After drinking heavily last night, Thor wandered the beach in solitude -- solitude which had been in short supply in recent months within Asgard. It was not that he intentionally abhorred or avoided the company of the others, but he sensed the undercurrent of other dynamics that were best left alone for the night, at least. Each had their own fears to confront, their own darknesses to reconcile before the battle to come, their own methods to prepare. Despite his lofty words at their meeting, Thor prepared himself by brooding.

Truth be told, the Thunder God did not fear for himself as much as he did his Midgardian allies. He had survived and triumphed over many cosmic foes over the span of many, many years. He did not feel that his end would be here, fighting this fight. However, he could not say he shared the same feeling for some of the others. From what he had observed in Midgardian politics, the momentum of the masses was key. Should that momentum ever fully turn against Thor’s allies, the Avengers would ever find themselves running. Hiding. Fighting a phantom war as outlaws. Hunted by their own. Not an enviable lot, that. But what more could be done, save fight and hope? 

Every now and again, even a god had to have a bit of blind faith that ultimately Good would prevail, despite all odds.

Thor barely slept that night, but his was a constitution that did not require much. He was awake when the Widow came, and he received her tidings stoically. Yet another wrinkle to the situation. One that made Thor momentarily reconsider if the average humans of Midgard were completely in the wrong for wanting methods established for containing and controlling the super-beings of this world. His second thoughts ended when he reminded himself the entity in his mind was not of this world, but that did not lessen or completely invalidate his concern -- simply allowed him to put it aside for scrutiny another day.

At the briefing, he was somewhat satisfied to hear the Not-Sorceress Grey would be with him. If the being inside of her wished to spread its wings, Thor would be there to see and gauge the level of threat. In the meantime, he would simply perform his role. He was not the commander here, nor did he feel it his place to contradict or direct plans. By cosmic design, he would help rescue Fury, or he would not, and then he would see where the next step lay. Hopefully the next step would not involve dismantling the American government. But if it was … so be it.

“A warrior should not face a death trap before properly breaking his fast,” said Thor, rising slowly from his chair. “I require a last feast of buttered hot cake, seared parts of porcine, and a tankard of Midgard coffee bean before departure. Any are welcome to join, or not. Regardless, I will be in front of this building within the hour.”

Thor strode from the room, destination -- the expansive outdoor patio with all its tables and chairs and a pleasant morning breeze. Once there, he sat (still in his beach clothes, by the way) and flagged down a servant to place his order, emphasizing the need for [i]all possible haste[/i]. He ate quickly and with great appetite, whether any joined him or not. By the time his plate was scraped clean and the coffee drained dry, a low whistle could be heard sharpening from above. 

Thor held his hand out casually to catch an incoming blurred missile, and the handle of Mjolnir deposited itself within his mighty grip. As he stood, a flicker of crackling lightning lashed over him, replacing beach attire for Asgardian armor and flowing crimson cape. The armor leant Thor inches in height and enhanced the breadth of his already broad shoulders and chest. He ignored the gasps and stares and cries of alarms (and surprisingly, a few ragged cheers), as well as the click-click-click of cellular phones and cameras. Their enemies already knew Stark had gathered allies here. Like Stark, Thor was not a man made for subtlety. There was little sense in hiding still. Let their enemies know who they faced. 

Let them fear. 

Thor headed for the meeting point, for the vehicles, his face grim, Mjolnir in hand. Ready for war.