I don't trust it

Fun With Unidentified Seasonal Fruit

The human male has come home from doing the marketing with a surprise for the female. And here it is. It’s a… It’s a…

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I have no idea what it is.

Sigyn, is that anything you recognize? It looks like an apple, a pear, and a lemon had too much to drink and this was the sad  result. It’s hard as a brick, too, isn’t it?

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Volstagg’s straining waiscoat buttons! Look at the arse on that thing!

I have a hard time believing that this is actually supposed to be edible. Surely this is a Joke Fruit. I don’t trust it. Nope, Not. At. All.

The human female says this is something that isn’t meant to be eaten raw.  She’s whacked it into pieces with extreme prejudice and no finesse, and now she’s got the pieces simmering with sugar in a saucepan.

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Careful, dearest!  Don’t fall in!

Hmmm. I detect a hint of dessertification happening here.  The human female has added apples, sugar, spices, and a little corn starch.

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Sigyn approves of sugar and spices.  If allowed, I believe she would wallow.

(later) The human female chucked the whole mess onto a crust in a pie plate. I “helped” her roll out the top crust. Oopsie. She cut out some pastry stars to cover up the giant tear.  It’s been baking for a while now, and it smells as if it might be done.

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Oh, yeah. Those stars are totally disguising your failure.

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It’s All Sorts of Untrustworthy Up In Here

Sigyn and I have accompanied the mortals on their weekly grocery run.  While they peruse the canned goods and debate the merits of one brand of toothpaste over another, my beloved and I are free to look around at the things that are not groceries.

Sigyn is quite charmed by these succulents in the home goods aisle. Succulents are all the rage these days.

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Yes, my love, they are quite pretty.  And colorful, too, yes.  And most assuredly easy to care for.  Oh, you think we should get some, as the Terror Twins might be less likely to gnaw on these than on the other houseplants?  I suspect you are correct.  Because they are plastic.

Speaking of felines…  There is a portly, overly-cheerful one and its equally smiley kin in the new little tea cafe near the front of the store.

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I rarely trust cats, and I can tell this crew is up to something.  No one smiles this much unless they are Up To Something.  I should know.

(Hey, Sigyn, how is a beckoning lucky cat statue like a flat, round, tasteless candy?  They’re both Neko-wavers!  Ba-dum tsss!)

The little cafe has some interesting wall art, too.  There are some flowers, and there is a pagoda and …

Sweet Glittering Bifrost!

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Can’t I go anywhere without running into depictions of my stupid, oafish “brother”?  Even when it doesn’t really have his big, dumb face, it’s still his big, dumb face.

My day is spoilt.  Let’s go home.

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This is More Like It! Sort Of.

Great Frigga’s corset, that was close!  If we had stayed in that religious articles shop any longer, I might have had to start smiting things–or people.  It is a great relief that we are gone now and headed off on other errands.

Uh, oh.  The human female has squealingly spotted something and the human male has turned the car around.  If he’s willing to do that in traffic, it must be something good!

Really?  That’s really what this place is called?

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This has definite potential!  I wonder if I will get a mention, or if it will be all, “Odin, this” and “Thor, that.” I could definitely do without that.

What the….?

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Or, you know, since Midgard is a silly place and this part of it in particular, I guess it’s going to be, “Anubis, that other thing over there.”

Sigyn, get out of his fist, my love.  You don’t know where those paws have been.

I wonder if the inside is as polytheistic as the outside?

Bleargh.  So far, disappointing.

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Isn’t there a Loki-themed game here somewhere?  Or is it all going to be Odin or that puppy-headed fellow?

Sigyn has found a quiet little shrine that—-

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Uh…Dearest?  Don’t be alarmed and don’t turn around.  Just walk away from the temple slowly.   Slowly…   Come over here by me.  There’s a good girl.

Whew!  Another close one!  Let’s bide here a bit.  This corner of the shop seems safer.  Nothing here but foldy paper cranes.

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But kitty-cat folding paper?  Poke, poke, poke.  I don’t trust it.

Oh, now this is interesting. There are several large tables with different “terrain” so that people can  play war games with miniature figures.

asgardgames-playing field

Ehehehehehe!  Look, Sigyn!  It is I, Loki!  Lord of Jotunheim, ruler of a kingdom of ice and snow!  And you, my sunny beloved, are queen of the greensward.  Can I tempt you to cross the line and join me in making some snow angels?

