#hallowed-lightning

Thor’s blood sung in his veins and he ache’s pleasantly from countless dances he participated in. He was drunk on ambrosia pilfered from Olympus’ stores and the heady thick beer the Egyptians pressed into his hand. He had lost his tunic hours ago but had managed to hang onto his trousers despite the increasingly determined attempts by sneaky fingers to rid him of them. 

The moon was a sliver in the sky and the stars were out in full force, seeming to dance with the music that drifted on the wind. It’s the winter solstice and for the first time in centuries he’s not on Asgard. He’s not sitting on his father’s right trying to remember why exactly it was a bad idea to stab his fork into Hercules stupid face. Nor was he trying to remain unnoticed in packed taverns while the palace guards engaged in a half-hearted search for their wayward prince. He’s among friends, ancient gods that put his fathers age to shame and ones only a few centuries old and every age in-between.

It was the last major celebration before the harvest and nature gods of the northern hemisphere settle in for the winter. Low tables are laden with food and drink and there are couches and giant plush pillows strewn about with thick furs and blankets to chase away the nights chill. The bank of the Nile is a stones throw from their chosen site and crocodiles wandered underfoot snapping up dropped food or basking lazily next to the fire.  

 Shiva’s footsteps shook the ground as Baron Samedi lead him in a joyful dance, the snakes twined around their necks conversing in soft hisses. Osiris was wrapped around his wife as she talked animatedly with Arinna. Ishtar and Yemaya whispered quietly behind their hands as they sized up the devastatingly handsome Krishna who picks through the offerings of human flesh for blood soaked fruits.

 Thor was pulled into yet another dance by the dark skinned goddess of rain Maya. Water fell from her sodden curls as she lead him around the bonfire and they doused the party in a warm torrents of rain. Thunder rumbled overhead and lightning flashed across the sky as the pair danced, wind and rain swirling around them as they laughed. They were pulled away from each other by a very disgruntled and wet Horus who sat the god of thunder down and made an attempt to preen the younger gods golden hair into some semblance of order. Thor accepted the mother henning  with a surprising amount of grace and before long the others took pity on him and called the falcon headed god away. And so Thor is left alone to lounge on plush pillows and watch the revelry. His vision was suddenly blocked by something large and hairy and he shook his head in a drunken attempt to clear his vision.

Is that a giant spider? Is that spider making eyes at…oh. Ooohh. Thor leaned forward, a playful grin lighting up his face. “Anansi, Really? If you want my attention there are better ways to get it.” Before his eyes, the arachnid shifted into a man. White tattoos in the shape of eyes contrast pleasantly against his dark skin that shone in the fire light. His teeth were black obsidian shards that flash behind full lips parted in an equally playful smile. The god was tall and powerfully built with short black curls and eyes as dark as the arachnid he shifts into. Four spindly limbs are tattooed in bright red across his abdomen and Thor has the sudden urge to trace them with his tongue.

"You almost didn’t recognize me Thunderer." Anansi dropped down next to Thor and captured the gods lips in a hungry kiss. "You’ve been away too long." His voice was beautiful, deep like the roll of the waves as the breeze, and fitting for the spinner or tales.

"Not by my own choice. You know how my father feels about you heathens." The god of thunder wrapped an arm around Anansi’s waist, his fingers tracing the raised lines of bright red inked into his skin. "I think he’s jealous, you never invite him to your parties." Not that it matters much anymore, he’s on Midgard for the foreseeable future.

"He would hardly be welcome. The last time he set foot on the continent Kali almost gutted him. I remember like it was yesterday" Thor couldn’t keep the flush from his cheeks at that particular memory and he groaned, hiding his face in Anansi’s neck, worrying the sensitive skin between his teeth as the god reminisced. "He was waving that spear of his around and yelling about how she had dragged his precious baby into a life hedonism. It was hilarious."

"It certainly was not!" Thor smacked the chuckling god across the chest. "He would have taken Mjolnir from me if she had let him move her. It was the worst half century of my existence." The god fell sideways into Anansi’s lap, his golden hair hiding his flushed face from view. This was supposed to be a good night, not one spent dwelling on his past.

Anansi brushed the concealing coif of hair behind the Thunderer’s ear as he leaned over the godling. “You could have stayed with us, little storm.” He paused. “With me. I’ve always wanted a trophy husband and Kali would be so jealous.”

Thor snorted, shifting so that he was looking up at the trickster god, a soft smile playing around his lips. “She would skin you alive and feast on your liver.”

"You know me well, my golden one." The two gods tore their attention away from each other and focused on the blue skinned figure that made herself comfortable in Thor’s lap. The goddess trailed her wicked nails up Thor’s chest leaving faint welts that disappeared almost instantly. She grabbed his chin, brushing her thumb over the gods lips before yanking him up into a searing kiss that was all tongue and sharp teeth. Thor wisely surrendered to the goddess of destruction and was rewarded with a soft caress before his head was shoved back into Anansi’s lap, a wide grin on his bruised lips. Anansi raised an eyebrow at the blond god, amusement rolling off him in waves until he too fell prey to Kali’s hungry lips.

"You are as delicious as I remembered." The goddess stretched lazily, licking her lips with a self satisfied smirk. The goddess of destruction was deceptively soft looking, the very picture of femininity with generous curves and heavy beasts that were hidden by long wavy locks of hair. Her skin was unmarred and a shade of deep sapphire blue complemented by warm brown eyes and thick lashes. Thor reached for a strand of her dark hair, twirling it around his fingers. "My sweet little prince, you’ve gone and grown on me." Kali pouts even as she lays across Thor, her strong thighs sliding between his. "You’re almost as tall as me now, princeling." He can feel the press of her bare breasts against his chest and the hand not tangled in her hair slides around her waist, toying with the band of her skirt.

"And you are as radiant as ever Kali. I’ve heard tell of your battles all the way on Asgard, did you have fun in space?"  The Norse god shifted, scooting farther into Anasi’s lap as the African god occupied himself with Thor’s hair.

