I *may* have helped the human female by doing the laminating.
Why do you ask?
I *may* have helped the human female by doing the laminating.
Why do you ask?
The weather has turned brisk again, but the humans have sneaked out of work early to go and see Something Really Big. Sigyn and I have tagged along, she out of her boundless enthusiasm and curiosity, me out of the burning desire to see that she comes to no harm through the sheer fecklessness of the humans.
Whatever it is we’re here to see, the parking is terrible. All the local mortals are driving even more like imbecilic sheep than they usually do.
And now we are picking our way across a broad expanse of muddy turf toward whatever this cynosure is.
Well, it IS big, I’ll give it that.
It turns out that this crowd has come out to see a famous locomotive. Apparently it carried a former ruler to his final resting place nearby. When *I* die (thousands of years from now), I will go out in even more style, with spaceships and dragon races and fireworks. The people standing out in the cold to pay respects, though? There will be so many mourners, my adoring subjects, gathered in one spot that this miserable planet wilt tilt on its axis a small but measurable amount.
Ah. I was misinformed. Most of the crowd is here to see this:
Norns’ nighties! Really, people? You are impressed by this? It’s not even a modern engine! It is going on one hundred years old and runs on steam! Asgard “did” steam engines hundreds and hundreds of years ago. But here I am, surrounded by Midgardians who are gawping at this sight as if it were a thylacine reading a newly-discovered Shakespearean play.
The human male says that this is a Big Boy, and that there are only eight in existence, with only this one still running.
I must admit, it gives the impression of great might, and the black paint job lends it a certain gravitas that more gaudily-attired engines do not have.
The sun has set now, and we have crossed the tracks to observe the engine’s other side, which is rather nicely illuminated for ease of viewing.
At this distance, it is easy to see that each of those driving wheels is approximately as tall as the human female. The gold pistons and bars gleam against the black of the rest of the vehicle. The whole thing crouches on the tracks, hissing and muttering like some great, ebony-coated cat. The aura of sheer power is unmistakable.
I am, however grudgingly, impressed.
I shall have a word with one of yon yellow-vested varlets, and inquire whether they will demonstrate this beast in motion for me. Surely they will not refuse the future Ruler of Midgard?
(somewhat later) They did not! Behold!
It is definitely autumn in this part of Midgard now. It’s about time! After six months of unrelenting summer, we can all use a break, even if the stupid trees won’t change color until next month, of at all.
The days are alternating mild and sunny with cold and windy. The local botany nerds have chosen one of the cold and windy ones for their annual training of the new nerds. The human female is going to lead the field trip, and she is bundled up in so many layers (turtleneck sweater, wool sweater, wood military uniform shirt, puffy coat, hat, gloves) that she resembles nothing so much as a cross between a walking laundry basket and a well-fed tick. This is all fine with me, as the more layers between the human female and my having to look at her, the better.
I, of course, am immune to cold and have put a protection spell around my beloved so that she is comfortably toasty no matter how the wind blows.
So here we are at the local wilderness park, site of many former adventures. Sigyn is admiring the fluffy pink muhly grass in front of the visitors’ center.
I think pink is a stupid color for grasses.
It is much too windy to try to get good photos of plants.
Hold. Still. You. Irritating. Little. Shrub. Grr. Enjoy your blurry St. Andrew’s cross, mortals.
This beautyberry has much lighter fruit than all of its cousins. More pink! Since when is pink a fall color?
It is only in focus because the human female is holding it still. Huh. I guess she’s good for something after all.
Sigyn has discovered that breezy days make for the best dangling.
She says this willow oak is better than anything at an amusement park. Watching her go uuuuup and dooooown, uuuup and doooown is making me a little queasy. Hold tight, my love! I would not want you to tumble from your precarious perch!
Hmm. Time for a little mischief. Let’s see… how I can waste the human female’s time today? I know! I can use her own warped sense of right and wrong against her.
Bing! Someone just delivered over here a nice big box that came in at the stockroom. A package! Packages are always fun.
The human female is excited, because she doesn’t remember ordering anything this big. She’s expecting a few things, but they’re all small stuff. Whatever can it be??