Here is a table being used for a game.  These pillars make good vantage points from which to direct strategy.

asgardgames-directing battle

Bring up the war engines! Circle the cross-bowmen around to the right!  Protect the left flank!  Onward, dogs of war! Let no man turn from glory!  Let—

What’s that?  We’re going to the pen shop now?  How on earth is that more important–or more fun!—than wiping out a whole battalion of marauders?

Pah.  You mortals are so boring.  My rule over you dullards can’t come a moment too soon.

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More Adventures in the Room of Skulls

I was able to rescue Sigyn from the clutches of that murderous deer.  Horrible creatures, deer, really.  I prefer to think of them as merely the larval stage of roast venison.

There are more skulls here, and they are drawing a lot of attention.  The human female and her minions are showing them off to anyone who wanders by.

Sigyn is investigating the pronounced sagittal crest on this opossum.

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The human female says that is where all the jaw muscles are attached.  It certainly looks capable of eating anything it finds.  Opossums are strange creatures–tails like rats, huge rafs of babies which they tote about in pouches or on their backs, fur that always looks like they’ve been washed in the washer on the wrong cycle, and a predilection for rummaging about in compost heaps.

I am more impressed by the dentition of this male vervet monkey.

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This fellow looks quite up to the task of perforating anyone who tried to put him in a funny outfit or make him do silly tricks.  And the overall effect is of a toothy little human.

Great Frigga’s hairpins!  Look who has turned up!  Marty, that goggle-eyed menace, has dropped by to ogle the chicken skull.

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I don’t want to think about what Marty’s skull might look like.  Not much room for a brain, that’s for certain.

Oh, and here is Fisi, trying to sneak in a nibble on the oppossum.

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Shoo!  Bad hyena!  No biscuit!

Sweet Tony Stark on the half shell!  What sort of alien mutant nightmare beast does this one come from?!

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Don’t get too close, Sigyn.  I don’t trust this thing at all.

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poke, poke, poke.

No sirree. I do not trust this thing at all, at all.  Nor can I figure out its modus operandi.  No proper teeth to speak of, but what about these long pincer-like things up front?  What IS it?  Where does it live?  What does it eat?  What does the rest of it look like??

Oh, I am going to have bad dreams and flashbacks about this one, I can tell you.

(Reads label.)  Huh.  I never, ever would have guessed.  Log your guesses in the comments, folks, and we’ll see if anyone comes close.

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A Bit of the Booty (In Which Sigyn Misbehaves Just a Little Bit)

Sigyn was so cute in her swashbuckling outfit that she made out like a bandit true pirate.  There was the usual haul of wrapped candy sweets but, down at the bottom of the bag, there was also…this.

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Dearest, what in Midgard IS this?  It is sparkly enough to be a Yule ornament, but it doesn’t have a hanger.  Is it food?  A decoration?  I’m not sure I trust it.

Open it up and see…

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Ah.  It is, according to Sigyn, a very highly decorated sugar cookie in the shape of a pumpkin.  Really?  No pumpkin I ever saw was those colors—and none of them sparkled.

But how does it taste?  Quite often, fancy cookies are all about the decorations and, underneath all the frosting and furbelows, taste like glorified cardboard.

Great Frigga’s corset!  It must have been delicious because there is not a crumb left.  Tasted of vanilla and lemon, you say?  Good to know, though you couldn’t prove it by me.

Thank you, Sigyn.  Thank you for sharing.

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Sadly, Not Actually Banished…

It’s still hotter than Muspelheim outdoors, the humans are working hard and often get out of the office late, and neither of them feels like cooking.  It’s no surprise then, that “out” is often on the menu.  With the students gone now, between semesters, it’s a good time to try one of the new eateries in town.  I am enthusiastic, because I overheard the female utter the words, “Ban me.”  I have good hopes that the proprietors will take one look at her ugly haircut, her unfortunate visage, and her table “manners” and I’ll get to see them toss her out of their establishment.

It’s a smallish cafe with a limited menu.  Sandwiches feature prominently.  The human male has chosen one that seems to involve meatballs.

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Poke, poke, poke.  Not sure what the green stuff is.

Sigyn says the female’s has “lemongrassy beef, pickled veggies, and ‘nummy’  pâté .”

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That sounds…odd, but the bread is good.  Nice and crusty.

This place is big on cold drinks, too, which is almost more important than food this time of year.   The human female has selected a pineapple slushie.

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The male has a mango smoothie.  Not sure why the lid says “tea time”…

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Some of the other drinks have what looks like a good handful of little balls in the bottom.  Tiny grapes?  Bubblegum?  Ball bearing tea?  I have no idea.  I don’t trust it.