"Oh yes. They screamed so prettily as they burned." Her grin was as vicious as the lion she rode. "Serves them right, attacking our halls with no provocation."

"Remind me to never get on your bad side, dearest." Anansi snorted as he braided beads into Thor’s golden hair.

"You’re always on my bad side, Aunt Nancy." Her deadpan retort was met with a wounded look. She scoffed and turned her attentions back to Thor, searching out new scars and demanding their tales.

The three passed hours like this, wrapped up in each others arms, trading stories and dutifully eating and drinking as plates and cups were pressed into their hands . And when their words ran out they replaced them with physical declarations of their affection.

They entertained the assembly with their borderline indecent dancing before stumbling off to the very edges of the encampment to a chorus of catcalls and whistles. The three gods were flush with drink and laughter as they fell into a nest of furs in a tangle of limbs. There coupling was electric and fierce, any sense of digression or modesty thrown aside in favour of harsh claiming bites and strangled broken moans as they strove to slake their lusts.

Sif's pace was steady, walking down the halls of crowded people waiting to see if their loved one would recover from their injuries. She hardly noticed the stares, but when she did she offered them a kind smile and continued on her way. After all, she was waiting to see if someone she cared about would recover as well. "You're alive." She announced when her eyes finally caught glimpse of him. Her tone wasn't surprised, he had survived much worst but it was relieved.

Thor sat uncomfortably on the hospital bed, the plastic creaking under his weight. It was only because of Natasha's special brand of persuasion that he stayed put. These places made him so uncomfortable. He was readjusting the stupid gown they had thrust him into when an achingly familiar voice caught his attention. "Sif!" The god upon her faster than blinking, wrapping the warrior in fierce embrace. She was the most beautiful sight he had seen in ages, and he told her as much.

"Thor." Sif said the name as if it were a safety net, his embrace a comfort that she had longed for since she arrived. But it wasn't long before she was out of it, glancing him over with a chuckle. "I've seen you in many different states of dress, but this...Is a new one.

Thor chuckled and tugged again at the gown. "It is to embarrass the patients so much so that they do not try and run off. Not that it worked for me." All of his aches are forgotten in his joy and he can't keep his hands still. One grips her hand while another brushes across her cheek and tugs gently at her long hair. He had not realized how much he missed home, how much he missed her until this moment.

"Let them look you over, spent some more time in this...Robe." Sif's hand gave his a firm squeeze, and when her toys with her hair...A softness takes over her features. A vulnerability that few but he could summon up in her. "Now that I'm here, I doubt it will happen again. Asgard's future King needs to be alive in order to rule her." The last sentence acts as her shield, to make it sound like it was a duty even though they both knew better. He was her friend, they had seen each other through the worst of times and the best of times. Yet she still tried to distance herself from the fact that imagining him really hurt or worse terrified her.

"There is nothing they can do for me that time could not fix." Thor said, a warm smile spreading across his lips. He heads back to the hospital bed, tugging her along to sit next to him. "Are you here to be my minder, Sif? Keep me from egregious bodily harm? Unless it is by your hand of course." He teased her lightly. The roll of a protector was one Sif filled easily and it had always made him feel stronger knowing that she had his back. Thor leaned against her, trying to prove to himself that this was not some fevered dream, that his Lady Sif was actually here.  "Does this mean you will be staying with me?"

"Minder, guardian, companion, sparing partner so you can keep yourself alert and ready for battle. Last time we spared together I had you on your back in mere moments. Let's try to see if you can last longer with me on Midgard." Sif's shoulder bumped into his playfully, her smile growing at his last question. "If you would have me." A response if overheard could take on many different meanings, this being one of the most innocent. "We've gotten into many adventures elsewhere, why should Midgard be any different?"

"That was only because I was distracted! My defeat would not come so easily now, I have learned many things over this last year." Thor must look like a fool, grinning as wide as he is. "How could I ever turn you away Sif? I wasn't able to when I was a child and my ability to refuse you anything has only waned as the years pressed on." Their conversation is cut short as a harassed looking doctor comes in to look over Thor's chart. The woman gives a put upon sigh before scribbling something on the papers and glaring at the pair. In a tone that does nothing to hide her displeasure, the doctor releases the god from her care, there are others who need this room more than him. She does order Thor to come back in a few days for a follow up, pressing her card into his hand before turning on her heel and stalking out.

"Congratulations." Sif glanced over to the doctor, watching her walk away in a huff. "It seems you've annoyed them into submission." She mused, teasing him as she stood and readied herself for wherever they were headed next. She was almost out the door before she realized it, the hospital gown still hanging on Thor's frame. "Shall I get your cape?"

"It is a skill you know all too well." Thor smoothed down his gown and plucked Mjolnir from her place on the lone dresser. "I have no idea where it is...I think the Lady Natasha took my clothes but I am not sure..." He checked under the bed, luckily his boots had not run off. "Perhaps we can purchase some on our way home."

"Lead the way." Sif instructed, following her gowned friend with curiosity. Did they accept gold pieces on Midgard? She wasn't sure, but still she was eager to find out. "I like her, the widow. Will I met the rest of your Midgard team while I am here?"

Thor takes her arm, leading the warrior through the crowded hospital halls and out into the sunlight. "I thought you would. You and her are kindred spirits, and you will meet the rest of my team soon enough."  He assumes she will be staying with him. Thor excuses himself for a moment to catch a taxi. It takes some doing, but one driver is brave enough to take on the challenge. "Come Sif! I will show you   the wonders of Midgards markets!"

Sif examined the taxi, tapping the roof of it suspiciously before joining him inside. Clearly uneasy she shifted around, looking out the window as they past all sorts of builds and people. She trusted Thor with her life, but her hand still lingered close to her blade...Just in case she needed to lay hers down for him.

Thor noticed her tenseness and slid his hand in hers, lacing their fingers together. "There is nothing for you to worry about, Sif." He offers her a comforting smile. She always worries about him and he loves her for it, but he wishes she would let him shoulder her burden for a while.

