Thor's troubles with IT

February 09, 2018:

Barbara helps Thor with his comm unit.


NPCs: None.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

The JLA may have more than one regret as the kinks are worked out with the latest recruit. Is he actually worth the trouble? It may begin to be an argument. But it isn't one that the god of thunder is privy to, at this time.

No, one of the outdoor lounge areas is chosen. Someone moved a table a little bit, though, and the table is about to suffer a mighty blow. The sounds of superheroes attaining sonic speeds is something of a common sound above the building, considering those it houses. But this one is unusual, just because the pattern is very different. A very speedy sharp motion, and then suddenly straight down, as if a lightning bolt took a sudden right angle into the dirt. Or, well, into that table in the outdoor courtyard.

It is Thor … of course, who stands up from his new table-crater, and nonchalantly strides towards a door, heading inside. He does have his new JLA communicator, although the functionality of such thing? Questionable. Still, it identifies quickly who (or what) just crashed on in. He stops just inside the door to the interior off of the courtyard, orienting, breeze rippling through his blonde mane in proper shampoo commerical style. Otherwise, he's dressed like a mortal. …A giant, godly and muscular mortal, anyway. "Where is your computer room?" Thor demands of the nearest poor employee, loudly. It feedbacks into his communicator as well with a painful scream of scratchy mic.

The courtyard? Lovely, sun-dappled even in this wintry weather, and the tables and chairs are well-kept and tidy.

They were, at least, since one of the tables is now flat and att least a foot lower than the rest of the courtyard. It's an entrance that's hard to ignore, and the people outside definitely don't. Some of them are employees, the people who keep the place running. Others are civilians, because the museum and cafe and gift shop are open to the public. Several people make to flee, but this halts when it's clear that Thor, God of Pantene, has merely landed to say hello.

The accountant who was about to sit at that table, thank you very much, is standing inches from the crater looking very pale. He has a salad in one hand and an iced tea in the other, and it is possibly lucky he is wearing brown slacks. "Uh," he says. "There's — a computer lab on the second floor, and — "

A voice comes over the communicator, calm and commanding: "Good afternoon, Thor Odinson. This is the head of IT. What do you need today? Can I invite you to open the glass door to your right and turn left down the hall?"

"Direct me to the second——" Thor begins, but then the communicator starts talking. Unfortunately the volume is SO LOW that Thor actually rolls right over it at first. "floor. Is it the lab within which they can adjust devices? I have adjustments that are required. I suspect a prank has been played upon me, and while I appreciate good jokes, I must remedy the problem," Thor informs this accountant, approaching him with an expectant air. He pauses, and removes the communicator from his pocket. "Wait, perhaps it is attempting to repair itself."

Yep, pocket, not up on his ear where it belongs. "….Hello?" he asks the communicator loudly.

Given that the communicator is working, Gerald the Accountant just… backs away and shuffles over to another one of the tables. Hopefully out of Thor's general line of sight and path of aggression.

Barbara can hear Thor just fine, and for a moment she thinks he has his communicator on properly. When it moves, however, she is forced to readjust her perceptions.

"I can hear you just fine," she says. Truth be told, she can hear him just fine from inside her office. "How about you just stay right there? I'll come to you. Two minutes."

She's saying this as she wheels her way out of her office and down the hall. Barbara's not far away, and it's probably going to work a LOT better for everyone if she does this herself.

Technically, Hal turned Thor's device way down, to nearly muted mic. Thor gets the message, though. Which is, well, stay there. And Thor can handle a few minutes, certainly. "Two minutes," Thor repeats back. A pause. "Over and the out," Thor finishes, looking at the device a little more closely. And then wandering a little bit down the hallway, taking in the paintings on the walls, and so forth.

