in the village, but he could have just as easily taken off to some far-off port to drink alone, to forget his duties in an effort to scrub away his shame. That's a good sign, in the Titan's opinion, and he's about to voice as much, but then Thor drops some information that puts his continued depression in a new and unpleasant light. "Gone?" he repeats in surprise. "Is that possible? I thought that they were as old as your universe. What happened to them?"

It's true enough that Thor could have chosen some other metaphorical hole to crawl into, someplace he could drink himself into a stupor without well-meaning friends coming along to try to drag him out of his own head. For a while, before the escape pods had arrived, that's exactly what he had done here, living in the empty village alone. But as painful as it is to look at what's left of his people and how far they've fallen, there is a part of Thor that would be even more lost if he left, loneliness consuming him from the inside out without the ability to see them pushing onward despite their losses. Even if sometimes it feels as though they are moving on without him.

His grip on the empty bottle tightens, the aimless fidgeting grinding to a halt as Thor stares out over the sea, his mind's eye entirely elsewhere. "He destroyed them. With each other. Two days before we found him."

They'd been so close.

Even just thinking about that day is enough to make his breathing harshen, his heart thudding more heavily in his chest. The glass creaks in his hand and Thor forces himself to drop it before it can shatter, letting it fall to the grass. By now, he's had enough panic attacks to recognize the start of one, but if he doesn't get this out now, he's not going to be able to at all. "I cut his fucking head off. Like I should've the f-first time. It didn't change a thing."

Oh, this is terrible news indeed. Prometheus shakes his head gravely, although there's nothing about the situation that he blames on a lack of forethought. It is a sad misfortune, made worse by how closely Thor and his allies missed retrieving the stones from Thanos' grasp. How oddly fitting for such a monster to use the stones on one another, to destroy that which gave him such power to begin with.

"I am sorry," he says quietly. He puts his hand on Thor's shoulder, turning towards him, body language open and accepting. "I am so sorry. I know you were hoping..." He trails off. He was hoping, too. He doesn't want this to be the ending of Thor's struggles. "Listen, friend. Killing Thanos may not have changed the past, but a madman like that, who knows what else he might have done. You were right to eliminate him. It was a justice done."

Knowing how to recognize the panic that is trying to choke him silent is a different thing than knowing how to stop it once it’s begun, and the mention of the Mad Titan’s name makes his reaction even more inevitable. Prometheus’ voice seems to come from somewhere far away, the hand on Thor’s shoulder distant and detached, as if everything has become unmoored from reality. An invisible weight crushes down on his chest, squeezing his lungs, and Thor presses a hand into his chest as if that might make any difference at all.

With the other, he reaches blindly for Prometheus’ arm, grabbing hold as he struggles to bring his breathing back under control. It’s humiliating, letting anyone see him like this, no matter how understanding they are. It’s one of many reasons he isolates himself from the others, yet in the grips of anxiety’s claws within him, none of that matters so much as the desire to make it stop.

The touch helps ground him, and several minutes pass before Thor is able to calm himself enough that he can breathe properly, and a light drizzle of rain patters down on the bluff where they sit. A little thunder rumbles distantly, muffled, rolling slowly across the sky like the waves across the ocean below. It’s a soothing sound to Thor, although he knows his titanic friend doesn’t share this particular viewpoint. It’s probably selfish of him not to send the storm away, but he’s not ready yet. Nor is he quite ready to let go, though he lightens the strength of his grip. “Sorry. That... it happens to me. Sometimes.”

Thor's reaction... well, it doesn't surprise him, not exactly, although the intensity of it catches him a little off-guard. Perhaps this is what the god meant about not being well. Still, he is a Titan, grandson of Gaia, so when Thor grasps onto him, he does not falter, as steady and stable as the ground itself. He drops the hand from Thor's shoulder so that he can grasp back, his grip strong and reassuring. He'd give his friend a hug, but he doesn't want to crowd him while he's obviously struggling to breathe normally. Instead, he simply sits silently, exuding calm, his own breathing slow and unhurried.

The rain is not a bother at all, especially because he knows that Thor needs it. When his friend finally speaks, he shrugs and smiles, letting go so that he can brush back his damp curls. "Don't worry about it. The jacket's waterproof." Warmly, he offers his arm again. "Would a hug help? I've been told I'm good at those."

For all its advancements in technology and science, the one discipline that Asgard has never excelled in is mental health, something that is proving to be one Hel of an oversight in recent days. Weakness, cowardice, madness... Thor had never thought to question the validity of these labels, confident in his assumption that he was above such things, even as nightmares and visions had plagued him after Ragnarok destroyed his home and most of his people. He'd never expected to live his nightmares with waking eyes, to still be terrified of a man he'd executed by his own hand, or to find himself so full of guilt and regret that he often wishes he'd died outright instead of lived to see the fruits of his failure.

