| Dangerous levels of testosterone be hither... | ||
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| Summary: Freshly-arrived in the realm of Twisted, Thor learns a bit of foreign culture in his debut visit to the Usual Resteraunt... For whatever reason, it appears as though the omnipresent robot waiters are absent from their posts tonight. Strange.  |
You walk into a very large restaurant with high ceilings that leave the rafters exposed. Fluorescent lamps hang from the ceiling, adding light to the place and tables. Windows adorn the sides of the place, looking out onto the chaos that is Twisted. On some of the walls are paintings, photographs, and some holograms of different B-movies, and a number of people who tend to visit the UR as they're singing karaoke. The hardwood bar rests at the back of the place, it's surface polished and shiny and all together spotless (most of the time). Behind the bar are various beverages that are served and a giant mirror. There seems to be an inordinate amount of different drinks. A large stage rests in one of the corners of the restaurant, with an amazing sound system and a few microphones strung about it. Multiple round wood tables are in the room, and a swing door leads into the kitchen. Another door leads to the dance club, and another to the gym. And of course, there's an exit to the outside. A large fireplace rests in one of the walls, with a beautiful stone chimney that flows up and out. A long spiral staircase rests near the entrance to the kitchen, leading to a second floor balcony that overlooks the UR itself. The lights up there are a bit dimmer than those down below. "Accursed device!" thunders a voice from the corner of the dining area, exploding from the broad frame of an armour-clad blonde man sitting alone beside the fire. "Water mine crops!" Repeatedly he stabs a large index finger into the screen of an iPad laid on the table in front of him, a plate of steaming food and mug of half-quaffed mead forgotten and pushed aside. The brightly lit screen that the Thunder God leans over doesn't seem to be quite as responsive to his touch as he would like. "Blasted Stark! His idea of a joke, surely this must be!" Muttering, Thor snatches the iPad from the table and shoves it roughly into a blue pouch hanging from his belt by a golden string. The bag swallows the large device, betraying nothing of its shape once pulled closed by its drawstring. Suddenly mindful once more of his meal, Thor drags his plate before him once more and wolfs down steamed vegetables and roasted meat eagerly. The remnants of his mug are drained in one long draught. Belching appreciatively, he waves to a passing waitress. "Wench! Another stein of drink for the mighty--!" "Wait your turn, jerk," mutters the woman without stopping. Her hair is frizzed and pulling itself from its loose ponytail, the scent of cigarette smoke trailing after her mixed with cheap perfume. In her arms is balanced another customer's order, skillfully juggled betwixt only two hands. The look she shoots the caped stranger is venomous. Blinking in consternation, Thor shifts his gaze back to the mug before him. Condensation-slicked and empty but for a few streaks of foam, its golden trim reflects his forlorn stare back at him. A dark line appears between his brows as he sits silently in wait, drumming his fingernails on the polished wood of the table. Etiquette in this alien place is coming to him quite slowly, and most of it he does not approve of. Finally the shadow of the waitress falls upon him, and without looking up he orders seven more drinks (to eliminate the need for waiting in between them). His voice is flat. His spirits stir again, though, with the first clink of a fresh mug on the table. Taking the chilled glass in hand, he nods his thanks and turns his attention to the other patrons of the resteraunt with a grudging interest. Strange places he has seen in his long life, but he is hard pressed to adapt his senses to the surroundings he finds himself in here. At the bar sit a handful of grizzled men and painted women, skillfully bluffing and feigning disinterest in one another. Frames upon the walls show the visages of people of various races and classes. A young girl is on stage in the opposite corner, crooning into a microphone. She reminds him of his former teammate Tigra, but perhaps it's only the fur and tail. He sees several elves, though not the evil dark-skinned drow that he knows to be wary of from his journeys in Svartalfaheim. These appear to be their fairer-skinned cousins, the reknowned lovers of woodlands and nature. His sky-blue eyes linger appreciatively on the odd specimen, his mind wandering to his half-Elder God heritage and his mother, Gaea, Goddess of the Earth. Drifting comfortably within his own thoughts, Thor nurses his mead and props his cin on a fist, unwary of where his unseeing eyes wander in his reverie. "Why don't you take a fucking picture, ya clown?" Thor gives a start, jolted from his meandering musings at the sound of a voice risen in