Thor is simply… hanging out, now, though he plays with the device again, managing to accidentally entirely shut it off, though his awareness of that? Lacking. He tosses it in the air a few times, starting to head back to where he was, smiling a bit at various passerby that give him a stare.
It takes a minute-forty-five. Barbara's booking it, given the fun that seems to be arising around the Prince of Asgard, and people get out of Barbara's way when she's in a hurry. Especially if they know who she is — in other words, the super-head of IT.

It's hard to miss Thor, even in his civvies. Asgardians — Aesir? — seem to take up the entire room even if they aren't actually gigantic, but Thor's a large fellow anyway. She gives him a polite smile and slides to a halt a few feet away. "Thor Odinson," she says, extending a hand for a handshake. "I'm the head of IT — that's Information Technology. I understand you're having some trouble with your communicator?"

Thor swings around immediately, and takes in her wheelchair with a clear puzzled look. It isn't a pitying look at all, it is more someone that isn't sure exactly what to make of the chair as a whole. And probably is about to put his foot in his mouth about it. Yep: "What a fascinating mode of transport," Thor says, with interest.

"Greetings to you, head of it, pilot of the technological chariot," Thor says respectfully, with clear intent to be polite. "I am indeed having trouble. It appears that the sound levels are disproportionate to what is needed, and I injured the brittle ears of the Lantern of Green."

He doesn't mean it in a jerk way, and she doesn't take it that way. Barbara actually chuckles and lifts her chin: "Thank you. My legs don't work, so it fills in nicely. Please, come with me. You can call me Barbara."

She wheels around, pivoting neatly and turning back down the hallway she came from. "Your voice is… stronger than most. I understand you're from Asgard? Thor Odinson, God of Thunder?" It's a polite query. She doesn't seem overly awed. Then again, given the people she must see here on a regular basis, perhaps it's not so shocking. "The electronics we have are very sensitive. If you wear the earpiece in your ear, the people on your channel can hear even a whisper. But I'm guessing you don't whisper on a regular basis, am I right?"

"Most unfortunate! A battle injury?" Thor asks, in evident strong understanding, and an actual edge of empathy there. A rare brief window into Thor being slightly more than an aloudly obnoxious zealot of justice.

"Barbara, head of the IT? As you prefer," Thor clarifies, matching the name to the title he was provided with previously. "I am indeed Thor Odinson, and quite from Asgard: I am Son of Asgard—- prince," he continues. "God of Thunder, amoung other titles that I would not require mortals here to remember," Thor says, generously. He adjusts to a loud stage whisper, suddenly for her 'comfort'. "I indeed often forget to whisper. I am used to making proclaimations, and do not wish anyone to miss out on the information. No one should be left out."

A battle injury. "You… could say that," Barbara says slowly. "I was taken by surprise by an old enemy of mine and my father's. He still lives. Someday he will pay, and I will be there." There is a stiffness there when she speaks of it, though still: not offended. He has no way of knowing, and there's something about his honesty that has a way of eliciting honesty right back.

She squares her shoulders then, though, and pauses in front of the door to an inner, windowless room. Opening the door, she reveals a surprisingly tidy room for an IT head. Yes, there are the shelves of various parts and the worktables, the heaps of cables and adapters, the half-junked towers and laptops, but everything has been organized and labeled. Nobody is quite brave enough to just chuck something on a worktable and leave it, not in this lab.

Barbara pauses: "If you're the god of thunder, I'm going to assume you tend to have a lot of electricity generally around you. For that reason, I'm going to ask you to wear this." It takes her just a moment to wheel inside, snag a static bracelet, and offer it to Thor. "The parts in here can be delicate. An errant spark can damage them beyond repair. This… might help."

Another slight smile: no one should be left out. "I understand," she says. "I appreciate that. We're going to make some adjustments to your comm equipment so that you can shout as loudly as you want to and you won't blast anyone's eardrums. Assuming you're not right next to them."

