Re: Weal
"That's not the self-pity chaise; we keep that in Uncle Loki's room."
She watched Brayden for a few moments, thoughtfully. Nope. Ugh, "Quit being stunning. Immigrants comin' for my job," she sassed playfully, taking the tone of (Uncle) Troy, whom had 'more of an imprint on her upbringing than her mother would have preferred'.
Deep down, the quasi-deity understood where her step-sibling was coming from (literally and metaphorically). She would have thought that a stay-cation on Asgard would have been slightly preferrable to Midgard's bar scenes, but what did she know? Really - what did she know? Very little about that, specifically. Yes, her parents frequently encouraged her to learn the histories of both her... cultures. But the hands-on Earth experience hadn't really happened. No apartment in Brooklyn. No chalet in the Alps. 'Earth is fun to visit but it great to live on'. It was very that.
Astrid sat next to Brayden, stole the bottle they were drinking from, took a gulp, and signed the scroll. "You play too much," she said, then sighed. "How many end-of-existence soirees are we going to do?" she mused. "Send out a text..." she took a long swill, attempted a belch, nothing happened, and she handed the bottle back to Rayd.