2012-08-12 A Meading Between Friends

Just another day on the carrier, right? It's edging toward evening, and shifts are about end. All in all, it's been a rather mild summer's day, with a bright blue sky filled with white puffy clouds. Best of all: no freak god-induced thunder storms.

An indicator beacon lights up, and a SHIELD operative lifts his gaze from his screen. "Incoming friendly. ID: Thor Odinson," he says with that very flat tone SHIELD agents must all be trained to take.

Outside, Thor lands. His cape settles about him as he glances about and spies the door Doug had took him through during their tour. A large barrel hangs from his right hand, held by thick ropes. From his belt on his left side is a large tankard. Large, in that it looks normal against his frame. A warm grin on his face, Thor starts for the door.

When the word comes in that Thor is coming by to visit, Clint decides to be among the welcoming party. Afterall, the first meeting between the two was...dicey, to put it mildly. So he'd rather make a better impression. Thus he's waiting on the primary personnel level, awaiting the God of Thunder's arrival, hands behind his back in a relaxed but formal stance.

When Thor rounds the corner, Clint arches a blonde eyebrow high in the air. Once the man is near, he greets. "Thor, welcome back. I see you brought a barrel." Clint, always stating the obvious. It's those agent perceptions.

Agent Romanoff is wandering down the corridor on the Personnel Level of the helicarrier. She's wearing SHIELD issue workout gear and has a towel draped around her neck, clearly having just come from training. Sweaty, ew. She glances up at the sight of her partner and the God of Thunder, and the barrel, and quirks a brow. She heads their way. "Thor Odinsson, good to see you again."

"Aye, indeed I did," Thor says. His smile is as bright as the sun on a clear cloudless day. He shifts the barrel to his left hand, extending his right to Clint. A warrior's hand shake Thor seeks, hand moving to grip the other's forearm near the elbow if allowed.

"Tis good and right and proper for a guest to bring a gift," says he, voice rumbly deep. When Natasha draws near, Thor turns to her and bows lightly.

"Lady Natasha Romanoff," he says to her, straightening then. "Mine eyes see with joy," he adds.

The handshake isn't unfamiliar to Clint; similar were used in his age as a mercenary. So he matches it with a slight smile, though one eye is constantly locked on the barrel. "Well, I certainly won't say no to a gift. Though curious what use you foresee us having for a barrel," he starts, trying to see if there is any label visible. "Or am I to assume it's what's inside?"

Clint blinks a bit as he looks over his shoulder towards the addressed 'Lady', offering a slight smile. "So you rank as a Lady now?" he teases before offering a slight nod. "Good to see you're keeping up with the daily regiment," he encourages. "Thor has class," Natasha quips back at Clint with a smirk. "How kind of you to bring a gift, Thunder God. Can I ask what it is?" She looks over the barrel curiously. Obviously it isn't mechanical or explosive or radioactive or he wouldn't have gotten it past the security scanners. Thor's laugh is like a ripple of distant thunder. He lifts the barrel up by the ropes so all can see. Indeed, there is a 'label' of sorts, Ancient Nordic Runes burned onto the wood of the top where a tap rests. "Asgardian honey mead, from mine own hall. This I do share with thee, my friends, that we may sit, drink, and share our tales before the next battle," explains the Thunderer as he holds up what must be a five gallon barrel with one hand, making the feat look easy. Clint legitimately looks hurt. "I got class to spare," he mutters, mostly under his breathe. He cranes his neck slightly as he finally sees the Nordic runes. Oh, awesome. But helpfully, Thor translates and informs the pair of what's in the barrel. "Mead? That's booze right?" His spirit seems to lift a bit, taking a glance towards Natasha. "I smell a rematch for our last 'contest'...Hong Kong I think?" Clint winces for a second at phantom pains. That was a hell of a hangover, made worse by the fact he lost.

Clint doesn't like to lose.

"See, I told you he was a friend," Natasha notes to Clint. "Friends bring friends booze. This is a law of the universe." She grins and clasps Thor on the shoulder lightly. "Then we thank you even more, Thor, because that sounds magnificent."

Tash snorts at Hawkeye. "Shanghai. You were really, really drunk if you can't remember what city we were in." Thor starts off a bit confused, head tilting lightly at the unfamiliar slang of booze. Lips pursing slightly as he's about to clarify, Natasha beats him to the punch, and prevents the Thunder God from saying anything immediately. Thor beams, nodding to Natasha as she sets her hand upon his shoulder and thanks him, and Thor ends up laughing brightly.