Markets normally have bandits, Sif wanted to say. But who would try to rob the armed maiden? Sif had that problem, relaxing didn't come as easy to her as most thought. Celebrations after battles were times she could unwind, but that was because she knew the enemy was dead or worse. Whatever hurt Thor...It was still out there. That made her a bit uneasy. "You're right." She said, leaning into him. "I'm just excited to explore."

"And I am excited to get out of this gown." It was lucky that Thor grabbed his compression shorts from the other day when he dressed for battle. The tiny pockets still held the plastic cards for money and identification. He fishes them out when the cab stops in front of a shopping centre and pays the fair. Thor ducks out of the cab and stretches, ignoring the looks he receives for his less that appropriately attired state. "Come Sif, You can pick something suitable for me."

"I doubt Midgard has such a thing." Sif muttered under her breathe, but still followed loyally on his heels. Once inside she glances around at all the colours, fabrics and styles. Nothing looked like the attire of home. And the store seemed to be cut into sections she didn't understand. "This is far more complicated than war."

"A number of things are more complicated than war. War is simple, kill the enemy and try not to die while doing it." Thor headed for the men's section, stopping along they way to admire a delicately woven sweater or poke at a puffy party dress. "The separation between genders is much more apparent here than it used to be. It's strange but you will get used to it with time."

"Midgard is strange." Sif thought aloud as she browsed the aisles of endless clothes, collecting whatever caught her attention and handing it to him while a very confused sales assistant watched with awe. "Is Midgard hot everywhere?" The two places she had been had both been so warm, and looking at the attire in the store prompted the question. Everything seemed short, or light, or see through. "Is it an eternal summer?"

Thor trailed after her like a lost puppy his arms laden with clothes. He was far to busy watching her to pay attention to what she put in his arms. "No there is no eternal summer, but we are close to the equator which is the reason for the temperatures. It is colder in the north, but no where near as cold as Jötunheimr."

"Thank the gods for that. Could you imagine surviving in Jötunheimr wearing this?" Sif asked lifting up a bandana they were passing off as a shirt. The pile in Thor's arms seemed to grow and grow by the moment, Sif didn't hold back for a moment and when she was finally finished, she turned on her heel to face him. "Now to call over a seamstress and get these fitted."

"I bet that I could survive just fine in that. I have been told my many people that I radiate heat like a furnace, yourself included." Thor shifted the pile in his arms, peering around it at her. "I am afraid that that is not how this works..." He really should have been paying attention to what she was picking up..."The clothing is made in different sizes, you try on many of the same thing until you find one that fits."

Sif glanced over her pile, she had every size from the biggest to smallest. "Well, among that selection I'm sure you will find something that fits your form. And between the fire of your passion and the size of your ego, you could survive any winter." Teasing him, Sif called to the very uneasy looking sales assistant who pointed them to the change rooms.

Thor couldn't hold back his laughter at that. "You tongue is as sharp as ever. One would think you would be kinder to me given the length of my absence." He would have clutched his poor broken heart, but the clothes prevented such dramatics. He shoots a charming grin at the poor associate who skitters off as soon as they are in front of the changing rooms. "Will you join me? Or would you rather wait out here?"

"One would think." Sif echoed, a smirk forming on her face. "But one who knows, would know that my tongue never dulls." Sif stepped forward choosing the change room door behind them. Standing out there would have been awkward, and it's not like she hadn't seen it before. "Come on, that gown can not be comfortable."

"I have seldom worn worse I must admit." Thor pulls it off, letting the blue and white excuse for a gown flutter to the floor. Next come his boots. "Do you ever miss the chance to poke at my poor ego Sif?" Thor riffles through the pile of clothes, tugging on a flower pattered shirt and doing his damndest to wriggle into a pair of jeans.

"Oh please." Rolling her eyes, Sif couldn't help but peak at the battle worn body of her companion. Each muscle formed from a fight or preparation for one, it was something she respected and admired. "Someone has to keep that poor ego of yours in check. Otherwise who knows what could happen." But they both did know, pride-among many others was one of Loki's biggest problems. Sif sorted through the large pile again, looking a the flannel in her hands she glanced back at Thor. "Is the mo-is Lady Jane staying at the tower aswell?"

Thor gives up on the jeans and trades the flowers for the flannel. He likes the plaid stripes better. "No. Jane has her own apartment, but she does come by to work on science with the others." And if he flexes a little under her gaze no one has to know. It's not wrong to show of assets that are hard won. "How is everyone back home? Hopefully they do not worry over much for my sake."

"They are well, Asgard is safe and protected. I left a note saying I would be here if they needed me." A short easy way of saying Sif came without telling anyone, other than her brother who hadn't exactly been supportive of the trip. "You said you were fine...Then I arrive and you're in a hospital. I think you need to reconsider the word fine." Sif's jaw set for a moment, she had aided Jane on Asgard but only for Thor. Her loyalty to him would make her do a great number of things, but it was clear to her that her loyalty was to him. Not to Midgard and she doubted it would ever be.

Thor personally felt that "fine" was a perfectly adequate descriptor of his state of being.  The bruises were all but gone and ever since Sif arrived the ache in his bones receded to a mere memory. He may not have been in top form but it was a far cry from what he looked like after that farce of a battle. It warmed him to hear the worry in her voice, the amount of people that actually [i]worried[/i] about him was few and far between, and the number grew smaller with each passing year. He was so grateful to have her, to have someone who worried over him because he was Thor, not because he was The Crown Prince of Asgard. "I'm sorry to have worried you so. If I could help it I would, but danger can't seem to quit me."

"You can't seem to quit her either." Sif retorted, keeping him in line. That love affair was far from one sided, even if Thor didn't want to admit it. "You all but courted war once." Once...She felt a dull ache in her chest that she swallowed like a hard pill. "At least the battle is over for now. Although, I'm curious as to what enemy could walk away from battle with you and your team." She asked leaning against the locked door with her arms folded over her chest.

"I was foolish." And that is all Thor is going to say on the matter. Conversations such as these were not suited for public dressing rooms. "It was a enemy I pray we never have to face without preparation again.  You've heard of the Mad Titian Thanos? It was him cloaked in death and wielding the Infinity Gauntlet. What is a god compared to that?

