Thor Odinson, God of Thunder, King of Asgard (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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nexus_crossings2020-03-15 01:51 pm
pirateangelbaby) wrote in nexus_crossings2020-03-15 01:51 pm
The Wheel Turns, The Sun Rises
[OOC: Follows this prose. Posted early for ease of slowtags, but takes place in the spring. If you can't tag into this for a few weeks but still want to, feel free to tag late, I don't mind. <3 ]
Winter is slow to leave the shores of Norway, but here in the Nexus, the turning of the season is far more apparent. Snow has given way to mud and damp, squishy grass, bright green buds blossom on trees and bushes, and birds sing in the trees.
A less melodious pair of voices squawk from the crook of Thor's elbow. The god of thunder is seated on one of the park benches that overlooks a running path, the sunlight shining off his loosely braided hair, gathered at the nape of his neck. He is still dressed against a chill in a soft woolen sweater, but his attention is less on the cloudless weather than he is on the little creatures he holds. Anyone who comes close enough might be able to catch a glimpse of baby birds just beginning to grow their first plumage, ugly and wide-mouthed as they beg for bits of food.
As eager as they are to gobble up the smallest scraps of meat he's feeding them, Thor is rather glad that his prosthetic fingers do not feel any pain of those little sharp beaks jabbing at him. There's a fondness in his eye as he gazes down at them, but he's troubled also, a quiet thoughtfulness that doesn't leave when he looks up. "How important do you think names are? What power do they actually hold?"
Winter is slow to leave the shores of Norway, but here in the Nexus, the turning of the season is far more apparent. Snow has given way to mud and damp, squishy grass, bright green buds blossom on trees and bushes, and birds sing in the trees.
A less melodious pair of voices squawk from the crook of Thor's elbow. The god of thunder is seated on one of the park benches that overlooks a running path, the sunlight shining off his loosely braided hair, gathered at the nape of his neck. He is still dressed against a chill in a soft woolen sweater, but his attention is less on the cloudless weather than he is on the little creatures he holds. Anyone who comes close enough might be able to catch a glimpse of baby birds just beginning to grow their first plumage, ugly and wide-mouthed as they beg for bits of food.
As eager as they are to gobble up the smallest scraps of meat he's feeding them, Thor is rather glad that his prosthetic fingers do not feel any pain of those little sharp beaks jabbing at him. There's a fondness in his eye as he gazes down at them, but he's troubled also, a quiet thoughtfulness that doesn't leave when he looks up. "How important do you think names are? What power do they actually hold?"
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skekGra the Heretic enjoys the spring weather far more than winter, and he's taken to wandering the green places. It's a pleasant change from living in a desert, he thinks. He hears the birds chirp, and his beak turns into a toothy smile. Life's returning to the Nexus with spring.
"A great deal of power, I think. Names tell you who you are, where you came from, who you want to be - or who you don't want to be. They carry history. Memories."
Skeksis have two names, and neither one is really their own. The first name represents their divided selves - skekGra's name comes from his urSkek whole, GraGoh. The other name is the task they were each assigned by the Skeksis Emperor. skekGra was the Conqueror until he was declared Heretic, and he's happier to be a Heretic anyway. It's no longer what he wants to be.
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The rest he understands well enough. Humans muddle their ancestries with a single clan name, making it difficult to tell siblings and ancestors apart, but Asgardians derive their family names from their parents, a traceable lineage as long as those names are remembered.
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He's proud of being part of GraGoh, as urGoh is, so he keeps that part of his identity. It's something that's good, even if the other Skeksis don't understand.
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There aren't many he's met here who attain new names based on their deeds. Most humans don't, anyway. More than once, especially in recent days, Thor has wondered how history might someday brand him. King Thor the Mad, perhaps, or Thor the Gardenkeeper. Not a warrior's sobriquet, not as he'd dreamed of as a child, a fearsome title for an Allfather whose reign would come from strength of arms even if he never had to use them. But knowing what he knows now... such things are soured, at least for now.
"Giving up conquest is no easy thing when it's all you've known, but it's better not to," he agrees, a little distant in thought.
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The old Skeksis spent more time out in the Plaza, entertaining people who come to see them perform. It's a life he enjoys, brightening people's time as much as he can, and it feels good to be in touch with his own creativity and urGoh's. They've made plenty of new puppets since they came to the Nexus for their performances, and they've made people happy, including Asgardians.
"It's always better to choose to help others rather than hurt," the Heretic says. "It's a choice we'll all be faced with in our lives, more than once."
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The demanding calls of the raven chicks draw his attention again, and he grabs another small pinch of meat for them to eat. It's astonishing how quickly the little creatures are hungry again after the last time he fed them, but they've also grown in size remarkably fast since their hatching. "I don't think these two are ready for names like that just yet. But maybe someday."
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For a moment, the Heretic wonders what the birds will look like once they become adults, and what they'll grow into. "What are they?"
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As to where he found them, that seems difficult enough to explain to those who know him already, so he glosses past that part.
"They're Asgardian ravens. My father had a pair just like them." Perhaps identical, though he's still not entirely certain.
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The Heretic gives the birds their space after a quick look. He wonders what they'll look like fully grown.
"Well, take good care of them. Spring is a time for rebirth, changes, and new life. It's appropriate they came in this time of year."
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