There’s a lingering potential question here, and he recognises the shape of it. That sense of two people in simpatico, and it was perhaps time to drop that invitation, the inevitable do you want to get out of here —
but he has not been paying attention to the clock. The party isn’t over yet, but it is creeping awfully close to midnight. There’s a buzzing excitement in the air, a sense of rising chatter, and then their host, Sam Wilson, wanders over wearing some giant oversized novelty party sunglasses in the shape of the new year. He’s doing the rounds, making sure everyone feels welcome, papering over any potential cultural misunderstandings. Such as:
“Hey, y’all having a good time?” A smile, crinkling the edges of the man’s eyes. “I’m just checking in, ’cause I figured you might be caught off-guard. Anyone told you about the tradition at midnight, Thor?”
Halfway between taking another sip of his drink, the Asgardian looks a little alarmed, scrounging back through his tipsy memory and seeing what he remembers. He hadn’t spent new year’s eve on Earth before; he’d been on another plane when he was here last, when Jane went to a party like this. Was someone going to be raised on a chair while everyone else chanted and roared their name? Was Sam going to be raised on a chair? Did someone have to cut down a tree and then fling it? Customs varied so much across the galaxy.
“Not unless it involves slaughtering a draugr for good luck for the year to come,” Thor says, cagily, glancing between the other two. “What happens?”
hands you this lad to npc
but he has not been paying attention to the clock. The party isn’t over yet, but it is creeping awfully close to midnight. There’s a buzzing excitement in the air, a sense of rising chatter, and then their host, Sam Wilson, wanders over wearing some giant oversized novelty party sunglasses in the shape of the new year. He’s doing the rounds, making sure everyone feels welcome, papering over any potential cultural misunderstandings. Such as:
“Hey, y’all having a good time?” A smile, crinkling the edges of the man’s eyes. “I’m just checking in, ’cause I figured you might be caught off-guard. Anyone told you about the tradition at midnight, Thor?”
Halfway between taking another sip of his drink, the Asgardian looks a little alarmed, scrounging back through his tipsy memory and seeing what he remembers. He hadn’t spent new year’s eve on Earth before; he’d been on another plane when he was here last, when Jane went to a party like this. Was someone going to be raised on a chair while everyone else chanted and roared their name? Was Sam going to be raised on a chair? Did someone have to cut down a tree and then fling it? Customs varied so much across the galaxy.
“Not unless it involves slaughtering a draugr for good luck for the year to come,” Thor says, cagily, glancing between the other two. “What happens?”