I Hope You Like Vikings! (This Post Has Vikings In It)

June 6, 2012 § 1 Comment

Note the plural. There be vikings a comin’.

But before that, a segment that I like to call:

Customers I have known:

Me: Hello ma’am! You’ve picked a wonderful book there. Now I’ll just go ahead and…

Her:I want a bag.

Me:stop talking then? Well, you are in luck! I have bags of all shapes, sizes, and consistencies! Plastic, gift, cardboard: whatsoever bag your heart desires, I have it. Except for paper.

Her: I want paper.

Me: A thousand, million pardons madam. A billion “excuse me’s” and a quadrillion “I’m sorry”, but that is the one type of bag we don’t currently have.

Her: I want a paper bag.

Me: Well, yes, I sympathize, but lacking the ability to manifest them from thin air, I must say that sadly, I cannot fulfill your humble demand. You know, this reminds me of a time, back in the 14th century, when…

Her: Then give me a plastic bag. But don’t you charge me for it!

Me: …Ma’am, I don’t charge you for plastic bags because it sexually excites me, I do it because I have to. The city, which is a little bigger than my bosses, demands that I do this.

Her: Forget it then! (Proceeds to storm out of the store: exuent stage right)

Me: It was only five cents you miserable hag!

And with that, on to our regular programming!

The Sixth Interlude

Arngeir watched as Sævarr kicked at the ground.

“Stop it.”


“The sound it makes. It bothers me.”

Sævarr kicked the ground again. “Doesn’t bother me.”

“Didn’t say anything about you. Was talking about me. So stop.”

“Didn’t recall needing your permission.”

“I’ll punch you. You know I will.”

“I’ll kick you then.”

“Won’t matter, because I’ll catch your leg, and then punch you again.”

“Hah! That’s what I’ll want you to do, because after you grab my leg, I’ll kick you with my other leg!”

“Hmm. I don’t know what I’d do then. Maybe…headbutt you?”

Sævarr considered this theoretical course of action. “If you do that, then I’d have to knock you in the balls. No offence intended, I’d just have to.”

“No, fair is fair.” Arngeir graciously admitted. “If I headbutted myself, then I certainly would want to kick myself in the balls. So that’s both of us taken out again, eh?”

Sævarr scratched a mark on the wall. The stone was covered with dozens and dozens of identical marks. “Yep. We’re just too well matched, we are. Unless I got the drop on you,”

“Not bloody likely.”

“Or you managed to fool me,”

“Also not bloody likely.”

“We’d just end up knocking each other out again and again and again.”

“So what’s to be done then? There’s no point in fighting each other, and you know I hate Nine-Men’s Morris.”

“Well, excuse me for thinking it might help pass the time.” Sævarr grumbled.

“Yeah. It’d be right nice if that Hai girl was here. I’d be happy to lay my spear in that fertile land, eh?”

“Last I checked, I’m the one with a spear, and shut your hole. You’d be too terrified to touch her, even if she came in her naked and willing. You want to be the one to bed one of Odin’s daughters?”

“Yeah! Why not?”

“Because then he’d be your father!”

Arngeir considered this new development. “Hmm, that is true. I don’t really want to be related to the All-Father. And she might cut my cock off.”

“Might?” She’s a valkyrie. If she didn’t it would be strange.”

Sighing, Arngeir lay back on the room’s lone cot. The room, the cell, was a dark, dank place. The two einherjar were thrust into prison and, as usual in Heaven, experienced it as they imagined prisons to be. For them, it was a damp, cold, and dark room decorated with rusty iron bars, more rats than you could shake a stick at (Arngeir had tried), and a persistent drip-drip-drip from the corner.

To warriors from the ages formerly known as “Dark” (if one were to ask Sævarr what he thought of that name, he would point to the sun and be very confused), this was just like home. True, they wanted out as soon as possible, but it was a bit more comfortable than being in the Administrative offices of Heaven. Here, at least, they could understand the architecture, eat the rats, and gaze longingly out the window.

However, their thoughts quickly turned to rescue. Stripped of his weapons and armour, the giant Arngeir was still an imposing figure, while Sævarr was right behind him on the list of “people you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley at any time of day”. Arngeir rose up on the thin, rat-chewed cot and pointed at the door.

“Alright, well, if we don’t have a girl to be scared of and simultaneously think is absolutely beautiful,”

Sævarr looked at his friend with a strange expression on his face, one that communicated a certain level of “What the hell did you just say?” without needing to say it.

“and we can’t fight each other to pass the time, it stands that we need to rescue ourselves.”

Sævarr spat in the toilet bucket that, despite being empty, was the personification of disgusting. “Sounds about right. What were you thinking?”

“That door looks like it’s about to fall apart. Shouldn’t be trouble for me to bend the bars enough to slip through.”

“Ahh, fool’s errand that. Those bars must run two feet into the ceiling. They aren’t going anywhere.”

“What’d you do then? Die in the corner because you can’t think of anything yourself?”

“Arngeir, the day that I don’t have a better idea than you is the day after I die. I’d get you to pull out one of the window bars, then slide out that way. Those bars are usually put in later, and no jailer expects someone to fit out a hole that small.”

“Probably because the hole is the size of a cat. You’d never fit through that.”

“Just like you’d never bend the bars?”

“Fine then, break your bones trying, you brain-addled son of a farmer.”

“Weak, Arngeir, you soft-bellied snake from a eunuch’s menagerie.”

Arngeir had to think about that for a second. “What’s a menagerie?”

“It’s a eunuch’s house, I think.”

“Alright, fine. I’ll give you this one, and you get out the window. What then?”

“That’s easy. Go around the front and distract the guard. When he runs at me, I trip him up, knock him across the head, and lift his keys. Come inside, get you out of here, go on our way. Easy as raiding the Angles.”

“Why take so long? I’d bend through the bars, make a big noise and attract the guards that way. They come downstairs, I break their necks, and then we’re on our way. I’d be faster.”

If you can break the bars.”

“And you’d win if you can fit your fat arse through that window.”

Arngeir flopped down on the cot again while Sævarr leaned against the door. “Tied, then?” The bigger viking asked.

“Sounds about right. No way this place could hold us for long. Baldur’s dick I’m surprised we haven’t already broken out already.”

“Aye, me too.”

If anything, and the two of them were many things, Arngeir and Sævarr were certain. There was no bar of iron that could hold back Arngeir, and there was no hole that Sævarr couldn’t fit through. They were certainly proud, but they also had reason to be so. For them, it wasn’t so long ago that they had broken out of King Canute’s prison with both their hands tied behind their backs and Arngeir’s beard on fire. Compared to that, this was simple.

It was so simple, in fact, that they truly and completely believed that they could if they so wished.

And so, they did.

The door groaned and cracked as the bars spontaneously bent apart. The ancient iron shrieked as an unseen force nearly ripped them right out of the ground and left an opening more than wide enough for someone as large as say, Arngeir.

Arngeir himself merely grunted when he saw the opening. “Huh. So, Sævarr, fancy that. Didn’t even have to do anything, guess whole place is ready to come apart. Let’s go rescue that wicca and the valkyrie, and knock that white arse in the suit so hard his head pops off. What d’ya say?”

Sævarr said nothing. He was already outside and running having long since clambered through the window bars that were also, and inexplicably, torn open.

Arngeir swore and charged out the door, yelling for his friend to slow down. Like Hel he’d let Sævarr have all the glory.


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