❝ I enjoy how energetic your storms are. they evade my control almost effortlessly and nip back at me for my hubris. they enjoy making me work for it, ❞ the goddess smiles , fox-like face made mischievous by the teasing light cast from sky blue eyes. Ororo lays her hand but a moment atop Mjolnir , nails tip-tapping like the sound of little rain drops against metal. ❝ I imagine it must amuse you so to do the same to poor , little roro. aren't I pitiful? ❞ a flick of her wrist , as she comes around his side , and her hand is cupping his chin and squishing his jowls playfully. she plays up her claims with the most pitiful little lip quivering pout she can muster around her amusement , and releases him with a huff of air.
❝ how alike both master and thunderstorm are. ❞
“you jest,” he chides insincerely. how a smile pulls at his lips betrays any attempts at faux disproval. “there is nary a thing pitiful about you.” she moves around him, and his eyes track her, mjolnir humming in his grip. the hammer is not the only one who recognizes the delightful company of an ally — a friend. thor’s nose scrunches beneath her touch, his head giving a pleased, little shake. the laugh that sounds is almost boyish. “goddess of thunder.” lifting a hand, the one not occupied by mjolnir, he watches as strips of lightning dance between the tips of his fingers. wind whips gently around them, through their clothes and hair, where they currently hover together. upon extension, as if in offering, those electrified strips in turn reach for her. not to harm, but to say hello. “myself and my storms have the utmost reverence for you and yours. but you know that.”
