Building an Arm for a Thunder God ((for pirateangelbaby))

[liverfree]

After offering his Hephaestus' services to Thor to build him a new prosthetic arm, Prometheus went straight to work locating his cousin. It wasn't too difficult; he always had his forge under an active volcano -- but not too active, as that would disrupt his work.

It took longer to convince him to build a god from a completely different pantheon a new arm. A god of storms, even. It could be interpreted as a betrayal to his father. But Hephaestus owed Prometheus -- his mentor, of sorts -- the favor, and besides, Zeus's authority had grown weak over the millennia as humans believed in his divinity less and less.

And Hephaestus did love a challenging project.

A week after Thor's tragic arrival in the Nexus, Prometheus sends him a set of PINpoint coordinates. They'll take him to the base of a large volcano -- more like a mountain, really -- where the Titan is waiting. He's shouldering a backpack, but is otherwise dressed in his leather jacket and jeans, so he must not be anticipating too strenuous a hike. "Welcome to Mount Etna in Sicily. Not too far from Greece."

Comments

[pirateangelbaby]

It's a little of both, though mostly the latter. Travel by Bifrost has been a part of Thor's life for centuries, as ordinary and unremarkable as humans find travel by car, though he does find it disconcerting to serve as his own Gatekeeper, especially now that Stormbreaker grants him access across universes. Being without Heimdall to watch over him and guide his landing... well, he would hesitate to say it's like losing an arm, because it is actually worse than that.

But he doesn't let the grief of that reminder show, burying it beneath the mask he's been learning to project to help hide how much he's still hurting, for the others' sake, those who deserve to be comforted far more than he who failed most. He's quieter, though, his boisterous nature almost entirely absent in favor of somberly listening far more than he speaks, but he's alert and paying attention to both their surroundings and Prometheus as they travel up the trail. "Don't mention the foot, got it." He's hardly the kind of person who'd point fingers at someone's body not working as it should, especially after what he's been through over the last year.

He gives the barrier a brief once-over before he passes through, noting the shimmer of the unfamiliar magic and its bounds. The size of the door on the other side is... not entirely unexpected, given what he knows of Prometheus' true height, but it's still reassuring to know that their host is more Asgardian-sized, especially if he's meant to be crafting something that will need a very precise fit. "They're not as talented at changing size as you, I take it."

[liverfree]

"No, they aren't," he replies, a touch smugly, as he leads Thor further into the mountain. The giant door shuts behind them, blotting out the natural light and leaving them only the torches for guidance. As they continue along, the temperature rises, although not unbearably so.

There are noises, too. At first they sound like the rumblings of an irritable volcano, but as they walk closer to their source, they resolve themselves into the clanging of metal on an anvil, the great bellows of a forge, and the whirr of... is that a 3D printer?

The hallway curves left and opens up into an enormous cavern flooded by ample overhead light. In the middle is a flow of red-hot lava, a forge built around it to capture its relentless heat. There are the traditional trappings of a metalsmith, as well as laser cutters and other examples of modern machinery. Metal tripod robots walk about the space, carrying smaller items on their "heads".

Hunched over various workbenches are huge, hulking figures approaching twenty feet in height. The one closest to Prometheus and Thor peers at them with his one eye. He gives them a toothy grin and says, "Prometheus!"

"Hi, Steropes." The Titan gives the Cyclops an easy smile. "How's it going? This is my friend, Thor. We're here to see --"

"YO, BOSS!" Steropes shouts across the cavern. "PROMETHEUS IS HERE!" His voice rattles the lights overhead and sends the nearest tripods skittering for cover.

"Coming..." responds a much quieter voice. A man limps into view, idly brushing sawdust off his shoulders. He's a little shorter than Thor, although that might be due to the way he leans off his bad foot, dragging it behind him a little with each step. He looks at Thor first, then Prometheus, his blue eyes sharp, but otherwise unreadable. "This is the guy who needs the arm?"

"Yep," Prometheus replies cheerily.

Hephaestus stares at Thor again. "All right," he says tersely. "First I want to see what you're using now."

[pirateangelbaby]

In some ways, the forge is very much like Nidavellir as it was in its prime, full of heat and life and clanging metal, certainly more lively than the rings had been when he'd been there last. Despite his melancholy, Thor still peers around with quiet curiosity, taking note of what he recognizes and what he really doesn't. There's rather more of the latter than he was expecting.

He doesn't quite flinch at the sudden bellowing of the one-eyed creature towering over them both, although Thor's grip does momentarily tighten around Stormbreaker's handle on reflex, something he's quick to ease even before their host shows up. Though once the man himself does make his appearance, Thor bows his head slightly in polite greeting, taking his cues on how to proceed from his titanic friend. His gaze doesn't linger on Hephaestus' limp, either, and probably wouldn't even if he hadn't been warned.

Thor hesitates a moment, debating what to do about the axe, before setting it on the floor head-first with a weighty thud and tilting the handle towards Prometheus. "Hold this a moment, would you?" If he lifts it, the Titan will find the weapon to be solid, hefty, and strangely well-balanced for its construction, and there's a deep thrum of energy that runs through the entire length of the weapon, like a storm still darkening on the horizon before any rain is shed.

