Look at you, the Mighty Thor!

After a thousand years of the same arguments and tricks, one would be forgiven for thinking that Thor ought to know by now to ignore his younger brother. but the longer they live, the more subtle Loki's manipulations become. It started as little more than a few choice words about how well Thor's acclimated to this new mortal realm, but that's all the care it took for the seed of an idea to grow in his mind. It was easier, without the constant presence of another Asgardian, to throw himself wholeheartedly into this strange and fascinating world, to adopt their customs, unusual though many seemed to him, but with Loki serving as a reminder of the home he left behind, Thor's begun to long for some familiar comforts.

He'd thought his brother vain before, trying to wheedle better clothing in the only he knows how, but now Thor has to admit that Loki might have been correct in this matter. The change of heart is what finds Thor crouched in the laundry area this afternoon, his frame comically large in front of the small, battered box. A frown pulls at the corners of his mouth as he pulls out yet another oversized plaid shirt, what was once his go-to attire in this realm, and with a quiet note of frustration, he tosses it aside, the buttons clattering against the opposite wall.

"This is hopeless."