( Muttered, heinously, to the side: ) It will not do the —

( ...ah, but did he have to jinx this fine and precious moment, this most strategic of military interactions?

At his feet — the table's spread — one of the spirits begins to swat and paw at his legs, while another, previously incapable of a proper grasp, now wields and pokes and prods with a far-too-sharp fork. Really. Now they can master their utensils?

Teeth gritted, he waits on the spirits to rally and discuss their circumstances, before the pronouncement comes from below in a wave of shaken heads — and Thor, long-suffering, having foreseen this exact moment, calls out: )

She has your ladle and has hidden your spices. You will never cook again, if you do not appease her.

( ...and they say he has learned nothing from his brother. )