It's warm enough in here to go without the hoodie entirely, so Thor strips it off and drapes it over his right shoulder. The shirt he wears beneath is sleeveless, giving an unobstructed view of the entirety of his left arm up to the shoulder. The near-skeletal prosthetic starts about halfway down his upper arm, attached with a series of mechanical catches, and the overall aesthetic looks like it was lifted from a cyberpunk film. Someone has clearly built it from bits and pieces that they had available, and it isn't sized entirely right for him, the length perhaps a little too long. Closer inspection will reveal a decent amount of battle damage, as well, the electronics on the verge of being scorched to uselessness by electrical current and star-fire, and there are quite a few dents marring its surface.

Thor has only had the arm for a week, and worn it far less days than that, but he's oddly self-conscious about it still, feeling the need to defend its shoddy state. That, at least, is a failing that he has an excuse for, unlike the one that weighs so heavily on him at every waking moment. "My options were rather limited, at the time," he says, as he holds out his arm for inspection. "It was either this, or go without."

[liverfree]

It's a little like if Tony Stark decided to turn his lab into some sort of retro cosplay version of an ancient forge. Hephaestus, like Prometheus, has kept up with modern times, at least technology-wise, although the air is heavy with his magic, imbued in nearly everything around him.

Prometheus lets out a quiet "oof" when he takes the handle, impressed by the weapon's weight, although he doesn't pick it up out of respect to its owner. Hephaestus' sharp gaze tracks Stormbreaker like a crow spotting something shiny. The fine craft of the blade sings out to him, and for a moment he looks rather impressed.

As for the prosthetic? Well, much less so, although there's no outright disdain as he looks it over. "Someone put this together in a hurry," he mutters as he inspects the joints in particular. "I'm surprised the wiring isn't completely fried. It's not bad for a rush job."

It's not the work of a god, though, and it's not a permanent solution for a god, either. "I'll need to make a cast of your shoulder for a perfect fit, but I've got a prototype you can try on."

He turns his attention to Steropes, who has been watching the three deities like a curious puppy. "It's in the back, behind Eros's spare arrows. Go grab it and a harness." His tone is gruff, although there's no contempt, and the Cyclops smiles brightly, happy to help.

"You got it, boss!" He lumbers off, as instructed.

[pirateangelbaby]

Under better circumstances, Thor might have taken a moment to show off the axe, to boast about the godly feats he'd had to do to forge the greatest weapon in the history of the Nine Realms - with all credit due to Eitri, of course. But Stormbreaker has not yet killed the one it was meant to slay, and even the echo of Thor's own power imbued into its forging is not nearly enough to make him forget that. There is little for him to take pride in, just yet.

He has, however, paid a visit to the apprentice healer who had survived the evacuation of the Statesman before his arrival here today, and had what's left of his arm tended to, the stump better prepared to accept a replacement arm even though that had meant losing just a little more of it. It wouldn't do to have come for a fitting only to ruin the smith's good work immediately, after all.

Thor is getting a little better at removing the arm himself, and shows it far less care than he did the axe, dropping it on whatever clear space is nearest and discarding the hoodie on top of it. It was a thoughtful gift in a time of need and served him well enough, but it still doesn't feel like his, and certainly not one he intends to keep using. He rubs absently at the exposed end, soothing away the soreness that comes from wearing the ill-fitting prosthesis. "What kinds of materials do you use?" he asks, since it's fairly obvious that uru is not going to be on the table.

[liverfree]

Some other time, perhaps. Although Prometheus did not go into detail, he did stress to Hephaestus that Thor is facing an opponent who makes Cronus and his brothers seem about as dangerous as a pack of newborn kittens. With an enemy like that, there is little time for chitchat.

That doesn't mean that Hephaestus is above answering Thor's question. "The usual," he shrugs. "A titanium alloy on the exterior, carbon fiber for the joints, teflon coating for insulation."

Prometheus raises his eyebrows. "That's it? He needs it to fight, cousin."

"Oh, pardon me." Hephaestus crosses his arms over his chest. "I didn't realize you had a spare gorgon head lying around for me to use." He looks over Thor again, in particular his exposed stump. "Besides, he doesn't need anything else. Once it is forged in Gaia's blood, it will serve him as well as if it was his own arm."

The Cyclops returns, a wrapped bundle in his hand, that he passes off to Hephaestus. The god unwraps it, revealing a futuristic prosthetic arm, sleek and brawny. He lines it up with Thor's shoulder, using a series of leather straps to attach it. He had to estimate Thor's measurements so it is not an exact fit. "The biofeedback is already operational," he says. "Make a fist, try to put your hoodie back on. See how it feels."

[pirateangelbaby]

There is unfortunately more time for idle conversation than Thor knows what to do with, and that in itself grates on him. With no leads yet on where Thanos has gone, his options are limited, leaving him chafing at the inaction with little outlet for the frustration. But his first priority is the arm, and then after that... well, after that, he will probably still have time to waste.

He's vaguely familiar with some of the substances the forgemaster mentions, partly from listening to Stark mutter to himself as he'd worked on some new invention or another, which is why he knows titanium to be lightweight and strong, if not quite up to Asgardian standards. "If it can withstand my lightning, or my punches, it will serve fine." He expects there will probably be some testing needed. There is no telling if his strengths match those of the gods of this Earth.

He hadn't been sure what to expect, but the design of the prototype is appealing enough to the eye, well-articulated even despite its swift crafting. Lacking the simplicity of uru, obviously, but there is no use mourning what he cannot have. He has enough to mourn already, anyway.

