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

[pirateangelbaby]

[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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[pirateangelbaby]

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.