"Aye! This mead shall indeed make thee drunk," he says now that he's once more sure of the conversation. "Bring thee vessels from which to drink, and lead us to a place to sit. I shall pour for thee, for it is right that a give of drunk be so served by guest to host."

Clint makes a face as Natasha corrects him and he shakes his head. He also doesn't care for being wrong. "Yeah, well, same country." Beat. "Sort of." Beat. "China is confusing," he finally decides before turning back towards Thor and nods his head. "I'm sure we'll find somewhere to make ourselves comfortable and share in this fine, fine gift you've brought," he says cheerfully. He glances down towards his watchless wrist. "And look at that, I just happen to be off the clock too. How about you 'Tash?"

"Also off the clock. And my quarters are right down this hall," the Widow notes with a wink. "Come on, fellas. I have plenty of room and lots ofdrinking vessels, for us to employ." She moves down the corridor towards her quarters. Looking a little confused by the banter, Thor just waits it out, smile still bright. These two are quite amusing, the way they trade off this way. When Natasha motions for him to follow, Thor follows quite obediently as he slings the barrel over his shoulder. Slosh! The barrel's full.

Clint starts to do the calculations in his head of just how much that barrel must weigh, and notes how Thor more or less carts it around like a toy. He quickly stops these calculations. He follows alongside Thor, watching where Tasha goes, despite the fact that he knows how to get there. "So, Thor, how's the life of an Avenger treating you? I mean, I'm sure it doesn't compare to the action you get...wherever you're from, but I bet Stark rarely makes things dull, huh? And now on Hulk duty."

There's a tango done to open the door, deactivating the various security systems on it, then Natasha leads them into her sanctum. If you can call it that. It's rather Spartan. It has a small kitchenette, with mini fridge, 2 burner stove top, microwave, and sink. A small island with two stools separates that area from the living area, which has a sofa, an easy chair, coffee table, and many shelves with books and eclectic items on them. A tv is mounted to one wall, and on the other wall sits a desk with a chair and laptop. Through a doorway is the bedroom and bathroom. Everything is dull shield issue colors.

The Widow heads for the kitchenette to get a trio of beer mugs out. "Make yourselves comfortable." If they can. It's almost as if she furnished the place to be not terribly comfy to discourage lingering visitors. "Protect, Clint Barton. I am Midgard's Protector; though I suppose there could be cause to reword said title to Avenger of Midgard, should the worse happen and I survive the fact," Thor says to Clint, chin tilting downwards slightly to meet the other man's gaze.

"I am from Asgard, and nay. There is little upon Midgard that doth compare. Though, admittedly, I have encountered a handful of mortals, gifted beyond reckoning, with the strength and fury of a giant," he adds as they continue walking. "And Stark has not been the cause of any of Midgard's summons."

Thor sighs softly at the mention of the Hulk. "The green ogre? If only that I was. The creature escaped, fled at the behest of the lady Potts. My goddess was wounded, and I could not give chase; the danger to Midgard had passed." Because that makes sense, right?

Into the Widow's web goes Thor, eyes glancing about at the spartan living quarters. Not sure where he should go to get comfortable, Thor does remove his helmet from his head, and follows wherever Clint goes. Safer for everyone that way. Furniture too.

Clint lifts a brow at all that, but nods his head at least as if he understands. "Protect. I like that, sounds not too terribly similar to what we do. And you called this place, Midgard?" He tries to take this all in, seemingly genuinely interested as he makes himself at home in Natasha's room, as if he's been here for late-night drinks before. Lounging back he purses his lips slightly. "And yeah, the green ogre. He's...an ongoing item of interest for SHIELD, if only in terms of keeping tabs on the collateral damage." He frowns deeply, giving Tasha a slight glance before shrugging. "But no, we appreciate your help, big guy. We need as many good ones as we can get, and I feel safe saying you are definitely one of the good ones," he judges, all while eyeing the barrel o' mead. Natasha sets the mugs on the coffee table, then reaches past Clint's head to the bookshelf behind him, plucking out a tome and dumping it in his lap. It's titled "Norse Mythology." She then settles down in the chair. "I'm not entirely sure what we'll be avenging yet, other than Tony's dislike of government interference, but protecting is a priority, yes."

Thor follows Clint's lead, sitting opposite him after setting barrel down on a nearby surface. He chocks the round barrel with the coiled up rope on one side, Mjolnir on the other.

