"Some mythical activity I have heard of in passing." Sleep was in fact something foreign to the blond Victor, his nights spent up late until he finally collapsed from exhaustion. The next day saw the same cycle repeating as that was the only way he could get anywhere close to something resembling peace. Fragile and fleeting, those few hours spent entirely dead to the world were the temporary escape from the real world and its waking nightmares as he was ever likely to get. Real, genuine restful sleep was something he would never be able to grasp as the ghosts in his past would prevent it wholeheartedly, seeing fit to plague him with the memories of blood on his skin and the horrible adrenaline rush that came from surviving a fight and dominating another opponent. That ugly euphoric high has haunted him all these years, a persistent reminder that this world had turned him into a monster long before he entered the Arena. Perhaps he was born one and it took eighteen years for that demon to claw its way to the surface. All Thor knew was that he needed to tear that down, bury it because it was not something he wanted to be.
Time was a tricky thing, Thor had realized. It passed without hesitation, marched on no matter how many fell, ignored those that could not keep up. Thor himself struggled to follow its unyielding procession, getting lost more often than not and coming too having surrendered too many hours of his life he would never get back, fruitless and empty minutes that added up to days.
As he watched the bartender work, Thor could have believed his machinations behind the glass tabletop took only a few minutes, seconds or hours with equal fervor. This night has already delved into eternity, so what did the one small thing matter now? It was exhausting to be in places like this and Thor had believed — or was it more akin to wished? — Tony felt the same and would not attempt to keep a conversation afloat. Silent commiseration would have been more than enough, but it did not seem that was what this meeting would remain.
"A year older," Thor replied. It wasn't that he felt the need to correct Tony or cling to his age as some sort of brand of maturity or worldliness, no, it was almost to imply the complete opposite. Now an adult, Thor felt completely fragmented from his childhood, almost as if what memories he had of it weren't even his and he still felt like he had not grown up completely. Having one's formative years preoccupied with the ritualistic slaughter of children his own age and training to be one of those very murderers left him lacking in some areas. Most glaringly, Thor's concept of death had been so horribly skewed by the Games that he still struggled with it. "I do not know if appreciate is quite the right word." Considering those innovative feats and technologies were the subject of his brother's work, perhaps he should have sounded more supportive, but Thor could not muster enough energy to bother with that.
The bartender spun around at the rattle of Stark's glass and he seemed to eye the empty container as if it had insulted him. Thor took the man's newest concoction and slid the drink to sit in front of him. "I had never been the betting kind, but I had always had my favorites. I miss that naivety."