The prototype fits strangely on him, but there is a noticeable difference between it and the shoddy kludge of an arm that the rabbit had given him, and Thor holds up the hand experimentally, commanding the fingers to close, and watching as they do just that. There's one aspect he hadn't expected, making him blink in surprise before curling his hand tightly closed again, feeling the pressure of fingers against fingers. "I can feel it," he says, an odd note in his voice. It doesn't feel quite normal, not natural, but perhaps it's because it's not properly calibrated yet?

He turns to the hoodie to do as he was bid, and though he has to pay attention to how he grasps the material between metal fingers, it's not quite as difficult as he'd feared it might be. It fits easier underneath the fabric, too, sleeker than the arm he'd been using already, though he finds the sensation of fabric around the limb to be a little disconcerting after a week without any tactile feedback. "It's... strange. But better, I think?"

[liverfree]

Unfortunately, this Earth does not have vibranium or uru or some other supernatural metal to construct Thor's arm. But it does have Hephaestus, who has crafted all sorts of wonders out of the basest of materials. "It will. I designed it with your powers in mind."

He and Prometheus both watch Thor test out the prototype. The god's surprise makes Hephaestus raise an eyebrow. "You expected otherwise?" he asks skeptically, then turns his gaze to the discarded prothesis. "Fates, this one didn't have any sensory feedback, did it? You should have a complete range of sensory input, excluding pain, although you'll know if you're doing something with that arm that you shouldn't be."

After Thor puts on his hoodie, Hephaestus rubs his beard and nods slowly to himself. In this way, the family resemblance to Prometheus becomes more obvious, both deities putting a great deal of thought into their work. "The finished product will feel less strange. You shouldn't get any phantom limb sensation." His gaze flicks to Stormbreaker. "I want to see if the tensile strength of the rotors can handle your weapon. Go ahead and swing it around -- carefully, please."

This is a workshop, after all. His designs are meant to be tested, but not with collateral damage.

[pirateangelbaby]

“No, none.” It honestly hadn’t occurred to him that it should; he has very little firsthand experience with this sort of thing. Replacement limbs were not unknown among his people, even before Ragnarok, but not among any of Thor’s peers. He’s never had cause to talk about the finer details of needing such a thing, but now he supposes he’s going to have a lot to learn.

If nothing else, it’s a small distraction from the overwhelming guilt and grief that still claws at him, just beneath the surface.

He should probably pick up his weapon himself, but centuries of habit are hard to break. Thor simply holds out his hand and calls, the axe leaping into the metal fingers at the touch of his thoughts, striking solidly against the palm. He shifts his grip a little, getting a feel for how the arm handles the weight of the axe one-handed, and eyes the space around him to ensure he isn’t going to hit anything - or anyone - before he takes a few experimental swings. Gently, at first, then stronger as he becomes confident that the arm can handle it. The axe-head flares with blue fire at the final swing, channeling a little of Stormbreaker’s power through the axe and into his arm.

[liverfree]

"Well, they can't all be winners." Prometheus had mentioned something about a rabbit having possibly designed the cobbled-together tech now lying on his workbench. "It's not bad for what it is. If you don't want it anymore, I'd like to keep it." For scrap, but also to pick at the tech that's holding it together.

Prometheus lets go of the axe's handle the moment he feels a hint of resistance. He watches Thor, impressed by the god's form as he swings it about. Hephaestus is more focused on the prototype, seeing how it handles the weight of the axe and torque of each swing. The arm handles all of it nicely.

"How's that feel?" Hephaestus asks, when Thor is done. Regardless of the answer, he has another test in mind. "Steropes," he says to the Cyclops, who has been watching avidly the entire time. "Go grab the dummy for me. The one with the chest sensors."

The one-eyed giant heads for the back of the cavern again and comes back wheeling a padded dummy nearly his size and in an... interesting shape.

"Give it a couple hits," Hephaestus instructs Thor. "You don't have to give it your all, but -- Steropes, for Fates' sake, stop petting the dummy and get out of the way."

The Cyclops pouts and shuffles over to the side. "He's going to break it."

"That thing is old, anyway, so long as the sensors work, it's fine." He pauses and adds reluctantly, "If he breaks it, I'll get you one of those bears from Costco. Okay?"

Steropes smiles, appeased by the offer. "Okay, boss."

Hephaestus sighs, then gestures to the chimera. All yours, Thor.

[pirateangelbaby]

For all its shoddy craftsmanship, Thor would not have expected the battleworn prosthesis to interest Hephaestus all that much. But he also hadn't thought much about what to do with it once he has a solid replacement, and though he would not have managed to forge Stormbreaker without his furry little friend's generosity, there's not enough sentimental value to make him wish to hang onto the arm indefinitely either. "Sure," he answers, sounding only mildly puzzled. "If you'd get some use out of it, it's served its purpose for me."

The general oddness of the prototype aside, Thor is a little surprised at how smoothly it performs, especially given that it was constructed without ever seeing the person intended to wear it. "Hmm. It's not as heavy on the downswing as I'm used to, but it's well-balanced. Seems sturdy enough," he adds, his gaze sweeping over the prosthesis for any signs of lightning damage and coming up satisfyingly dry. It wouldn't do any of them much good if he shorted it out with such a small amount of power.

The unfamiliar shape of the enormous dummy barely gets an eyebrow raise from Thor, who is already eyeing it for weak points out of long habit, as if it was a real creature. He gives the Cyclops an uneasy look, however, when the giant voices his fear that his... toy?... will be destroyed by the testing. "I will try to be careful," he promises, and flips the axe around so his strikes will land with the hammer side, rather than the blade.

