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capeandcowllogs2011-02-28 02:22 pm
warriorsuperb.livejournal.com) wrote in capeandcowllogs2011-02-28 02:22 pm
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godofnicehair and warriorsuperb
WHERE: A bar with brick walls
WHEN: Sunday night
WARNINGS: Two divinities in the Class 100 strength category with anger management issues
SUMMARY: Alcohol as the solution to all your problems
FORMAT: Para to start, then whatever
Hercules had texted Thor to talk about himself, as he didn't actually care or expect that the thunder god might have done anything great in his absence. There was nothing to do in the city--no foes worthy of gods, anyway--and having exhausted potential escapes and searched high and low for challenges and found none, Hercules had resigned himself to partying. He'd spent a month in and out of bars and frat parties, toured a new nation or two, and introduced himself to a variety of new and eager women who had never had the pleasure of accompanying the god of strength.
In other words--he'd forgotten entirely about the city and Thor. The device lay untouched somewhere back in New York, and when he'd finally returned, he was ready to brag and rub Thor's face in the fact that he, Hercules, had been having fun while Thor had sat alone at home, probably thinking mournfully of rainbow bridges and frost giants and Sniffleheim.
But Thor had ruined it. He was too mournful, talking wistfully of the deepest oceans and gentle creatures and Ultron, and while there was some fun in provoking a sad Thor, a surly, unhappy Thor who wouldn't respond to any of his jokes except to talk sadly of his lack of purpose in this world was no fun at all. He was kind of a drag, in fact.
Something had to be done about it, and so here Hercules was, standing at the bar of a loud and hectic establishment and charming a lithe young brunette as he waited for Thor to show up. He wasn't paying a great deal of attention to his surroundings, and was only vaguely aware of TV screens blaring sports scores in the corners and a gang of noisy youths at the other end of the bar. Every so often one of them would chuck a balled-up napkin at a TV screen; the bartender didn't seem to care.
godofnicehair and warriorsuperb WHERE: A bar with brick walls
WHEN: Sunday night
WARNINGS: Two divinities in the Class 100 strength category with anger management issues
SUMMARY: Alcohol as the solution to all your problems
FORMAT: Para to start, then whatever
Hercules had texted Thor to talk about himself, as he didn't actually care or expect that the thunder god might have done anything great in his absence. There was nothing to do in the city--no foes worthy of gods, anyway--and having exhausted potential escapes and searched high and low for challenges and found none, Hercules had resigned himself to partying. He'd spent a month in and out of bars and frat parties, toured a new nation or two, and introduced himself to a variety of new and eager women who had never had the pleasure of accompanying the god of strength.
In other words--he'd forgotten entirely about the city and Thor. The device lay untouched somewhere back in New York, and when he'd finally returned, he was ready to brag and rub Thor's face in the fact that he, Hercules, had been having fun while Thor had sat alone at home, probably thinking mournfully of rainbow bridges and frost giants and Sniffleheim.
But Thor had ruined it. He was too mournful, talking wistfully of the deepest oceans and gentle creatures and Ultron, and while there was some fun in provoking a sad Thor, a surly, unhappy Thor who wouldn't respond to any of his jokes except to talk sadly of his lack of purpose in this world was no fun at all. He was kind of a drag, in fact.
Something had to be done about it, and so here Hercules was, standing at the bar of a loud and hectic establishment and charming a lithe young brunette as he waited for Thor to show up. He wasn't paying a great deal of attention to his surroundings, and was only vaguely aware of TV screens blaring sports scores in the corners and a gang of noisy youths at the other end of the bar. Every so often one of them would chuck a balled-up napkin at a TV screen; the bartender didn't seem to care.