Behind the door, the Thing sat on a sofa, mashing the buttons on a game controller.
Behind the door, a drunk was pouring a bottle of clear liquor down his throat.
Ryan frowned. He had already taken a look with Long-Distance Vision, but the reek of alcohol still made him uncomfortable.
"Thor, you're drinking in broad daylight?" Ryan pulled the door shut behind him—or tried to, since it no longer closed—and stepped fully inside.
Thor, thoroughly drunk, turned to look at his visitor. When he saw Ryan, he patted his beer belly. "You can drink anytime. That's the beauty of alcohol."
As he spoke, he took a bottle of whiskey from the ice bucket beside him and tossed it to Ryan.
Ryan caught it and glanced at the label. It was strong stuff, but he hadn't come to see Thor for a drink. "We're going to set things right. Come help us."
"Help? I..." Thor looked down at his belly, then at the axe hanging unused on the wall. "Don't come to me with that. I don't want to be involved in anything anymore."
"Trouble will find you anyway, Thor. We need you. Aren't you the king of Asgard? Now there's a chance to restore it."
"But..." Thor drained his bottle and tossed it aside. "Mjolnir wouldn't accept me as I am now."
Ryan fell silent. He hadn't expected the once-spirited Thor to end up like this. Yet, after studying magic and learning to draw on boundless energy, Ryan could still sense the power within him.
Thor's washed-up appearance was only skin-deep. What he needed was confidence. "Well, I accept you, even looking as awful as you do now. I doubt Mjolnir judges people by their waistlines, either. What matters is that you've always been the king of Asgard."
"..."