[of gods and men]
I know Thor the same way I know most mythological figures.
You know. Socially.
I've seen the guy around, is what I'm saying. In my quippier, more menace-to-society-er persona, I've even worked with him on a few occasions, though it doesn't take a detective to see this isn't the same guy -- god? -- that I know at home. More beard, for one thing, plus he got this blank kinda look on his face when I mentioned the Avengers to him when we first ran into each other a few months back, at Cap's birthday party. Anyway, point is, we're not really buddies any way you look at it. Which I guess begs the question, then: why am I helping him build his fancy Asgardian house when I've got an afternoon of classes waiting for me and a couple of miles to walk still?
Well, uh, he asked. Nicely. Or as nice as an alleged Norse god can manage, I guess, which is a lot nicer than I would've thought, given the whole... Alleged godliness.
(You'd think, with everything I've seen, that I'd be more inclined to just believe when someone said they were a god, but I am and will always be a skeptic at heart. An alien race that's functionally immortal is just easier to wrap my head around.
Don't even get me started on the Olympians.)
He said please, I'm pretty sure. Maybe. I think. Okay, so I can't entirely remember the conversation, because I was a little distracted by my inadequacy just standing next to him. Look, I'm in better shape now than I've been, well, ever without the surprising health benefits of radioactive blood, but between the Fabio hair and the arms that share a circumference with my head, I'm a chump compared to Thor. Not really helping matters is when Bucky Barnes happens by, looking especially All-American and old timey today, because, hey, you know what's really great for a bruised ego?
Let me tell you: it's not partaking in manual labor with a guy who could probably bench-press you one-handed and his pal, the guy who could definitely bench-press you both.
We've got this kind of roller and sledge-type system working to bring some of the larger rocks that Thor's marked up from the falls, a low-tech solution I whipped up inspired by how scientists suspect the bluestones from Mount Prescelly were brought to Salisbury Plain. It's my one consolation for the day, that my big ol' brain solved a problem instead of their big ol' muscles, but I'm still pushing myself harder than I might otherwise, because we still need a little elbow grease to enact my brilliant solution, and while Bucky Cap and the Mighty Thor are barely breaking a sweat, the same cannot be said for yours truly.
By the time we get back to the bare bones of Thor's new place -- which only serves to remind me that my house is still a disaster area -- I'm mostly just trying to not look too winded from the haul, which results in me holding my breath a little, and subsequently turning redder than my old uniform.
"...you alright, there, Pete?"
That'd be Bucky Cap, naturally, though Thor's looking at me, too, now.
"'Course," I say on an intake of air, managing a tight smile. "Fit as a fiddle. Fitter, even. I'm as fit as the fittest fiddler. Heck, I could play the titular character of--" I glance between the two of them. "--a musical neither of you have likely ever heard of, but totally has a fiddler in it, I swear."
An inordinately long pause follows after I stop talking and start holding my breath again. It is, in no way, shape, or form, awkward at all, except for the ten seconds or so I spend wishing the earth would just swallow me up whole already and take me out of my misery.
"You're very strange, Peter Parker," says Thor, breaking the kill-me-now silence with an observation made by many before him (and likely many after).
"And you use contractions," I reply, babbling on a limited reserve of oxygen, because that's apparently when I'm most prone to babbling, "which is way stranger if you've ever met Other You, trust me on this. Also, the whole lack thees and thous? Troublesome. You're ruining your whole myst--"
Yeah, Thor doesn't like that. Thor really doesn't like that, which I deduce from the very Alpha Male step towards me he takes -- the one I can feel from about five feet away. Immediately I try to backtrack, a change of subject on the tip of my tongue, but I don't get much further than swallowing another gulp of air, because suddenly Bucky's placed himself right smack in the middle of us both, arms held out wide to keep us apart.
Or, maybe more accurately, to keep Thor from smiting me or something. Mjolnir might not be enchanted anymore, but I've seen the way he swings that thing around. It'd pack a wallop, that's for sure, and I've already filled my concussion quota for this quarter.
"Play nice, boys."
"I was," says Thor, looking a little affronted by Bucky's suggestion.
For about a second, I wonder if there isn't going to be some Reboot Avenger showdown, only to have all the tension bleed out of the situation the instant I see someone emerge from the trees, and I chirp out an overly bright, "Hi!"
[Set to the early afternoon. Peter, Thor, and Bucky are all available for threading, just give some indication as to who you would prefer. Closed to new threads unless we've already spoken.]