anger in his direction. Frowning as he snaps back to reality, he realizes that his gaze has been fixed on a point in space that, coincidentally enough, happens to have been right between himself and a young maiden at the next table. And she is not alone at said table. "You deaf?" snarls the young man sitting across from the maiden, drawing himself to his feet and slapping his palms against his own table, rattling silverware and dishes. He is a slim, though muscular, warrior in a dusty white gi and thin white pants tucked into weathered boots. A locke of black hair falls over his knotted brows as his dark eyes flare at Thor. "You've sure got a lotta gall, ya hippie. Making eyes at the girl of a World Champion right in front of him!" Champion of what, Thor wonders idly? And of which world? Twisting his mouth with a deep sigh, he inclines his head slightly at the lady (who is blushing fiercely, he notices now). "Your pardon, milady," he rumbles mildly. "T'was not mine intention to stare. I found myself lost in thoughts of other times." The young fighter (as Thor can only assume he is judging from the scars visible now on the tensing muscles of his bare arms) sputters, his left eye twitching spastically. "I bet you WERE lost in thoughts!" he roars, kicking his own chair aside to begin a stalking gait towards where the Norse warrior. "Thoughts of my date's pretty pink--" He balls a fist as he rants, lunging at Thor's seat. "Nay," Thor snaps, but he is unheard. He does not attempt to dodge or deflect the blow coming his way, however. To his shock and befuddlement, the impact of the punch actually sends him backwards in his chair, spilling him into an untidy heap on the floor as other diners turn their eyes to the goings-on. The cat-girl on stage pauses for but a second before switching to another, faster song. Energy crackles in the air around the young fighter as he seethes over the fallen figure sheathed in Asgardian steel on the floor. With a casual kick, he renders the chair that Thor was previously perched upon into splinters. "Show you what happens when you make eyes at my girl," he hisses. "Show you all..." Re-adjusting the helm that has fallen over his eyes, Thor glares up at his attacker as he draws himself slowly to his feet. "Boy," he rasps, "thou hast made a grave error this day..." Giving a short, barking laugh, the fighter moves to throw another punch, this time with his left fist. Recognizing the feint, Thor casually ignores the left hand. His hand is already in position to snatch the boy's right fist as it springs from seemingly nowhere, intending to deal him a glancing surprise blow. The Thunder God's hand catches the boy's and holds it fast. "One free strike is all thou shalt find," Thor says grimly. "Yield. I meant your woman no insult." "Oh, I'm not his--" starts the girl from the sidelines, her voice meek. She is silenced by a smouldering look from the boy. Once her mouth is drawn tightly closed once more, the fighter turns his attention back to the Asgardian who still holds his fist in an iron grip. "You have three seconds to let go of my hand and kiss my boot in apology, you big oaf. One." Over the music of the resteraunt, the muffled crack of thunder sounds outside. "Twothree!" His pupils vanishing in the sudden flaring of an inner light, the fighter releases a high-pitched scream. Jumping along his body like white flames, a strange outline of energy appears around him. It appears to the astounded Asgardian as though a great battery is being charged within the boy's body, the overflow of which results in this glowing aura. Hesitantly, his grip loosens ever so slightly... just as a brilliant flash of searing white energy seems to shoot directly from the boy's fist itself into his palm. Sucking a short breath through his teeth, Thor flaps his hand twice as one would after accidentally touching a flame. He notices people start to head for the exit, too slowly. Already the intense energy emenating from his opponent is beginning to radiate an ever-increasing wind, whipping small items about the large room. The boy's eyes are white-hot coals; his face a mask of fury and exertion. "Sleipnir's dung," he curses quietly. So much for avoiding trouble. Determined to move the "festivities" outside into the open air, Thor casts a quick glance around for an unobscured exit. No luck. Hesitant to create his own through the wall or ceiling, he acts impulsively even as the youth charges himself for another, stronger assault. Pulling his enchanted uru mallet from his belt in a fluid, familiar motion, he hurls himself towards the youth at the fastest speed he can muster in such a short distance, grabbing hold of the boy before he can react and launching them both into the fireplace. The combined wind of their swift motion and the gale-force of the boy's aura serve to scatter the flames and ashes in their wake as Thor guides his hammer straight upwards, through the tight confines of the chimney until the fresh kiss of the night air greets him. Screaming once again with a potent