Sif's face dropped, worry flowed her features and so did a bit of anger. "Oh well, fine sums up that situation perfectly then." Sif shook her head, before handing him another thing from the pile. "You were lucky." She was thankful, under all her snark and fury, she was infinitely thankful.

"I was extremely lucky and my team mates more so." Thor tries on the next article with no complaint. The once large pile has split into three, untried clothes, rejects, and items he wants. "I was late to the battle as well. I'm glad no one seemed to notice."

A part of Sif wanted to ask why, but the part that didn't won out. She stepped forward buttoning up the jean shirt she had handed him, just to make herself feel a little more useful and to let her eyes rake over him once more. "I like this one. It brings out your eyes."

"And they are my best asset." Thor drew her into another bone crushing hug, unable to resist given her proximity. "I really am glad you're here." Midgard was making him emotional, it must be the air or the heat or something. 

Sif felt herself sink into the embrace, surprised by it at first but his touch always had a way of soothing her. The hug however was interrupted by a very confused manager, who thought they'd be walking in on something much different than a hug. "I think we might be taken longer than they imagined we would." Sif whispered to Thor, perplexed by the stranger's look of shock.

"Did they not see the mountain of clothes you forced upon me?" Thor whispered back. He put a bit of space between them and gave the manager a politely confused smile. "Did you need something...Jeff?" The man stuttered something mostly unintelligible about separate rooms and  family establishments before the man apologized for the interruption and went back to a group of giggling employees who where watching the whole thing. "I think we should wrap this adventure up." He suggested, a grin pulling at his lips.

"I think so too. I'll wait for you outside." A laugh escaped Sif's throat as she stepped out of the change room, and smiled over to the employees. "You must show me the palace you've been staying in, and the man of iron. Was he forged here on Midgard? Or does he come from Nidavellir?"

Thor fished out a pair of dark pants from the pile and finished getting dressed. "It is a mansion not a palace. They do not have royalty in America and very few of the lines survive in Europe." Thor put the rejected clothes back on hangers and went through the pile of untried things, picking out whatever was in his size. "The Man of Iron was forged here by his own hand. It is armour unlike any on Asgard, and it's powered by something with similar energies to the tesseract." He comes out with a bundle in each arm, handing the pile of rejects to a sales associate. "it is a genius piece of engineering."

"America." Sif repeats so she can remember the term, imagining the suit in her mind. "And what of the man inside the iron? If he forged it with his own hand, he must be remarkable."

"That he is. Anthony Stark is the closest thing to royalty they have here. He does not govern but is mater of the technology guilds. I have not met another like him" The two made their way to the checkout counter under the watchful eye of the manager.

"So you two get along then?" Sif followed on his heel trying to get as much information as she could before she met everyone.

"We do!" Thor grins as he hands over the tags for the clothes he's wearing and his credit card. "She acts as our minder, it's amusing. And she has this way about her that inspires fear..."

"So far, I haven't heard a name I should be weary off. But I don't blame them for enjoying your company." Sif watched the credit card, biting back the comment that it seemed like an odd form of currency. It could be easily stolen or tampered with, and what effect would heat have on it? It was all new, all strange, expect for the one thing that actually mattered. He was there.

"Such complements Sif! I might just swoon if you keep this up." Thor shoved the credit card back into his jean pocket and grabbed the bag of neatly folded items. He slid his free arm around Sif's waist as they head out of the store and into the shopping centre. The amount of people was low given the time of day but this was a good thing. The less people there were to stare at Sif the better.

"You? Swoon? I don't think I'd be able to recognize that even if I saw it." Sif chuckled, leaning into him as they walked. As she glanced around at the people their she noticed that the majority of Midgardian women were...Short. Well, at least shorter than she was and definitely shorter than Thor. She thought Jane might have been a one off, but being among them she felt a bit like a giant and wondered how wide they're eyes would expand if they actually witnessed a real one. "My brother sends his regards."

"I'll have you know that I can do a fantastic swoon. I learned it from the Greeks." Thor found the perfect pace for their mall stroll. Sedate enough to take in the sights, but never dropping to an approachable speed. He knew that he was easily recognizable, and most of the time he enjoyed the attention he got from the populous, but today his attentions were to be focused solely on Sif. Playful flirting with giggly Midgardians could wait. "How is he? I never realized how much I would miss our conversations until they turned one-sided." He was itching to ask about his father, but at the same time he was plagued with reluctance to do so.

"Heimdall is his normal, usual self. Careful what you say though, he might hear you." Sif teased, her relationship with her brother was fine. But she knew he cared for Thor almost as much as she did. She just wished he wasn't so aloof when it came to her. "Your father is well." She said as if reading his mind. "I saw him shortly before I left." She wouldn't tell him of her mission to Earth, she had a promise to keep and even though she hated not telling Thor...She knew there had to be a good reason for it.

"That...that is good." Thor cleared his throat as he struggled to keep the sheepish expression off of his face. How did Sif always know what questions he dare not ask? It was equal parts annoying and comforting that someone could know him so well. "He has sent me a staggering amount of paperwork but very little about his well being and I am not sure how to ask..."  Thor tightened his hold on Sif's waist, drawing comfort from her familiar presence. Without his mother to act as a bridge, the delicate relationship he held with his father all but crumbled in his last weeks on Asgard and his attempts to mend it were ignored. "But let us talk of other things! Has anything caught your eye yet?" He had never been accused of being subtle.

"You can ask, Thor." Sif said in a soft voice that was meant to be comforting. "I understand." Thor's mother had meant a great deal to Sif. It was the first time she shed tears in public since the day she filled all of Asgard with the sound of her cries. Her tears weren't spent on anyone, but Frigga had been the exception. "What do you mean?" She asked with a false confusion, wanting to see his squirm just a little.