Still, he has used a warhammer as his primary weapon for a thousand years, and he's quite used to using it to its strongest potential. It takes effort to dial that back, especially with an unfamiliar arm and an entirely new weapon, and the turmoil of the storm still churning at his core that makes him want to smash and destroy something, no matter if it makes him feel better or not. It's as much a test of himself as the arm, in a way, and for several moments he is extremely tempted to give in, a shadow passing over his face. But he pulls himself away after only a few solid hits, and rests the axe-head on the floor with a solid ringing thud that resonates in his chest more than his ears.

[liverfree]

Perhaps Rocket is not the only one who likes to collect cybernetic limbs for their own sake. He nods curtly in thanks, then listens closely to Thor's answer about how the prototype is working out for him. "If you want me to adjust its weight, I can do that, although ideally it should be the same as your other arm, or else the sensory feedback will be off."

The shape seems to be irrelevant other than to provide a variety of surfaces for weapons testing. It buckles a little under Thor's mighty swings, but doesn't split open or anything. Once he's done, Steropes lumbers back over to check it for damage, while Hephaestus checks the sensors embedded in its furry hide.

He spends a long time looking at those numbers. "Who'd you say worships this guy again?" he asks his cousin.

Prometheus smiles broadly. "Vikings!"

Hephaestus grunts and looks back at the sensors. "Haven't seen numbers like this in a while," he mutters to himself. He turns back to Thor and gestures for him to unharness the arm. "All right, hand it over and I'll --"

"HA!" Steropes guffaws loudly.

"And I'll measure you for the finished product," Hephaestus continues, ignoring his one-eyed colleague. "It'll take me a few hours."

"That's fine. We can amuse ourselves in the meanwhile." Despite his cousin's willingness to help, Prometheus is reluctant to wear out his welcome. Better to get everything over with in one go. He looks at Thor apologetically. "If only the demigods of this world hadn't already slain all the monsters. It'd be something productive to do."

[pirateangelbaby]

Yet another thing that Thor has rarely had cause to consider is how much his arms weigh, other than to know that humans are far lighter than an Asgardian, with a few exceptions. But then, he supposes that will probably be part of the measurements Hephaestus will require for the final forging, so he just nods and sets that thought aside for later.

Despite his darker mood, he too has to smile at the accidental joke, though he doesn’t laugh out loud. “That’s fine,” he agrees, handing off Stormbreaker to Prometheus’ care again while he shucks off the hoodie so he can take the prototype off. He has an easier time of it than he had with the previous arm, that tactile feedback making far more difference than he would’ve thought, though he may need a little help unbuckling the straps before Hephaestus can take custody of his work again.

“The last time I was in a forge, it was a bit of a rush job,” he adds, once he’s fully disentangled, and reaches out to take up the axe again one-handed, leaning on it lightly as one would with a walking stick. “It turned out all right in the end, but I’d rather you take your time and do it properly, so I won’t need it redone.” Thor is taking it on faith that this smith’s works will last the next four thousand years at least; from what Prometheus has implied about his skill and who he makes things for, it doesn’t sound terribly unlikely. And there’s no guarantee that old age is what will get Thor in the end, regardless.

As interesting as it would be to watch the forging, he’d rather not crowd the smith, either. Hephaestus doesn’t exactly strike him as the most social man, and may not appreciate strangers nosing around his workshop. Prometheus’ regretful statement gets a raised eyebrow from Thor, who glances over at him. “That’s all right. I probably shouldn’t be doing much fighting anyhow; my healer would have my head if I had to see her again so soon.”

[liverfree]

Prometheus helps with unbuckling the harness. As soon as the prototype is off, Hephaestus passes it to Steropes. "Take it to my workbench. You can leave the dummy here, we'll need it again later."

He pulls a spool of tape out of one of the pouches on his work apron and does several quick, but thorough measurements of Thor's shoulder. And then he does it again, because 'measure twice, cut once' is the rule in any workshop.

"I leave the rush jobs to my half-brother, Hermes," Hephaestus notes with a faint smirk. "But a few hours is enough time." He tucks the tape back into his fridge. "There's some ambrosia in the fridge if you're hungry. But don't touch anything else."

That instruction is for the both of them, but he's looking at Prometheus specifically when he says it. The Titan rolls his eyes and makes a shooing gesture with his hand. Just get on with it, cousin.

"You looked like you could use a little release, friend," he says to Thor once Hephaestus is gone. "But I don't want you in trouble with your healer, either."

The ground rattles a little as Steropes comes jogging back from his errand, but rather than return to his work, he plops down in front of Prometheus and Thor. "Hey!" he says brightly, sitting cross-legged, his large fixated on the storm deity. "Prometheus told me that you're like Zeus, but nicer! I think Zeus is pretty cool, already, but I haven't seen him in a long time. What's it like where you're from? Are there any Cyclops there?"

[pirateangelbaby]

If it means having a prosthesis that will last him the rest of his long life, Thor will cooperate with whatever the smith needs from him as he takes his measurements and weights. This is a far more involved process than crafting Stormbreaker had been; the mold had already been prepared and there was no need to alter anything to fit him, though the handle had not exactly been planned.

It’s the last gift he has from a new friend, and Thor wishes he’d had time to thank the young tree before...

...well.