"Aye. This world thou hath renamed to Earth. Upon Asgard and throughout the Nine Realms, it is known as Midgard -- the Center World," Thor explains simply, eyes on the tap as he fiddles with it to get it open. He collects the three mugs by the handles and begins to pour, filling one after another without stopping the flow of rich amber liquid.

"The protection of my charge does take precedence over all else," he adds when the mugs are filled, the tap closed. Thor turns and offers the mugs out to his drinking companions.

Clint oofs slightly, giving Natasha 'The Look' before flipping through the book. As Thor gives the spoken explanation, Clint comes across a diagram of the Nine Realms, complete with world tree, and nods his head. "So you've been appointed to help protect here," he says, pinpointing where Asgard lay on the...map. "If I can ask, what got you assigned here?" Boy, noisy isn't he? Clint raises his mug and glances towards Natasha. "Salud," he says, officially begining the Challenge before starts to throw back the drink. Cue Clint's eyes popping wide and nearly spit-taking the strong, bitte drink everywhere. He's good though, and merely swallows it. "Wow, Thor, what's in this, motor fluid?"

Natasha is Russian. And she has over six decades of drinking experience. She sips the mead and watches Clint with amusement. She drinks /carefully/. This is a god providing the liquor after all. She pats Clint on the back a couple of times.

"It is my birth-right, my calling. I am Jord's Son. Jord is..." Thor pauses, trying the find the way to explain this properly. His eyes seems surprised at Clint's reaction to the honey mead, a drink he himself finds wonderful sweet and heavenly rich. Thor takes a drink, grateful to be saved from having to explain who Jord is for the moment.

"Honey. Some light spices. I know not the full recipe, but I assure you, Clint Barton, it doth not contain fluid of motor," is the confused sounding reply.

Clint notes the /sipping/ from Natasha, and follows suit, taking a much more measured draw. The effort is worth it, as the complex, rich flavors are fully appreciated. He nods his head and actually gives a smile. "Okay yeah, this stuff is alright. And it's from your home? This Asgard?"

"Clint, I swear sometimes you're the alien. Mead has been around on Earth since 7000 BC. It is a honey wine, using honey as the sugar source to feed the yeast that ferments it, rather than grapes." Natasha, ever happy to educate.

"Aye. From Thrudheim, specifically. It is a small realm, of which I am Lord. Much akin to... this United States? is a smaller realm of Midgard, of Earth," Thor replies sitting back to take another drink. "It is nice to drink lightly, in the peace of one's own hearth, but to share among friends, the joy is doubled for each new mug added to the round." Natasha's explanation gets a smile, a nod, and a hefted mug. "Aye. Midgardian mead is sweet. This?" Thor shakes his head and drinks again. "Mead of the gods." And a rich chuckle floats free.

More nose-wrinkling from Clint as he mutters, "I knew that," though it might be lost as he brings the drink to his lips before setting it back on his knee. "I meant more THIS batch," he explains to the smarty-pants russian, stopping just short of sticking his tongue out. "Besides, you know my drinking habits. Beer, whisky, maybe some gin if I'm feeling saucy." He shrugs a bit. "Sorry that some of us aren't exactly as well versed in the wide variety of drinks this world has to offer." Subtext: shut it, alki.

Tash snorts and she settles back on the couch, taking a longer draught of the mead. "So, how are you enjoying Midgard so far, Thor? And is your goddess enjoying it as well? Sif correct?"

Thor glances between Clint and Natasha with a touch of confusion. Thor does /not/ know what to say in response to Clint, and so he looks to Natasha, and the grin returns.

"Thus far, Midgard does sit well with me; it is a joy, as always, to live upon my Mother's realm, touch Her with my hand, and bring Her air into my chest. Thou art correct, my goddess, Sif, enjoys it less than I, I think, but that we are ever at each other's side doth bring a smile to her face. I would not replace that smile for any treasure from Alfheim," says the prince with a nod, bringing his mug to his lips again.

Flip flip flip through the book as Clint looks up 'Alfheim'. Home of the Elves. Well that follows, he supposes as he leans back and starts to near the end of his first mug. "That sounds...nice," is all Clint can muster, offering a slightly lopsided grin at that, nursing his drink thoughtfully.

"What is Asgard like?" Natasha asks curiously. "Is it much like the myths they tell of it here on Midgard?"

This makes Thor pause, musing. A few more long pulls from his mead are taken before he answers, voice a little ...apologetic.

