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[thunderriere]

[ the video opens on the handsome face and stupidly broad shoulders of a rather cheery-looking man, which is a little at odds with the fact that he's in a holding cell in a Heropan police station. it looks like he's wearing some sort of leather-like tunic, like a lightweight armor; there's a bright blue pauldron covering one shoulder, the other bare, and there's clearly a cape attached on one side, but not the other. his hair and beard are both short, neatly trimmed, and his smile is a friendly, genuine sort — again, a little at odds with the scene behind him, where the sliding crossed-bar metal door separates the man from the wider view of the police station, several uniformed officials in the background going about their jobs. ]

[ also, he's got an eye patch. metal. ... literally, it's made of metal. there's a wicked-looking scar running beneath it, from his brow and across his cheek, so the covering is probably deserved. ]

Hello there, New Earth.

[ he waves at the camera. ]

It's quite a different planet than the last Earth I visited. A little less familiar, a little less besieged by aliens. Fewer wizards, maybe. Still mostly human, though, you've got that going for you.

[ although there's some din of other people in the ambient background noise, there's a suspicious-sounding cough caught suspiciously-close to the microphone; the man's single eye flicks away from the camera to instead stare at the suspiciously off-screen source. ]

What? Oh, come on, would you really have preferred an Earth full of Dark Elves?

[ he continues to stare at this suspicious someone off-screen; the camera shifts a little to the side, and starts to turn— ]

[ —there's a somewhat comedic-sounding yelp, and then... some sort of bird call? the camera jostles violently before being covered by something dark. ]

[ a heavy sigh follows. ]

Now you're just being absurd.

[ after a moment, the feed comes back to show a pretty brunette woman in a blue dress, looking like she tumbled in from a semi-casual renaissance faire. she stands stiffly, her arms crossed, sending an absolutely murderous glare towards the first speaker. her lips are pressed tightly together, and she seems to have no intention of actually saying anything. from elsewhere-further off-camera, a younger man's voice: dude! do Beyonce next! ]

You'll have to excuse my brother here. [ the one-eyed man indicates the brunette woman with an extended thumb; there are smears of blood on his fingers, a splash of red all across his palm. he smiles, but it's quite Tired. ] He's a bit of a coward when it comes to meeting new people. Always makes a bad first impression. I can't take him anywhere.

I told you I wouldn't include myself in this. [ the woman (apparently the man's "brother") finally speaks, but her words are hushed and angry, and directed at the one-eyed man. she reaches toward the camera—it swings away from her before she can grab it, and the picture is a blur of color. her voice continues from off-screen in an anxious hiss: ] I'm trying to keep a low profile. Stop talking before you completely ruin it.

If you wanted to keep a low profile, you shouldn't have gotten us arrested the day we got here.

[ the picture finally refocuses from a different angle; it's further away from our idiot leads, who are clearly distracted by their argument. ]

How was I supposed to know they'd overreact? You're the expert on this backwoods planet. [ he isn't given chance to interrupt; the woman barrels on, as if her few minutes of silence had only allowed her thoughts to build up pressure for a flood: ] We don't even have to be here, you know. I can just walk us out whenever we like. This cell isn't even enchanted. [ a beat. ] It's pitiful, really.

We're not becoming fugitives of human law because you don't want to pay bail after you stabbed a man in a diner.

[ the man rolls his single eye and shrugs his shoulders, but looks once more at the camera. he smiles, deflective. just a little spat between siblings! that's normal! ]

Sorry. Where are my manners? I am Thor, son of Odin of Asgard. Thank you for bringing me and my brother to your planet. Unfortunately, I've already had my share of being imprisoned this week, so if any of you would like to barter for my release, that'd be great, thanks.

[ he waves his hand toward the camera — yep, still covered in blood — and the feed ends there. ]

Comments

[notawitch]

The uninitiated to what?

[Because that sounds like a cult. Why does Thor have a cult.]

