1963-11-22 - Deli discussions
Summary: Rogue takes Thor to taste the delights that is a pastrami and swiss on rye. Oh, and they get to talk, too. (Mention pr0n for Loki and Cable.)
Related: A view from the future
Theme Song: None
rogue thor 

Little known fact: just outside Greenwich Village contains one of the finest delis known to man. Presumably the gods know much about meat, but has Thor Odinson, prince of the golden city, ever tried a pastrami sandwich? She thinks not. Thus it is important, nay, essential to broaden his horizons and possibly pull him away from the relentless journalist attention focused upon a certain embassy.

Besides, the faint look of worry in her eyes come an early lunchtime necessitates a reason for this.

It involves Sif. More importantly, she makes clear, it involves Sif and Yule and presents. Not bait enough? The conversation will include a great big sandwich, see above, roasted tenderly and loved within an inch of its life by a people who know pastrami the way Thor knows hammers. Cue redhead bohemian in her usual attire, allegiance worn plain enough in a deep green leather coat threaded by silver accents, white gloves, and a distinct sense of improving her Old Norse.

"Our custom in a month is giving presents to one another under a tree, come the morning of December 25," she explains while ambling along. "But finding the right present for my lady is important. I do not believe having a happy prophecy of her days to come would be all that welcome by itself, even if there is one."


There are few things that could lure the Thunderer from his location in the City. One is by request of the Lady Sif to attend to her 'ranch' on the outskirts of the city, and the other (after assuring those within the Embassy are safe to his standards), is the promise of a delicacy beyond that which is known to Asgard.

This 'pastrami on rye with swiss and deli mustard' is very much like a battlecry that cannot be ignored. Not in the way the Lady Scarlett has described it, anyway, even full in the knowledge there is always some form of embellishment within. Thor walks easily beside her, an ill-fitting shirt (at the shoulders) set upon him, a light jacket upon that. Jeans, boots.. and his hair is worn loosely down, covering shoulders but for two spare braids that keep the blond hair covering blue eyes. He wears the ready smile born of light conversation, and he listens intently upon the words.

"Aye, we have something such as that. Yule. The Lady Sif will be searching for the perfect tree soon enough. I have promised that I shall find two more, and there will be a contest in decorating between you all. I know not if she's made the official challenge yet, but be warned that it will be coming soon in the attempts to lift the spirits."

Though, presents? Thor looks to Rogue again, brows rising, "Present. Why should there be a gift of a present?"


Properly slow-cooked meat that maintains its richness and moist perfection, and ends up on marbled rye, deserves to be recognized as a halcyon treasure of Midgard. Yes, it's really that good. Not pretentious in the least, which means even the likes of a god can squeeze in and try a giant pickle unmolested, a win in Scarlett's books.

"The custom is exchanging gifts, as a sign of affection and generosity," explains the young woman. "We usually have two major holidays to exchange gifts: one's birthday and Christmas. The religious reason is, I believe, a callback to the three kings bringing gifts of gold, myrrh, and frankincense to Christ. Though it's quite a bit older. The Romans had Saturnalia, which brought gifts out at the same time, and that was two thousand years ago when you were but a charming youth, no?" Yes, she's teasing him, the sunny smile and mirthful glint of those surreal green eyes revealing no malice. Either pastrami suits her or she has a lightened thought.

Scarlett adds, "Besides, is it wrong to wish to do something thoughtful for Lady Sif? I would surprise her in a positive way, and you know her best."

She crosses the street, indicating a southern direction through the intersection. "The shop is on the corner. We can't miss the giant neon sign. They will be busy; if you prefer, I can duck in, but the view of all the pastrami and sausages hanging… It would be a shame." Finally, a place that lives up to even Thor's prodigious appetite!


If Scarlett thought about it for a moment, yes… Thor was a little over a thousand years old when Christ was born and that whole religion came through. He pauses in his step and looks at her, brows rising. "That is still around?" Christianity, that is. "I would have thought that would have passed." So easy to kill those monks on Lindesfarne. He shakes his head, the thought both bothering him and amusing him at the same time. After all, it had taken over from the worship of the Asgardians. Only a few 'faithful' continue the old ways, and most of them across the sea.