"It smells of treachery from behind. Most dishonorable," Thor voices in a growled anger at the disservice done to her, and her injury. He shakes his head, and doesn't push it more when she clearly squares her shoulders and leads him into the windowless room. His eyebrows rocket, and he stares around slowly. He blinks at the bracelet she hands him, finding it… tiny. "I am unsure it will fit my large wrist," Thor observes, holding it in two fingers like a giant.

"However, I am in complete control of my lightning, there will be no errant sparks," Thor says, in such a manner as if he were giving an oath, so serious does he get. He does put the bracelet around some of his fingers though, with an obvious smile that he is doing so to make HER feel better about things.

"Excellent. That would be an ideal adjustment!" Thor booms, forgetting to whisper again, as his interest level rather invites him to be … loud. "Is it quite easy to change the requirements of the device?" Thor asks, coming in, almost banging against part of a shelf, but not quite, clearly intending to follow right up close to her to see what she will do. "The lack of windows is rather disorienting, too much like a tomb for my taste," Thor comments.

"Easy? For me, things like this are easy. What sort of technology do they have in Asgard?" Barbara isn't expecting too much. Hammers and anvils, longboats that can sail a long way, really amazing conditioner that she should ask about later, though maybe that's Sigyn's golden apples if she remembers her mythology.

"I read stories about you and yours when I was a kid. Well. The stories we here on Midgard tell. Probably not totally accurate." She nods with appreciation and acceptance when he says he can keep his lightning under control, murmuring: "I expected no less."

She wheels her way up to a workstation, flipping on the lights on her way and settling herself in front of a large magnifying glass on an arm. Adjusting it and turning its own light on, she reaches into a drawer to pull out a small toolset. "Would you mind giving me your comm unit? We're going to do some frequency adjustments. And you can grab that microphone and the box it's hooked up to, too, and bring them here."

"We have technology that mortals may as well consider to be magic," Thor shares, without arrogance. It just is what it is. "Waygates across the nine realms are particularly magnificent to—-" Thor trails off as she gives instructions, and is happy to help. He hands over the comm unit, and then follows her indication to the microphone and the other box, careful to clear or unplug things, and brings them over dutifully. He obviously has no interest in the objects themselves but is happy to do as asked on this project. He's Helping! "I am not technologically inclined myself, but hold in high esteem my friends who have great skill. Although sometimes I do wonder at the goals behind much of it, as with Tony Howardson," Stark admits, but it is with some fondness.

"To confirm, the comm unit is worn at behind ear, correct? I attempted elsewhere but it was quite uncomfortable."

"Tony… Howardson…" Barbara doesn't look up, but her brows crinkle at the name. Realization dawns: "Of Stark Industries? Tony Stark? Hah. Far as I can tell, he follows whatever whim his mind has at the moment. I think he's one of those people so brilliant that he doesn't have to focus to get things done…"

She settles the box and microphone on the worktable, plugging in the former into the wall, the latter into the box, and handing the microphone to Thor. "Hang on to that. You're going to be using it."

Taking his comm unit, she places it on the worktable underneath the magnifying lens. It takes her a moment to unscrew this, to pivot that, and to finally withdraw a tiny chip using a pair of tweezers. She takes a moment to look at it with satisfaction before setting it on a piece of black cloth.

"Okay. So what we're going to do is something similar to the way noise-canceling headphones work. Every noise has a frequency. Your voice is particularly powerful and carrying, so we're going to adjust your headset to account for that and max out the volume it sends your voice at. There will also be a minumum, so if you speak softly they will still hear you. To do that, I want to record your voiceprint. So when I turn this on, I want you to start speaking in your normal voice."

So saying, she reaches out to hook up a tablet to the box, then flips a switch and gestures for Thor to speak.

"Oh: and yes, it hooks to the ear. If you want one that hooks somewhere else, we can do that."

