Norns, save her. She does not have the patience for this.

Listen; The universe needs more women with swords. She’s simply helping to fill a niche.

She can’t profess to have much experience with the latter, but the sentiment is the same: More powerful women.

She would absolutely love to. For no particular reason, she happens to have an empty tankard — that’s not the word they use anymore, is it? — on her person. If she were to throw it into the air, would that make an acceptable target?

She’s Asgardian. Surely no further explanation is needed? Taking a loose grip on the handle; the goddess tosses the object upwards — a reasonably gentle throw by her standards, but it still reaches an impressive altitude at considerable speed.

For the last thousand-and-something years, yes. “That was a weak throw,” Sif muses, her gaze remaining averted upwards for several moments. Eventually, she makes an appreciative sort of ‘hm’ sound, and returns to facing the blonde. “Now, 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 is impressive.”

Absolutely not.

Nobody wants to include Hela. That’s why.

She is awake, but — as the Midgardians say — at what cost?

Stop everything. There’s no ale. Why is there no ale?

— Alright, that might have been a little mean.

—