Thor continues walking again, hands in his pockets, and at Scarlett's teasing, he chuckles softly. "When I was young and carefree." Comparitively. "And still being called to task for annoying my brothers." Or them annoying him! "When the Lady Sif still had her blonde hair." Just in case Rogue wanted a little time-stamp.

"There is nothing wrong with wishing to do something thoughtful. I am… at a loss." Thor still has that lightness, the comfortable ease in his step and manner even if brows are creasing in consideration. "What does one give to a Lady that will have all at her command?"

As the deli hoves into sight, just at the corner, the neon sign truly is unmistakable. Thor looks down, peers and his smile grows a touch, "I think I would like to see their meats. I can almost believe I can smell the carvings from here."


"The obvious answer would be something she does not know to ask for, or something of meaning and value. Sentimental value? Perhaps an experience." Chasing narwhals in the Arctic, a collection of belugas dancing for her under the polar night sky? There are so many possibilities that Scarlett has no limit to her imagination, but she falls silent on the matter rather than pepper the prince with dozens of notions. Laying the foundations for a gift may be enough.

She tucks her hands deeper into her pockets, disrupting the smooth line of the flared trench around her hips. The traffic on foot gets busier as they approach the Lower East Side, though pedestrians strolling between shops may be as much lured by Thanksgiving on the horizon as lunch. They went early for a reason; the queue will be moderate, rather than wrapped around the block in a conga line of every ethnicity imaginable. Aliens probably sneak in.

A soft laugh bubbles over her lips, and she adds, "Yes. Christianity became the dominant religion in the west. Islam is prevalent in Africa and the Middle East. Buddhism and Hinduism are important in Asia. Chinese beliefs are not exactly religions, more a philosophy. But they certainly endured with many followers. I imagine the Pope, the leader of the church you would have known, would have some words for you. Though he does not represent all Christians, for what it's worth." See? Earning her keep.

Then comes that glimmer of bricks and red neon, long windows and the holy temple of pastrami. The delicatessen is the best sort New York can offer, and she all but sighs. "There is your feast hall for the day, my lord. I can suggest you get your sandwich before I warn you my resident seer — and my own seidr — are foretelling doom."


"She has all," Thor murmurs. "And if there is something that is missed, she shall have it one day." When she sits upon the Golden Throne. "How could I know what it is she doesn't know to ask for?" An honest question! He looks to his guide in things Midgardian and he looks.. bemused. A glint of humor gleams within his eyes, and there is that lopsided, boyish smile. "Upon the very best days, I know not what passes through her mind, and I have known her most of my life. Now it is expected that I must know that which even she does not know.. and divine that she would like such a thing that she does not know she likes?" He pulls a hand from his pocket to rub at the back of his neck, albeit a touch theatrically. "It is a trap for the unwary."

Dropping his hand again, Thor attends the brief lecture of the rise of religions upon Midgard, and he shakes his head. "We can have words, he and I, then. I can promise that they will not again be at the end of a sword, however."

Now as the deli and the shorter line comes fully into view, Thor looks to Rogue again as he puts his free hand back into a pocket. "A sandwich and then discussion of doom. Now I see.. you have learned. Approach us bearing food before conversation and ill tidings." He's teasing, but.. a little.


Indeed, she has. "Your brother prefers to drink first. You eat first, and Hrimhari is at his best outside. Lady Sif seems to prefer a weapon at hand." The redhead's got the various members of the court pegged to a fault, and proof that Midgardners are ever adaptable. She slips up towards the end of the line, though a fair number of people who actually bother reading newspapers and magazines, or stare at televisions, might promptly vacate their space. If they do not recognize her — and they might, given the events of the Empire State Building and Times Square — then surely they most certainly recognize him if Thor poked his head out while Loki keeps entertaining the masses.

