Grinning over the edge of his drink, Thor watches the comfortable byplay between the two captains play out. The whole mood of the party is warm and loose and comfortable. It’s been a long time since he could cut loose and simply relax like this — he can’t even say how long. Before his father died, certainly. He had always felt slightly ill-at-ease in New Asgard, too aware of his failures, too aware of the fact that he was the king who wasn’t, and that he might be letting them down by not stepping up. It’s easier here, with fewer expectations.
“Oh! Interesting,” Thor says, squinting at Sam. He would have assumed it was a jape — he was too used to Loki, too accustomed to looking for the prank around every corner — but it sounds very much like Sam has that streak of honesty to him, much as Carol wanted to tease. “Midgard seems to have a trend with this; I’ve heard there are similar rules for standing under mistletoe? Mistletoe was used to kill Baldr, so it is a little different back on Asgard.”
He still just sounds relatively cheerful despite the talk of death — it is what it is — and takes another deep swig of his drink. That feeling of building anticipation and that waiting question has taken on another layer to it. Midnight, he thinks, and he purposefully does not look at Carol Danvers’ mouth.
Yet.
“Do Midgardians always need to come up with such ritual excuses? Do people not just kiss the people they like or find attractive or have nice mouths, or must it be a holiday?”
no subject
“Oh! Interesting,” Thor says, squinting at Sam. He would have assumed it was a jape — he was too used to Loki, too accustomed to looking for the prank around every corner — but it sounds very much like Sam has that streak of honesty to him, much as Carol wanted to tease. “Midgard seems to have a trend with this; I’ve heard there are similar rules for standing under mistletoe? Mistletoe was used to kill Baldr, so it is a little different back on Asgard.”
He still just sounds relatively cheerful despite the talk of death — it is what it is — and takes another deep swig of his drink. That feeling of building anticipation and that waiting question has taken on another layer to it. Midnight, he thinks, and he purposefully does not look at Carol Danvers’ mouth.
Yet.
“Do Midgardians always need to come up with such ritual excuses? Do people not just kiss the people they like or find attractive or have nice mouths, or must it be a holiday?”