2nd bolt

[richtighammer]

((Action, 1124 Taylor Road; public))The last time Thor drank mead, it was out of a cauldron five miles deep, in a golden hall surrounded by the greatest of the Aesir, all toasting his strength with every foaming horn-full they swallowed. Mayfield, however, has neither bottomless cauldrons, nor golden halls, nor, for the most part, Aesir. He's sick

Comments

[freakinblur]

[There's a guy dressed in a police uniform looking over your fence at all this. Scout's party senses were a-tinglin'. But he has no idea what that smell is.]

Hey pally, whatcha makin'? Smells like... I don't even know what.

[richtighammer]

[Thor has, somehow, not yet run afoul of the police, and therefore has no reason to recognize the uniform as anything he should be wary of. He waves his stirring-broomstick in greeting.]

Mead, friend! A filling of this realm's sorry lack of decent drink!

[freakinblur]

[Scout folds his arms and leans them on the fence, thinking.] Mead? Ain't that like... from tha middle ages 'r somethin'? Ya really know how ta make it?

[richtighammer]

["Middle Ages:" Another thing that has absolutely no meaning to Thor!] Can you not smell it? Give it but time, and it will be mead as you know it!

Will you drink with us?

[adropofjupiter]

[That short blonde girl from next door? Yeah, she kinda looks like hell and is leaving a trail of dead grass in her wake, but she's coming over to steal some of the booze from the cauldron when you're not there.]

[ooc: physical contact with Marisa results in severe bodily harm as per the Postman's Curse she's currently suffering.]

[richtighammer]

[HWARGH NO WHO IS DIPPING FROM THE CAULDRON, THAT MEAD IS OFF LIMITS-- oh wait. It's that girl.]

Hey! [ He calls to her, striding across the lawn to correct this terrible damage.] I warn you, you'll find there nothing but honey and water and a burned tongue!

[adropofjupiter]

[Well, she's never actually seen booze being made. It just SMELLS like it. She does stop and look over.]

But it smells like booze. When will it be ready?

[richtighammer]

For strength, two months! Good mead is all the better for waiting. [Funny advice, coming from a guy renowned among the Vikings for impulsiveness.]

...Would that I had it to offer you. You look as though a little warm mead wouldn't go amiss!

And now all of my characters descend on you as if deployed from a longboat

[flameyedhunter]

[] Shana is staring down at the fire from up in a tree. How did she get here? Who knows. But have a tiny girl (especially by norse standards), dressed in a black cloak, just watching you. ]

awwwwwwww yeah 8D

[richtighammer]

[The tree is not part of the party. BUT THE PERSON IN IT SHOULD BE.]

There's no beer in that tree, girl! Believe me, I'd know!

[flameyedhunter]

[ Shana considers this for a moment. The last time she had beer a boy kissed her. A boy she wanted to ki..... no, she can't think of that now. She drops down, her cloak whirling out behind her, an unconsciously dramatic gesture, and she walks over to the hulking man. ] All right then, where is the beer then?

[ What are drinking age laws? NOT FOR THE NORSE! ]

[richtighammer]

[PUTTING LAWS ON BOOZE IS JUST CONTRARY TO NATURE. Thor grins - clearly, she's got the right idea. He indicates the refreshments, of which there are a staggering amount.]

Here! It will serve until the mead's brewed, at least.

[lunawolves10th]

I thought I smelled food. [ Comments a booming voice, as Garviel towers over the fence, watching what Thor is doing. ]

I could scent it on the air across the town. [ And he's not exaggerating. ]

[richtighammer]

[OH HEY IT'S THIS GUY. Thor's grin widens at the sight of him. Familiar faces are always welcome.]

Food and mead should always be enjoyed together, Garviel!

[lunawolves10th]

Agreed! [ He hops over the fence, and looks over the arrayed food. ]

Boiled, eh? Interesting.

[richtighammer]

[...that brings his face down just slightly.]

Boiled, yes. And then thrown into a pan with what swill she could find and baked! I could not convince her otherwise!

[Enjoy that boiled meat casserole, Garviel. A poor confused drone worked very to make that.]

[putmeinstitches]

[YES. Not only has he been completely forgiven for killing Thor on the day of his arrival, but they're brewing proper drink. Drink he hasn't had for months. He's developed -- well, not a taste, but at least a tolerance for beer out of necessity (because getting shitfaced is a very necessary part of being a Norse god) but there is nothing, nothing like mead.

And he can't think of anyone better to do the actual brewing than Thor.

Though this was Loki's idea just as much as Thor's, you won't see Loki doing any real work. He's perched fairly close to the action in the low branches of one of the lovely trees that line the streets of Mayfield with a mug in his hands, watching the party with a broad grin. Occasionally he bosses around calls friendly advice to Thor.]

[richtighammer]

[Thor is practically dreaming of getting properly shitfaced again. There is, in his opinion, no way to deal with this town sober, and he will take only as much forced abstinence as necessary. The wait for this stuff to ferment will be simultaneously glorious and maddening.]

Loki! How is the color from up there?

[putmeinstitches]

'Fraid it's a little off! Fire's not hot enough!

[Loki waves his fingers -- and suddenly, the flames below the kettle are burning just a biiiiit brighter.]

Better?

[richtighammer]

[Thor starts back a little, involuntarily, and shoots Loki a disgruntled look.] Better.

[But he can't stay angry long - not when the mixture is separating so nicely, when the color is already improving. His grin is already returning by the time he gets back to stirring.]

It is better. Who knows - maybe we'll give Mayfield a few poets yet!