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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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?”

That's a close enough assumption, as Franklin was nearly as prolific as Stark with his inventions. (And also had a love for the ladies.) Anyway, he's glad that Thor gets the idea, and laughs broadly at his reply. "No, he only works with other gods, if at all. But I'll keep that in mind the next time my phone is running a little low."

Haha, just kidding, he never lets his phone go below fifty percent.

Prometheus considers Loki's presence in the Nexus a gift as well. He has grown very fond of the both brothers, and though they are from different universes, he's grateful to the Fates that they can rely on one another in this trying time. And that their people had someone to care for them during their evacuation into the Nexus.

Picking up on Thor's worried tone, Prometheus smiles reassuringly. "Oh, I'll be here as often as I can," he says, relaxing back into the couch as if to demonstrate the point. "Whether they come here or not, I recognized many faces here and would love to help out as needed. My pottery shop does not need as much tending to as one would think. My numel has gotten quite good with the cash register."

He takes a sip from his glass, leaving Thor to picture Hephie working a machine with his stubby little feet. "Depending on how this winter goes, I may need an atlernate place to stay. But I have a few months to worry over that. You might want to think about what you'll do if the Nexus becomes inaccessible again."

Though he tries not to show it, there's no missing the relief in Thor's posture when Prometheus assures him he's not planning to walk off for good. In the short time that they've known each other, Thor's found a sort of kindred spirit in his titanic friend, someone whose friendship might last millennia instead of only decades. He'd hate to lose that, especially now, when he needs all the friends he has left.

Privately, Thor muses that if the shop needs as little tending as Prometheus suggests, the sleepy little pokemon might spend a good deal of time catching up on his naps. Not that he's judging or anything. That'd make him quite the hypocrite. "Is the next step teaching him how to run the potter's wheel, too?" He's mostly joking. But that would be pretty convenient, wouldn't it?

Reminders of what kinds of trouble the Nexus might bring is slightly less welcome, of course, and his smile dims a bit as he takes another drink of mead. "Shouldn't be as dire this year, if it happens. I mean, with us being on Earth, we should still be able to get food and water. I might have to... speed things up."

Supplies are a problem he can do something about, so that's all he mentions. Not having access to Loki, or Prometheus, or his other Nexus friends... he has yet to test his sanity against that particular loss, whether it's short-lived or not, but part of Thor is afraid of what might happen to him if he truly needs help and cannot get it. So he'd rather not think of it, and just hope that it doesn't happen, knowing all the while that ignoring something has never once made it actually go away.

Prometheus has made too many friends in the Nexus to turn his back on the place as a whole, Thor chief among them. In many ways, the Nexus reminds him of ancient times, when powerful beings roamed with impunity, leaving humans vulnerable and caught in the crossfire. Someone has to be around to balance the scales.

"I have tried already," the Titan replies, amused by the question. "He doesn't have the dexterity for it, unfortunately. But he is a big help, regardless." Thor is probably right about the sleeping thing. It's not like Prometheus needs the revenue from his shop, although a cute little pokemon behind the counter does help sales.

He's glad to hear that Thor has given the future at least a little thought. "Speed things up?" he asks curiously, before taking a long sip of mead. Fates, this is a good mead. He'll have to pay a visit to the Viper's Pit sometime. Still, he can't shake his concern about Winter causing problems again. As if sensing that concern mirrored, he leans forward and pats Thor's knee. "Tell you what, if there are signs that the Nexus is going to go through another bad storm, I'll do what I can and then relocate here instead of my own world. If that is all right with you?"

He chuckles a little at the mental image that provides. "Ah well, worth a shot. You never know until you try, right?"

By now, Thor has had enough of the mead that the warmth of it is settling into his blood, and while it's responsible for some of the pink flush to his cheeks, not all of it can be blamed on the alcohol. "Yes, I uh... I have a talent. For fertility magic. Crops, babies, that sort of thing." A thousand years of thinking of it as women's magic is not so easily overcome as just deciding to embrace it, but it still might mean the difference between survival and withering away. The one thing he can still do to help his people in a real, tangible way. So embarrassment or not, there's no reason to deny this part of himself anymore. Nor should any other man among the Asgardians, should he have a talent for seidr.

If only his brother had lived to see the day.

That's a thought that will lead him back down a dark path, though, so the surprise of Prometheus' offer is a welcome distraction to cling to. "You'd do that?" he blurts out, then hastily corrects himself. "I mean yes, of course. There are still beds to spare, though you'd have to share space with someone. Everyone does."

"Absolutely," he agrees. "Sometimes I give him a ball of clay to play with, he likes that, at least." Prometheus is a firm believer that everyone should get their hands dirty on some clay or other medium of their choice, no matter if they have the skill for it or not.