You know. Socially.
I've seen the guy around, is what I'm saying. In my quippier, more menace-to-society-er persona, I've even worked with him on a few occasions, though it doesn't take a detective to see this isn't the same guy -- god? -- that I know at home. More beard, for one thing, plus he got this blank kinda look on his face when I mentioned the Avengers to him when we first ran into each other a few months back, at Cap's birthday party. Anyway, point is, we're not really buddies any way you look at it. Which I guess begs the question, then: why am I helping him build his fancy Asgardian house when I've got an afternoon of classes waiting for me and a couple of miles to walk still?
Well, uh, he asked. Nicely. Or as nice as an alleged Norse god can manage, I guess, which is a lot nicer than I would've thought, given the whole... Alleged godliness.
(You'd think, with everything I've seen, that I'd be more inclined to just believe when someone said they were a god, but I am and will always be a skeptic at heart. An alien race that's functionally immortal is just easier to wrap my head around.
Don't even get me started on the Olympians.)
He said please, I'm pretty sure. Maybe. I think. Okay, so I can't entirely remember the conversation, because I was a little distracted by my inadequacy just standing next to him. Look, I'm in better shape now than I've been, well, ever without the surprising health benefits of radioactive blood, but between the Fabio hair and the arms that share a circumference with my head, I'm a chump compared to Thor. Not really helping matters is when Bucky Barnes happens by, looking especially All-American and old timey today, because, hey, you know what's really great for a bruised ego?
Let me tell you: it's not partaking in manual labor with a guy who could probably bench-press you one-handed and his pal, the guy who could definitely bench-press you both.
We've got this kind of roller and sledge-type system working to bring some of the larger rocks that Thor's marked up from the falls, a low-tech solution I whipped up inspired by how scientists suspect the bluestones from Mount Prescelly were brought to Salisbury Plain. It's my one consolation for the day, that my big ol' brain solved a problem instead of their big ol' muscles, but I'm still pushing myself harder than I might otherwise, because we still need a little elbow grease to enact my brilliant solution, and while Bucky Cap and the Mighty Thor are barely breaking a sweat, the same cannot be said for yours truly.
By the time we get back to the bare bones of Thor's new place -- which only serves to remind me that my house is still a disaster area -- I'm mostly just trying to not look too winded from the haul, which results in me holding my breath a little, and subsequently turning redder than my old uniform.
"...you alright, there, Pete?"
That'd be Bucky Cap, naturally, though Thor's looking at me, too, now.
"'Course," I say on an intake of air, managing a tight smile. "Fit as a fiddle. Fitter, even. I'm as fit as the fittest fiddler. Heck, I could play the titular character of--" I glance between the two of them. "--a musical neither of you have likely ever heard of, but totally has a fiddler in it, I swear."
An inordinately long pause follows after I stop talking and start holding my breath again. It is, in no way, shape, or form, awkward at all, except for the ten seconds or so I spend wishing the earth would just swallow me up whole already and take me out of my misery.
"You're very strange, Peter Parker," says Thor, breaking the kill-me-now silence with an observation made by many before him (and likely many after).
"And you use contractions," I reply, babbling on a limited reserve of oxygen, because that's apparently when I'm most prone to babbling, "which is way stranger if you've ever met Other You, trust me on this. Also, the whole lack thees and thous? Troublesome. You're ruining your whole myst--"
Yeah, Thor doesn't like that. Thor really doesn't like that, which I deduce from the very Alpha Male step towards me he takes -- the one I can feel from about five feet away. Immediately I try to backtrack, a change of subject on the tip of my tongue, but I don't get much further than swallowing another gulp of air, because suddenly Bucky's placed himself right smack in the middle of us both, arms held out wide to keep us apart.
Or, maybe more accurately, to keep Thor from smiting me or something. Mjolnir might not be enchanted anymore, but I've seen the way he swings that thing around. It'd pack a wallop, that's for sure, and I've already filled my concussion quota for this quarter.
"Play nice, boys."
"I was," says Thor, looking a little affronted by Bucky's suggestion.
For about a second, I wonder if there isn't going to be some Reboot Avenger showdown, only to have all the tension bleed out of the situation the instant I see someone emerge from the trees, and I chirp out an overly bright, "Hi!"
[Set to the early afternoon. Peter, Thor, and Bucky are all available for threading, just give some indication as to who you would prefer. Closed to new threads unless we've already spoken.]