Thor, son of Odin (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mjolnir_retriever) wrote2012-07-27 02:08 am
mjolnir_retriever) wrote2012-07-27 02:08 am
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Milliways deposits them back on the sidewalk of Puente Antiguo, right outside the bar. Thor's acquired a jacket of something called flannel -- at Erik's drunken insistence, though Thor likes the weight of it, and is bemused to find that in this mortal form he notices the chill of the desert night.
Erik Selvig, who's only acquired water and some more time for the alcohol to drift through his bloodstream, stays in ebullient high spirits right up until he faceplants onto the sidewalk.
Thor winces, but he can't help laughing too. Erik's limp, chuckling and half-asleep right on the wet sidewalk. Clearly the boilermakers have finally gotten the better of his legs. Thor spends a moment hoisting Erik up to a sitting position -- Erik's weight is no problem, but six feet of bonelessly sniggering scientist is a bit awkward to maneuver alone -- and then, when that yields nothing but unhelpful hilarity, Thor hoists him up over his shoulder.
With his friend safely draped over his shoulder, Thor sets off down the rain-slicked streets of Puente Antiguo.
Earlier today, when Erik and Jane and Darcy were bringing him home from the hospital, they stopped by Jane's little dwelling so she could fetch Donald Blake's abandoned clothing. Like any campaigning warrior, Thor learned young to navigate in unfamiliar terrain. He remembers where Jane's home is, and Erik's garbled and drunken directions (back when he was still mostly upright) were enough to ascertain that that's the place to bring him. It's no trouble to work his way there.
Erik mumbles into Thor's back occasionally, but otherwise hangs complacently upside-down. It's honestly kind of hilarious. (The alcohol still in Thor's bloodstream, small though its effect may be, probably contributes to that.) Thor slaps his free hand against Erik's leg and laughs with him.
It's a fascinating little building, he thinks. Very Midgardian, with its thin metal and lack of ornamentation, but very tidy-looking. It looks mobile; there are no wheels, but neither is it rooted to the ground. Perhaps they attach, or fold away, or perhaps it hovers at need. There's a light on in the window, and Jane's head visible across the room, bent over something. He goes to the door and knocks.
Jane's concern for Erik is instant -- Thor realizes that maybe Erik didn't tell her they were going to that bar, but he doesn't fret too much, since they're here now -- but it fades quickly into exasperation. "We drank, we fought, he made his ancestors proud!" Thor explains, but she isn't mollified. Perhaps she has a low opinion of Erik's drinking capacity. Fair enough, based on what these two beers and three boilermakers did to him, except that Thor had gotten the impression that that was a respectable amount for a human.
Thor carries him into Jane's tiny building; it's very tight space, all the furniture clustered close, but he only knocks Erik's head against a wall once. He apologizes, of course, though he can't help laughing with it. Erik doesn't seem to mind. Drunkenness is excellent insulation.
Thor puts Erik on the tiny tucked-away bed, as Jane requests. Erik is heavy-limbed from drink and snickering again, easy to lift but absolutely no help with maneuvering, and it takes Thor a minute to extricate himself, while they both laugh. Erik slaps his cheek and slurs, "I still don't think you're the god of thunder. But you ought to be!"
Jane still doesn't seem impressed.
Everything's more awkward when Thor straightens up. Erik -- Erik who's drunk and snickering from boilermakers drunk and flung down, Erik who came to rescue a near-stranger from Coulson and his men, Erik with his tired angry eyes and his stories, Erik who said I'm taking you home now without knowing how the words stabbed at Thor's heart, and who followed blearily to Milliways without believing in portals -- is someone he knows how to deal with. So was Jane, earlier, but now she's bustling about in a frenzy of self-consciousness, shoving dishes into cupboards and babbling something incoherent about how she rarely has guests.
She's still lovely, and she still flushes when she meets his eyes, but Thor will be leaving her tomorrow. He gave Erik his word.