At least then he would have earned the right to enter Valhalla, and be with his family.

Thor knows he's not the only one in the village suffering like this. Save for perhaps the youngest children who don't understand what has happened at all, it'd be a wonder if there are any Asgardians without nightmares anymore. But there are only two healers who yet survive to manage eight hundred in need of care, and with Earth's resources also stretched thin in the wake of the culling, it's the innocent who deserve what little help they can give. Not the man whose lust for revenge has doomed them all, no matter how great his need.

Though the anxiety squeezing its fist around his lungs has finally eased, Thor still does not feel quite himself, and if he'd found it difficult to look Prometheus in the eye before, it's almost impossible now as shame smolders within him. He can't hide how far he's fallen, and there's a part of Thor that simply does not understand why his friends still want anything to do with him like this, yet still grasps for any scrap of comfort he can find. Prometheus' quiet, steadfast support is as solid as the rocks being battered by the ocean, immovable even by the storm, and Thor feels a guilty pang of gratitude for it. How does he deserve this?

He's tempted to say no, to try to salvage some shred of pride and pretend just for a moment that he's the same Thor he used to be, who was never so needy as he is now. But he is so tired of fighting himself, of being alone, of pretending he's all right when even he can see he's not. He lets out a bone-weary sigh, closing his eye as the rain soaks his clothes and drips from his unruly beard. "Yeah. I'm... I'm good with that."

Prometheus has never tried his hand at therapy. That falls under the purview of Asclepius, or perhaps Athena. He always thought Athena would make a good therapist, she was a wonder for providing valuable insight. But he has comforted many humans over the years, watching their struggles and sharing in their grief. Always a little apart, because immortality tends to give you a different perspective on things. But as he watches Thor wrestle with his guilt and shame, he takes on that role as easily as he ever has.

He smiles and follows through on that hug, leaning in and wrapping his arm around Thor. His other one, too, if Thor lets go. This is no bro hug, either -- no quick pat on the back and release. He holds Thor as one would a brother, or a son, keeping him there so long as he wants. He smells like clay and feels like the warmth of a great kiln, his inner spirit ever burning, so long as there are people to care for.

Thor isn’t quite so far gone that he’s ready to cling to his friend like a man drowning and embarrass himself all the more, but there’s no mistaking how much he really needs this hug right now. He has always been the type of man to touch his friends, his family, casual affectionate gestures doled out as easily as breathing. Such things have been in short supply since the day the world ended, either because those he loves are gone, or because he has been too downcast to seek out the ones that are left, fearing their rejection more than their absence.

He makes a choked sort of noise as he turns to better face his friend, leaning into the hug and returning it with equal strength. Nor is he going to be quick to let go either, emboldened by the way Prometheus does not seem to mind him doing it. He can’t tell if his cheek is wet from rain or tears, and wonders if there’s even a difference anyway, when it comes to himself.

Eventually, though, he feels ready to pull away again, having gathered himself enough to feel a little like a person again. “Thanks,” he murmurs, managing a fragile sort of smile.

He’s not ready to let the storm go just yet, but the rain does taper off, leaving only the thunder rumbling across the horizon. It’s just a little too cool to be comfortable, and Thor pulls his damp knit hat off, scrubbing his metal fingers through the mess of his hair, grown long enough now to tangle. “There’s a coffee machine at my house, if you want to warm up,” he says impulsively, suddenly quite done with sitting out here on this cold, hard rock. “Or I’ve got lots of mead, if that’s your thing.”

Prometheus wouldn't say a word if Thor did cling to him, or cry loudly, or any other outpouring of emotion. He is glad that the hug seems to help in some small measure, and when Thor starts to pull away, he gives his friend a pat on the back and lets go naturally.

"Anytime," he says, his expression warm as always. He smiles at the offer of a drink. "I'd like that very much, friend. I'll take either, so long as it's hot." He wipes some rain out of his hair, giving an exaggerated shiver. "It's beautiful here, but when you're used to hot, sandy beaches, Norway can be a little chilly. Definitely not bathing suit weather."

"I suppose you're right. Could be colder; at least it's summer here now," Thor agrees, absently sweeping his gaze over the gray sea before he rises, turning away from the vista to head back to the main road. He leaves his empty bottle where it's fallen, having entirely forgotten it was even there, and shoves his hat into his hoodie pocket rather than try to wrestle it back over wet hair. After the sudden rain, there are much fewer people out and about to see him like this, and with luck they'll reach the house before that changes too much.