"Other than my lovely person of course." Thor's words are in jest but the warmth in his voice is very much real. He knows that he is not the best at vocalizing feelings that lay on the ah...tinder side of the emotional scale, but he hopes his actions make up for it. She is the only person (other than Loki) who had any idea how much his mother meant to him, and having her close brought a sense of peace he had not known he was missing. "I know I am a wondrous sight Sif, but you must have been looking around."

"The only person I have been looking for is you." Sif answered honestly. "But now that I've found you." She dramatically glanced around, stepping a little further from him to see what he'd do.

It took a great deal to make Thor lose his words, but Sif had the uncanny ability to leave him speechless with her carefully divulged honesty. His teasing inquiry had been turned back on him and he fought down the surge of possessiveness that clawed at his chest. "I never knew you to be the fickle sort." He invaded her personal space, threading his fingers through hers in an explicit claim of her person.

"Am I fickle?" Sif asked placing herself in front of him and walking backward with her hand still laced with his. "Or just bold?" Sif asked with a raised brow, and the same cheeky grin she had when she playfully mocked his grand entry into the palace what felt like a lifetime ago. She halted when the air filled with the smell of melting cheese and pepperoni. "What is that?"

"Bold. Definitely bold." Thor's attention was fixed solely on [s]his[/s]  [s]the[/s] [s]raven haired goddess[/s] Sif. There was this fluttering in his chest that he had come to associate with the power of her smiles and the leasing lilt of her voice. She had always given as good as she got in there banters and her unwillingness to back down was what drew him to her in the first place. (Overhead there was a roll of thunder that was as soft as a sigh). It took him a long moment to actually process her  second question and even longer to realize what she was talking about. "That would be pizza, one of Midgards finest achievements." His stomach growled. "You will love it!" He took lead this time, tugging her along after him like when they were children running off into the orchards behind the palace.

Sif kept his pace easily, years of chasing after him had prepared her for such things. Whether it was in the orchards, in the fields, or in battle...She was never to far behind. And although they had both had adventures of their own, the battles they fought together were countless. "Alright, alright, I will try it."

The credit card made a second appearance in the bright pizzeria when Thor ordered a large of every pizza he thought Sif would like, from pepperoni to artichoke heart and olive. It may have been a bit excessive in hindsight, but if Sif's fist pizza experience was to be in mall he would make sure it was the best mall pizza ever. 

 "Shall we take these back to the tour? Share them with your team?" Sif Asked

Thorsday

4.00: Greet the day with a warm mug of mead

4.15: Go back to sleep, the day is a cranky bitch

5.00: Actually get out of bed

5.30: Finish morning abolitions

5.45 Take a bath

6.30: Work out and give the neighbourhood something nice to watch.

8.45: Take over the main kitchen to make breakfast and feed whoever happens to be awake at the time

10.00: Dishes

10.30: Have another cup of mead

11.00: Work through whatever paperwork Odin is "too busy to work on"

14.00: Have a snack

15.00: Help Tony move equipment around his lab

18.00: Refuse keep shifting the same thing three inches in each direction and head upstairs

18.05: Cook dinner

20.00: Coax the reluctant Science Alliance away from their work in order to feed them

21.00: Dishes

22.00: Head to the training room. If alone, work on informing foot work. If not, let the team have their fun

Friday

1.00: Lounge around in the ice bath

2.00: Water the science alliance

3.00: Finish up that paperwork

6.00: Have lunch

7.00: Seriously, finish that crap

11.00:  Chase down those damn birds

13.00: Finish bribing the birds and send them off

13.30: Go bother Jane

19.00: Take Jane out to dinner

23:00: Drop a sleepy Jane off at her apartment

23:30: Take in the cities night life.

Caterday

2:00: Okay, that's enough night life for now, head back to the manor.

2.30: Make sure the Science Alliance is still alive.

3.00: Give Mjolnir a proper cleaning

4.00: Watch a movie or two then settle down with a stack of books

8.00: Have a breakfast feast for a late dinner.

9.00: clean up then go work out some more

13.00: sneak into Tony's lab to entertain the robotic children

19:00: clean up the resulting mess

19.45: Fall into bed

Last week had to be the absolute worst week of Thor’s relatively short (for a god) life. It was horrible and he didn’t want to talk about, except that he totally did so it was a really good thing that everyone was asleep. No one wants to listen to a god of thunder have a complete and total bitch fest/nervous break down.

It’s not like they would have believed him anyway.

A week ago today, the molemen attacked. It was usually one moleMAN and his army (read three) of mutated minions but really, molemen sounds better than Moleman and his Mutated Minions. Their clandestine meetings usually go a little something like this:

A wild Moleman bursts through the earths crust!

Thor frowns.

Moleman cackles and gives the usual Speech of Unstoppable Evil (tm).

Thor shakes his head and plays offended at the right parts.

Moleman calls forth his (three) mutated minions from the inconvenient hole in the middle of the street/park/bus station

Thor glares and gives one of the simple minded minion’s a face to face meeting with Mjolnir

Mutant Minions retreat.

Moleman “attacks”

Thor stuffs Moleman back down whatever sewer is closest. End of story.

But that is not what happened last Tuesday.

Last Tuesday Thor, the mighty avenger, the God of Thunder and Oak Trees, The Tamer of Goats, was kidnapped. By the Moleman himself and his mutant molemen minions (M4). There were four this time (Did they breed?) and while the exact details of his kidnapping were too traumatizing to recount, all that needs to be said is that he was taken completely by surprise and was carted through the most foul and needlessly complex sewer system in existence. He hoped this wasn’t a marriage kidnapping, he was far too young to be married to would-be-emperors-of-the-world. At least Mjolnir to protect his virtue.

And the destination? Moleopolis. Or something equally as asinine. Name aside, it was actually a well constructed subterranean town that mimicked the layout of old medieval settlements. Or rather, it had been a well constructed subterranean town that mimicked the layout of old medieval settlements if not for the partial rune and corpse of something the size of a elephant that stretched across the village square.