Ehehehehe! Open it and find out!
Lots and lots…
…and lots of them. Eight or ten thousand, maybe! Very useful! Very timely!
Very much not hers.
The packing slip has her name, all right, but no mail stop, no mention of Biology. The vendor (which is one I have recently added to my list of corrupted companies) blithely addressed the box to “Human Female” with the internal place code unique to the University, Texas A&M, incomplete zip code. How it was able to reach the stockroom without the stockroom’s building and room number, the human female will never know. But I’ll know, and the look on her too-honest face when she realized that the lovely, lovely box of microfuge tubes wasn’t hers to keep for free and is going to have to go back is one I shall treasure in my heart forever.
Loki y yo todavía estamos confundidos porque comimos todos los dulces. ¡Creo que él se comió su peso en Skittles, y sabes que nunca puedo decir “no” al chocolate!
Hoy estamos en el mercado, buscando alimentos saludables para comer. Vamos, Loki, compremos algunas verduras y frutas. Y no, las manzanas confitadas no cuentan.
¡Escucha! ¡Oigo musica! ¡Vamos a ver de dónde viene!
Aquí hay un grupo de hombres con grandes sombreros y instrumentos musicales.
Siempre he querido aprender a tocar el acordeón. ¡Quizás este caballero me enseñe! Loki no confía en ellos…
No sé cuál es la ocasión. Oh! ¡Quizás sea una boda! Aquí están las damas de honor, y esa debe ser la novia y el novio. ¿No es bonito su vestido?
Sí, me gustaría estar en la foto. ¡Gracias!
Oh Loki! Mira los perritos huesudos. ¿Podemos llevarlos a casa y alimentarlos?
Supongo que los invitados a la boda han devorado toda la comida, porque el gatito pobre también parece hambriento.
¡En lugar de frutas y verduras, creo que hoy compraremos comida para mascotas!
Bleargh. I feel awful. I don’t even want to open my eyes. I didn’t sleep well at all last night. I dreamed weird things all night long… Sigyn and I were at a party, but it wasn’t a proper party because there was no food and no music. And all sorts of strange people were there. I mean, it was people we knew—my stupid brother and all his Avenger pals and a talking raccoon and that crazy Doktor Arnold. And somehow Tony Stark was a Dalek, but it wasn’t really him, and then there was a real Dalek, and before I could find out if it was going to ‘Exterminate!‘ everyone, it all changed and I dreamed I was pushing a wheelbarrow full of candy down the street and singing a song about sparkly wizard pajamas.
I wonder what brought all that on?
I’m trapped in this Hel of a party and I can’t seem to convince Sigyn that it’s time to leave. Surrounded by people I can barely tolerate, no food, and only Quill’s dumb mix tape for music. Sigh. At least Sigyn’s having fun.
S: “Hi! I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Sigyn.”
D: “Hi, Sigyn! Great flower costume. I’m Darcy.”
S: “I don’t recognize your costume. Who are you dressed as?”
D: “Hahahahah. I came as an unpaid lab intern. Convincing, right?”
S: “Muffy, I can’t get over what a good Pepper Potts you make. But what’s in the briefcase?”
M: “Oh, just what every high-powered female executive carries around. You know.”
S: “Hee hee hee!”
D: “Hey, little pinchy dude, want to, like, go see if there’s some melted butter somewhere?”
We seem to have been here forever.
Still no refreshments, and the rabble have devolved into something called “chicken fighting.” You can be sure I will ban this ludicrous practice when I take over the planet.
L: “Sigyn, can we pleeeeeeease go now?”
Please examine this viscous pink substance I created in my lab.
L: (poke, poke, poke) “I don’t trust it.”
H: “Hey, guys! You really need to try this! It feels really neat between your toes!”
M: “It looks like a big, pink tongue, but it’s all cool and squishy…”
D: “And it’s s t r e t c h y, too!”
S: “Help! It’s got me! Hee hee hee hee!”
M: “Stark, this stuff had better come out of my wig…”
IM: “Hey, folks! I’m here! The party can start now!”
CA: “Stark! If you’re here, then who is that there in the Dalek suit—?