With a nod, Thor left the coffee to percolate. The bitter smell of it turned the blond's stomach; he had never been too fond of coffee, always hated the jitteriness that it instilled in him or how uneasy it made him feel. Thor always felt as if his heart would beat out of his chest and it made him too aware of everything he worked so hard to tamp down but never ignore.
Thor took a place at the table across from Stark — old habits of never truly wanting to be within arms reach of a Victor never quite ready to die — and watched the man idly play with one of the long since emptied bottle of moonshine. All that remained in the unlabelled glass were the faint oaken smell of the barrels and the flowers of the cacti that grow in the plains where the miners lived. After all his years clinging to these bottles, Thor could find those subtle notes and respect them, find them under the burn and the apathy to appreciate the artistry in the craft.
Somehow, Stark's interest in the brew did not surprise him. The man had appeared at his home bearing liquor as a peace offering and had made no secret of his drinking, though he had an entertaining flair that Thor did not possess. Regardless, Thor knew better than to take anything as what it seemed. Little of the world truly existed as it was presented and the 57th Victor had learned that truth the hard way at a young, impressionable age. The Capitol was a nest of vipers coated in the smell of venom and poison and flowery perfumes, gilded and selfish and waiting to strike. The ideals of the Capitol festered and infected the minds of the people and their head was the many-necked beast Thor had come to despise and fear since he volunteered almost twenty years ago.
Shaking his head, Thor knew better than to even entertain those thoughts in the presence of company. Loyalties were just as fragmented and unreal as the facade of the Capitol and Thor had not made it seventeen years out of his Games without understanding that. A simple comment made among friends could be met with a beautifully crafted condolences for the loss of someone he loved. Years of drinking may have pickled his liver, but he was still in control of his mental faculties.
"That is not an unfair assumption," Thor replied easily as he lifted up one of the unopened bottles that sat tucked in the box by his chair. The thick and cloudy glass clinked against the others as he removed it from its container and let it sit on the tabletop between the two Victors. "This is the only one worth paying for." Over the years, Thor had tried any and every homemade brew without any real discerning taste, always looking for something with the burning punch and nothing else. It couldn't be called maturity that led him to seek something at least slightly pleasing to the palette (it was more akin to necessity), but almost ten years ago, he had found his liquor of choice and worked the brewer half to death with the cases he bought on an all too regular basis. "Though I should be sorry to share it for fear that my supply will be taxed." Thor's old Capitol smile found its way onto his face and he leaned back, all calm and relaxed. Underneath that, his sharp blue eyes continued to assess the older man sitting across from him, still very much perplexed and incredulous about the professed nature of their meeting.