anger, the fighter caught in Thor's grip pulses again, sending a wall of brutal force outwards from himself and tossing the Norseman through the sky until he rockets into the yielding dirt of a nearby copse of scraggly dead trees. Grunting, Thor heaves himself to his feet to regard the boy, who is now hanging fixed in the air and glowing with a pure, raw light brighter than the moon and the stars. "Kill you!" the humanoid star shrieks. "I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU, SHAKESPEARE-FAGGOT!" Another jet of pure, living energy sizzles the air as he endeavors to turn the wing-helmed figure on the ground into so much scorched grass. Thor lunges into the air, twirling Mjolnir above his head to stay aloft above the treetops as the position he had held but a second ago explodes in a shower of soil and rocks. His expression hardens. "Very well, then... Have at thee!" he bellows, leading his counter-attack with an overhand hurl of his hammer. The boy's eyes widen at the velocity of the projectile now streaking towards his head. "Zankouken!" he chokes at the last moment, vanishing so quickly that Mjolnir passes straight through the chest of his afterimage. He re-materializes behind and above his enemy, the fingers of his fists already knitted together and dropping in a wide arc towards Thor's head. Caught off-guard by the sudden burst of speed from his opponent, Thor succumbs to the blow to his helm, feeling the steel dent atop his head as his ears ring with the metallic sound of impact. Staggering, he barely manages to catch Mjolnir as it rockets back to his hand. Acting on pure, blind instinct, he thrashes out at the direction he felt the attack from even as he begins to fall from the air. The glowing fighter watches with amusement as the warhammer misses him by inches and the Asgardian falls to the ground. He must end this soon, he knows now. The air is ripe with the ki energy he harnesses to amplify his fighting reflexes and manipulate as a weapon, but his body tires of channeling the searing white flames. His bukujutsu flight is beginning take actual effort, though his face remains stoic and proud. This big blonde gorilla is more formidible than he assumed... Even now he rises to his feet! Yes. Time to end it. It will take but seconds to focus the ki he needs to channel a blast powerful enough to win him his honour... Seconds too long. Coming to the same conclusion -- that he has underestimated the wiry youth and that dire consequences could result from prolonging this battle -- the mighty Thor clears his head with a quick shake and thrusts his hammer into the sky, already growing thick and black with forbidding storm clouds. A sharp, booming crack of thunder sounds directly above the combatants even as the white-aura'd fighter in the sky finds his concentration inerrupted with the realization that no longer is he hovering in the air by his own power -- for now the winds themselves have turned inwards against him, countering the push from his fading bukujutsu and actually pinning him in place. Left, right, up, down, forward and back -- all blocked from him now! He gasps as the howling wind pierces his aura and threatens to steal the very breath out of his lungs. His concentration broken, the power he had been building now leeches from his assailed body, the white flaming energy dancing upon his body flickering dangerously. Thor opens his mouth, and a deafening thunder roars forth from the heavens. "FOR ASGARD!" Blinding in its searing brilliance, a forked column of lightning explodes from the clouds at Thor's command, electrifying the air and leaving in its wake the sharp smell of ozone. The boy cries out in choked pain, flailing and twitching in the air for the space of a heatbeat until the winds holding him aloft abruptly die, sending his smoking and limp body sailing lazily to the trees below. Crashing through the brittle branches in his path, he lands squarely on his knees directly in front of Thor's boots, slumping forward with his hair completely obscuring his face. With a gentle nudge of his toe, the Odinson pushes the defeated fighted backwards and unto his back, his legs folded underneath him. At a brief glance, Thor confirms the slow rise and fall of the chest beneath the blackened gi. "Valhalla shall wait for thee a bit longer, warrior," he nods. "Well fought. May time teach you humility, as this night has taught you to beware the thunder of a beleaguered Son of Odin." Starting away through the trees back in the general direction of the street and the resteraunt, Thor fishes the contraption gift from Stark that he had been struggling with earlier out of his blue pouch, along with a golden-skinned apple. Munching contently on the fruit, he's comforted by the fact that player "S. Rogers" has watered his crops for him in his absence. Now... to harvest his potatoes! And what's this? An alien bovine has been found upon his farm...? He stabs at the screen irritably as he recedes into the darkness. | |
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