Naughty Loki

Sigyn and the Tiny Shinies

Our second stop in the Big City to the South is Spice Shop Number Two.  We have managed to secure a parking spot right in front of the establishment!

Which appears to have been de-establishedSo sorry, human male!  Looks like you will have to order your urfa chilies online from now on.  You will have to console yourself with a trip to the Purveyor of Pens, which is fortuitously just in the next block.

Sigyn and the human female are taking this opportunity to have a good snoop in the bead shop which is next door to the defunct spicery.

Now, keep in mind the human female does not need any more beads.  She has bags and boxes and jars and strings and hanks of beads.  She and Sigyn must be part magpie, though, because it has taken them approximately ten seconds to dive into the broken- strand bin and start swimming.

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Literally.

Though I saw to it that they did not emerge with the bronze-colored jump rings the human female initially entered the store for, they have emerged with quite a haul.  There are three strands of faceted beads with the matching larger beads that they had to sift the loose beads for.

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I heard the human female counting to fifty and muttering something about “decades”.  I can only assume that that is how long it’s going to take her to actually finish the project.

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Spice is Nice, But Plushies are Possessed

The humans woke up today and just decided to “run down” to the Big City to the South.  (Any excuse not to mow the lawn, eh, female?)  Now, if it were just me, teleportation would be involved and our errands would take maybe half an hour.  But since I refuse to waste good magic on bad mortals, “running down” involves two hours in the car each way and all of the accompanying traffic jams, bad drivers, and wrong turns.

Our first stop is Spice Store Number One.  Sigyn and I like this place, though I can do without the prickly, incipient-sneeze feeling that sniffing all the sample jars gives me.

Looking at the jars is giving me some good ideas.  It might be a little hard, though,  to sneak this into the humans’ food…

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Hmm.  This stuff is a familiar color, so…

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I wonder if the humans would notice before they sprinkled their applesauce, if I swapped this out for the cinnamon?

Sigyn has gravitated toward the kiddie corner, where there are books, crayons and paper, and a small assortment of plush toys.  The cow seems harmless enough,

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…though its fatuous, vacant stare makes me wonder about its IQ.

But Blessed Glittering Bifrost!  What in the Nine Realms is this…this… rainbow-hooved and be-horned thing?!

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Surely those eyes are portals to a realm of purest evil!

Back away slowly, Sigyn.  Back away slowly…

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Sometimes the Emails Are Just TOO Appropriate

The human female is back in an air-cast boot.  It’s been fun to watch her turn red and squirm when people ask her what she has managed to do to herself this time.  It usually goes like this:

“Oh, my goodness!  How did you hurt yourself?!”

“mumble.”

“What?”

“Walking.”

Yes, indeed, the human female is inept enough to give herself a soft-tissue injury just by existing.  The boot cast is clompy, ungainly, and a sweaty torture in the 90+° heat.  She’s getting around all right, but it’s slowing her down more than a bit.

Today I arranged for the following to be sent to her campus email.

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It will make more sense once she figures out I’ve pinned a bright orange triangle to her butt.

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Labels are Very Important

I am continuing my exploration of the Room of Dead Things.  Today I am paying particular attention to the labels on the boxes.

The Purveyor of Dead Things is usually good about putting labels on the outsides of the boxes.  (I say “usually,” because last year, I made sure that twenty boxes of the Dead Cat Ballet came in completely unmarked.  Opening them all to discern the contents was like a Very Gruesome Yule.  I still giggle every time I think about it!)

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Those are sharks, but not the sharks the human female is hoping for.  She should have learned by now to live with disappointment.

Some of the boxes bear additional helpful notes from the human female or her staff.

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I know *I* wouldn’t want to use eyeballs that were past their best-by date!

Even preserved goods don’t last forever.  Larger items, especially, can degrade over time.  Indeed, older stock is clearly marked “use first.”

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Hmm. I think I will add a few more helpful label items.  

They say a picture is worth a thousand words:

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It helps that my godlike magic lets me see inside the cartons.  Caution labels are always nice:

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Uh oh!  Better mark this one too, to avoid a catastrophe.

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Ehehehe!  Who am I kidding? That box is heavy enough and wet enough inside that, warning label or no, someone’s going to go home some night redolent of Eau de chat preservé.

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A Visit to the Room of Dead Things

The human female is down in the basement, checking on the stock of sharks and cats while the whole Dead Shark Shuffle is fresh in her tiny mind.  I am always up for a visit to the Room of Dead Things.  Sigyn, not so much.

It really is like an educational mausoleum down here.  Shelves and shelves of bags and boxes of defunct creatures, waiting their turn to suffer at the hands of scalpel-happy undergraduates.

It’s all fairly well-organized, with the various sections clearly marked.

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Kidneys, kidneys, and more kidneys.  There are also shelves of hearts.  And eyeballs.

And braaaaaaaains.

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Thor’s bitty ball-peen!  Sheep brains are SMALL.  I had no idea.  I suppose it doesn’t require a lot of gray matter to grow wool and fall into ditches.