"I am unsure what exactly to say, Barbara of head IT," Thor says. He isn't self conscious, it's more a sort of bewildered reaction. He is using his 'indoor' voice currently, which is definitely loud compared to most people, but he also isn't projecting in the manner that he did when he first met her, with his loud and projected title usage as if he were in a giant hall, expecting throngs of servants to need to hear over the clatter of dinnerware.

"This is my most normal voice when I am speaking about… whatever it is you think I should be speaking about to make prints of voice," Thor continues, waiting for a signal that can allow him to stop rambling. "I prefer it on my ear, yes. I do not think any location is safe from electricity, however, but moreso than my arms."

"I can add better shielding to it," Barbara murmurs. "That's fine, by the way. Voice print recorded. Incidentally, 'Barbara' is just fine." She flashes him a brief but genuine smile. It would sound officious from anyone else, but from Thor, "Barbara, Head of IT" sounds downright respectful. "Though your people — or the people who wrote stories about you — had kennings, is that right? Dozens of titles and explanations and phrases that told stories about people. Thor, the Thunderer. Prince of Asgard. Odinson. In case someone thought they might have meant another Thor."

Tap tap tap on the tablet. "Okay. Now I'd like you to speak as loudly as you were when you hurt Green Lantern's eardrums. Rattle off… oh, your name and a few of your titles. Something you'd say to strike fear into the hearts of your enemies." She's not afraid of losing her hearing, though there's a reason they're in a room with no glass.

"I can speak inordinately loudly when I so choose to challenge my enemies and strike fear into their hearts, I do not wish to injure your delicate equipment," Thor warns, though, instead of abruptly launching into something loud. He was actually listening when she said he probably shouldn't do any electricity in the little room, apparently. A similar extension of respect, the way he was addressing her with titles.

"These titles are forms of memory. An oral tradition of feats and information to pass from one to another," Thor answers, still not loud. But with a depth of pride in his culture. "For others such as the vikings, they are references for them to uphold virtue and honor, belief and strengthen their culture with a depth of learning from their ancestors," Thor shares. But then he's ready. If she is. "You are prepared? Your weak items are sheilded?" Thor questions.

Barbara actually considers that question for a moment, putting her head to one side. "No," she admits. "Rather: the stuff in here is protected. Most of the equipment in the building. But people's personal property, I can't answer for that. So. Hm."

She taps her lip a moment, considering: "If you're not busy, the best thing to do would be to go somewhere fairly remote for this. It's a bit of a drive, but given that you got here the way you did, I expect you can get to most places pretty quickly."

Another considering look: "Can you take passengers?"

She wheels around, reaching under the table and pulling out quite a large and heavy battery pack. She turns off the box, plugs it into the pack, and puts the necessary equipment into a duffel bag. "If not, I can give you directions and we can drive. You will almost certainly fit into my car."

"Is it necessary to come with? I could take the equipment, do a test, and come back immediately. Also, I do not generally actually arm things with my vocal range…. well. Not in Asgard," Thor continues. "I do not see a need to actually test Thunder-levels into a comm unit, as I would expect I would be heard just fine without needing the object to assist me," Thor says. He has only a sort of general idea of what the comm is for, apparently, or didn't pay full attention to what purposes it could be for.

"I can carry others, but I do not know that your chariot would well survive a landing, I do not wish to harm it," Thor clarifies. "…If you wish to go, drive will also work. I am open to your chosen resolution, here," the god says, with patience, and no annoyance.

"I'm sure you could," Barbara replies, patiently enough herself. "But I need to make sure I have a clean read of your voice, for starters, and… well, there's a few other things." Primary of which: it's her stuff. No IT manager worth her salt just hands her stuff off to people and expects it to come back whole. End users are nexuses of chaos and destruction at the best of times.