Either way, the line shortens by about three minutes. It will be more than enough time to meander through those vaunted doors into an unpretentious space where tables and four chairs as accompaniment line the cafeteria gallery and brick gives way to open rafters. The many people dining stuff their faces with pastrami. You came for something else, you're out of luck unless that's another deli sandwich. Sausages galore hang from the back wall and pastrami ages in joy in sight, under the serving counters, and in the back. Shuffling along the mortal coil brings fairly nonplussed staff who put together sandwiches gleefully, and the only thing Scarlett forfeits is Russian dressing; not especially a fan, she asks for extra mustard instead. Pure, unadulterated magic. She'll even take a pickle as long as Mjolnir's haft, given the opportunity, if only for Thor to watch them go fish it out of a jar. "The chips are good too. Potato fried up just so."

This is going to be an amusing event, but eventually the business of paying falls to her, in an inversion of roles, and it's off to find a table. "I thought you might have ideas for what she enjoys. At this rate, I will suggest a hunt through the woods so we may speak of heroines and battle maidens, and leave it at that."


Rogue's got the list down, and Thor laughs at the recounting. "Always it has been so. I fear I've gotten the habit from Volstagg and Loki from Mother. Though, I would never reject a glass to be raised." Just a hint!

The line does indeed take notice of those who join in. There are whispers, certainly, and some pointing, but ever New York City, the denizens are so used to 'greatness' or 'otherwise' in their midsts that while note is taken, no note is taken. (Except for those polite few who give their positions within the queue. A minor gain but a gain all the same!) Thor nods to them, "Greetings and well met. Surely I have heard stories of this place." Ever gregarious, this one!

When it is his turn for the order, a hot pastrami and swiss on that marbled rye with half the barrel of deli mustard. And the pickle! "That is.. I will have to recall this deli and send Helge hence to witness their feast preparations." With half an animal now upon his bread, Thor is content enough to wander from the counter, with Rogue's payment.

Once a table is found, Thor finds his ease, even under eyes, and laughs. "It has been a time since a hunt. I fear Sif is happy in the midst of battle almost singlely. If that is the case, then I should end up taking her with me to Muspell on the chance that her blade finds fair use."


Settling in a plastic chair, Scarlett curls her feet beneath her seat. She gives the sandwich a strategic look, for how to attack it without the pink innards spilling out in a waterfall requires care that two long toothpicks — really, they're twig length — assisting in mashing the slices of bread together. No one uses a knife and fork for this, and her mouth only opens so wide. Thus, the necessity for a battle plan in advance.

"Her blade might well be happiest swinging at targets other than trees and dust. I imagine that might please her greatly. Hrimhari and I have found a plague of draugr upon a place…" She pauses for a moment, eyebrows arching the harder in thought. "I fear it has no name, but your boon companion Hogun was born there, to hear the Prince speak so. They came in such numbers the Horse Lords repel them with difficulty, and perhaps more to the point, they…" Now is when she flips into Old Norse, almost assured no one who might be listening in will understand, even if she's casually peppered Norse words throughout where necessary, like 'horse lords' being in that near dead tongue. "«They flew arrows that cut even through the warriors of Asgard as your skin were leaves and mist." Paper is actually what she was going for, and leaves actually refers to a book, as in leaves of, but hey! Give her some credit, she's been studying fairly hard. Nothing like Asgardian slaying weapons. There, she's given out her epic quest, retreating into biting the pile of pastrami that probably amounts to a full roast for her. Have no doubt, she can devour that entire sandwich; it's merely rare to observe it, like a snow leopard hunting. It happens, the proof is there, but no one really catches it in the wild.

"«The seer sleeps badly. Her visions show her terrible things coming. Soon. They are not the storm caused by your brother. Something else troubles her. The cards talk to her of something that will shake Midgard, a shock that is not already known.»" Then she looks up. "She's the real thing, my lord. She can make mistakes, or interprets things wrong. The events to come to pass — soon, very soon — are troubling her, and their shadow seems to fall over everything. I did my own seidr in Asgardian fashion to see what comes to pass, and they're unequivocally the same message, over and over. It's going to be stormy in days and weeks to come, apparently. A bad sort of stormy."