Thor may be a little embarrassed about his fertility magic, but Prometheus is positively enthralled. "No way!" he says, before lightly punching Thor in the shoulder in approval. "That's fantastic! I didn't know that was one of your powers. Be fruitful and multiply, huh?" Prometheus has many family members with that sort of power, male and female, so he's not put off by the topic in the least. "Your people are lucky, that's a wonderful ability to have. Zeus only makes more babies the old-fashioned way."

He chuckles a little at Thor's surprise and pats his knee again. It was an impulsive offer, at least by his standards, but he's glad that he made it. "No problem, I'll keep myself human-sized when I'm indoors," he jokes. "If I can't bunk with Hertha and her kids, then I'll just have to make a new friend." Best of all, he can continue to be himself and not pretend that he's mortal.

More reactions like this, and maybe Thor will be quicker to lose the lingering awkwardness over breaking from traditional Asgardian gender roles. He’s spent the vast majority of his life as fulfillment of the male ideal, strong and powerful and skilled with magics used for war, not homemaking and husbandry. But as a child, he’d been less concerned about what people thought of him, and there were times in his youth when he’d had reason to use his other magics in times of need. Hallowing land in times of drought, or blessing herds of goats and cattle. Or delivering babies, a handful of times.

Much of the teasing had come from his peers, mostly fellow warriors. Nearly all of them are gone now, and for those that do remain, the Valkyrie stands as an unquestioned example for the people to look up to, despite being a woman. After that, maybe a king with seidr more suited for hearth and home might not be scorned so much.

Either way, Prometheus’ enthusiastic response does little to lessen the blush on his cheeks, even as it lightens his spirit. “It’s not exactly something I’m known for these days,” he mutters into his drink, but he still looks pleased not to be teased about it. “My mother, she was the goddess of motherhood, among other things. I inherited it from her. Though the storm helps too, when it comes to drought and the like.” Six short years is not enough time to fully banish the grief of losing her, but at least it’s an older grief, one he has plenty of practice handling.

If there’s one thing that Thor does not hold in question, it’s Prometheus’ ability to make friends. “You’d find no shortage of open doors here,” he assures his friend, thinking on all those that the titan had helped shelter during those first harrowing weeks after... well, after. “I should introduce you to Korg sometime,” Thor says out loud, before he can follow that train of thought too closely. “He’s the friendly type, very easy-going, though he has been having a bit of trouble with low ceilings with these Midgardian houses.”

Edited 2019-08-13 22:03 (UTC)

Prometheus would enthusiastically give an earful to anyone daring to give Thor a hard time about his fertility magic. That sort of ability is more powerful than lightning, in some ways, and far longer lasting. Even Prometheus, whose realm lies more in creativity and progress, takes personal pride in creating humans, which is the closest he'll get to fertility powers.

"Plenty of my relatives have fertility powers," he tells Thor, both as conversation and as a bid to lessen his embarrassment. "Even my cousin Artemis, who's about as chaste as someone can be, was called upon during difficult childbirths." He lifts up his glass of mead. "Dionysius, too. Not the chaste part, the fertility part. The boy keeps himself busy."

The Titan has no doubt, either, in fact he's looking forward to it. "Oh, is he the rock giant you told me about? I'd love to meet him." He pauses, then asks hesitantly, "Do you think I could bring Steropes here sometime? He wouldn't frighten your people, would he? I've been researching places to take him, once I can convince Hephaestus to let him take a little time off."

Edited 2019-08-17 01:36 (UTC)

Thor has not really been known to be modest or humble, for much of his life. A lot has changed in the last ten years. He wouldn't be so quick to embrace this part of him if not for the situation his people have found themselves in now. Maybe later, he'll look back at this and see that as a bright spot in this part of his life.

For now, in any case, his hands have stopped shaking altogether now, much of the worst aftereffects of the panic attack muffled or banished entirely under the warmth of alcohol and the company of a friend. Particularly one who's given him something to think about that isn't choked with loss. "I've had to do that," he says, in regards to attending a laboring woman. "You might've met the last one, actually. Solvi and her little Joruun? They were some of those staying with Loki."

He's visited with them himself a few times, but ever since the ill-fated trip to the Garden, he's made himself rather more scarce. It isn't that he doesn't want to see them, but sometimes it's all just too overwhelming, and the baby especially doesn't need the stress he'd be responsible for. But out of all his citizens that have survived, he's guiltily thankful that Solvi and her little one are among their number.