A moment to consider, and then a bright smile. "Let's do this," she says. "I've never caught a ride with a god before. But we'll leave from outside. I saw the table in the courtyard you drove a foot into the ground; we actually have a helipad that might work better and will scare fewer people. Take the bag and follow me there. You can tell me more about your people on the way. Take us somewhere nice and remote where you can let loose. Oh — "

She reaches into the desk drawer and pulls out, in succession, a pair of foam earplugs, a pair of noise-cancelling headphones, and, after a moment of consideration, an odd and slim piece of equipment that would be hard for most to identify. It's part of the electronics from an old cowl.

"Carry the bag," she says. "I need the chair to move, but not to sit down. I'll bring a cushion. Okay?"


Riding anywhere with Thor is outright harrowing. But the way he mentions it and physically does shield her, it could be so many times more worse than it is. …Not that that makes it better, really. Because to travel, he doesn't fly: he throws a magical hammer and holds onto it to go places. So it is very very jarring, wrenching, and fast. Even at a reduced amount. Thor ends up leaving the city proper, but not traveling too far: he finds a somewhat wooded patch of land to the northwest, and drops into what is likely some overweeded old pasture. "This appears suitable!" Thor declares in… well, his loud, proclaiming way, and then checks on her. "Are you still intact and unharmed?" Thor asks, not yet letting go at all. If it's awkward, he doesn't seem to think so; he's clearly carried people all over the place, although to shield her he had to hold her very close to his muscular body. So there's that.

Barbara Gordon's been through a lot. She's leaped from building to building in a cape and tights, she's dodged bullets, she's… failed to dodge at least one bullet. The point is, she's been through some pretty harrowing stuff, but she's never actually traveled by hammer before. So she hangs on for dear life, at least with her arms, and it must be said that Barbara, Head of IT, has some serious upper body strength for a frail-looking woman. She doesn't hide her face; she watches with interest, only closing or half-closing her eyes when the wind becomes a bit too much. He's done a good job of protecting her, that's for sure: it wasn't all that terrible a journey. On the whole, she's not afraid to do it again.

"As much as I was when you picked me up," Barbara replies. She takes a deep breath and then another, gathering herself and getting her bearings. "I… yes, I'm good. If you just set me down on that log, maybe let me put the cushion down first, this should be ideal."

"Of course!" Thor agrees, adjusting to carry her more with just one arm, and brings the bag forward with the cushion and her other gear in it, setting it down to fish the cushion from the top, plant it on the log, and then leans over to let her lower herself, as she clearly has the strength for it. He shows no interest in manhandling her in any fashion, more of a knightly way to do as she asked, and let her have as much autonomy as she's physically able to do.

"And your instruments of sound gathering," Thor says, lifting the bag to set it beside her on the log, and flipping the hammer over once, setting it down at the end of the log in the grass.

And Barbara seems perfectly inclined toward all this, even murmuring a "Thank you very much" as she's settled onto the cushion. And after she is settled, there's hardly any indication that she isn't simply taking her ease after a walk in the forest.

She roots around in the bag, ensuring she's brought everything. The box is hooked up to the battery pack, and she starts doing a quick diagnostic to ensure that everything is still working properly. The flight was as careful as Thor could make it, but that doesn't mean she isn't ensuring the equipment is properly configured.

"Are you enjoying, ah, Midgard?" she inquires, twiddling dials with evident intent thought.

"Of course! I always enjoy a visit here to Midgard. It is half of my heritage, to be so connected to this place!" Thor shares openly, with apparent pride. He doesn't actually really do anything, other than beam his sunny gaze around the area directly adjacent to them, and settle his hands at the sides of his belt in a proper impression of Superman that he isn't even aware he's doing. It's a barrel-chested hero thing.

He doesn't push her about being ready, mostly watches and waits, without asking questions about what anything is for.

"Half of your heritage? Do you mean because you and yours were deities here once upon a time? It was a thousand years ago," Barbara muses, and then looks quizzically at Thor. "Which makes me wonder… but that's an impolite question."

Flashing a quick smile, she offers up the microphone again. "Okay. All sorted. Give me half a moment to protect my own hearing, and then you can boom as loudly as you like into that microphone. It should survive." Should being the operative word. But even if it doesn't, that tells her something, too.

