Summary:Steve attempts to aid Thor in figuring out why he's "grounded". Homemade nachos take the sting out of it. All are agreed that fake cheese is not a good substitute for the real thing. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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Thor has been restless. He's been out of the mansion, but he always returns. The god has been more quiet, subdued, and thoughtful than is the norm for him. In fact, now, he is seated at a table in the Avenger's kitchen, slowly eating some chips with cheese melted on them. It is a slow, methodical, and quiet munching, while the blonde god stares off into space, his gaze vaguely through a cabinet.
Thor may be in civilian wear, but there's no mistaking who he is, or how 'off' civilian wear often looks on him. He looks something like he should belong in the athletic area, but that's mostly due to just partaking of the available wear from the gift shop. He's super Avenger branded right now, though he wears no hat.
*
It was raining outside today and by the way Steve drags in, it's clear that he timed his errand badly. He walks into the kitchen with hair fairly plastered to his skull and his absorbant sweatshirt sopping wet in straggling darker streaks from shoulders and down his arms, chest, and back. He blows a sigh in a 'woof' as he walks over to deposit the brown paper bag on the counter top.
"Should've taken an umbrella." The comment's both for himself and the other occupant of the room. The kitchen towel pulled from a nearby drawer, clean rather than sporting marinara stains, will suffice to towel off his head quickly. The Captain then gives Thor a longer, more attentive look and stands there, holding each end of the apple-patterned towel slung about his neck.
"Y'know, my mother used to ask me if I was being nibbled to death by ducks when she caught me looking like that. What's on your mind?" he asks quietly.
*
Thor gives Steve a somewhat perplexed look, a strain of his eyes as if he could not quite take in the water: or didn't want to. "Indeed; you do look, what is the saying, like a drowned cat?" Thor says, smiling, clearly intending the comparison in a fun way, not an insulting way.
"If it is my mood which has brought rain, please accept my apology, I was not thinking of the impact," Thor says gravely, pausing in his chips. And then slowly picks one up, and bites it whole. Crunch.
"Mmmm, I feel that I am treading water, instead of moving. I would like find a clear path again," Thor states, using a hand to gesture as if to indicate a clear motion, an axe flex of his hand straight ahead, similar to throwing a hammer.
*
"Mmm." Steve goes over to the coffee maker and immediately begins attempting to set it to brew an entire pot rather than single servings. It takes him a few seconds and a few different runs of lightly-musical beeps, but the sounds of successful percolation are soon to follow. "Figured I'd make some to warm up. You're welcome to some if you like," the man's sure to add. He then leans against the counter.
"Don't think you were the cause of the rain." The towel is worked against his temple and then back around to the fine hair on his neck as he continues, eyeing Thor. "But treading water. Stuck. Becalmed?" He offers as another state of being. "You're referencing the fact that you're grounded?" A twinkle in his eyes is proof of gentle tease. Apparently, the idea's still amusing to the stoic Avenger.
*
"Your beverage creator is very cheerfully musical," Thor observes of the coffee maker, charmed by it, looking at it with brows that raise up, his expression opening again to his more natural smile. The distraction, even if brief, from his focus is a welcome one.
"I very well could be the cause of the rain," Thor answers, in complete seriousness. "Unfortunately I do not bring sunshine when I have cheer; there is not lighting in clear skies." So it is!
"I suppose yes, that is a reference. It is not what I am used to, and I do not like it very much," Thor says, in his mode of 'complaining', which is really very lightweight. "I'd rather set about learning whatever self-improvement is required of me, and getting on with things." Hmph!
*
"Don't think anyone likes being grounded," Steve points out lightly. "Throws a big monkey wrench in doing a good number of things." He glances over at the coffee maker as it bings cheerily again to let all know that the brew has been brewed. It takes the soldier a very short amount of time to join Thor at the kitchen table. A second mug is offered out before the Asgardian near to the bag of chips. With a soft grunt, Steve sits across from him and wraps his hands around his own mug to warm them.
"So…if we approach this like a grounding, there's a lesson to be had. Maybe you said something you weren't supposed to. Maybe you reacted too quickly?" One shoulder shrugs. "Could apologize. But if you can't reach Asgard and Heimdell's still playing deaf, could…" Steve clicks his tongue with a wince and glances up at Thor again. "Might have to be patient until a clue crops up."
*
Thor releases a big breath through his nose, and extends one hand towards the mug, hand over it at first, then rotating to hook two fingers into the mug's handle— to rotate the handle away and grip it like a proper cup. It still feels small, to Thor. He doesn't spill any of it, drawing it over, but doesn't drink any of it yet. "Is it possible to buy one of those singing machines that makes iced coffees? I am fond of those," Thor says, tapping the coffee's top edge with one forefinger. He just thought of it. Perhaps there's a machine.