It’s so hard not to dwell on what happened, and once he starts, he knows he may not stop. A distraction like battle would have been more than welcome, under different circumstances, and Thor is not entirely certain what to do in lieu of that. “Oh, I definitely could,” he agrees, forcing a smile. His friend was kind to offer, and he appreciates the gesture, even if it’s only a hypothetical anyway. “I guess learning to fight one-handed is going to be next on the list. Just in case, you know.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then, reminded that Prometheus played a part in helping him adapt to his other injury. “Thank you, by the way,” he says softly, looking over at his titanic friend. “I don’t think I would have done as well in the battle if not for our bout.” His failure to slay Thanos had nothing to do with his eye, in the end. He cannot - and will not - shift the blame from where it belongs, as if it had been something beyond his control.

The return of the Cyclops is not subtle, of course, and Thor turns his attention on the giant as he makes himself at home right on the floor. Which he supposes he probably is, in fact. The questions are eager, well-meant, though Thor’s smile is a sad one. It seems everything reminds him of what he’s lost, of late, even one so innocent as this. But grief is like that, and there is no way around it, though he rather wishes he had a strong drink to hand right now to soften the edges. Ragnarok, at least, is a lesser horror now, and he had never thought he’d be grateful for it.

“We had no giants on Asgard, though the other Realms have many,” he says, his voice mostly steady as he looks into the Cyclops’ face and wonders just how young this being is. He reminds Thor of Hulk, a little. “Asgard was... it was beautiful. Forests and mountains and an endless waterfall that spilled over the edge of the world, and a golden palace at its heart. We had visitors, sometimes, elves and dwarves and occasional giants. Few who stayed.”

[liverfree]

A weapon, especially one crafted for a god, can be rather personal, but this is Thor's new arm, and Hephaestus doesn't want it falling off of him at an inopportune moment. If all goes well, the fit will be seamless.

Prometheus knows his friend is trying his best not to keep replaying, over and over, his failed battle, so the fact that he would thank the Titan for their incidental sparring match brings a warm, almost bashful smile to his face. "I'm glad I was able to help in some small way." He clasps Thor on the shoulder, the one that still has an arm attached. "It is wise to learn how to fight one-handed, although I'm sure Hephaestus has a trick up his sleeve to keep it from being wrenched off of you, or lost."

Perhaps the Cyclops is the distraction that Thor needs while his arm is being made. Or, even if it's not, Steropes seems unlikely to budge from his spot on the floor. "Oh, I'm big, but I'm not a giant! Giants are these jerks who tried to take over Olympus after the Titans lost, but my brothers and I helped out so they are all in Tartarus with the bad Titans... sorry, Prometheus! You didn't tell him any of this?"

Prometheus has a hand half-covering his face. "No, but.. it's fine..." Fates, how embarrassing. So many cousins and half-siblings of his, born of Gaia but so aggressive and stupid...

"Anyway," the Cyclops continues on, "Asgard sounds so nice! A little bit like Olympus, but I've never been there." He pokes at the ground with a finger. "I mostly just stay in the forge."

"Thor, if you have any tales of your past adventures, I'm sure Steropes would love to hear them," Prometheus suggests mildly. "I can go grab that ambrosia, while we're waiting."

[pirateangelbaby]

In the end, Thor had had a lot of things turned in his favor, which is why it spears him all the deeper than he didn't finish off Thanos when he had the chance. But he hadn't prepared alone, and those who helped deserve to have their contributions known, even if he had failed them all in the end. "Oh, probably," he agrees, putting on a smile that doesn't quite touch his eye. "But better to have a skill and never need it than the other way around."

Conversation with a giant - who insists he isn't a giant, despite meeting all the qualifications Thor cares about - is not how he'd thought to spend the time in between, but it's tolerable enough, and he has centuries of stories to draw from to keep them all occupied. Tales of happier, more innocent times, before the universe had turned on its head and driven him to ruin. Even so, the nostalgia of his memories sometimes stills his tongue for several long moments, remembering friends and family long gone, but it helps, a little, to recount the lighthearted adventures from his boyhood. Many of them center around his dear friends the Warriors Three, who are no longer counted among the living, and the Lady Sif, whose fate Thor still does not know for certain. The stories that feature Loki, he finds harder to tell without his voice leaving him, the grief of that loss still far too fresh, and he's quick to change the subject whenever he realizes he's drifting toward his brother's memory yet again as if drawn in by gravity.

In all his travels across the universe, Thor has rarely been homesick for Asgard, knowing that it was there waiting for him whenever he chose to return. But now that it's gone, so is that peace of mind, uncertain even of how many of his people still remain. But he smiles anyway to put the others at ease, and picks at the strange food that Hephaestus has provided. His appetite hasn't been what it was, lately, either ignoring food entirely or eating purely for the comfort of it. The ambrosia, however, reminds him of nothing too familiar, and he manages to finish most of his portion in between the Cyclops' eager questions and Prometheus' gentler commentary as the hours pass.

It might be the longest conversation he's had with anyone in the last week at all, and if not for the ambrosia to wet his throat, he might be getting hoarse by the time Hephaestus returns, halfway through a story about tracking a bilgesnipe that had trampled his hunting party's camp in the middle of the night, some eight centuries back.

[liverfree]

"Now you're sounding like me," he says, grinning cheekily, although he can't say he disapproves.

For what it's worth, Steropes is a terrific audience, riveted to Thor's every word. He laughs at the funny bits, tenses when the action mounts, and lets out gasps of wonder at various feats of strength and skill. Though he is huge, there is something almost childlike about him, or perhaps sheltered, if life in the forge is all he knows.