"Yes, that is close to what I mean, my maternal side is a heritage line of elder gods of this realm!" Thor shares without any issue at all. He's extremely open, apparently. Or maybe it's just open about things he's proud of? He seems proud of nearly everything, from what they've gone over so far.

"Certainly. For this test do you wish thunder to be summoned? I think that may be unnecessary," Thor observes. As if this were an entirely normal question. Though really, aside from the flight, he hasn't particularly done anything truly that outlandish. Thor, so subtle.

Barbara blinks in surprise: she hadn't known that, and she still doesn't know entirely what it means, but she's willing to go with it. "I had no idea," she replies, not least because she doesn't know what else to say to it. But she smiles brightly nevertheless.

"I don't think the thunder's necessary. I can already account for thunder; unless yours is really unique, I think I can scrub that with existing recordings." As she speaks, she starts putting in the earplugs, then the cowl.

"Okay," she says, speaking a touch loudly. "When I put the big earphones on, I'm going to count down from three on my fingers. When I point at you, you bellow a nice war cry into that microphone. Got it?" Hopefully he does. She puts the earphones on.

Three. Two. One. Point!

"No, it is just the rest of me that is unique," Thor says in his direct way with a flash of smile. No joke there. Just that.

He nods his head at her instructions as she determines exactly what he should do. And grinning. He is ready, no problem! At least until she starts to count down, and he adopts a very very serious face, jaw flexing slowly and he stops fiddling around. Very serious war face.

The point, though, brings him to take a step back with one foot, plant his weight and promptly bellow: a roar of intimidating defiance. A battlecry, certainly, that causes all of the birds around to suddenly burst from the trees and bushes in panic, the grass flung low with the release. Thor tilts his head at her, calmly, as he settles back down. Simple as that. He flashes an thumbs up at her. He did his thing!

It is really, REALLY hard not to chuckle at the way Thor puts on his war face. It's terribly serious, and the moment doesn't feel that serious to begin with. Of course, they're getting something serious done, but there's a bit of the ridiculous to all this.

It's different when he actually roars, though. For one thing, the look. With the mass of blonde hair and the microphone and the leaning back to really put his body into the roar, he reminds Barbara of nothing so much as the lead singer for a metal band. So there's that. But there's also the sound itself.

Once, a long time ago, when Barbara was a little girl, she went to the zoo to see the animals. She had been disappointed to see that the male lion was inside a concrete enclosure, unwilling to come out and show his mane. She'd been just about to complain about this when she heard his roar echo from within that manmade cave, and for just a moment she was shaken to her marrow with the sound that her ancestors had known meant a lot of running followed by a lot of mauling.

Even her hair is blown back a bit by this. She adjusts her glasses, staring forward for a moment. Methodically she removes her ear protection, one layer at a time, and clears her throat.

"That should do it," she says, her voice carefully level. "Ah. Very good. If I were an oncoming monster, I would think twice before charging you. I'll just check the recording. Take a moment to enjoy the forest, would you?" There's fewer twittering birds. It's quite quiet, in fact. Quite immensely quiet.

Thor is just about preening, in his way. Certainly a pleased lion look, which is only assisted by that roar he gave. …And now the sort of toss of head which is so typical of him, since some of his hair was in his face. It's so seriously … ridiculous.

But his smile is still electric. That's the god thing.

There's a bit of a dubious expression when she suggests he take a moment to enjoy the forest, glancing at it as if wondering if she expects the forest to do something to entertain him. He drops his hands from his waist, hooking thumbs into the pockets of the jeans that barely are hanging in there as the giant has a difficult time with sizing— and takes a little meandering walk away. Mostly looking back at her, though, as if he probably would have been fine to stand there patiently near her, but, well, giving her the space requested, it appears.

