By RotherhamMan
Thor didn’t quite get the fuss. It was only a mug, so what if he had broken it? But it seemed that deliberately smashing it on the floor, even in delight, wasn’t accepted on Earth. He had been so desperate for a drink. After spending all night and day walking the barren wasteland he had finally found a town and entered the first place he saw that looked like they might serve drinks. He found the place a tad strange but he had been to many realms and took in the different culture with ease—until he broke one of their rules of etiquette, apparently, by breaking the mug once he had drained it of water.
“You broke it, you clean it up,” the owner had told him in a stern voice, thrusting a dustpan and brush at him to clean up. And so Thor was doing menial work, on both knees with a dustpan and brush, cleaning up the broken shards of mug. Completely oblivious to the view of his ass he was giving the customers and the looks they were giving it back. He finished up quickly, it was only the one mug, and deposited them in the bin by the counter.
The owner eyed him up. He was a man who was not muscled but not with fat either, an average frame, maybe more so, and a bushy brown moustache with his finely combed hair. “Now you’ve done that you can pay for the damage and get lost.”
