[ the plane thor had been dragged into by a crew of other superheroes assuring him 'there's nothing left we can do' crashes into the peacefully lapping waves of Xistentia's picturesque beach, and out from its supposedly anything-proof windshield flies thor himself, all 600+ asgardian pounds of him, and the metal wrapped around him, and the hammer still gripped in his hand, slamming face first into the sand, and leaving an aesir sized trench about half the length of a football field in said beach as he skids to a sandy, damp stop.

give it a second. give it maybe a couple seconds. maybe thirty of them, and, ah, there his fuzzy, frazzled head shoots up, and a mouthful of sand and shells is sputtered out indignantly. ]

Stark! [ the god of thunder roars, eyes still squeezed closed with muddy sand caked across his face, forehead to chin. he was told to put his seatbelt on. he'd been too preoccupied with some argument about rainbow bridges and idris elba and superior asgardian travel means at the time. this is not a thing he's reflecting on right now. ] Had you but waited, I wouldn't have learned what salted dirt tastes like. I think I swallowed a snail.

[ just gonna hack and cough and scrub at his face for a moment, while waiting for what's sure to be a jumble of words he only half understands from Tony, back in the plane. and yet, nothing. after clearing his eyes, and making some embarrassing blek sounding noise as he tries to cough up the imaginary snail in his throat, thor looks back up to the plane, nose slowly sinking into the tide. ] Stark? Captain?

Are you ignoring me?

[ this is thor's element. perhaps not something to be proud of, war and battle and all that, but as much as thor wishes to garner peace amongst the realms, sometimes it just calls for an ass-kicking, and ass-kicking is what he does best. thus, the crimson spear that's now flying at him is dodged by a scant few inches, only to have a hand reach up and snatch the end of it, just before it completely passes him.

spears aren't really his thing, definitely more a hammer man, but when a gift is given, what more can you do but flash a cheeky grin, and say - ] Why, thank you. Just what I've always wanted. [ - to the red man that tossed it to you so kindly, and

flip it around to shish-kabob the gift giver into the nearest tree. such courtesy. ]

DAEMON: mjölnird

Must've taken a wrong turn at the devil's anus.

[ beep beep, text message sent.

um, mjölnir, not gonna lie, he's thrilled to have you back, but who told you it was okay for you to start sharing these private talks he likes to have with you? worst. best friend hammer. ever. thor can be seen standing around in the middle of the city, staring at one flat side of his hammer quizically, reading over the light blue email looking nonsense displayed on the dying-star-metal side of it. fucking rude, hammer. ]

Delete.

Cancel.

Stop it, Hammer.

[ computers are hard?? ]