It's taking a moment or three to hook everything up properly and just so. It's also possible that Barbara is sneaking, for no good reason, the occasional look at the God of Thunder ambling around in the sunbeams of a rare golden afternoon in February. For once, it seems, they have good weather. Given that he's the god of thunder, he could probably EXPECT the weather to do what he wants.

Everything's squared away in a few moments, and Barbara casually sets her equipment back in its bag. She takes a moment to rest her elbows on her knees and regard Thor with a mild smile. "I have to say, I'm impressed." Beat. "By the battlecry."

And boy, did Thor wander. He got bored just standing about. And …. called his hammer over by reaching out to it. It sprang to his hand, of course. And he wandered, flipped the hammer up, looked at the grass, kicked at a rock that rocketed off into the bushes. But then finally she calls over to him, and he comes striding back, expectantly.

"Excellent!" Thor says, upbeat. And not catching her 'beat' to define how she's impressed. He just passes right on over that, it seems. "I am known for my tenacity verbally in battle," Thor announces.

"I have the feeling you are." Tenacity. Not eloquence. Tenacity. You don't have to be all that eloquent when you have an enormous hammer. She nods toward Mjolnir: "Is it true that your hammer is so heavy that not even the other gods can lift it? It's a little surreal, I have to admit, to meet someone I've just heard stories about." Then again, it isn't THAT uncommon for her.

"If you'd like to enjoy the afternoon here, we can stay, but when we get back I can use these recordings to dampen the extremes of your voice in the headsets. I'll have to push an update patch to everyone's headset overnight, but it shouldn't be a problem." Reconsidering her words, she adds: "By that I mean that by the morning, nobody should have difficulty with your volume unless they're standing close enough to hear you without their comms."

"You may determine it is 'weight' which makes it difficult to lift, but that is a simplistic description of the enchantment," Thor says. He tilts his head some when he is told that he is surreal. "You seem to be coping admirably, with meeting a subject of famous lore. It is a common sensation," Thor supplies, with absolutely no suggestion on how to actually deal with it.

"I understand what patching is. There are holes in the communications you must repair," Thor says, obviously barely understanding, but technically not actually wrong, in this case. "We can return. I fancy having an excellent feast and round of drinks in the Metropolis city this night!" Thor says, approaching her, and looking at the mechanical items. "Do you need assistance repacking?" he asks, polite. He won't touch her stuff without asking.

"Ah. Mystic stuff." Barbara flashes a wry smile. She's heard of it. She doesn't traffic with it much.

She nods as he goes on, though: "I've met aliens and heroes of many kinds working with the League. Men and women who wield world-bending magics of their own. People I've read about in the newspaper. But they were all real, you know what I mean? No Kings Arthur or Wizards Merlin or Gods Thor. Nobody who was a thousand-plus-year-old myth, as far as I know."

She shakes her head to the question: "Just the cushion, once I get off it. I don't know the best places in Metropolis, but I can find out in a few minutes once we're back!" She lifts herself off the cushion with her hands, 'walking' them along the log and settling herself back down, then picking up the cushion and tossing it gently at Thor. "What do you feel like, foodwise? Apart from 'lots'."

"I attempt to sample the most popular and well-renouned foods of a culture! But I TIRE of the pizza of new york," Thor says, making a little bit of a face at that. "Which is not to say I would not eat multiple pies, if it is what you adore most, Barbara of—-Barbara," Thor says, nearly titling her, but remembering, and fixing it. Just Barbara.

"I do not understand what you mean, by being 'unreal'. Does great age create unreallness? I assure you that I am quite 'real'," Thor says, firmly, without inflection or meaning beyond exactly what his words say. He catches the cushion and then moves to assume the position he did before upon picking her up to carry, assuming that she is indeed ready to be flung through the air again.

"You know," Barbara replies, "I remember the first New York pizza I ever had. It was seriously cold outside and they took my slice and re-baked it so the bottom was crispy and the top was melty and perfect. There's nothing like it. But I am with you on pizza. It's great, but not forever. You want to bring me with you? To dinner?"

