[Thor has very quickly come to hate beer. Sure, they brewed it on Midgard when he knew it best, but it's just not the same. He hates it first and foremost because it's not mead, and because in this town it will never be mead, and he hates it because it's not even good beer.
But, as it's the only familiar thing in this tavern (not counting the ale, which he thinks so weak as to be unworthy of the name), he's drinking it anyway. And he's drinking in quantities and at a speed that belie how little he's enjoying it - is this his sixth? His tenth? His fifteenth? Who knows? He sure as hell doesn't look drunk.]
[action, d!]
But, as it's the only familiar thing in this tavern (not counting the ale, which he thinks so weak as to be unworthy of the name), he's drinking it anyway. And he's drinking in quantities and at a speed that belie how little he's enjoying it - is this his sixth? His tenth? His fifteenth? Who knows? He sure as hell doesn't look drunk.]