But there are less harrowing topics to talk about, and with the strong mead doing its work, the tension in Thor's body is relaxing, his gestures becoming broader and more expressive as a comfortable fog begins to settle in. "Oh no, it'd take more than a giant to scare Asgardians." There's a different word for what Steropes is, but Thor can't quite remember it at the moment. "The Sakaarans, too. There's a couple species living here, not that any of them are that big, but he wouldn't stand out a lot. Wouldn't fit in any buildings though." Thor scratches at his beard with his prosthetic hand, thinking. "Is this too cold for him here? It doesn't get much warmer than this."

"Did you?" Prometheus says curiously. "In all my years, I've never delivered a baby. Ah -- a human baby, anyway." He mentally rifles through the names and faces of the people that he's met before he snaps his fingers in remembrance. "Ah, yes, I do! I don't do as much with the babies except make funny faces, but I've spoken with Solvi a few times. Lovely woman." They're all lovely -- all of Thor's people -- so far as he's concerned.

It's nice to see Thor relaxing, even though part of that is because of the mead. He settles a little more himself, happy to hear that his cyclops friend is welcome, although he feels the need to confirm by adding, "Yes, but his whole one-eye thing. I know that can be off-putting to some." It wouldn't fly at all on his Earth, that's for sure. "He'd be fine in this weather, he's very hardy. I'll find him some nice warm clothes to wear when he visits." Handmade, of course. There's no Big and Tall store big or tall enough for Steropes.

Good, Thor likes it when his friends know each other. Not that Solvi is a close friend, exactly, but once she had gotten past the awkwardness of having her king for a midwife, he likes to think their relationship wasn't quite as distant as a mere king to his subjects. She and her babe are special to him, the last little bit of good news he'd had before the world ended. Still persisting, still living, even after the cataclysm that has taken so many lives.

Thor blinks and laughs roughly, tapping a finger on his eyepatch. Or tries to, anyway, hitting his cheekbone instead. "They've had a one-eyed king for fifteen hundred years. Or maybe more, I dunno. Can't trust my father's history anymore. But they've still got me doing the same thing. And the gladiators don't look like us either. Had one with three heads for a while. Trust me, he'd be fine."

He's not even worried about the humans seeing Steropes here, either. The village is remote, for one, and with aliens not only known about but walking around in public, it shouldn't be that remarkable to have someone like the cyclops paying a visit. "Good! Just give us a heads up, maybe we can... put together a tour, or something."

Prometheus makes another mental note, in between sips of mead, to pay Solvi and her baby another visit. On his way to visit Thor, he tried to catch up with any familiar faces that he saw, something that will only grow in number, the more time he spends here.

The Titan lets out a guffaw. "Smartass," he says, lightly smacking Thor's knee. "You know what I mean." But he's finally reassured when Thor mentions the gentleman with three heads. All right then. "Sounds like Steropes will fit right in. And he'd be happy to help out while he's here. You'd be surprised, with his gigantic hands, but he's excellent at intricate detail work."

A tour. Steropes would like that. Of course, Steropes would be happy to just sit by the dock and watch the water. "Sounds like a plan. And you can let your people know what to expect, too." He frowns thoughtfully. "Are there other pantheons here, on Earth?"

Does Thor know what he means? One eye is one eye, right? Doesn't matter how many you started with, it's still out of the norm for a typical healthy Asgardian. He's a little confused at Prometheus' response, but quickly decides it doesn't matter, and just smiles back at him. "Oh yeah? Not much of a vacation if he's working though, is it?"

If Steropes wants to lend a hand, of course, there's never a shortage of work in Asvera. Not that Thor tries to think about that, with how unhelpful he himself has been so far. Sure, he got them land to call their own, but since then... it wouldn't be inaccurate to say he's been drifting.

He doesn't think about that now, either. Right now, in this moment, his only concern is more mead. And more conversation, preferably that doesn't have anything to do with all the awful shit that's been dragging him down. "What, like, physically?" he asks, frowning too. "Nope. Plenty people used to believe in, but it's all stories. Like I used to be." It's weirdly funny, in hindsight, and he chuckles at the thought. It's strange how quickly Midgardians forget. Or... maybe it's not. Asgard forgot Hela, after all. His frown returns, and he tips up his glass to empty it again.

Oh, Thor. There is a huge difference between missing an eye and having only one eye in the center of one's forehead, but thankfully he'll be spared that lecture as Prometheus only notices the confusion in passing. "He's like me," he explains, settling back on the couch. "He can't just sit around and be idle. His name literally means 'lightning', and he has that energy within him. That's partly why he admires you, of course, you control the element he represents."

Of course, Prometheus seems like he's doing a good job of being idle, but he really isn't. He's comforting a friend, which is very important. Unfortunately, with that frown on Thor's face, he feels like he's only doing a passable job. "Well, that's good news for me," he says lightly, hoping to brighten the mood. "I'd hate to run into alternates of my family here. That'd be awkward to explain."

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