Prometheus is familiar with some of these tales, having read up on Norse mythology, but of course it is more entertaining to hear them from the source. And anyway, many of them are different from the myths, which doesn't surprise him. He notices the way Thor has the most trouble when talking about Loki, and he can't help but feel a sympathetic pang of grief in those moments, too. It wasn't the Loki that he considers a friend, but it doesn't matter, it is still a tragedy.

When Hephaestus returns, limping steadily towards the trio, he has in his hands a prosthetic that looks similar to the prototype, but without a harness. "Let's try this on before I coat it," he says without preamble.

"Awww!" Steropes groans. "Thor was just getting to the good part!"

"Get back to work, please," Hephaestus says in a tone that one might use on a whiny teenager. The Cyclops pouts and gets to his feet, slouching over to his workstation. "And use your eye gear this time. You remember what happened to Polyphemus." He shakes his head a little and offers the arm to Thor. "Here, slip that on, take a few swings, tell me how it feels."

The arm's end is curved, perfectly fitted to Thor's stump. It will attach seamlessly, the sensory feedback nearly identical to a real arm.

[pirateangelbaby]

The storytelling is a little more emotionally muted than it would've been not all that long ago, but Thor's audience doesn't seem to mind all that much. It's definitely easier than trying to speak of the more recent years, seeking comfort in old memories despite the ache of knowing what he's lost. Even he is surprised a little at just how much he's able to share, and if he occasionally has to discreetly smudge the dampness from the corner of his eye, neither of the others is impolite enough to mention it.

Still, Hephaestus' return is a welcome one, though Thor regrets having to cut the tale short when Steropes was enjoying it so much. Maybe he'll have to have Prometheus tell him the rest, some other time.

If he'd thought the prototype was strange, this is even stranger, at least in part because of how natural it feels. Once everything is properly connected, Thor flexes the fingers and twists the wrist, and it responds exactly like it should, almost indistinguishable from the one he'd lost if not for how it looks to the eye. Which, if he's honest, he doesn't mind all that much anyway.

He shifts the axe to his left hand and hefts it, impressed despite himself at how well it handles the weight, much improved from the smith's first attempt. The balance is better, as well, and he can tell the difference in the swing of the arm immediately, though he still gives a few additional passes with Stormbreaker to make certain.

"It's perfect," Thor says, trying not to sound too surprised. It wouldn't do to insult their host now, especially, no matter how well-meant it would be. "It feels... very normal. Comfortable."

[liverfree]

Hephaestus watches closely, his eyes following the swing of the arm and the way Thor reacts to its balance. A satisfied smile graces his lips for a moment, and he nods to the praise. "Of course it is. It's calibrated to you and your abilities. All it needs now is a skin for aesthetics. What are you into? Gold? Silver?"

"Put lightning bolts on it!" Steropes shouts from his workbench.

"Hold on, hold on." Prometheus steps up to his cousin, hands raised. "What do you mean that's all it needs? What about your divine blessing?"

Hephaestus snorts. "What, my craftsmanship isn't enough? That arm will last him millennia."

"He's a god, cousin. And his people need him. Your blessing will see to that."

A scowl appears on the deity's face. "I already let you talk me into building him an arm in the first place, Prometheus. If my father gets wind of me helping a god from a different pantheon, let alone a god of storms --"

"Then you can put all the blame on me," Prometheus interrupts. "You know, like you did last time."

Hephaestus glares at the Titan, the volcanic heat of the cavernous forge rising, nearly stifling for a moment or two, until finally the younger deity relents, turning his gaze away with a sigh. "Fine, fine. But no more guilt trips after this. And you have to subscribe to my wife's instagram."

Prometheus groans. "Oh, come on, Hephaestus."

"She needs the followers, Prometheus." After the Titan reluctantly nods, he turns his attention to Thor. "This way." He leads the storm god to the back of the cavern, where the lava forge awaits. "Go ahead and stick the arm in the fire," he instructs. "Just hold it there and don't take it off. You'll know when I'm done."

[pirateangelbaby]

It's actually a relief that there's no intention to make the arm look identical to his real one. Though Thor's battlescars are not ones he would find glory in boasting about, like he'd once thought he would, it would disgrace him further to hide these kinds of wounds and pretend they never happened. But he's lost his taste for gold after Ragnarok, and he's not certain he could bear to wear one of his brother's colors anyway. Silver is something he's left behind as well, once he bore the crown. "Can you do it in black?" It would match his armor, and suit his mood, all at once.

But then the arguing starts, and this has suddenly gotten awkward, like realizing you've accidentally stepped into a poorly-fenced minefield. "I don't want to cause any trouble," Thor says cautiously, although it might be missed in all the excitement. He may not be aware of the full extent of this Zeus' hangups, but what he's heard reminds him of himself a bit when he was younger and far more bloodthirsty. The last thing he wants is bringing that kind of violence down on a friend, or a friend of a friend.

Even once it's seemingly resolved, Thor's stomach still twists nervously. Can he not even do this simple thing without risking ruin for a friend? Still, he follows the forgemaster as commanded, as agreeable as possible to avoid making things even worse. With the axe back in his real hand, he doesn't hesitate to do as he's bid, though he half-expects to burn anyway. The fires of Nidavellir are still agonizingly fresh in his memory, but this feels nothing like that at all as he plunges the prosthetic arm into the flame.

[liverfree]

It wouldn't be completely outside Hephaestus's wheelhouse to make the prosthetic appear lifelike. But gods have certain aesthetics. Black is not as common a choice, but certainly doable. "I can do it in black. Some onyx will give it a nice shine."

