Something falls from the sky. It is big and Nordic.

The sound of wind hails his arrival, seen at first as a speck in the sky before it comes careening for the open sky gardens of Babylon, resolving as silver and scarlet and blonde. He flies hammer first but lands on his feet in a sudden slam of weight and power against the floors of the platform, enough to make it reverberate and send a few unknowing bystanders skittering back in relative alarm. Flying may not be unknown here, but Thor Odinson is unsubtle at the best of times. He rises from his landing crouch, and squints a look around at strange new surroundings.

He is actually dressed up for the occasion, if only by accident. Silver armor scales his arms, Asgardian armor an intricate pattern and a hard shell for broad torso, and a lengthy scarlet cloak comes down at a dramatic arc and sweep from his shoulders. Mjölnir is gripped in one hand, a metallic hum still vibrating off the metal and dimming back to silence.

Turning it once in his hand, he opts to investigate this massive, floating fasthold. If this is a scheduled party, he is probably not actually aware.