Thor has absolutely no problem with the building of the sandwich in terms of his taking those first bites. A sandwich fit for a god, it is! Veritable paws hold the bread in place, the meat settled expertly when the first bite is taken, and much to the surprise of those still upon the line, a second is taken for good measure without a disintegration of bread in sight!

Three, four bites in, and Thor finishes the first half of his sandwich. "This… this pleases me no end. I will send Helge to discover how it is prepared." And the cheese! Melted to pure perfection!

To hear about travels through the Realms, however, has Thor scowling, and he takes napkins for his hands. The switch to the Old Norse is easy for him; effortless. In aid, the Crown Prince corrects her gently in vocabulary. «Killing them as easily as killing a Norman. There was no reason to consider leaves. Not in a home such as we had.» And books? Who had those when Thor walked Midgard with the Vikings?

«Hogun's home? Did the All-Father know of your travels? Battles upon other Realms should come to me first.. particularly if Asgard's armies are to be used in such a way.» In case Rogue's missed the allocation of responsibilities, and it isn't her place, honestly, to know of them. The fault, then, lies with the Prince of Wolves.

«Loki is the Protector of Midgard. It is my responsibility to watch the Nine Realms and Asgard's place in it. If Hrimhari had not discussed this first with the All-Father, then I shall have words with him.» Pariticularly in bringing one of Midgard with him!

His thoughts shift, then, having been sent into a different direction. Topic of a seer… and brows rise. «The seer speaks truth,» Thor rumbles, «We were visited by someone last night, my brother and I. Battle for Asgard and Midgard is to come, which makes Loki's words and our wants even more important.»


"«You would need to ask the prince. The draugr we did not try to find. They found us in the smoke of a village on fire. They attacked and we went away to the mountains.»" Perhaps it may not be the most artful of discussions, but her other choice is French, and a good number of people around her speak that. However, English will do for a bit. "It was an ambush. They left none alive, so our passage through the forest brought them out. Staying was too terrible a risk, not with those arrows." Around bites, one can be diplomatic. Scarlett uses a napkin to blot up a stream of liquid running down her hand from the sandwich, which proves the pastrami has the juiciest cut in the surest way. She squashes the bread down and discards the folded paper serviette to bite back down. Poor Helge; she is going to be busy learning secrets of the kitchen.

"«The Seer say trouble again this morning. The portents say it has not past. Stones, cards, bad dreams. I think we are in the shadow of the beast and have not looked up yet. It is here."


'Ask'. That word is still new to the Thunderer's vocabulary, particularly when used in terms of another Asgardian. Royalty and the demands placed upon their subjects and such. It is a life and a lifestyle. A raising within a rarified world of those who rule and those secondary, and so on. Everyone has someone to whom they are accountable.

Still, Thor moves from that particular bit to the second half of the sandwich. He holds it with ease, and another bite is taken. This time, he doesn't immediately take the second, preferring instead the newer subject at hand. "Know you a man by the name of Cable? He spoke at length about a danger that rises, who has not yet moved against Midgard, but shall soon enough. The warning is enough that I must speak with the All-Father on it in order to gather our army in defense. I would rather that we were able to fight this threat off her soil, far from the eyes of mortals, but that is not to be."


Well, Thor can presumably demand to know, but her statement is clear: she doesn't know what the particulars were when besieged out of the blue by a bunch of angry Asgardian undead wielding nasty bows that shot arrows apparently capable of piercing even their flesh. Now whether she herself was at quite the same danger, and even reckons that, does not come up in conversation. Scarlett is the herald, speak no ill of choice, and so it goes. Her sandwich vanishes in smaller bites, but vanish it does, accompanied by the odd fry or pickle nibble.

"No," she murmurs. "Though that's not to say I have not spoken with him in a different name. Any manner of introduction is fine, or I can search into his background quietly to see what I might learn. «What manner of threat?»" Just as she corrects his printing of letters, it's fine to correct her understanding of language. She more than happily accepts such; the girl has a vocabulary constricted by time and Icelandic dictionaries.


