8772/Aesir Check-ins

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Aesir Check-ins
Date of Scene: 21 November 2021
Location: Asgardian Embassy
Synopsis: Warning Thor that bad things are coming is a relaxing event. Clearly.
Cast of Characters: Thor, Jane Foster




Thor has posed:
The wind was howling! The thunder could be heard in the distance. Was that a flash of lightning? The day was a weather phenomenon as the storm crept upon the East Coast of the United States. At this time of year, it was expected to be wild, weather wise, but this storm was off the charts!

Walking into the Asgardian Embassy was none other than the God of Thunder himself, Thor. It was obvious from his countenance that he was far from being in a good mood, and the storm outside may or may not reflect his temperament. No it reflects it.

Taking a moment to push his right hand through his very damp hair, Thor's eyes flash with anger as though something was not going his way. Saying something under his breath, Thor looks again where he was at and says, "Hrm. Why am I here?"

Jane Foster has posed:
A stormy November hardly constitutes a surprise, for certain. Winds blowing over the city tear the clouds into ragged shapes, and those dwelling near Long Island Sound on on the Jersey shore have reason to worry. Jane is not one of them.

Staring out the windows at her apartment in the Dakota, that famed building host to artists and thinkers, plus one very famous Beatle murdered outside its august doors, she watches the weather's mood shift. Her bracelet clinging to her wrist exults in the wild atmospheric upheavals, and she casts a sidelong look upon the bangle while trying to mix up another batch of nachos. Last night's choices for SHIELD were popular enough to constitute another go round, so it's a brie-and-duck comfit option shuttled into a tin on one side, the other already tucked away. Her trusty rescue dog, a golden retriever named Eowyn, bats her tail hopefully. "None for you. I need to go for a walk, darling. You stay inside where it's warm. Bed?"

Eowyn happily lolls her tongue in the way of goldens everywhere and scarpers off to her crate, curling up on her plush bed with oh so many toys.

It will be at least twenty minutes before she reaches the Asgardian embassy from the Dakota; no matter how fast she would like to go, traffic to Midtown is traffic, and not reason to cheat by stepping through space and time. Riding the subway brings her outside that stately mansion bought with well-earned gold, and she has the nachos with her, turning heads.

Thor has posed:
"Ah! The storm is beyond my control for now. I am just feeling the mood that Midgard is tossing my way, and it makes me feel moody. Perhaps a flagon of mead to sooth the savage beast1 yes1 that sounds perfect for me!" Looking around, Thor shouts, "Barkeep! Mead for me and all of your guests!" His eyes look for the nearest bar to scoot up to, but right now, he is drawing a blank.

"Is there no one in here who enjoys the finer things in life? I thought this was the Asgard Embassy...so...where is the mead?!?"

Thor's booming voice can be heard above the din and clammer of the oncoming storm.

Jane Foster has posed:
The Asgardian staff must know the moods and peccadillos of the few Aesir in residence, and the Crown Princes' needs rate higher than most everyone else. Who wants to risk the wrath and ruin of upsetting an Odinson? Mead flows freely in quantity, along with all the pleasures of fresh-baked bread slathered in honey, moist roasts, the pleasures of vegetables roasted in the great ovens. A seemingly never-ending flow serving the hungry in fine detail is pleasure enough, is it not?

---

The lashing wind and howling winds building up to divine dissatisfaction buffet around the brunette astrophysicist. A good coat, though, is a requirement for living in Boston or the Pacific Northwest. Hers is fairly water impervious, zipped up to her chin, though the scarf bundled at her throat is splashed and soaked in the chaos. Not much to be done for it, is there? She slides through traffic, past lights shining with a greeting of Christmas but thankfully not the songs and hymns that will be heard from every direction for the next couple days, hours, weeks. The embassy lies ahead of her, and taking a breath, she veers straight for the doors. No doubt security intercepts her, and she tilts her face up to whomever joins. "Jane Foster," she adds. "Come to see whether His Highness is in, or not."

No one really ought to ask after Loki, surely.