Thor's house is at the far end of the village from here, an old lighthouse-keeper's cottage that's much cozier than the golden palace he once called home. The rocky ground has prevented most of the plant overgrowth from making it look too neglected, although there are a few weeds and wildflowers stubbornly sprouting here and there around the perimeter of the house. The interior is very Norwegian in decor, still shaped by the previous owner, who seemed to have a love for mountainscapes and sailing ships if the paintings on the wall are any indication. Most of the furniture and the appliances look decades old, though there are a few modern amenities scattered here and there. Even more out of place is the stack of kegs in one corner of the living room, stamped with dwarven runes, and Stormbreaker propped up in the corner, as gleaming and deadly-looking as ever.

At least Harley's help has kept the place from falling into the mess it would be if Thor was left to his own devices. There are a few empty bottles on the coffee table, and a few bottlecaps scattered on the floor, but at least it's only today's trash rather than weeks' worth. The couch isn't in pristine condition either, a small pile of blankets heaped on one end as if someone suspiciously Thor-sized has been sleeping there, even though there is a perfectly functional bed in the bedroom that he isn't using.

It's been a while since Thor has had hot mead, but right now that sounds like just the thing. The glasses he manages to find aren't exactly the right ones - too tall, too skinny, not even shaped correctly - but as long as they can hold liquid, that's all that Thor cares about. He taps one of the kegs and pours out a generous portion, sticking the glasses in the microwave to heat it up to the right temperature before delivering one to his waiting friend. "Skål," he says, tapping his own glass against Prometheus' before taking a deep drink of it. It's too soon for it to have a real effect on him, even as godly strong as it is, but his hands seem a little steadier already, soothing rattled nerves.

Prometheus follows along, nodding amiably at the few people who remain outside, unperturbed by the brief occurrence of rain. It's probably something that happens often around here, he thinks to himself. At least no one need worry about a drought. "Are you people prepared for winter?" he asks. He can't help but remember the terrible winter in the Nexus, and reminds himself that it won't be that way here. No pesky winter spirits, for one thing. "Let me know if I can be of assistance."

He looks over Thor's current living arrangements with a small smile, making note of the distinct decor. It doesn't fit Thor, but it does fit the style of this part of the world. And at least the couch looks comfortable, even though Thor would be better off in a bed.

Using a microwave to heat up mead is a bit of a surprise, but hey, whatever works. He accepts the glass with a warm thanks. "Yamas," he replies, before taking a much lighter sip. Ah, that's better. He blinks at his drink. "Wow, this is the good stuff, isn't it? I haven't had a drink this strong since Dionysius's last birthday party." He pauses, then adds for clarification. "God of Wine. Real sweet guy, love him to pieces. His groupies? Not so much."

Though Thor was locked out of the Nexus during the storm that ravaged the Nexus this past winter, he's heard enough about it to know that he definitely does not want anything like that to come to Asvera. Winters in Asgard were usually rather mild, just cold enough for snow, and from what he has been told it should be similar here. Still, with the problems of supplies and finding suitable land to grow anything, it's a concern that's been raised more than once in the few meetings he's had with what's left of his council. "Working on it," Thor mumbles in response, hoping he doesn't too worried. "We're getting shipments from Oslo. Food and such. And building a greenhouse."

Whether that will be enough come winter, well, that has yet to be seen. Many things in the village are a work in progress, and it's fortunate they have an existing framework to build from, rather than starting from scratch.

Once he has his drink in hand, Thor does not hesitate to make himself comfortable on the couch from force of habit. "Make yourself at home," he adds, realizing a little belatedly that he's not being a very good host. That happens a lot, these days. The commentary on the drink gets a small smile out of Thor, a little too eager to talk about anything that isn't directly related to the tragedy overshadowing his entire being. "It's dwarven, from Nidavellir. Earth booze is nice but it doesn't really cut it." He takes another swallow, most of his glass already emptied despite having just sat down. "Thank the Norns I can still get it through the Nexus."

"Good, good." He's pleased to hear about the greenhouse. "What's the farming like up here? Doable? And the power grid is stable?" The last thing one wants is a power outage, especially this far north where sunlight is scant in the winter months. "You have the Nexus, too, at your disposal."

Hopefully. Now it's the Titan's turn to look a touch worried. He doesn't want last winter to have set a precedent.