Barbara looks perplexed, but only for a moment. It turns into a cheerful smile: "Fine and dandy. Back to the League hall, then. To the helipad. Remember? The one that's set up to deal with gods and helicopters landing?"

"Of course. You suggested a meal. I am amenable to a meal," Thor says, to her perplexed question about what is going on. It was perfectly obvious to him, that there would be a meal, and she clearly wanted to eat. Simple enough.

"Yes, of course. I looked at it when we left. I will aim true, and not miss," Thor says with his odd breed of heavy weighted seriousness over things he thinks are important to her. "You are prepared against the bite of wind?" Thor checks. He's always ready.

"I'll bring a hoodie next time. But yes: I'm ready." When he leans forward, then, she pulls an arm over her shoulder and lifts herself neatly up. She even has a neat little maneuver where she's able to use her upper body to swing her lower body up over Thor's crooked arm. Once everything is loaded up, she tucks her head and muses.

"Pub food," she muses. "Hot wings. Nachos. Hamburgers and steaks. Or there's a gastropub; less quantity, more quality." She's assuming Thor goes for quantity, but it doesn't do to assume when it comes to gods. She suddenly lets out a laugh: "There's also an all-you-can-eat sushi place I like. More than one Russian restaurant. Some really great Greek in Queens. Toss me a preference and we'll go with it."

It's possibly slightly precious, the way she buries her face in his shoulder. Really, it's to keep out of the wind and the cold.

"I will partake of the Sushi!" Thor says loudly, which means he's damn loud with her head buried into his broad shoulder. Just that. He doesn't need to explain his choice or talk more about it, because suddenly he's flinging them into the air. And then there's the familiar lurch as instead of going straight up, he adjusts direction and they fly laterally!

And the crunch of another direction adjustment. And finally, back to the helipad. THUMP. He leaves minimal wear and tear on the helipad, and in fact, looks down and seems reasonably pleased. "A better landing spot, well advised!"

THUMP indeed. The helipad certainly vibrates with the impact, and Barbara makes a note in the back of her head to suggest re-reinforcing the concrete here. Superman lands MUCH more lightly. So do several small aircraft.

Her wheelchair is waiting nearby, and once she's deposited there, she gives Thor a pleased nod. "For the first time I've ever flown Thor Airways," she says, "I had a really good time. I do need a while to get everything sorted out, but let me give you the address for the sushi place. We're going to terrify them with the real definition of all-you-can-eat." Admittedly, she's going to tip them like a millionaire. She's not going to let Thor eat the place out of business for real.

"So. Two hours? I can meet you there and deliver the comm unit when I do." It'll also give her time to clean herself up. As is the tradition with IT heads, she's dressed pretty casually for work.

"Two hours? I will find this address!" Thor assures her, as if it needed to be said. Maybe he has problems with following addresses. Or reading street signs. Or not walking in traffic. Or maybe he'll be fine.

"Of course, ready thyself to be a more lovely version of current attire for a dinner feast, as you see fit! I understand there is a womanly need to attend to appearance," He is really attempting to be understanding, no doubt it's coming out in a twist of awful. "What is this address, for two hours hence?" Thor questions alertly, offering her back her cushion and her bag.

This entire afternoon and evening has been an exercise in holding back a chuckle. Barbara finally lets one out, letting her head fall back momentarily.

"Yes, you're not wrong. I need a little time to make myself presentable. And to fix your communicator." She rattles off the address, adding directions from the Hall of Justice, and considers a moment: "Before you go. What do you have besides a comm unit? Do you have a phone? Anything else?"

"No, I have the comm unit," Thor supplies. And then sees the problem. Well. "If you do not arrive, I shall find you here, and rescue you from the events that caused you delay!" Thor promises. He squints through the directions but seems like he can handle it. Sure.

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