Thor has posed:
As the mead and grub flows, Thor Odinson is, indeed, almost happy! With a smile, and a wink, and perhaps a pinch or two, the night is a joyous revelrie personified! "This is more like it! Much thanks to all the staff of the greatest Embassy in the 9 Realms! Huzzah!" With that, Thor takes a large drink from his oversized flagon of mead!

With the clamour at the front "gates" Thor spots the newly arrived! "JANE!" Thor's voice bellows above all others as he spots her. "Come, come, come and join me in a flagon of mead! Guards, Lady Jane is under my protection now and forever more! Let her pass!"

With five steps, Thor finds his way to Jane's side. "It is truly good to see you milady! How is your day going?" Somehow an extra flagon of mead has found its way to Thor's hands, and he foists it upon Jane with a grin. "I hope the rain has not dampened your mood?"

Jane Foster has posed:
Happiness coming in a tankard or a cistern rolled up on a cart might be the easiest resolution for troubled matters. World peace may be impossible to achieve. Kree and Skrull war in the space beyond the Kuiper Belt, little known to humanity. Age-old troubles demand careful action and light negotiations, all hanging by a thread, and if only they were resolved by quaffing a mouthful of Asgard's beloved golden brew. Honey and happiness go hand in hand; not for nothing is mead essential for a honeymoon, is it?

Jane waits patiently for the guards to check her over how they will, though little makes her look troubling other than being the representative of Midgard in the convocation of worlds overlooked by Asgard. Her fingers lace together, and she breaks into a smile when ushered in on an air of vibrant, booming bonhomie. "I see he's in," she asides to the guard. Yes, yes Thor is.

The few steps she takes in are more than his, but the distance to be covered significantly more. Peeling the wet coat off before she's crushed, she holds out her hand, wet scarf hanging like a miserable, very small Jormungandr. "Thank you, Your Highness. It wouldn't be right not to have a drink or two." Of course, not two! What mortal of normal constitution would not be put under the table by one? Even if she gets the little one. "I was born in a temperate rainforest, Thor, I promise you a little mizzle like this won't bother me. What gets on me has to get through." She shakes out her dark hair freed from her hood. "Are you doing well?"

Thor has posed:
"I am truly happy to see you Milady Jane! You are very welcome! It has been too long!" Thor's large grin and happy demeanor belies the storm clouds underneath his bravado! "A drink or two! Or more! Indeed!" Thor's laugh is infectious.

"I am well! The storm seems to be hitting Midgard hard tonight, but we have mead and song and the company of the souls of Asgard...and Midgard of course."

Thor raises his flagon to the staff caught up in the impromptu party of the Odinson. "What brings you here tonight?" His eyes return to Jane, truly interested in her answer.

Jane Foster has posed:
"As always, a pleasure to see you too," says the astrophysicist, and she means it, thoroughly certain of that point. The mead will wait until they are seated, since even a honeyed drop resting on her tongue most certainly runs the risk of knocking down the average human like a feather. Thor's stormcloud demeanor broken by the golden sun has its usual effect, relaxing some locked-down parts of her psyche, though not totally.

She gestures with a roll of her shoulder. "November brings gales and mists before we reach the end of the year, and it's rarely fine weather. I meant to ask, had you heard SHIELD will be holding Disablot... Mother's Night, and one I intend to honour /your/ lady mother on, if it would not be considered amiss. A few members follow older ways from northern Europe, and if you wish to come and show us how it's really celebrated in Asgard, how coincidental." It would not be coincidental. But they have to both know that, surely.

Wherever he leads, she follows, the drink in hand and her scarf trailing drips over the floor. Oops. "Can I put this somewhere? A chair, perhaps, near a fire?" It's not right to make others clean up after her.

Thor has posed:
Thor "side-eyes" Jane carefully, seeing her reaction to the mead. His grin widens ever so slightly, but he says nothing in order to safeguard her careful precautions.

"Ah yes! You are right of course. I distinctly remember a ballad of epic proportions regaling "November Rain" from the legendary Midgard bards, "Roses and Firearms" I believe! Truly Epic!"

"Bartender! Play "November Rain: from "Roses and Firearms!" forsooth!"