So far as Prometheus is concerned, Thor is being a great host. He's inside where it's warm and he's got a glass of hot mead. What else does he need? When Thor tells him to make himself at home, he also takes a seat on the couch and slumps back into the cushions. "Nice," he says, both in reference to the comfort level of the couch and the origins of the mead. "Yeah, Earth alcohol is... well, I mean, it's made for humans, it's not going to pack the same punch." He takes another sip from his glass. "Dwarves know their mead, apparently. Who's your supplier in the Nexus?"

Thor tilts his metal hand back and forth in a so-so gesture, when he's asked about the farming. "The soil is poor and the climate is cold, but we can make it work. Grow lots of root vegetables or something. As for power..." He hadn't honestly considered whether Midgardian infrastructure would be up to the task. But this, at least, is something where there is an obvious backup solution. "I can take care of that, if it's needed." Another low rumble of thunder comes from the skies outside the house, as if to punctuate his point.

It's not a perfect solution, of course, and Norns forbid they have an outage on a day when Thor is struggling to get out of bed. But he would rather not think of that, right now. He's still exhausted from his last panic attack, and doesn't really want to risk provoking another.

Prometheus is being sensible about his alcohol consumption, whereas Thor is... not. The placement of the kegs in the living room, rather than the kitchen, makes it a lot easier for him to refill his glass without getting up, though this time he doesn't bother to warm it up. "Place called the Viper's Pit," Thor answers, leaning back again, and maybe it's just his mind playing tricks on him that's making him feel the warmth of the alcohol already, but he doesn't particularly care either way. The quicker it takes hold of him, the faster he will feel better, or so he tells himself. "It's run by a... another Loki." He wavers only for a moment before pushing on, not giving himself time to dwell on that. "Maybe if I run into that nature spirit from last autumn, she can curse me and I'll make my own again," he adds, and chuckles as if that's supposed to be funny.

Thor's reply, combined with the rumble of thunder, makes Prometheus chuckle. "Very clever," he says, his eyes twinkling as he takes in the full implication of what his friend says. "Yes, very clever! I don't think it ever occurred to Zeus to use his powers in such a way. He's so sour about humans harnessing the power of the gods. I'll bet he sulked like mad when Franklin ran that key up the kite string." A pause to sip his mead, and then he adds, "Human inventor. Smart fellow, he figured out that lightning and electricity were one and the same. Among other things."

Prometheus has no reason to overdue the drinking, but he's not about to chastise Thor over it. If it continues into the winter, then he'll have something to say about it, certainly, but for now, his friend's grief is so raw that he won't deny him a small measure of dampening it.

"I know the place you're talking about." He'll leave that topic alone, as well. One might consider it a blessing that Thor has two alternates of his brother in the Nexus, but the Titan knows that it can also be a cruel reminder of what he's lost. The joke is sour in his own mind, but he tries not to let that show. "Hazel is a surprisingly reasonable nature spirit, I don't think she'll curse you now that you've made amends." He sighs and adds, "All the same, Thor, you're better off here. The Nexus has become more complicated than I had thought at first glance. Now that I think about it, Hertha and her children are probably better off here. I'll try hard not to convince her otherwise, it would only be for selfish reasons."

The significance of keys and kites is lost on Thor, so the explanation helps a little, picturing a Tony Stark of a prior era experimenting with anything and everything he could get his hands on. “Ah, well, your Zeus clearly was never asked to recharge a mobile phone by a forgetful teammate,” he says, huffing out a faint laugh. “Or a suit of flying armor.”

Though it was not all that long ago, and only for the span of a year or so, there’s still a deep nostalgia in Thor for the glory days of the Avengers. What he wouldn’t give to return to those days! A more innocent time, when they did not know they were chasing an infinity stone, and Asgard had stood serene and beautiful in the cosmos, and the only grief that weighed heavy in his heart was his mother and brother alone.

The presence of his brother’s alternates is both a blessing and a curse, for all the reasons Prometheus thinks. Yet it was Loki whom Thor went to after the Snap, and after the Garden, and only Loki had been able to pull him back from the precipice. A reminder of all the reasons Thor has to mourn, but Thor would never trade this cursed gift for anything, clinging to what little he has left, no matter how much it hurts.

If any of Prometheus’ distaste at the joke shows on his face, Thor doesn’t notice at all. Speaking ill of the Nexus, subtle or not, does grab his attention however, and he frowns a little as he looks over at his friend. “You’re still welcome to visit,” he says, knowing he’s already said so before, but suddenly a little worried that Prometheus is considering going home and never returning to the Nexus, if he has decided the downsides outweigh the good. “There are no perfect solutions or perfect places, but the Nexus - and you - were there when we needed you most. If... if they’ve outgrown that need, that just means it did its job, right?”

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Finally pushes my other humanity-loving, fire-giving immortal out of the way so I can tag!

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