There's a reason why Prometheus warned him earlier not to bring up Zeus. This is clearly a hot-button issue, and perhaps provides a bit of insight as to why Prometheus is so eager to leave his pantheon behind. But when Thor speaks, Hephaestus simply shakes his head. "It's not your concern," he replies dismissively. Now that he's made his decision, he's stubbornly sticking to it.

The sensation of the flames is a curious one: Thor will feel the heat, but not the pain. The prosthetic remains inert, not even singeing or sparking in the fire. Hephaestus watches for a moment, then nodding to himself, he places his bare hands into the flame and lays them on his creation.

He begins to glow, brighter and brighter until it is impossible to look directly at him. The white light of his divinity overwhelms his body as well as the prosthetic. One gets the impression that a mere mortal would turn to ash in his presence, although considering his godly status, Thor appears to be safe.

Still glowing, Hephaestus grabs a hammer from the side of the forge, and with a mighty blow, strikes the prosthetic. The sound rings out like a thunderclap, and in an instant, all that searing white light disappears.

When Thor pulls his new arm from the flames, he'll find it black as requested and crackling with an unfamiliar, but powerful magic. "Give it a few minutes to set," Hephaestus says. "Then you're good to go."

[pirateangelbaby]

In a way, the sensation almost reminds him of how it felt to first channel lightning, the white-hot heat never so much as singeing a hair on his head as it passed through his bones, utterly painless. Not exactly the same, of course, but enough that he doesn’t fear what happens next, as Hephaestus begins to radiate his own inner light until even Thor can’t look at him anymore, turning the blind eye to protect what vision he has left. Even so he doesn’t need his eye to feel the prickling of magic building on his skin, like static before a lightning strike, strong enough that Thor does not need to be a seidrmann to take note of it.

And then abruptly, all that energy is released, like a singularity collapsing in on itself.

Thor blinks a few times to clear the spots from his vision, and looks down at the arm, which seems to have soaked up the magic as easily as Stormbreaker had taken in his own power, though he doesn’t recognize this seidr at all. It feels good, though, and the color appeals the way he’d imagined it would, shining black in the firelight.

“It’s beautiful. You have my deepest gratitude, Hephaestus.” The smith might brush him off, but Thor was raised with royal manners - even if he sometimes hadn’t cared much to use them, as a boy - and even though he’s been brought lower than he ever has before, he’s still clinging to whatever bits of normalcy he can find.

[liverfree]

The honest gratitude seems to break through a bit of the god's gruffness, a small, but genuine smile appearing on his face. "You're welcome. Use it in good faith, Thor, and it will serve you well."

Prometheus claps a hand onto his cousin's shoulder. "Excellent work as usual," he says, giving the deity a playful jostle. "I knew I could count on you."

"Yeah, yeah," Hephaestus grumbles, shrugging off the Titan's hand. "You can show yourselves out, I've got a volcano to run." He limps off without further ado.

"I suppose that's our cue," Prometheus murmurs. "I'll take you back to where you arrived."

"Bye, Thor!" Steropes calls out, before they leave.

[pirateangelbaby]

Despite the abrupt farewell, the manner of their parting does ease a bit of the lingering anxiety Thor has over the argument the cousins had had, and he raises his new hand to wave at the Cyclops on their way out. “It was nice talking to you,” he calls out, and follows Prometheus back out the way they came.

He can’t quite stop fidgeting with the hand, though, flexing his new fingers and marveling at the tactility of it. “You said he was good, but this is better than I’d expected,” he admits, his spirits a little higher than they were when they’d arrived. “Thank you for arranging this. I doubt I could have gotten a replacement half this good on my own.” He would not have the slightest idea where to begin looking, anyway, not with Eitri and Nidavellir in their current states.

[liverfree]

Prometheus grins at Thor as he leads the two of them out of the mountain. "Not unless you found another god of the forge," he says with some amusement before his expression sobers. "And you're welcome. It was only a little trouble."

Still, when he thinks back to his argument with Hephaestus, he looks a bit embarrassed, his gaze averted. "I'm sorry you had to witness our bickering. I thought I had smoothed out the details ahead of time, but..."

He trails off, waiting until they've passed through the magical barrier. "Hephaestus and his parents have a rocky relationship. His siblings receive far more attention... Apollo especially. The literal 'golden child'." He rolls his eyes. "It makes him reluctant to contradict Zeus. But he is one of the few gods who actually cares about humanity, so I'm glad he came through."

His smile returns. "And you seem to have acquired a new fan! I really ought to take Steropes traveling with me someday. Poor fellow has been cooped up in the forge for too long."

[pirateangelbaby]

Only a little trouble, he says. That there was trouble at all doesn't sit well with Thor, but what's done is done, and things seem to have turned out all right in the end. Assuming Zeus doesn't get wind of what happened here, that is, and that thought sticks in the corner of his mind like a thorn.

It's unfortunate that Thor should share any understanding of that kind of family dynamic, but though the house of Odin was far less... dysfunctional... than Prometheus', there is an uneasy resemblance of sorts. He's never heard the term 'golden child' but it needs no explanation, really, as he once filled that role himself. Still is, perhaps, even though his entire family is gone now. "He is a good man," Thor agrees quietly. "I'm glad he has those who see his worth, even if his parents won't."

Steropes is an easier thing to talk about, though, so he takes the shift in subject in stride. "You should. He, ah, doesn't come off like he gets out much. If he liked my stories, he'd probably love the Nexus."