Oooh!  Snake!  Ah, my lovely, I could wish that you were still alive and slithering sweetly about your business of terrorizing the mice and scaring people.

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Oh, now this is interesting!  This shelf has some spare skeletons!

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Rat on the left and lizard on the right.  Hmm.  I shall have to look into an animation spell or two, because those fellows would be quite effective if they were scuttling about the halls or climbing up on desks to sit by coffee cups and computer mice.

Come to think of it, the preserved animals would be pretty great to have running around as well.  I can see it now—skinned cats, litters of piglets, and the odd pigeon lurching from room to room and spreading the good news about formalin-free processing and colorful latex injections.

My To Do list gets longer every day…

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The Dead Shark Shuffle

The human female just sent off the large order to the Purveyor of Dead things, that almighty conglomeration of pickled fauna which will constitute this year’s Dead Cat Ballet.

Since it can take for. ev. er for the PODT to amass such a mountain of carcasses, especially the cats and sharks, and since the Powers That Be have not finished specifying which particular cadavers they want to include in the new 112 labs, she has put in an order of just cats and sharks and sheep brains, which she knows she needs for the upper level Anatomy lab.  She will make the huge order later, whenever the final cast of Dead Things has been made.

She has not forgotten the “difficulties” the PODT and I have made for her in previous years–how orders have come wrong, incomplete, late, leaky, or not at all, so she took special pains to set constraints on this order.   The professor teaching the class was quite specific. One triple-injected pregnant cat; two double-injected cats, two male and three female; ten sheep brains; one triple-injected pregnant shark; and three double-injected sharks, two female and one male.  She wrote,”NO SUBSTITUTIONS ON SEX” in the description of the cat and shark line items.  She included “PLEASE DO NOT SUBSTITUTE SEXES ON CATS AND SHARKS” in the area of the P.O. that’s for notes to the vendor.  When the Helpful Representative from the PODT called and said, “We’re short of male sharks, is it all right to go ahead and send three females now?” she replied, “Augh!  Please do not!  We can wait until August to get what we asked for.”

The sheep brains arrived.  The pregnant kitty arrived.  A double-injected female shark arrived.  And then…

Oh, dear.  Would you look at that.

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Two more lady sharks, with nary a gent among them.

She called the PODT and tried to point out the error of their ways.  The Helpful Representative on the receiving end of her exasperated expostulation seemed very surprised that the human female was not 100% satisfied with the three sharks she had received.  Higher math appeared to be beyond the grasp of the Helpful Representative, who could not quite be brought to understand that 1 + 2 does indeed = 3, but 1 apple plus 2 apples does not equal one apple plus two oranges, and that for the purposes of the fruit salad in question, any apple beyond one is a useless surfeit.  In the end, the PODT agreed that she could keep the two extra females at no cost and that they would send two males when–or if– they get them.

Of the regular dead cats, there has been nary a whiff.  (Which is good, because those things are…aromatic.)

It is not a ballet, it is a graceless, lurching Dead Shark Shuffle.

I think I can string this out all summer.

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It’s Been Too Long Since We Had Any Squelching

It’s been much too long since we had any squelching around here.  Or at least no squelching inside.  Outside, there’s been a good bit of rain, things are a bit soggy, and the grass is getting loooooong.

Inside, though.  That’s where I love a good puddle.  Aside from the inconvenience, there’s always the chance I can get the human female to slip and fall in it, which is always good for a laugh.  (Don’t worry–she’s never actually seriously injured.  She has far too much padding for that.)

Today feels like it could be a good day for some water on the floor.  Hmm.  Where to put it?  How about in the middle of one of the human female’s prep rooms?  Someplace people have to go in and out of all day?  That could work.  Done!

A bit later…

Aw, yeah.

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Looks like the minions have been busy mopping.  I can stand on the shore where they’ve put some bench paper down to sop.  Ehehehe.  Sop and mop!

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Now, of course, it’s time for everyone’s second favorite game–Where’s That Water Coming From?  

The humans are  not sure if this is the source of the water on the floor…

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…but they are catching on to the fact that there may be more than one problem.  I don’t know if it shows well in the photograph, but can you see there’s a constant stream of water running there?  Tsk, tstk.  Wasteful.

Slow, Silent, and Costly have been summoned to investigate.   Actually, I think that, as is typical, they  have already been here, taken a look at the problem, and promised to return..  How can I tell?  Easy!  1) While the sink is still running, the puddle on the floor has ceased to grow.  I. e., the job is half done. 

Also, someone has left behind a tool.

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A lovely, grippy, bone-chomping tool.  An adjustable, grippy, bone-chomping tool.  I do not know who left you out, you sweet, toothy thing, but you’re mine now!

(later.)  Yes, Slow, Silent, and Costly have been here and are coming back.  They have promised a whole new faucet!  The minions are quite excited.

Do you see the diabolical brilliance of my pranks?  This is how you may know that you are in the presence of the Master of Mischief:  I can visit upon the human female and her staff as many misfortunes as I wish, but if I throw them a little bone from time to time, all they can think about is that, and not the giant, still-unsolved problem that SSC may– or may not– be coming back to fix.

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