strangetrip | Check-In: Not-Mother Hen

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Check-In: Not-Mother Hen

Kitty sat at the bar with a cup of coffee and her notebook, watching the 'welcoming committee' make themselves busy. Liz was here, as she'd promised Kitty she would be and Kitty gave her a quick smile of encouragement.

One of the worst things about Check-In Days was that you never knew whether it'd be a whole long day of no one arriving, one spectacular fall from the ceiling and dropping dead after another, or anything in between. It made it hard to know what to do with yourself. After awhile, you got used to it and just kept on with whatever you'd do otherwise, and know that if you didn't step up for a new arrival, someone else would. But for someone not used to treating it like a responsibility to be here, especially someone with Liz's anxious need to be perfect at it, Check-In Day could be emotionally exhausting.

So Kitty made sure to have milk warmed for hot cocoa and her plans for the obstacle course handy in case Liz needed something to do with herself. Otherwise, she was working on a modification of Cerebro to see if she could start detecting new arrivals.

[ooc: Regular check-in day gathering post. If you want Kitty, ping me.]

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Thor takes a seat the bar, then settles Stormbreaker on the bar next to him. He's pretty sure it can transform into something more subtle just as Mjölnir did, but this isn't Earth and he's wearing armor anyway, so why really try to keep up the facade of normalcy?

"I need a drink," he says.

She looked up from the peaches, popping a piece in her mouth as she eyed the man. Somewhere in her head she could actually hear Amy whistle, but then Amy had always liked a man in armor that was why she and Rory had kept the Centurion costume.

"You look like you could use one," she agreed, realizing because she didn't recognize him that he was a new arrival. "Do you have a preference or should I just find the highest proof liquor we have and start pouring shots?"

"Highest proof," he says. "And don't bother with the glasses." Thor's seen a shot glass before. He has no idea how humans consume their alcohol in such wee little cups. Then again, humans seemed to lack the appropriate physiology to consume copious amounts of alcohol. Little cups were probably just right for them.

"You should take one for yourself, though," he says encouragingly.

"Thank you for permission," not that she needed it. She scanned the bottles, picked out the Bacardi 151 and slid it across the bar to him without a glass. "I'll wait for the sangria to be ready." Which meant she needed to mix it. Back at the peaches she started to muddle some of the slices into pulp with mint leaves and sugar.

"Don't give yourself alcohol poisoning. And if you pass out I'm leaving you where you fall." She wouldn't be able to lift him even if she cared enough to try to move him. She might call for help.

"I do not know if this brings you any comfort, but I am Asgardian," he says. "I can hold my drink."

He peels back the plastic wrapper easily, opens the glass, then tips it towards her in a gesture that's half a toast, half a show of gratitude.

He proceeds to down a quarter of it before finally setting the glass back down on the bar.

"Do you know the man with the pretty hair?" he asks. Thor attempts to draw out the shape of his hair over his own head, letting the space between his hands narrow as they form what he hopes resembles the shape of a braid cascading over one shoulder.

It didn't comfort her, but she decided if he wasn't worried she wouldn't waste time being worried. She looked up from measuring peach liqueur into the pitcher in time to see the miming of the length of the hair.

"Pretty hair doesn't actually narrow it down all that much," she laughed, but the braid did. "Vax? Or Kash?"

"The one with the brown hair," Thor says, not sure if it's going to narrow anything down. "I had nice hair like him once."

Thor sighs. It is a long-suffering sigh. He has long-suffered since Sakaar. Still, this particular memory pains him greatly.

"A creepy old man shaved it off, though. It was deeply traumatic."

"Kash then," probably. She scooped ice into the pitcher and then added sparkling wine.

"And be grateful the old man only cut off your hair, there are other things that wouldn't grow back nearly so easily." The innuendo was implied.

"What, like my thumbs?"

Thor balls his fingers into fists and wiggles his thumbs. "I agree, wouldn't grow back nearly so easily. Pretty difficult to do things without thumbs, too. Can't really hold anything. Not easily, anyway."

As if to demonstrate, Thor makes perfect use of his perfect thumbs to grip the bottle and lift it so he can have another swig of the fine alcohol she has provided.

That made her laugh as she added the sliced peaches to the pitcher and stirred.

"Thumbs are important." She got a glass and filled it for herself and sipped.

"I assume someone explained where you are?"

"Yeah, mostly. Found my room. It's nice. Very colorful. I like the shower. It has a seat in it."

All important attributes for the room he was going to be calling home for the time being.

"Is there anything else I should know, though? Anything that the moneyman may have not told me?"

Money man took a second and she chuckled as she sipped her sangria, she'd done well and silently patted herself on the back.

"I'm sure he covered the basics, so I won't go over them again." She twinkled at him. "But if you have questions I can try answering them. Or I can get you another bottle."

Prison was prison afterall, no matter if it had a seat in the shower or not.

Thor nods Very Thoughtfully at this woman's words. He takes one long, last swig, and finds that when he sets it back down on the bar, there's one last little sip of it still in the bottle. He finishes it off, then sets it down again. The bottle makes a solid noise as he sets it down. A small part of him wishes this was Asgard so he could smash it to the ground. He's sure it would make quite a satisfying sound. Still, he'd learned that that was not proper etiquette on Earth, and while this place was certainly not Midgard, it was definitely Midgard-adjacent.

True to his word, Thor hasn't toppled over yet. Instead, he leans over the bar, and holds up three fingers.

"What are the top three biggest dangers here?"

"Boredom. The glut of chicken dishes from the kitchen and... alcohol poisoning." She put another bottle on the bar for him and then sipped her sangria. "It's really not all that explicitly dangerous, though looks can be decieving so I don't let my guard down completely."

The benign could often be the most dangerous.

Chicken Thor can live with. Thor's not sure if he can die of alcohol poisoning, but getting drunk is an exercise unto itself. But boredom?

Boredom he cannot abide.

"There's no great evil to battle? No one who needs fighting? No people in need of rescue?"

Thor busts open the second bottle and it occurs to him that maybe for these people, fighting isn't a form of recreation. He should probably be happy not to have to fight anything for awhile, but he's not. Fighting something would be a distraction. Sitting around here twiddling his thumbs wouldn't be.

"None to date, though we do have the occasional influx of interesting things. The rooms turn to doorways to other lands on occasion and that can be an adventure." Though usually one of her own making.

"You won't find any shortage of fighters here, though sparring is a bit like foreplay. Lovely fun but if you never get to the main event it can grow tiresome."

Thor lets out a bark of laughter at that. This woman gets it.

"Do you fight, then?"

"More of a lover than a fighter I'm afraid," she winked at him, pleased he'd perked up a bit. "But I do have my own gun."

"Nothing wrong with loving," Thor says with a smile. "It's better than fighting. Safer, too."

Most of the time.

"I think that probably depends on how you go about it." Her eyes twinkled. "No one wants to be safe all the time."

Thor's grin widens at her answer. "I take it you prefer the danger?"

"I'll admit that I prefer a bit of danger. A bit of variety. A good mystery. Really anything that bit prove to be a bit of an adventure." Something the Inn didn't provide nearly enough of.

Thor lets out an mm of interest and takes in the sight of River again. Springy curls, beautiful smile.

"I'm Thor, son of Odin," he says finally. It seems only appropriate for him to introduce himself.

She noticed him noticing and returned his smile.

"River, daughter of time. Among other things." That sounded a bit melodramatic, and yet it was less so than the actual story.

"Among other things?" Thor repeats. He makes no attempt to make his curiosity; he's always worn his heart on his sleeve.

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