Thor was dropped unceremoniously at the Moleman’s orders and landed quite embarrassingly on his godly tush. While the Moleman orated, Thor did his best to scrape unidentifiable substances from his jacket. He was so focused on the cleaning task, that he did not notice the ringing silence that came after Molemans speech. Or was it a question? He wasn’t paying attention. A sharp kick to the knee earned the irate King of Dirt a sore foot and an agitated agreement from Thor to do whatever the Hel got him out of this place. Or a shower. The shower was more preferable.

The resulting cacophony of noise that followed his words shocked the Elemental God out of his glowering. The once deserted streets were filled with more of the Mutant Minions and they were cheering.  That did not bode well. What did he agree too? By the grace of the Norn’s let it not be marriage.

An hour long soak in a mineral rich hot spring later Thor still did not know what exactly he had agreed to do. But what he did know is that the Moleman had far more than several Mutant Minions and he hardly understand a word of their chittering language, even with the Allspeak. His clothes had been laundered and even the leather jacket had been thoroughly cleaned.  However, the jeans would forever carry the stains of the initial journey. He begged off dinner, some sort of fungus salad, to go study the carcass rotting in the Moleoplis square.

It was insect like in nature with a dark amber outer shell that was covered in a thick coat of transparent yellowing hairs that dripped some sticky corrosive substance, eating the ground beneath it away. It had an disproportionate amount of thin legs for such a short creature and each leg ended in a hook like segment. He walked around to the head of the creature and recoiled in disgust.

The intact portion of the head was triangular, wide, milky white and opaque with no discernible eyes. Viscous yellow liquid oozed from jagged punctures in the skull and the smell was reminiscent of burnt rotting blubber. It’s jaws were a cluster of wicked pincers, spread open in death like a blossoming flower displaying the creatures strangely jagged interior.

It was the most vile thing he had ever seen and it reeked of deaths touch.

Thor took a step back, a shudder of nausea coursing through him as more fluid gurgled up from the punctures. His hand wrapped around Mjolnir’s handle as the thing twitched, it’s legs curling inward on itself. Ugh. Gross.

Thor beat a hasty retreat as the carcass let out more noxious gasses of decomposition and searched out the kingdom’s vertically challenged leader. The z-list villain laid out a dismal scene. Every other week he would lead his people to the close surface to escape the attacks. The creatures had appeared a year  ago, breaking ground in a cavern a few miles east of the settlement. They had swept through, burrowing through the bedrock with their powerful jaws and corrosive hides, devouring any and everything they had come across. The once lush subterranean caverns were now stripped almost bare as even the behemoths who called the caves home were torn apart by the new arrivals. Every two weeks they would come, like clockwork but suddenly the pattern changed. The Moleman explained how the attacks had increased in frequency and how a few of these creatures would take the settlement by surprise, forcing the naturally peaceful peoples to fight. As the number of causalities the increased, The Moleman had made his presence known to the surface world to seek out a champion. And he had found one in The Mighty Thor.

Now, this was all horribly tragic and everything but The Mighty Thor had his own problems to worry about. He could sense death’s presence blanketing the Los Angeles area and there was nothing he could do about it but try and stem the flow. It clouded his senses, throwing him off balance in  way that truly frightened him. Even the sky was quiet.

The sprees of senseless violence that gripped the city were driving the team spare. It was impossible to predict and just as difficult to stop.  He may be a god, but Death IS and there was no stopping it.

And here he was, in some subterranean cave system lit by glowing algae and stolen electricity preparing to fight giant bugs. It was honestly the last thing he wanted to do, but he was a defender of Midgard and these people needed him. By Odin’d eye socket, why couldn’t he be more like Loki? All aloof and uncaring…

Two days had passed with no sign of the swarm and Thor was beginning to get impatient. He missed the surface, the sky, the whisper of storms. Here they were muffled, fading into the background while the thrum of earth magic and the slow shift of tectonic plates overtook his senses.  He was basking in the villages hot springs in an attempt to distract himself from utter boredom when he heard it.

A sound likened to gargling rocks reached his ears, growing louder with each passing moment. Thor scrabbled quickly from the baths, slipping on the slick rocks around the springs edges. The high pitched wail of an alarm cut through the still air, sending the town of Mutant Minions into a surprisingly organized defensive. Non-combatants and children were herded into a building just left of the town square and it’s rotting carcass while the rest armed themselves with a mismatched array of weapons. 

Thor just hand enough time to wiggle into his jeans and pull on his boots when the first wave of creatures scuttled into the cavern. Their blind heads swung from side to side, long purple tongues slipping out from the pincer clusters to taste the air.  The creatures where practically crawling over each other in their haste, their bodies rustling like dry leaves as they brushed against each other.

The sight wasn’t so much as terrifying as it was disturbing. To him they felt wholly unnatural, what propose could such horrid creatures serve? He watched one break from the mass and start taking large bites from the back of a home, it’s jaws cutting through the rock like butter.

A hand gripped his forearm and he was pulled from his observations, looking down into the worried face of the Moleman. A silent plea passed between them and Thor nodded. It was time to smite things with his very large hammer.

The battle was messy and seemingly endless. Thor had taken point at the cities edge, heading off the swarm as they pushed themselves out of a narrow whole three at a time. The Mutant Minions took care of any that managed to slip past his Defense.  Mjolnir whistled as she flew through the air, crushing exoskeletons left and right and coming back covered in that foul smelling ichor. That stuff was everywhere, slowly eating through his midgardian clothing, making his skin itch unpleasantly, and in his hair. Ugh, Molemen be damned, he wanted a shower! With actual soap!

He had no idea how long the battle lasted, only that the creatures kept coming. He couldn’t smell anything but their foul stench and his skin was caked in their blood. Normally, this was the sign of a good time but not in this instance. Being swallowed by a giant interstellar space slug had been more pleasant. As time pressed on, the numbers began to dwindle. The outer edge of the settlement was ringed with mounds of corpses, providing a rotten barrier. Their own basic fluids had begun to eat away at each other and Thor hoped he was not invited to the clean up.

