Cameras had rarely ever come into Thor's home, not after the first time the crew witnessed the unkempt state of the place, the way all the rooms felt suffocating and heavy. Dust had collected on the sills of never opened windows and almost all of the rooms were eerily pristine, never touched or used or lived in. Unlike the nearly-identical rooms that filled the house he grew up in, there was nothing of himself in any of them. There were no personal touches, no photographs lining the walls. Aside from the layers of dust and the emptied or broken bottles, nothing set his house in the Village apart from the unoccupied ones. Part of him was jealous of anyone who had a place that they could genuinely call home.
"I suppose that depends on how you define death," Thor allowed himself to say. Hardly poetic by nature and never seeming the type to say something poignant, his off-handed observations were just the product of the bizarrely innocent honesty that existed somewhere inside him. Refusing to mull over his own comment another time, Thor couldn't help but wonder what others' answers might have been. "To someone who knows only the value of popularity, is social ruin not death to them?"
The concept of death for Thor the an elusive and nagging idea, something that has clung to him since his first step into the arena. Dying and death were things the younger version of Thor had no belief in. It had always been something he couldn't quite grasp, something his mind refused to try to comprehend. Growing up like he had, surrounded by and in love with the Games, the sound of a cannon in the Games was only synonymous with failure and nothing more. The reality that a child his own age or younger has suddenly and violently ceased to be did not register and thinking about that now, it almost made him sick to know how brainwashed he had been.
Since then, Thor desperately tried to understand death, to know it as something more than failure, more than the sound of a cannon. Because it was so much more than that and he needed to understand that.
"Not that I can honestly recall." The memories of his Victory tour were hazy at best and far too old now, so much so that he barely believed they were memories at all. To him, this felt like the first time seeing Eight and perhaps it would have been if he had actually seen any of it. This special guided tour was too calculated and exact and left him with the feeling that there was a lot that he hasn't seen. "I have not left Two in quite some time. I have never been one for travel, myself. Perhaps I should have left my own District more often. There is much I seem to not know about the rest of Panem."