"Yes. The disagreement. I did not think diplomacy was the best answer. Our foe would simply take us for fools. I rallied a group to show our strength, to prove my father incorrect," Thor says, rallying. He then deflates, slumping in the chair. And turns the mug around. "/Perhaps/ it was hasty."
*
The slow nod from Steve at the explanation is sympathetic understanding. "Broke cover before the rout was called," he says quietly, using his own jargon for the situation deemed to be potential cause for the Asgardian's summary boot from beyond. "I wonder if you were sent down to…oh, what's the phrase these days. I mean, I'd say 'cool your heels', but the younger generation says something like 'slow your roll'. Chill your…something." By how dignified Steve is when he finishes that sentence, he knows precisely how the saying really goes.
"If you mean a Frappacino machine, sure. I'll look into the budget for it," he adds belatedly in regards to frosted coffee beverages.
*
Thor listens to the jargon translation, brows up, and doesn't try to correct. "My brother Loki would know; I do not follow modern speech style," Thor answers simply, in true, direct fact stating. Thor doesn't know slang? No, REALLY? — He doesn't know that lingo, though it looks like he may be storing it away to use (incorrectly) later. Thor does make an effort!
"But if all of that is the same as being punished for following my best warrior instincts into a situation, then it may be accurate. I /was/ told to think first, but did not see that as necessary," Thor admits. An impatience and bold impetuosity problem.
"Yes! That is the name of the delicious iced mixture. Frappeeno. Correct. Excellent to hear. Is there anything I can do to contribute to this budget?"
*
"Whatever you deposited in a bank account the last time you were here should be more than enough. Assuming you did ever deposit anything into any bank on Midgard at any time…?" By the way Steve pauses in sipping his coffee and looks at Thor, there's a rough calculation in his head from hearsay and the fact that far more ancient peoples reference the man. He then pulls his mouth to one side and nods almost as if stunned by the thought. "Whatever you can contribute is appreciated, Thor."
Assuming he's allowed access to the chips, he reaches towards the bag in an attempt to snag one. "But thinking…it's important. Not something to put to one side, even if you're busy swinging fists and laying out the enemy. You run into trouble by yourself, then you're in trouble. You bring trouble back with you afterwards, your whole platoon's in trouble."
*
Thor looks upwards, narrowing his eyes. And shrugs. "I will ask at the embassy. I am 'grounded' as you said, but I am still their prince and heir to Asgard," Thor points out with firmness and pride. If the grounding was over a pride problem, Thor has a very long way to go.
"Here, I have chips that have the cheese melted, if you wish to partake," Thor says, showing that he has a plate with some in a more nacho style, hiding behind the bag. He slides the plate across with a good natured Thor smile. It does reach his eyes, that smile.
"Yes. Sometimes, though, you /know/ and that instant decision is needed," Thor says, picking up his mug and taking down about half of it in one deep gulp. "But no, not always. Diplomacy cannot always be simplified into direct action," Thor gives.
*
"Nope, diplomacy can't," the soldier agrees as he takes up one of the offered nacho chips. "Thanks." It crunches in his mouth and he seems pleasantly surprised. "You used the real cheese, nice." He reaches to grab another clustering of chips all linked together in gooey goodness. The mouthful disappears with a loud crunch of appreciation. Sucking at his fingertips after his mouth is clear is a display left solely to those that Steve's comfortable with and maybe a few outsiders of the mansion itself.
"Mmm. Good. The embassy will be happy to see you, I think. It's been a while since you've visited." He pauses and with markable less ease, suggests, "Could…check in with your brother?"
*
Of all people, Thor is one of the least likely to judge about table manners, of all things. He laughs heartily, enjoying Steve's enjoyment of the snack. "I did not know there was false cheese here. I am glad I did not accidentally stumble upon it," Thor remarks, taking four glued-together chips in a similar bite to Steve's. It's only a LITTLE bit competitive.
"I could do that, yes. I think he will turn up," Thor says, looking around him with a slow rake of gaze, and then shrugging when he doesn't immediately see Loki. "I do not think he cares for the embassy, but I will make myself available."
*
"Could leave him a note at the embassy? Or send him a text? If you text, I guess," Steve amends as he too glances around the kitchen. He even makes a point to look out towards the foyer, as if wondering about how possible it would be for the Trickster God to simply come into existence in the middle of the open floorplan. Surely JARVIS would warn them…? He makes a mental note to check with the AI.
With his watchfulness assuaged for now, the Captain then takes another huge glomming of chips and cheese. Six chips this time. Away they go into his mouth in another display of lack of manners in front of Thor — apparently, he doesn't seem to care. "There's fake cheese and it's a travesty," Steve says after his mouth is clear. "Why fix what isn't broken?"
*
That put a huge dent in the chip pile, the loss of those six. Thor'd already made most of it disappear well before Steve even sat down. He snares the plate and gets up, leveraging by nearly tilting the table with one hand before realizing, and standing up without denting the poor table. He pats the table gently once, and sets about making more chip-cheese snackfood.
