It is indeed very stupid, and very silly, as promised. It's so far from any of their own problems that it's easy to laugh at, ridiculous teenagers blowing up something so trivial into a full-on crisis. The alcohol helps, softening the sharp edges of anything that might intrude into this refuge they've carved out for themselves.

There are few people left that Thor feels close enough to to answer that kind of question, but the Avengers - what's left of them - are on the list. Their time together was far too brief, but they'd meshed well and found a camaraderie that holds a fond place in his memories. "I was in my seventh century," he answers with a grin, lightened both by the stupid jokes and the drinks. He pauses a moment as he does some very rough math, still not really sure how human ages and Asgardian ages match up, but taking a stab at it anyway. "Probably somewhere around fifteen, for a human? My friends and I always celebrated together after winning a battle, and that time we got a bit carried away. None of us knew what we were doing, but that didn't stop us."