[craftpunk]

[ His helmet tips, like he's rolling his eyes. ]

You seemed confused, it's not important. Are you going to make me list them off to guess your identity?

[notawitch]

[The fuck. How many brothers is Thor supposed to have. Loki's not jealous or anything.

It's an effort to feign disinterest.]

If you feel you must.

[craftpunk]

There is Baldr, Víðarr, Váli, as well as possibly Heimdallr, Bragi, Týr, Höðr, Meili, Víðarr, Nepr, Váli, Áli, Hildólfr, Hermóðr, Sigi, Skjöldr, Yngvi-Freyr, Ítreksjóð, Sæmingr, and Bragi. Depending on what sect you're following, or which edition of the Eddas or other books you have on hand.

[notawitch]

[That's... a lot of names and none of them are his. Which is fine. It doesn't bother him or anything.

This is the second times he's heard the names Baldr and Tyr, and Loki decides he hates them on principle. No particular reason. They just sound like punks.]

Sounds like you've been busy indeed.

[craftpunk]

I'm always busy. Probably the busiest of my pantheon.

[ A beat. ] None of those, then?

[notawitch]

[The illusion tilts her head coyly, tapping her cheek as she pretends to think.]

None of this sounds familiar to me at all, I'm afraid.

[craftpunk]

Ah.

You wouldn't happen to be from the outlier world, would you?

I noticed he called you brother. I don't mean to judge -- all genders are valid, and all that, but... I can think of someone who fits the bill. Friend more than relative, though.

[notawitch]

[He's able to keep his composure less and less as the conversation continues. At friend, there's a visible flinch.]

I'm sure I don't know. Clearly I'm not his brother.

[It comes out more bitter than it might if he was just playing a part; inflicting the wound himself before Woden can, perhaps.]

[craftpunk]

Oh -- did I step in it? [ he scratches at where his chin would be. ]

Are you from that other world, where things are different? I was explained the basics, but... it's not the same as mine. I spoke with a Thor from that world once.

[ Because sure he DIDN'T KNOW......... ]

[notawitch]

Well, I'm just starting to think that you've got the wrong person.

[It's weak, but he's already mentally backing out of this conversation because he really doesn't want to have it, and the healthiest way to deal with negative emotions is to ignore them. Obviously.]

You'll have to take all that up with him, [the illusion's head jerks toward off-screen, to where Thor is sitting in relation to her] I think.

[craftpunk]

Touchy, touchy.

Don't worry, if I don't, you'll be ignoring something that could be important later. [ A shrug. ]

But that's up to you and yours.

[ FINE! DON'T ACKNOWLEDGE HIM! SEE HOW YOU LIKE IT! ]

[notawitch]

[He pauses just as he's about to end the call. This is a bad idea, and yet...]

Important in what way?

[craftpunk]

[ Oh, Woden knows Loki's type. So easily strung along with a little taste of information, just like Cassandra, or even himself. ]

Oh, now you're interested? My name is Woden. I am of a Pantheon of t--thirteen. We are the gods of the modern age, in my world, and we are bequeathed with the titles and abilities that come with it.

I think you can understand that as gods, we may need to come to an understanding. Particularly to ones of similar pantheons, even if there may be... differences in how they manifest.

[notawitch]

You may call yourself what you like, but you are no Odin that I recognize.

[Prove it bitch!!!!]

[craftpunk]

No?

[ There's a tip of his helmet the other way, and a shrug. ]

It doesn't matter whether or not you recognize me. I have ridden Sleipnir into battle, I control the Bifröst, and have a fleet of Valkyries back home.

There comes a point, when you keep pretending that facts don't exist, that you're doing yourself a disservice.

[notawitch]

I suppose we'll just have to see, won't we?

[craftpunk]

Ah yes, we will.

I'm sure you'll be surprised.

[notawitch]

That, I doubt.

[And with that, the feed cuts before Woden can come up with a comeback and Loki can convince himself he got the last word.]