"It would have," Thor agrees, a little wistful. One of the ravens hops off his shoulder, climbing down the front of his hoodie, and he absently raises his arms to hold it like one might cradle an affectionate cat, lightly scratching fluffy neck feathers with his artificial hand. The fingers move as smoothly as flesh ones would, well articulated and gentle. "Perhaps if there's a Nidavellir out there in the Nexus somewhere that still stands, you could arrange such a contest. In my world, its days are at an end, unfortunately."