He was perched atop the largest mound of corpses,  idly tossing Mjolnir at any insect that even hinted at not being dead.  Satisfied with the effectiveness of his massacre Thor leapt from the pile of jellifying corpses and headed into the town square, crunching through the carpet of corpses as he went. The god made a beeline for the worse for wear Mole Monarch and grabbed him by the front of the shirt, pulling him up to eye level.

Literature - Thor detests reading anything that falls under the heading of "assigned". He enjoys fictions and historical accounts of battles, his mother's letters, Loki's notes, and Calvin & Hobbs.

Mathematics/Physics - The only courses in which he ever scored higher than Loki. He uses it often when it comes to aerial battles and controlling weather systems. It helps that he can apply the concepts in a real world settings, like calculating the trajectory of his hammer if launched from earth at Jupiter where the gravitational pull slingshots her at a floating target just past Pluto, for a bet.

Diplomacy - The weapon he saves for rainy days or when he really really wants the last poptart. He's been trained in it since he could read but it's a skill he has not made much use of.

Social Sciences - He paid attention to geography and universal cartography, and can detail every major universal battle of the last age, their causes, tactics used, and repercussions. You ask him about the evolution of farming practices and their relation to the evolution of Asgard's civilization and you'll get a two sentences and a blank stare.

Chemistry - He knows how to set things on fire. Other than that, nothing.

Biology/Medicine - He is well versed in anatomy and can preform advanced field surgeries. He knows the medicinal properties of plants and animal parts, plus he can imitate many sounds of wildlife. Anything beyond that is a mystery to him.

Magic - Thor's preferred magic is a combination of elemental and battle magic. Every Asgardin can use magic to some degree, but very few can use elemental magic, and fewer still can master it. Unlike Loki's and similarly Amora's magic, Thor's manipulates the environment rather than changing it.

Writing - His writing is very formal and concise. Grammar is only observed in official documents and his personal style comes out when writing mission reports.

Weapons Mastery - He prefers weapons that can be used both for close combat and ranged attacks. His first weapon of choice was an axe and he took great delight and ruined many doors by throwing it at them. He spends enough time with different weapons to become versed, but is no where near a master of all and sundry weapons.

Tactics - He could write books. His favorite midgardian game is Risk. They only situations he cannot seem to read involve his darling brother. But that s to be expected, they don't even fight when they fight.

Music/Dance - He was forced into dancing lessons at a young age and learned to enjoy it. He finds the moves useful for battle. His formal teachings in music stopped after learning to sight read and what knowledge he gained was self taught.

Thor hung back as his brother played, listening to the deep vibrations that Loki pulled out of the wind organ. All eyes were on the raven haired male as his fingers flew across the ivory keys, even Odin gave his full attention. It wasn't fair. His hard learned drills were just as impressive ( aren't they? ), yet they hardly managed to keep his fathers attention.  It wasn't fair. He fought to keep himself from scowling. Loki deserved to be the centre of attention, it didn't happen often enough, and yet he was envious. A tongue of shame curled in his breast and Thor slumped against the wall. What kind of brother was he? Loki had practiced incessantly for months just for this moment, a chance to show their parents what he could do, and Thor would be damned if he ruined this for him.

He picked at a lose thread on his trousers a d hummed quietly along with the familiar tune. His wished he had a deep baritone like Volstagg, or a pleasing tenor like Fandral. Even Sif could sing, and Hogan often joined Loki on that weird harp thing he brought from home. And Thor? Thor just hummed.

His tutors hadn't seen the need to push him past the basics in the arts and he found that he regrets his childish refusal to practice. Maybe if he had he would be playing alongside his brother rather than watching from the side-lines.  Though prowess in battle was important, the ability to create was cherished with equal fervor. His smithing lessons were going quite well and his master was pleased with his attention to detail, but the man fawned over his brothers works. Not they weren't worth the praise, they were beautiful twists of metal formed into delicate broaches and thin chains that were woven together to form thick chokers and bracelets. His own creations seemed clumsy in comparison.

One night he had overheard the newly appointed head tutor discussing his progress with his father. Excited to hear what the man had to say he pressed closer to the study door, staying as still as a statue. His grades were good, not as good as Loki's (except in mathematics, where he surpassed his brother) but that was to be expected. As the conversation continued his good mood deflated. The tutor thought he was unimaginative, simple, and only capable of regurgitating spoon fed information.

It stormed for three straight days.

Thor just wanted one thing that was his. That wasn't too much to ask for, was it? And his skill in sparring did not count, this was Asgard, fighting was in their blood. And since he was not old enough to join any of there tournaments, he had no way of showing off his skill in any official capacity. He wanted to be seen as more than the first born son of the king. He wanted to be the first to wield that stupid hammer. He wanted to play with his brother, even if it was only once. Thor wanted a number of things, but only one was readily achievable. 

It took him a few months, but he had finally managed to procure an instrument that had never before graced the halls of Asgard. Mortals called it the viola. When Thor wasn't tied up in lessons or training he was practicing. When he was younger he had stumbled across an old cellar in the south west corner of the vast network underneath the castle. It was there that he learned to turn the ear bleeding caterwauling into something resembling music in secret. If anyone noticed his absences, they said nothing.

He had once made the mistake of asking Sif which instrument would suite him. She responded with an axe, thinking he meant an instrument of war. When he clarified she snorted loud enough to the attention of people several tables over. She then informed him that he'd better stick to swinging his axe, everyone knew he wasn't...artistically inclined. He did not bring it up again.

Learning to produce pleasing sounds was more than a challenge. He had no instruction, no visual guidance, or even sheet music. But what he did have was unwavering persistence and a ready supply of horse hair and gut string. Every string instrument Thor had come across in his short life was played by plucking,  so he started with that first, learning the basics of the alien instrument. When he finally put bow to sting, he was surprised by the depth and volume of the sound produced.

It took him many moon cycles and bundles of horse hair to get the gist of the bowed instrument. His fingers, while used to the strain of smith work, suffered from friction of sliding his fingers up and down the fret.  After a while callouses began forming on the tips of his fingers, allowing him to practice for longer periods of time.