Well, the humans and Sigyn seem to be enjoying the food, but this has been a bust for me.  No one has made any move to eject the human female.

One final note:  the decor here is minimal.  A colorful blackboard wall.  A plant or two.  An old-timey lantern.  I’ve seen enough.  Come on, Sigyn, let’s g—

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Sigh.  Hang on, sweetie, Loki’s coming.  And then let’s leave, before we ALL get thrown out.

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Loki Takes New York, Day 7: The Human Female Has Gone Walkabout

The human male’s knee is bothering him even more today, because he didn’t take it as easy as he should yesterday.  The human female, who I suspect has NO nurturing instincts whatsoever, rather than stay at the hotel to take care of him, has gotten it into her head to explore some of the outer reaches of the city on her own.  Apparently she wants to look at places in some book she read.

As hare-brained as that notion is, I actually like this plan.  Divide and conquer.  If I tag along, I can annoy her without the human male interfering.  And maybe I can get her good and lost.  That would be fun!

So here we are, on the 7 train headed for one of the eastern bouroughs.  Sign has joined us because she heard the female talking about a garden.  “Garden” is the magic Sigyn word.  It works even better than “please.”

We have arrived.  But where are we?  Mortal, are you sure we are in the right city?  And not in some foreign country?  I can’t read any of the signs!  (Well, all right.  That one down there says, “pharmacy,” but what about the others?!)

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There are a number of fruit sellers, and on this blazing hot day, their succulent wares are quite tempting, but again, I can’t read what anything is.  Those look like watermelons, but who knows what’s inside?

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I think the human really may be lost.  She has been standing on the street for a quarter of an hour now, alternately checking the map on her phone, the file of landmarks on her phone, and the “you are here” signpost on the sidewalk.  (Of course, it doesn’t help that I magicked the sign on the post so that it has north at the bottom.)  It’s gonna take her a while to figure it all out.

Rats and hurrah!   She has discovered my little trick and correctly oriented herself (boo!), but she has achieved her destination and Sigyn is happy.

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This place is rather pretty for a site that used to be an ash and slag heap.  You see what can be done with a little effort, mortal?  This should fire you up and go home and do something with that disgrace you call a “garden.”

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There is a quaint little bridge over a tiny waterfall.  It feels very good to be in the shade after traipsing about and riding the subway all day.

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The calendar is suspended somewhere between spring and summer.  Sigyn calls this “spiraea-dangling season.”

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And if you can’t find spiraea, fringe-tree will do.

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I cannot decide which is more photogenic, this pale-flowered sweet shrub…

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… or my beloved Sigyn.

Sigyn is wishing that peonies would grow back in Texas.

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Sorry, beloved, there are some things even my magic cannot achieve.

We might be able to do something about roses, though.  This is an inspiring collection.

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Well, how rude!  Some group of wealthy mortals has rented out a good portion of this garden for a private party!  The temporary “no entry” signs are almost as annoying as their loud rap “music.”  For depriving my sweetie of the opportunity to enjoy the entirety of this place, I think they will now find that the wedding cake is actually frosted styrofoam and the punch has salt instead of sugar

(later)  After much walking and more time spent on the subway (which is not actually subterranean this far from city center) and some more walking, we have now reached one of the other places the human female has read about.

The International Night Market springs up each Saturday evening like a toadstool after rain.

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No one gets in ahead of official opening time when this gorgon is on guard duty!

At last it is time to wander in.  Various morsels and concoctions are filling the air with delicious aromas.  We could, if we chose, dine on octopus balls or shark sandwiches.

Sigyn has elected to try this arepa instead, apparently because she thinks the word is fun to say.  “Arepa.”  “Arrepa.”  “Arrrrepa!”   Good for r-rolling practice, if nothing else.

Sigyn, what even is this?!  poke, poke, poke.  I don’t trust it. 

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(nibble.)  Ah.  It is a corn griddle cake of some sort, topped with a crumbly, tangy cheese.  Not bad, but not very satisfying if one has a craving for meat.  I think I saw a grilled steak booth in the last row…  I shall return.

We have now looked at all the food booths and browsed in the wares that are for sale.  We are hot, tired, and ready for a cool shower.  Sigyn, let us teleport back to the inn and leave the human female to slog her way back to the train station, endure a lengthy cross-town ride, and then slog from the train station back to the room.

Then, when she does some of the accumulated laundry in the inn’s washroom, I’ll see to it that the dryer stops after five minutes and eats up aaaall her quarters…

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