"I have a phone," Thor defends himself, in an 'of course' way. "It gets texts." Probably? Thor doesn't /check/ it.
Thor wrinkles his nose at the microwave once the chips, newly cheesed, are inserted, and carefully pokes at the settings. He figured it out earlier, it's not a problem. He just sets it to some stupidly high number and observes it. Logical. "I am saddened to learn of fake cheese. What is it's purpose? Practical joke?"
*
While the Captain doesn't laugh to hear a claim of owning a phone, he does his best to hide away his 'yeah-sure' grin away behind a large sip of his coffee. He does smack his lips a little, but only because medium-roast Columbia does taste a bit odd in combination with corn chips and melted cheese.
"Ease of access. Real cheese takes time to make. Some people want their nachos with cheese that comes out of a can. Or a tub. I didn't leave behind boiling food and badly-canned beets for a world where people claim cheese comes from a tub," Steve grumps, still wearing the smile from earlier. "Still, I digress. Text Loki if he has a phone. If not, just…" The man squints at Thor. "Send him a raven. Or something."
*
Thor gives Steve a dubious look. "I am not the god of messenger birds," Thor says doubtfully, as if taking him seriously. Then he looks back into the microwave, bending forward with hands on his knees to stoop to look in it, nose wrinkled. "Ah! There, stop," Thor tells the microwave, pulling open the door. He brings the plate over, ignoring the heat of it, and plunks it down. "Beware, it is very hot," he says generously, thoughtful of Steve's more wimpy fingertips and mouth.
"Just because something is easier does not make it right," Thor nods. And then brightens suddenly. "Is that perhaps the lesson I am to learn? I did not expect answers in cheese."
*
Thor's utterly serious response as to ravens has Steve snorting into his coffee mug to abort a horse-laugh. While the Asgardian's attention is turned away, he puts a hand over his mouth and closes his eyes, forceably composing himself by the time he hears the microwave door open. A clearing of his throat and he eyes the newly-arrived plate and table-mate.
"Thanks, I'll wait for it to cool," comes the reply and nod. He gives Thor a dubious look in turn at the logic on display and then does a back-and-forth tilting of his head, lips thinned. "Y'know…when you put it like that, it's entirely possible. Makes your problem sound a little cheesy though." How he deadpans this is a thing of art, quirked brows and all.
*
"If my problem were cheesy, it would be foul in taste, like fake cheese," Thor assures Steve in response, not finding the joke in it, perhaps. "It would be turned and lumpy as sour goat milk," Thor despairs. He pulls a hot chip away, with a long streamer of cheese. "But perhaps it must be eaten?" Thor asks, squinting.
"I do not think this metaphor holds up well, for problems can no more always be hit with a fist than they can be consumed," Thor declares, with his own style of determined, well-meaning wisdom.
*
Steve salutes with his own clustering of chips. The cheese dangles from it in streamers of deliciousness. "And some problems hold up about as well as fake cheese in a fondue pot," he replies before shoving his pinched collection of nachos into his mouth. By now, the entire kitchen no doubt smells like Starbucks took up residence next to a Q'doba.
"'nyways, I think you'll get it figured out," Steve continues after sucking the grease from his fingertips again. "You've already got some plans, it sounds like."
*
Thor gives a little puzzled look about what a fondue pot is, but smiles along anyway. It doesn't seem all that important to derail what Steve is saying over, really. Thor shovels a good portion of chips again, and finishes the coffee in his mug out. He resists the urge to slam it down, but rather pointedly puts it down gentle-like.
It's important to respect the place he's staying, and work to not make messes for them, when he's aware of it. "Yes. Visit the embassy, and learn the lesson. I can check to see if it is learned, either by calling for Heimdall, or for Mjolnir," Thor says. "Perhaps the cheese wisdom was enough." Thor sits back, and then with a thoughtful tilt of head, extends a hand out and to the right, as if reaching for something. He squints a little, as if listening very hard.
*
"Sounds like a good plan to me." The Captain affirms his statement with a nod and then proceeds to take a huge piling of cheesed chips. Away they go, enough to give him cause to look moderately hamster-ish. His chewing slows when he realizes that Thor is concentrating. A glance back over his shoulder in the direction of the pointed look and then back to the Asgardian ends in a close-mouthed grimace.
"Gonna need you to check on your hammer outside, Thor," he says from behind his hand, anxious enough at the potential for architectural damage round two to speak with food in his mouth. "I mean, not now, obviously, but maybe tomorrow, when the sun's out. Can see it coming and all if you do," he suggests well-meaningly. A hard swallow and he coughs. "You make some good nachos though. Where'd you learn the recipe?"
The diversion in attention prompts the inevitable discussion and over more coffee, Steve learns of what fine details the Asgardian god has learned about nachos since his initial discovery of them. Of note? Never use fake cheese!
*