[liverfree]

For what it's worth, Prometheus doesn't seem concerned, only embarrassed, and considering how much thought he puts into things beforehand, that's probably a good sign. It's unlikely that anyone's going to end up chained to a mountain with their liver pecked out this time around.

"Oh, he has his moments, too." The Titan smiles wryly, thinking of the rare but notable times that Hephaestus let his pettiness get the best of him, as so happens with all the Greek gods at one point or another. "You could probably blame most of those on his wife. She's the goddess of love and beauty, and a real piece of work."

Speaking of which, he pulls out his PINpoint and opens a social media app. "Let's see," he says as he scrolls along. "Where is she... ah, there she is." He groans as the smiling image of a beautiful blonde woman appears. "A make-up blog, great. What I always wanted."

But, if this is what it takes to square away his cousin's work, he'll do it. He clicks the subscribe button, then immediately mutes her and tucks the PINpoint away.

"No, he doesn't, unfortunately. There aren't a lot of places you can take a one-eyed giant these days." But then Thor mentions the Nexus, and he grins. "Oh! That's a wonderful idea. I'll see if he can get some time off."

[pirateangelbaby]

Thor is thoroughly unfamiliar with Instagram, though he’s heard of it in passing, and he can’t resist taking a peek over his friend’s shoulder to see what all the fuss is about. It doesn’t exactly help. Though it does give him an idea what kind of woman would marry Hephaestus, and she does look rather stunning in her own right, which isn’t a surprise after what Prometheus has said about her. “Well, I suppose we all have a little bad influence in our lives,” he says before he remembers that he doesn’t really have his, anymore. Not the same one he was raised with, anyway, and it still hurts just as much as it does every time he remembers that Loki is gone.

He clears his throat to hide it, though, and shifts the balance of the axe over his shoulder as casually as possible.

That there’s few places on Earth that Steropes could go sightseeing strikes Thor as rather sad, actually. The Midgard he knows is now unsurprised by the existence of other intelligent species, although he does imagine more friendly visitors might draw attention in most places. After all, Thor can pass for one of them - in theory - and he’s become quite used to being asked for selfies and autographs in his time on Earth. “Surely there must be someplace on Earth he could visit, too,” he says, a thoughtful tone in his voice. “Though maybe not as populated.”

[liverfree]

Prometheus snorts at the comment. If he notices the small hitch in friend's expression afterwards, he pretends right along with Thor that it didn't happen. He knows that grief can cast a shadow over even the most innocuous of things.

"She's... well, let's just say that you don't want to cross her. There's a reason why so many love goddesses are associated with death. She isn't, but she'll make you wish you were if you tick her off." Although she suspects that Aphrodite would have other plans for Thor, if they happened to cross paths.

"The problem is his size," he muses as they make their way down the trail. "An illusion can take care of his eye, but I can't do anything about his height. It's a shame. He and his brothers were locked up by their own father in Tartarus. Zeus freed them, but they went straight to the forge to fashion lightning bolts for him. And now that they finally have more time on their hands, the world has changed too much to accept them."

As they reach the knotwork circle Thor made in the dirt, he adds, "That is why I think the Nexus might be better for him."

[pirateangelbaby]

Thor's thoughts run in a somewhat opposite direction, trying to picture Hela as a love goddess and completely failing. Not because she wasn't beautiful enough, or because she was his sister - although those are important factors, yes - but because he just can't see her having the patience or self-control to not just kill her way to whatever she wanted. "One goddess of death was enough for one lifetime," he says instead, shaking it off. "So that's probably for the best."

He can feel the subtle pull of the Bifrost's energies as they get close to the landing site, a faint hum of resonance through Stormbreaker where it rests against his shoulder. "Probably. He won't have to hide there, although you may need to scout out which buildings have high ceilings for him," Thor adds with a subdued sort of smile. It goes without saying that Prometheus probably has an eye for that sort of thing.

He shifts the axe to his new left hand and offers his right for a handshake, too little to express the gratitude for this favor but it's all that Thor has, right now. "Thank you again, for this. For everything you've been doing for us."

[liverfree]

Prometheus has heard tales of Hela from his houseguests, so he nods soberly at Thor's assessment. The only thing that woman appeared to love (other than power), was her infinite supply of knives. No, Aphrodite is not a murderer, although she is an epic troll at times, using her powers to screw over mortals (and the other gods) for her own amusement.

He should bring her up to Loki sometime. The stories might cheer him up a little.

Thor's smile, as subdued as it is, puts a warm one on the Titan's face. "Yes, I'll have to warn him. He has a very hard head -- physically, I mean. I'd worry more for the ceiling's sake than him."

He takes Thor's hand, clasps it with both of his own. "You are welcome, Thor. If there is anything else you need, please don't hesitate to ask." It feels insufficient to say, knowing that both Thor's pride and Prometheus's own limitations means that he can only contribute so much. But he'll offer what he can. "You can call on me any time."

[pirateangelbaby]

As a man who has accidentally broken quite a few things during his time on Earth, Thor can only nod in agreement. Human furniture and architecture is typically not designed for Asgardian levels of wear and tear, among other things.

It may feel like a small thing to offer, but in light of everything that's happened, everything he's lost, Thor has very little pride to stand in the way anymore. His father had wanted him humbled, once, and he can't help but hope that this wasn't what Odin had had in mind. "Thank you. I... might do that."

He stands in the center of the knotwork rune, and once he's satisfied that Prometheus is clear of its radius, he raises the axe and calls the Bifrost. The rainbow light roars down around him, and when it clears, only the rune circle remains.