"That is the name he gave. 'Cable'." Of course, within a story, another was offered, but there was a request made and request honored. «This being went by the name Apocalypse.» Of course there is no Old Norse cognate for the name, and it's spoken after the ancient tongue. «He sleeps, we are told, in Egypt.»

The sandwich is once again attended, and sadly, it disappears quickly under the onslaught of the Thunderer. He does taste every last bite, however, and once finished, there is a satisfied smile. "If Helge cannot learn the secrets, I would have these cooks in my kitchen." He hasn't even touched the pickle yet. Deli pickle!


A strange look passes over Scarlett's face, a distant flicker of something that ignites in the back of her eyes, then utterly fades out in the smothering astral ocean carved from skyborne plasma. Working on her lower lip, she stares off into space within the busy deli for a time. "«Some things best stay sleeping, yes?»" The desire to shiver comes only so far, the warmth of the coat cocooning her, and the proximity of so many people, assuredly banishing the chill. "«I trust you will keep us safe, my lord, and speak when you need something."» Still, that puts things into a certain perspective as she taps her nails in a syncopated pattern on the edge of the china plate.

Then her grave look turns into amusement, and she nods to the French fries. "Try one if you have not. They are essential for finishing off the meal with the right level of salt. Then the pickle, but that is something of a treat for afterwards, a bit of sour bite to go with the rest. Good, isn't it?"


"Cable brought tidings that he may sleep no more."

Thor's words are softly spoken, blue eyes upon Scarlett's for a long, lingering moment. «We have promised our lives to the defense of this Realm, and we honor our vows. What affects Midgard, what affects Jotunheim.. and all the Realms affects Asgard.» He continues in what Rogue hears as 'English', "Unfortunately, there are those that do not understand my brother's words to them. Unite or Midgard is in danger of falling divided. She needs to come to her own aid now that she is beginning to be capable of such a thing."


Thor reaches across the small deli table to take a small fingerful of those fries and they're soon gone. And, of course, there is the pickle! "This will be my new hall when I am in the City." So declares Thor!


"We have been divided for a hundred generations, and probably before, but we lacked the words to explain it. Easier to be divided when a few tribes live on the savannah and the caverns of southern France, never coming into contact with other populations. I understand the message, I also understand why so many of my own friends and peers do not understand. It is such a new thing for us to cooperate at a higher level. Twenty years of the United Nations." Two decades. Her chin nudges towards a little girl chewing on a pickle. "She has witnessed an era where America and Europe work together, yet we still have the Soviet Union and China independent of much influence. I may be older than peacetime in the world, and we still practice our drills in the event of a nuclear strike. When you have seen what you have, how strange it all must be. Indeed, when I have opened my eyes to greater horizons… It's not only the Doctor who sees our sphere of influence, and what lies beyond, and probably stays up many sleepless nights. Might want to have some pastrami before bedtime. It certainly helps."

To sweeten the deal, she pushes over the rest of the fries, stealing one for herself. The pickle was already demolished, and watching Thor consume one with such gusto renders her helpless — she laughs. "We are fortunate for your company, my lord, and your appreciation for us. Ah, my, I hope your lady mother can somehow capture how it suits you to do well like this. You seem happy."


Thor nods and he puts a hand up, "I do understand, Lady Scarlett. But those aliens gave us the opportunity to move. To speak on the things we see, and that the direction things are going, you all would tear yourselves apart. While we do believe that you all have the right to determine the direction you should move, there are things unknown to your leaders, now made known, that should encourage a coming together for the benefit of all."

He leans across the table and helps to pull the fries over closer to him in order for him to feast upon the salted, beef-tallow-drenched bits of heaven in a potato, and he laughs. "If Mother could see me now, she would shake her head and wonder how she'd managed to raise a mannerless cur like myself." Thor's kidding! Really! "Courtesy is to the wind when such a feast lies before me in such short supply." In other words? It's all his! Ha!

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License