"--Can we go outside?" Jane asks, cutting her own frenetic babble short and giving Thor a smile that's just as awkward and uncertainly game as Thor feels.
"Yes," he says, "of course," and gestures for her to lead the way.
Erik Selvig, who's only acquired water and some more time for the alcohol to drift through his bloodstream, stays in ebullient high spirits right up until he faceplants onto the sidewalk.
Thor winces, but he can't help laughing too. Erik's limp, chuckling and half-asleep right on the wet sidewalk. Clearly the boilermakers have finally gotten the better of his legs. Thor spends a moment hoisting Erik up to a sitting position -- Erik's weight is no problem, but six feet of bonelessly sniggering scientist is a bit awkward to maneuver alone -- and then, when that yields nothing but unhelpful hilarity, Thor hoists him up over his shoulder.
With his friend safely draped over his shoulder, Thor sets off down the rain-slicked streets of Puente Antiguo.
Earlier today, when Erik and Jane and Darcy were bringing him home from the hospital, they stopped by Jane's little dwelling so she could fetch Donald Blake's abandoned clothing. Like any campaigning warrior, Thor learned young to navigate in unfamiliar terrain. He remembers where Jane's home is, and Erik's garbled and drunken directions (back when he was still mostly upright) were enough to ascertain that that's the place to bring him. It's no trouble to work his way there.
Erik mumbles into Thor's back occasionally, but otherwise hangs complacently upside-down. It's honestly kind of hilarious. (The alcohol still in Thor's bloodstream, small though its effect may be, probably contributes to that.) Thor slaps his free hand against Erik's leg and laughs with him.
It's a fascinating little building, he thinks. Very Midgardian, with its thin metal and lack of ornamentation, but very tidy-looking. It looks mobile; there are no wheels, but neither is it rooted to the ground. Perhaps they attach, or fold away, or perhaps it hovers at need. There's a light on in the window, and Jane's head visible across the room, bent over something. He goes to the door and knocks.
Jane's concern for Erik is instant -- Thor realizes that maybe Erik didn't tell her they were going to that bar, but he doesn't fret too much, since they're here now -- but it fades quickly into exasperation. "We drank, we fought, he made his ancestors proud!" Thor explains, but she isn't mollified. Perhaps she has a low opinion of Erik's drinking capacity. Fair enough, based on what these two beers and three boilermakers did to him, except that Thor had gotten the impression that that was a respectable amount for a human.
Thor carries him into Jane's tiny building; it's very tight space, all the furniture clustered close, but he only knocks Erik's head against a wall once. He apologizes, of course, though he can't help laughing with it. Erik doesn't seem to mind. Drunkenness is excellent insulation.
Thor puts Erik on the tiny tucked-away bed, as Jane requests. Erik is heavy-limbed from drink and snickering again, easy to lift but absolutely no help with maneuvering, and it takes Thor a minute to extricate himself, while they both laugh. Erik slaps his cheek and slurs, "I still don't think you're the god of thunder. But you ought to be!"
Jane still doesn't seem impressed.
Everything's more awkward when Thor straightens up. Erik -- Erik who's drunk and snickering from boilermakers drunk and flung down, Erik who came to rescue a near-stranger from Coulson and his men, Erik with his tired angry eyes and his stories, Erik who said I'm taking you home now without knowing how the words stabbed at Thor's heart, and who followed blearily to Milliways without believing in portals -- is someone he knows how to deal with. So was Jane, earlier, but now she's bustling about in a frenzy of self-consciousness, shoving dishes into cupboards and babbling something incoherent about how she rarely has guests.
She's still lovely, and she still flushes when she meets his eyes, but Thor will be leaving her tomorrow. He gave Erik his word.
"--Can we go outside?" Jane asks, cutting her own frenetic babble short and giving Thor a smile that's just as awkward and uncertainly game as Thor feels.
"Yes," he says, "of course," and gestures for her to lead the way.