"Forgive, fair Natasha Romanov. I know not the full stories mortals not have of my home. I can tell thee of my home, perhaps ask my Goddess if, upon they visit to my motral dwelling, she would so grace us with a portal to Asgard, that thee and thine friends may feel the warmth and welcome of my hall in its entirity. And then thou may chose for thyself if Asgard is as thine tales do describe."

Clint raises a brow at that, giving Natasha a sideways glance. "What do you wanna bet that we couldn't write off 'travel to God-plane' as a research expense?" he jokes, though he mostly watches her intently for her response to the offer.

"I dunno, Fury might view it as research in case something nasty bad comes here from there," Natasha quips. "Are there bad things there, Thor?" She also takes the book from Clint to hand it to the god. "These are some of the tales we have here of your home."

"Aye. There are indeed. Upon Asgard and within the other realms. Svartalfheim, Jotunheim, Niflheim, Muspelheim are among the ones of particular concern. But Asgard has guard upon the Bifrost, and transport from there is restricted. Niflheim, however, is the realm that can bridge the mists. I know not how nor why, but the veils weakened once before. My brother was of instrumental help in paying his daughter's price to reveil Midgard from her touch. It is my hope that it remains this way," Thor explains as he reaches for the book. He flips through it, setting his mug on the table to do so. His eyes flick over the pages, stopping when he spots some runes. A smirk, and the aesir-born comments lightly, "I do think this is awkwardly written."

"Yeah, well someone might say you talk funny too," Clint reminds the god as he polishes off his mug. He notices as Tasha hands off the book, she way she plops back on the couch. Between the exercise before and maybe drinking a smidge too fast, she's not long for the world of the living. He'll chalk that up even for their last contest and hail himself the victor. "So sounds like you have a lot of concerns to take into account, and I'm certain at least some of those could pose a threat here on 'Midgard' as well," Clint says, his tone taking a slightly serious tone. "Definitely might be worth taking a few eggheads over, if only to verify what in that book is accurate and what is not," Clint muses. "And of course, if they need protection, we can go along."

"Nay. I speak the All Tongue. Thou would hear the most formal of speech from me, and nothing more," Thor replies, offering the book back to Clint. As Natasha slumps back, the god eyes her lightly. About to say something, Thor is clearly distracted by something Clint says, for he looks over with great confusion. "Egg... head?" It's almost visible the way the god's mind is picturing a mortal man with an egg instead of a head.

"Er, yeah, the big brains," Clint is quick to explain, realizing the turns of phrase don't exactly get translated across the All Tongue. "Basically, the smartest guys here are way above my mental capacity, and they probably either know that stuff backwards and forwards, or could understand the high level of advancement going on back on Asgard. Either way, it would give our files a much more detailed report than anything I could write, which would break down to 'Most everything looked very expensive.'"

Thor nods to this, finishing off his mug. "Yes. I would be quite willing to speak on Asgard's behalf to thine scholars. Though, admitedly, I am much like thyself. Just a warrior. My brother doth know far more of history and the like." Damn mead. Thor chuckles fondly. "Loki likes books."

"History has it's place," Clint says evenly, thoughtfully as he leans back in his seat. He gestures his head towards the now sleeping Natasha. "As you might be able to tell, she can fill a lot of gaps for me. She's got...a lot of information, both specific and general." And she's lived through a lot of history herself, but Clint doesn't say that part out loud. He actually glances towards Tasha again before rising and speaking softly. "Maybe we should relocate to my quarters big fella. Let sleeping Russians lie."

Thor nods to this, moving to stand himself. "Certianly. Should we risk moving her, or is she too much warrior that would raise arms if woken too suddenly," Thor asks.

Clint considers this for a moment, before silently crossing the room and scooping down to pick up Natasha. As she starts to stir, he gives a soft 'shhh' to calm her back to sleep, slowly but efficently transferring her over to her bed, then helping her get under the sheets. He'll gloat about his victory later. Glancing back towards Thor he simply nods his head and walks towards the exit.

Clint's mug is still in his hand. He's clearly not done with the mead.

Thor collects the rest of the drinking paraphinalia, reclipping Mjolnir to his belt. He drifts above the floor, hovering about a half inch, so as to move out silently with little more than a fluttering cloak. Off to Clint's room, to get another few mugs into the barrel, before Thor will excuse himself to head home. Asgardian barrel of mead left for his friends to drink.