He made up silly tunes, played well known compositions, and worked on penning down any melody that came to mind. The once bare walls of the cellar were covered in note papers and the once cold stone floor was blanketed with the soft strands of broken horse hair. Gut strings, dirty dishes, and half completed assignments littered the oak table he had pilfered from a storage hall. It was a space that was all his own and not even Loki was able to find him when he scuttled away after lessons.

If there was a storm rolling in at night, Thor would sneak outside with the viola under his arm and played with the howling wind. Those night were always the best, even if he returned home freezing and soaked an hour before was due to eat breakfast. If he didn't know better he would say that the storms played with him rather than raging on despite his noise. But that's impossible, storms had better things to do than listen to his wailing viola. ( But he liked to pretend anyways)

 -  Present Day, L.A.    -

Thor ducked into one of the mansions soundproof relaxation rooms with his viola and bow tucked securely under his arm. He hadn't played since he arrived in L.A., what with socializing and cooking taking up the majority of his time. But he promised himself that he would take one day this week to just play, and today was that day. Mjolnir was set carefully on the rooms only chair, a plush deep red lounger, as he went about tuning the viola, the notes ringing clearly in the absolutely silent room.

Once he was satisfied with the string instruments notes, he ran through his normal battery of warm ups, getting himself back into the motions of playing. He fiddled around with the viola a bit more before actually starting to play.

He began with a sweet mournful tune, gently drawing his bow across the strings. His fingers carefully pressed down on each string as they moved up and down the fret. The tune was one from his childhood, a lullaby the queen would sing to her little prince's before kissing them goodnight. His mother had the most beautiful voice that even the soft strains of the viola fell short of compare. 

Thor lost himself in the melody and the memories, swaying with the pull of the bow. He had never gotten to play for his mother. He had many opportunities but he pushed them aside in favour of silly pranks and tavern stays.  The notes were crisp and clear in contrast to his muddled emotions. Tears pricked behind closed eyes as he remembered sprawling at his mothers feet demanding her attention and opinion. He would lay his head against his mothers thigh as he spoke, her nimble fingers working at putting intricate braids in his messy hair. His brother would usually be on the opposite side, interjecting and correcting the epic tales of found treasure and fell beats they had come across in their travels.

If people had known he would have been criticized as a "mama's boy", but with a mother like the one he was gifted with, how could he not revel in her company? She was the All Mother, goddess of all things maternal and the universe was poorer in her absence. Dwelling on such things would not help him relax.

The tone suddenly changed as his tempo picked up. He pulled low powerful notes, and high croons from the strings as he played, imitating the cadence of a an actual voice. Singing was not his thing. He couldn't manage to convey the necessary amount of feelings or get his vocal chords to produce normal sounds like he had when he was younger. It was probably a side effect of taking on the storms way of speaking, but that was okay. He didn't need his mouth to sing, not when he had his viola. And by the Norns did he sing.

He poured his frustrations and joys into the sharp chops of his bow and the quick almost violent fingering along the fret board. Thunder rumbled inside of the sealed room in response to his heightened emotions, providing another element for Thor to include in his playing.  The back beat of thunder hadn't come about until late in his adolescence, around the time when he had gotten a good measure of control over his gifts. And the winning over of his very picky hammer.

He flew through a speedy rendition of one of his brothers favourites that lead into the hook of a half remembered sea shanty from his sailing days. From there he segued into twanging tunes of a polka he heard on one of his visits. The lightening fast Irish jig caused the horse hairs to start to fray and the hard press of the bow against the strings to achieve the deep haunting sounds of a old hymn didn't help any.

Now, playing golden oldies was well and good, but adapting the strains of an electric guitar to fit the acoustic sound of the violin was a challenge he happily took. He had fallen in love with the staccato drumbeats and complex solos of Hendrix, The Rolling Stones, and Styx. He taught himself to play the gruff vocals and the harsh chords when he first heard it blasting out of Anthony's lab.

His fingers danced up and down the fret as the first quick chords of Thunderstruck[x] as he stroked the bow rapidly over the strings. He got through about half of the song, choosing the second strings part, before the tempo changed again, slowing into Skyfall [x]. Multiple stops replicated the harmony of the artists rich voice and the long slow strokes were balanced by his ever moving fingers. 

Thor ran though his ever-growing mental list of popular music[x][x] he had come to enjoy since listening to the radio for the first time in Jane's old van. This was one of the only ways he knew how to relax. His mind flowed with the currents of the sea, the jet streams of wind, the paths of newly born storms and ones fading into the atmosphere. He could feel the slow shift of the earths plates as lava pushed it's way to the surface and the low rumbles of deep sea quakes. It was distracting, being pulled in so many directions, but playing over road the call of Midgards over active systems.  His duties faded under the onslaught of music and his worries were swept away with each stroke of his bow. The broken strands of horse hair brushed against his fingers as he played, a slight smile splitting his lips. He bounced on the balls of his feet and swayed with the music as he focused solely on the vibrations traveling through the wooden instrument.

Mjolnir rumbled contentedly in the back of his mind and he switched to playing the rapidly changing tune of a storm. He chose the violent unpredictability of tornadoes to base the improvisation on, and the hammer crackled in excitement.  Thor played counterpoint to the small volts of lighting that branched from Mjolnir, the frequency of sound almost imperceptible to anyone but him. He was careful to keep their energy confined to this room because of how easy it was to conjure severe weather with his impassioned playing.

Thor focused on coaxing the Mjolnir's lighting into curling ribbons of blue white energy. They vibrated and pulsed merrily with the sound of the viola. The faster he played the brighter they glowed and the more energy they put off. The comforting smell of ozone was over powering and the controlled lighting danced around the small space.

He didn't know how long he played, only that his stomach was grumbling and that his bow had more broken strings than not. It would need restringing. Or he could just get a new bow. He slowed to a stop, the ribbons of lightning fading out with the music. Slight pain shot through cramped fingers as he stretched. The strings would need replacing as well. He ran a finger over the once smooth coils of sheep's gut that were now worn and hot to the touch. He could do that after his nap.