Returning his attention back to Jane after a drink or two from his flagon, Thor pauses, motions for her to sit in the chairs nearby, and his expression sobers. "Ah yes." Guns N Roses starts to play in the background. "Mother's Night. I am honoured you would remember my mother. You and others of Midgard. Thank you. I will do my best to attend. Mother would be pleased I am sure of it."

Thor takes a drink, and for the moment, is quiet. He motions towards one of the staff who was waiting for just such an opportunity to assist. A tall, wiry red headed lady takes the scarf and jacket after a slight bow to Thor and Jane, and hangs it to dry in the anteroom.

Jane Foster has posed:
The golden glow of a sip will eventually reach her. Telling weight and mercurial promise race through the slipstream of her veins, ebullient memories of summer on the shoreline or Vanir woodlands in their prime under a heavy, wistful blanket of stars. Places never walked, routes not taken, for how many mortals ever made it through the watchful gaze of Heimdall to such places? "I imagine the All-Father is still not in favour of interdimensional tourism," she muses aloud.

Her gaze lifts, sepia melting into chocolate, and she inclines her head to that poor bartender. "Guns N Roses? I shouldn't be surprised at your musical tastes, classic rock being there. Maybe Duran Duran next." Thoughts bookmarked and disarmed, she leaves that notion there for the musical interludes. Her swirling thoughts tease the churning liquid, and she sets the mead aside for a moment to give her coat and scarf to the helpful assistant. "Thank you," she adds after that departure. "I truly hate being a bother to the staff, but the coatroom is somewhere and your company has been missed. Too long to catch up, though tell me. Avengers keeping you occupied? Adventures across the realms?"

It's an opening for a happy diversion.

The Norns know what she's to levy is not.

Thor has posed:
"He is not." Thor says with a slight smile. "That is fine. He can stay in Asgard while we enjoy life here on Midgard. I am impressed by the goodness of most people here. My Father will come around, it will just take time." Thor sips at his cup, and regards Jane for a moment.

Looking over his shoulder at the "musician" in control of the music, he laughs once when the man gives him a thumbs up. "Ah mortals. I do like the, what do you call them...Rock Ballads! Indeed, such artisty in mortals these days. Truly amazing." Thor drinks. "Who is this "Duran Duran" of whom you speak? Perhaps next!"

As the ginger heads elsewhere, Thor says, "Bare it no mind Milady. They are here to help, and willing." Thor watches the rest of the staff ready to help. "Friends and family, all." Thor's kindness was warm and true.

"Ah yes." That sobers the Odinson suddenly. "Always busy with saving the Nine Realms. The Avengers demand a Lion's Share of my time, as do others needing protection. It is the burden I willingly share with other heroes of the realms!"

Jane Foster has posed:
The All-Father's opinion about Midgard and its many foibles might not be a unique stance, though it has its consequences for his children and the occasional beings crossing his one-eyed glance. "You offer us more credit than sometimes we deserve. May we continue to live up to your good words, and meet expectations otherwise. That sounds like a toast." Mead reacquired, she raises the glass but doesn't take an immediate sip until Thor himself does.

"Duran Duran are musicians from Britain," she says, "Ordinary World and Come Undone might be good samples to see whether you care for their music." Anchoring herself by sitting on a bench or stool will do perfectly well as she tucks herself into a narrower profile.

"I don't think anyone but you or your lady mother know a fraction of your efforts, though thank you all the same. Every day we lack an invasion force coming past Neptune or some furious plant monster trying to reclaim the planetary ecosystem, the better," she says, carding her fingers together and going still. "Disablot -- the Mother's Night -- will be on the twentieth of December. The day before my..." A pause. "Before the anniversary of what happened in Orkney last year. Which I suppose deserves some discussion. Don't clear out anyone in the room, but would you consider this an appropriate spot for talking about the disorder in the Nine Realms? As specifically appolies to us, I imagine."

Thor has posed:
"I believ it does. We shall speak of it, Milady. I will be listening and we will tackle this together." Thor drinks and nods. "Until late into the night!"