He figured the one with the instrument - broken or not - with the exceptionally curly hair had to have been the son of Murderface. His expression didn't soften at the sight of the other man, but it became a little less dire. He smiled - if briefly - before nodding to the empty spot at the bar, and moved to grab a glass and a bottle of lager, setting it on the bar in front of the empty stool.
His voice was low, and had the vague, underlying harshness of Norwegian, but was otherwise seemingly a non-regional American. "Is it raining, or did you fall into a lake? Oh, and uh," he had another glass in one hand and a towel in the other, the latter of which he pointed - strangely threateningly for such a mundane motion - "Valhalla probably does have internet. Thor seemed fairly up to date with technology when he was here. But that's neither here nor there."