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[shadowglitter]

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[shadowglitter]

[ I guess isn't very encouraging, but he's not sure what he expected, given that even beautiful boys with silver hair and eyes like the night are probably less acquainted with travelling through space and time than he is. Odin scratches at his arm and tries not to be too obvious as he watches Peter slip his shirt over his head, still red and still optimistically uneasy, his blush standing out so brightly against fair skin and black hair. He's not as built as he will be in a few years, but he's lived his life training his body like an instrument; he's built but he's gangly, he's ripped but he's awkward. Too young to fight but too old not to. ]

I don't-- I don't know what Vegas Style is? I'm just happy to, uh. Wake up somewhere nice. I kind of get the feeling your home isn't the same as my home? You don't really look like you're a fighter. Not to say that you don't look-- good, because-- I mean, obviously I think you do, if we-- did-- done... stuff. The stuff that you're... asking... if we did. Which I think-- we did? We had to have-- I mean, we're naked. We...

[ Oh, boy. Odin trails off and rubs at his eyes, waving one hand carelessly through the air to sort of wrap up the section of conversation where he has to use words like a normal human being. Peter asked him if he feels like he should know more about this place than he does, and that's a better thing to focus on than all the horribly inappropriate and poorly timed thoughts about Peter's tight, freckle-dotted body. He looks around the apartment and he sees so many things that feel like he'd kill to own - a rainbow sword, nailed to the wall. A suit of armor made of pink satin that despite the flowing fabric still somehow holds its form, no doubt due to someone's excellent craftsmanship. The dog, obviously. ]

I - yeah? Yeah. I feel relaxed here. Normally, Owain Dark struggles to survive against the violent push and pull death tortures him with through horrible days and restless nights. The curse within my aching sword hand rages with a thirst for blood I can rarely ever control, but here, the darkness within me is - quelled. Silent. I feel - I don't know.

[ he struggles to find the word, finally noticing the ring on his finger. he twists it in place, frowning. this isn't lissa's. ]

Home? Maybe. Which doesn't make sense, because my home is this big royal palace, and it's super destroyed.

[quickfingers]

Peter Maximoff just kinda wonders where his mom is, because he's probably going to get yelled at for not coming home again.

[He's fast to mirror and adopt the third person style of commenting, not blinking an eye as he assimilates to it. Is it supposed to be weird or annoying? He just kind of pops his brows up before finding his eyes back on Odin, like there's nothing else around as interesting to look at. Which is a lie, because there clearly is, but this kid feels like a magnet for his attention.

Stuff. They did stuff. He's still hung up on that and starting to rock on the heels of his feet, fidgeting with a flare of anxiety and energy to match the quick way he talks and the drumming of his fingers against his thigh. He can't shake the heat in his face, this awkward embarrassment over the idea of fooling around with someone - anyone - not just a guy. That adds another fumbling layer of added inexperience, making him rub his nose and dart away from making eye contact a few times. If you look down, you may notice he's suddenly wearing sneakers; that happened in a flash, a nervous flash and a ruffle of his hair.]

Are you like, rich? Or - like, royal? Are you royal like, like what. A prince? That's pretty cool 'cause I've never met one before. Owain Dark's a pretty cool name? You use a sword, too? Cool. I just. I don't? But like, I can admire that.

[He says that last bit while looking down at his empty hands again, palms upward.]

How much stuff do you think we did?