[ Maybe, for once, this isn't Loki's fault. It seems unlikely, but less than a week ago it had seemed unlikely that his sister would step out of Hel, cut out his eye, and force him to destroy his home, so -- the universe is full of surprises. When he's fortunate, not all of them are unpleasant.

The smell of rain in the air is comforting, and he finds himself almost guiltily grateful for the anonymity Prisma's festivities afford him. He isn't unremarkable, but no one here looks to him to be their king and to chart their uncertain future. Adventure is simple. It's something he understands well. Thor is confident that he can find the reason he was called here, fix the problem, and then return as he's always done. If he's in no particular hurry to return, it's not that he's afraid. He needs the time to think.

For the moment, he lets some of the natives talk him into planting trees. He'd always balked when his mother tried to coax him into these mundane tasks, but now she and the gardens she loved are gone. Everything is gone. The morning passes quickly, and while he ends up streaked with mud and dirt, Thor doesn't break a sweat hauling trees and chatting with the natives, letting them turn his thoughts to the present. Everyone is eager to volunteer information about the moons and the festival, but he finds himself at a loss for a partner when he's handed a bag of meas seed. He's never been one for wishing on trees, but it can't hurt, can it?

He turns to the nearest person, or anyone else he might notice looking in in his direction. If they've been working with him throughout the morning, he even flashes them a smile. ]

Might I ask your aid?

[ It's possible that Thor should have heeded the warnings about wearing the bracelet, but protection is something that he's scarcely in need of. Often, letting trouble find him is the most direct path to figuring out who he needs to punch in order to solve the problem. It's not an exact science, but it works out for him. Usually. Maybe not right at this moment, though.

In the light of the three moons, Thor finds himself suddenly struggling for breath. There's a sharp pain in his back that immediately becomes unbearable, and he's forced to dismiss the upper half of his armor in a flash of light. A pair of large, feathered wings instantly unfurl at his back and spread to their full span. If anyone is unfortunate enough to be standing in their path, he doesn't seem to notice that he's just missed them, hit them, or maybe even knocked them over. If they're very unlucky, they might have gotten a harmless but painful shock. Errant flashes of electricity jump between the feathers for a few moments, but they seem to disappear once Thor takes a full breath again.

He spends a few minutes checking out his new wings - a tawny and laced with gold - and rather than shocked or offended, he finds himself strangely pleased with the turn of events. Warmth finally begins to seep back into the core of him, and with it comes a strange kind of hunger. ]

[ His appetites are varied but insatiable, and at the moment all he wants to do is eat. It hardly makes any sense when he's used so little of his strength, but Thor is unconcerned. He orders plate after plate, claiming an entire table for himself and much of the room behind him for his new wings. He makes conversation with anyone in earshot, and he's extremely loud. He also hasn't bothered to find himself a shirt. He'll just get feathers all over it anyway. ]

Another round of drinks for everyone! Maybe not that one - you, infant, can you drink mead? Beer? Alright, a round of milk for the infant. [ That's probably a teenager, he doesn't know. Everyone is so tiny.

No mead is dispensed for the bemused patrons. Someone comes over to him, and Thor's expression goes from relaxed cheer to confusion. ] Worry not, I'll not shirk my debts. Surely we can come to an agreement, my friend. It can't be that difficult to lace a moon until I've gained more coin.

[ Please rescue this poor beleaguered restaurant from Thor. ]

[ His bright, indulgent mood only begins to dampen much later, when he encounters a group of snarling dogs circling what looks to be their latest victim. He doesn't stop to ask any questions, unless he finds another there ready to help.

Lighting arcs into his hands, and he makes short work of the hounds. The only things remaining when he's through are ash, singed bodies, and the smells of ozone and burnt flesh. The area around the victim is untouched. Thor moves over to them immediately and kneels down - they've lost a lot of blood, but it's hard to gauge the extent of their injuries. ]

You're alright, it's barely a scratch. Let's get you some help.

[ If you weren't there to help with the fight, perhaps you're in the area and able to help the victim, or perhaps you're the one who's been laid out by these creatures. ]

WILDCARD ME