Thor, son of Odin (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mjolnir_retriever) wrote2012-09-20 05:42 pm
mjolnir_retriever) wrote2012-09-20 05:42 pm
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The area Jane Foster calls their kitchen is entirely different from the kitchens Thor and Loki used to sneak into to beg or filch a snack.
(Stealing is wrong, brother Thor used to argue, tempted and scowling to cover it, and Loki would roll his eyes and contend that it was only training, just like the tasks their armsmasters set them, and if they'd be given the food for asking how was it wrong to sneak in without disturbing anyone with requests? Unless, of course, you're worried, he would say, pricking Thor's young pride, and then there was nothing for it but to go. They'd tussle and jostle in the hallways, and then sneak one after the other crouched and silent through the heat and machinery and clanging pans of Asgard's palace kitchens.)
It's been a long time since Thor was small enough to sneak into the kitchens, or young enough to get away with it, but he would still sometimes make his way down to charm a treat from the cooks. Old Drifa would cluck her tongue and scold her pretty underlings for flirting back, and give him a napkinful of whatever was handy anyway: for Thor, for Loki and Sif and Fandral and Hogun, and three times the share for Volstagg.
This is nothing like that. It's a broad Midgardian room, all straight plain lines and square angles and sunlight as all their buildings are, and one corner of it holds a small stove and dishes (all fragile, except the cutlery) and boxes of food. There's a table just big enough for four, with small chairs like Milliways ones grouped around it. There's an open space, and a wide doorway to where Jane's vehicle is parked. It looks almost as if someone combined Jane's chambers with the Milliways common room; it's tidy, and unutterably foreign, and strangely homey. Thor could grow to like this place, he thinks, if only he were staying.
Jane is making eggs.
In context, this seems to mean stirring a lot of broken eggs (chickens' eggs, he thinks) in a pan on the stove while coffee brews in its own machine. Thor puts bread in the toaster, at Jane's direction, and watches while the heating coils turn it slowly to a warmer brown. Earlier he wiped off the table with the towel Jane gave him, tossed it over his shoulder to free his hands and brought four mugs as she asked. (Before that, she gave him more of the pastries called pop-tarts, as Darcy had days or hours ago, and told him wryly that she'd hold off on real breakfast until Erik awoke later.) All this reminds him a little of bartending at Milliways, and more of casual meals and camping with his friends. There are no servants here, no rank or precedence, and the generous friendliness of these people warms the room far more than sun or stove.
Darcy, who laid claim to the first cup of coffee, is hovering impatiently by the machine. Erik Selvig slumped in behind her, looking much the worse for the night's drinking; Thor winced a little in sympathy and sheepishness at the first sight of his red eyes and bleariness. He truly hadn't realized mortal bodies were quite that bad at processing alcohol. But Erik just mumbled a greeting, and made his careful way to fetch water and a bottle of small pills. He's slouched at the table now, blearily contemplating them.
Thor will bring him the second cup of coffee, after Darcy has taken her right. Caffeine for alertness; perhaps it will aid him.
The eggs and toast are good. Breakfast is quiet, which seems in deference to Erik's hangover more than habit.
Thor asks, and receives, the boon of one of their simple white coffee-mugs. He brings it to Isabella, who is sweeping the stoop of her diner across the street. "To replace the one I broke," he tells her, and the apology in the offer is real.
He understands a little better, now, why everyone jumped when he smashed the mug. He didn't even think, yesterday (though it isn't yesterday any more to him, not with Milliways), but her possession broke all the same. A small and a cheap thing, but still hers.
Isabella smiles up at him, anyway. There's a strength in all these humans, he thinks, that's different from his own: to be so small and short-lived and fragile, and to face that life with humor and generosity every day. She takes the mug.
Thor returns to the breakfast table with a lighter heart. If he must leave this place tomorrow, at least he has made amends where he caused harm.
(Stealing is wrong, brother Thor used to argue, tempted and scowling to cover it, and Loki would roll his eyes and contend that it was only training, just like the tasks their armsmasters set them, and if they'd be given the food for asking how was it wrong to sneak in without disturbing anyone with requests? Unless, of course, you're worried, he would say, pricking Thor's young pride, and then there was nothing for it but to go. They'd tussle and jostle in the hallways, and then sneak one after the other crouched and silent through the heat and machinery and clanging pans of Asgard's palace kitchens.)
It's been a long time since Thor was small enough to sneak into the kitchens, or young enough to get away with it, but he would still sometimes make his way down to charm a treat from the cooks. Old Drifa would cluck her tongue and scold her pretty underlings for flirting back, and give him a napkinful of whatever was handy anyway: for Thor, for Loki and Sif and Fandral and Hogun, and three times the share for Volstagg.
This is nothing like that. It's a broad Midgardian room, all straight plain lines and square angles and sunlight as all their buildings are, and one corner of it holds a small stove and dishes (all fragile, except the cutlery) and boxes of food. There's a table just big enough for four, with small chairs like Milliways ones grouped around it. There's an open space, and a wide doorway to where Jane's vehicle is parked. It looks almost as if someone combined Jane's chambers with the Milliways common room; it's tidy, and unutterably foreign, and strangely homey. Thor could grow to like this place, he thinks, if only he were staying.
Jane is making eggs.
In context, this seems to mean stirring a lot of broken eggs (chickens' eggs, he thinks) in a pan on the stove while coffee brews in its own machine. Thor puts bread in the toaster, at Jane's direction, and watches while the heating coils turn it slowly to a warmer brown. Earlier he wiped off the table with the towel Jane gave him, tossed it over his shoulder to free his hands and brought four mugs as she asked. (Before that, she gave him more of the pastries called pop-tarts, as Darcy had days or hours ago, and told him wryly that she'd hold off on real breakfast until Erik awoke later.) All this reminds him a little of bartending at Milliways, and more of casual meals and camping with his friends. There are no servants here, no rank or precedence, and the generous friendliness of these people warms the room far more than sun or stove.
Darcy, who laid claim to the first cup of coffee, is hovering impatiently by the machine. Erik Selvig slumped in behind her, looking much the worse for the night's drinking; Thor winced a little in sympathy and sheepishness at the first sight of his red eyes and bleariness. He truly hadn't realized mortal bodies were quite that bad at processing alcohol. But Erik just mumbled a greeting, and made his careful way to fetch water and a bottle of small pills. He's slouched at the table now, blearily contemplating them.
Thor will bring him the second cup of coffee, after Darcy has taken her right. Caffeine for alertness; perhaps it will aid him.
The eggs and toast are good. Breakfast is quiet, which seems in deference to Erik's hangover more than habit.
Thor asks, and receives, the boon of one of their simple white coffee-mugs. He brings it to Isabella, who is sweeping the stoop of her diner across the street. "To replace the one I broke," he tells her, and the apology in the offer is real.
He understands a little better, now, why everyone jumped when he smashed the mug. He didn't even think, yesterday (though it isn't yesterday any more to him, not with Milliways), but her possession broke all the same. A small and a cheap thing, but still hers.
Isabella smiles up at him, anyway. There's a strength in all these humans, he thinks, that's different from his own: to be so small and short-lived and fragile, and to face that life with humor and generosity every day. She takes the mug.
Thor returns to the breakfast table with a lighter heart. If he must leave this place tomorrow, at least he has made amends where he caused harm.