"Shawarma? A banquet? Truly? I have never partaken in a Midgardian feast!" Thor's eyes ignited with a sudden, boyish fervor at the mere mention of food. The idea of a celebratory gathering on Earth was something he had long desired to experience.
During his tenure on this realm, his social circle had remained frustratingly small: Jane, Tony, and Noah. His time with Jane was precious, but it was spent in the quiet, intimate moments of courtship—hardly the setting for a roaring Asgardian banquet. Whenever a true celebration was called for, Jane was whisked away to the golden halls of Asgard, as her scientific endeavors on Earth left her with precious little time for revelry. To make matters worse, Professor Selvig had vanished into the shadows of S.H.I.E.L.D. recruitment, and Daisy was the only one left with free time—but Thor was a man of honor, and he dared not risk the sanctity of his first real relationship by carousing with his girlfriend's best friend.
But a victory feast? That was something he understood in his very marrow. It was the ancient tradition of his people: to break bread and spill ale in the wake of a hard-won triumph. As the excitement took hold, he even considered calling for Jane to join them, so she might see the glory of a victory won on her home soil.
"Yes, perhaps a banquet is exactly what the doctor ordered," Tony mused, his mind already spinning with logistics and catering. "We should celebrate as if it's the end of the world—mostly because it almost was."
"Tony, you still have the stomach for a party?" Noah asked, his voice grounding the conversation as the incandescent light around him finally flickered and died, the residual magic settling back into his soul. He gestured toward the skyline. "Look at your home. Stark Tower looks like it's been chewed on by a cosmic beast."
The great monolith of glass and steel indeed looked precarious. From their vantage point, the skyscraper appeared as if it might topple at any moment, though that was a deception of the eyes. Tony had spared no expense on the superstructure; despite the shattered windows and the jagged scars along its flanks, the core was solid. Yet, the cost of the ruined glass panels and the specialized equipment inside was enough to make a lesser billionaire weep.
"Oh, don't! Please, don't remind me!" Tony groaned, waving a gauntleted hand as if to ward off a physical blow. The construction had only been completed the day before, and now his magnum opus was a shattered husk of its former glory. Every crack in the masonry felt like a needle in his heart; he had designed every bolt, every circuit, every shimmering pane of glass. If he could only find the creature responsible for the initial breach, he would channel every remaining joule of power into one final, world-shaking punch.
But Tony Stark was a master of deflection. He chose to bury his grief under a mountain of hedonism, pushing the inevitable headache of reconstruction into the nebulous "tomorrow."
"I refuse to think about the tower. Let us be merry! As they say in your homeland: 'Drink today's wine today, and let tomorrow's troubles find their own way,'" he declared, flashing Noah a defiant grin.
"I believe the phrase you are looking for is: 'Who knows what tomorrow brings—so drink your fill today,'" Noah corrected, reciting the ancient Chinese proverb in its original tongue. Tony had mangled the wording, but the reckless, desperate sentiment remained perfectly intact.
"Exactly! That's the one!" Tony nodded vigorously. "That philosophy fits my current tax bracket perfectly!"
The urge to feast grew within him—a primal need for several greasy cheeseburgers washed down with a dozen glazed donuts.
But just as he began to herd the group toward the nearest functioning street, the smooth, British lilt of Jarvis whispered directly into his ear. "Sir, Miss Pepper is on the line. She sounds... persistent. Shall I patch her through?"
"What? Oh, boy. Give me a minute," Tony said, gesturing for the others to wait as he stepped several paces away. His voice dropped an octave, becoming uncharacteristically gentle as he answered. On the other end, Pepper's voice was a frantic tremor; she had been watching the devastation of New York on every news feed, her heart in her throat every time a flash of red and gold appeared on the screen.
While Tony played the part of the dutiful boyfriend, Thor's brow suddenly furrowed. He began to pace the bridge, his eyes darting between the rubble and the swirling smoke. "Has any of you seen Loki? Where has that silver-tongued shadow slithered off to?"
"Surely he hasn't fled again? That insufferable boy!" Thor exclaimed, the heat of frustration rising in his chest. He had brought his brother here to earn his redemption, to stand in the light of a righteous cause, yet the moment the first Chitauri ship broke the atmosphere, Loki had vanished like mist in the sun. Thor reached into a leather pouch at his belt and produced a set of ornate, golden manacles—enchanted Asgardian shackles designed to bind a sorcerer's will. Loki had wheedled and pleaded for their removal, claiming the chains hindered his ability to fight for Midgard. Thor, ever the hopeful brother, had relented. Now, he felt the familiar, bitter sting of being played for a fool.
"Wait. Look there," Noah said, pointing toward a distant, sun-drenched intersection several blocks away.
Thor squinted, his divine sight piercing through the haze of settling ash. There, sitting at a small, wrought-iron table outside a miraculously intact cafe, sat Loki. Despite the carnage of the war that had just concluded, the Trickster God sat with an air of supreme, untouchable dignity, leisurely lifting a porcelain cup of coffee to his lips.
He had traded his regal Asgardian leathers for a sharp, charcoal-grey suit and a pair of dark sunglasses. All around him, police sirens wailed and exhausted first responders moved in a frantic blur, evacuating the wounded and the shell-shocked. Loki sat in the eye of the storm, a picture of absolute, nonchalant grace, looking for all the world like a tourist enjoying a quiet afternoon in Manhattan.
Sensing Thor's gaze, Loki lowered his cup just an inch. A slow, mocking smile spread across his face as he offered his brother a tiny, aristocratic nod of his head.
"That rogue!" Thor let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, a relieved smile breaking through his frustration. It seemed that while Loki had opted out of the physical exertion of the battle, he had at least remained within sight—and more importantly, he hadn't fled to some dark corner of the cosmos. Thor was simply glad he wouldn't have to spend the next century hunting his brother through the Nine Realms just to drag him back to a dungeon.
"A pity he didn't run—I was quite looking forward to shocking him again," Thor joked, though his voice lacked any real venom. They had spent a thousand years as brothers, and despite the betrayals and the daggers in the dark, Thor still found himself tethered to that ancient bond.
Turning away from the sight of Loki, Thor approached Agent Coulson. He looked at the small, glowing screen of the agent's phone with a mixture of suspicion and wonder. "Son of Coul, I require your sorcery. Pray, use your device to summon Jane. Tell her there is a triumph to be celebrated!"
Noah watched them, a small, approving nod directed at Tony's festive plan. He looked toward Lissandra, and she met his gaze with a soft, knowing smile, indicating she was more than happy to follow wherever he led.
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