2014.03.31 - And then THIS happened...

The small meteor was insignificant by astrological standards. A blip on a radar. So it's trajectory was New York City, it was small enough in profile that it was expected to burn up long before causing any sort of damage. When it cooled shortly after entering Earth's atmosphere, it seemed to fade from radar, and so was forgotten.

Well, forgotten until it crashed with a ringing sort of hollow, low-pitched gong in the center of the flight practice area of Tony's New York facility.

"Sir? An object has just crashed into the Armory. I am scanning it for viable information to determine its point of origin. Preliminary analysis places its volumetric profile at 24 by 18 by 8, cubic inches; metal alloy and unknown animal leather," states JARVIS in whatever room Tony was in at the time.

"Metallurfic scans place the source material as Uru, extrapolated, suggests the origin as being from Asgard, sir." The AI confirms. Tony has been working on, stuff and things, and figuring out the next thing him and Diana are going to do the next time they go out. Upon JARVIS alert, he sighs. Because he can make two and two equal four, means Thor has finally returned, but crashed into his flight area. He sighs and heads into the armory, and begins speaking before he even gets here, "Didn't anyone tell you that if there isn't a door already there doesn't mean you can make one.."

Silence is Tony's only reply. And the smell of ozone. And a low hum.

There, on the floor, is Mjolnir. A soft wisp of steam rising from it, runes glowing warmly. The cement floor is cracked from the impact and the hammer sits at an odd angle, haft pointed at Tony. The leather strap dangles, swaying gently.

Tony Stark rolls his eyes. Really?

"Thor, I know you might have needed to go to the can, but you can clean up after yourself out here when you're done."

Again, no voice. At least, not the usual thunderous boom of the often too loud God of Thunder. The steam drifts up almost alluringly, runes glowing shifting and resettling themselves from the aesir-like Ancient Norse, into English.

-Whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor.-

Power ripples about the relic, the shiny brightmetal accents along the haft seemingly braided into the leather wrap of the handle, glitter with the reflected light of the runes.

Tony Stark knows better than to try and pick it up. He can't do it. Has never tried because it's a fools errand. But..he does nudge a soft shoe covered foot at the relic. "Figures. Thor's Hammer drops in and of course I can't do anything until he comes back from whatever powder he's taking."

At the nudge, Mjolnir falls over to her side. The runes glitter with a undulating ripple of magic, of power. And then nothing. The runes along the edges of the hammer's striking surface glow and gleam and the english lettering, written in what looks like old timey Chaucer-style old English (Hell! It's even spelled all Old English-y.).

It was surprising easy to do too, knocking it over. Tony nudged it. The hammer flopped over, as if more than willing to accomodate the motion. The want of motion? Mjolnir, it seems, weighs nothing... or at least, as much as a similarly sized plastic children's toy.

Huh? (Type "help" for help.)

Just. Blinks. What? Anytime Thor's swung that thing, connected with it, or has seen others try to pick it up it seems like it's a building. So when did they outsource relics to a children's sweat shop in Bonyonyang, China?

He leans down and tentatively tries to push it with a finger.

As Tony's finger draws near there's a flicker, like the spark of static electricity passing from person to person in a dark room after one has scuffled their socked feet upon the carpet. With that spark comes this wash of magic, a warm blue-white glow that feels like something is reaching out and accepting.

Mjolnir shifts should Tony finish his push. And the runes glitter brightly again.

Tony Stark feels the jolt, which is funny, considering the conversation he'd just had with Diana during lunch about magic and science and the blurred lines in which they meet. He blinks, "Thor," he whispers, "This better be one hell of a prank..but I know you wouldn't know what a prank is, even if it bit you on your ass."

He sighs. "Oh jesus.." he says softly. He looks around, to make sure no one sees this. But as he does, he has a memory..a memory of times so long ago it seems moot. Thor. Sif. Standing outside of a building, talking to him. He was escorting her there. But wait, that was a dream...a fever dream from the torture.

Pushing that out of his mind, he reaches down and wraps his hand around the leather wrapped haft of the hammer.

As Tony's fingers close around the handle, the runes... rather the Olde English script glitters brightly. Electricity arcs about the relic, flickering up the haft, across Tony's fingers, swirling up his arm, embracing his chest, and condensing into his chest.

A worthy heart, of life sacrificed. Selfless deed and and own soul's weight unthought of. Thou art worthy of the might of the Son of Heaven and of Earth - of Gaea and of Odin. Wield this power well, Protector of Midgard.

It's not a voice so much as a sensation, the feel of the hammer speaking without sound or words. The weight of it is mostly feminine, at least, that is the only possible description for it. Calm, ageless, poserful and timeless. The script glitters once more, seeming to pulse in time to Tony's heartbeat before fading away, leaving the hammer a warm and pleasant weight in the hand.

Tony abruptly drops the relic after all this happens. In fact he drops to his knees. he scurries back up and to the closest wall. "NO" he says loudly, to no one at all. "That's Thor's post, and you can't make me do it. It's not mine. That's not me. I'm not that guy. No no no no no no." - even now tears are suddenly falling down his cheeks, as the realization of what the hammer's pronouncment means and he's all but trying to get away from it.

Alas, the enchant is done. Mjolnir will accept no others until the time is ripe. And she lays where she was dropped, heavy and peaceful, waiting and still. The calm before the storm.

Alas, but the enchantment is done. Mjolnir will accept no others until the time is ripe. And she lays where she was dropped, heavy and peaceful, waiting and still. The calm before the storm.

Tony points at the hammer, "You can't make me do it. It's Thor's job - now you just go find Thor and tell him that he dropped his hammer rather carelessly here in my flight training center, and he needs to come get it post haste."

Poor mortal. Such weight they should not long carry. Their souls are not built for such things. But Midgard needs her protector, and Mjolnir needs to be wielded.

Tony Stark sighs. He gets up, after collecting himself, and picks the hammer up by the very end using only his thumb and forefinger. He carries it daintily and gently puts it on what is considered to be his desk/main worksurface. "Great.. I shout up and down to Darkseid's ugly ass that I'm an athiest, and then I wind up with the hammer of the gods. What the hell am I, a Led Zepplin song?"