What Jason gets in return is a rumbling grunt of protest to-- the concept of being awake, probably. There is little very ordinary about Thor, for all that big white blonde dudes can be inherently unremarkable -- armor, for one thing, of a strange and intricate make encases his torso, dressed entirely in alien alloy and leather, arms bare to the elements save for vambraces etched with rune-like patterns. Squinting awake, he raises an arm to shield his face from the downpour, giving a bear-like snort of protest as he sets about climbing out of the shallow grave he's dug himself. He moves as if sore, or tired, for all that falling from the sky ought signify more damage than it has.

Doesn't quite make it to his feet, lumbering instead to hands and knees, scarlet cloak dragging damply from his shoulders, mud already formed to cling to metal and skin both. He peers up at Jason properly then, burning blue eyes vaguely accusing through wet rat-tail blonde locks. Then regards the street. Then Jason.

"What realm is this?" he asks, his voice full with baritone volume.