Begrudging Temporary Goddess

What happens, when your flat vanishes during a blackout? Why is everyone wearing strange looking helmets where ever it is you've landed? Well, if you want to know the answers, have a look...

1. My hallway is not 100 meters long

I think, I urgently need a holiday or any other compensatory time off. A well mannered booze-up might be enough, too, to calm my nerves. But here, at this place, there is no alcohol or at least not obviously reachable. Here a soldiers wearing ridiculous helmets. Why would anyone wear a helmet with horns on top? Did I miss something concerning fashion that I won't take part in anyway, because it just looks stupid? What the hell happened?!

I swear, not even five minutes ago I've been sitting on my couch, quite cozy with a cup of tea, while some movie was on the television, that I was not really interested in. Crochet hook in my right hand and I literally fluffed my lines. The TV went silent, shortly after the lights went out. Great. Blackout. Completely! It's utterly dark, next door the fat neighbor's kid screams, because the TV went out. Oh well, dear fat neighbor's kid. No power, no TV; no microwave food, no pizza. Pizza is now defrosting in the refrigerator. That's the way it is, fat neighbor's kid.

I search for the lighter, which lays on the table, light the candle on the table and look for the flashlight. It is somewhere in the living room cupboard, along with the tools. Yes, I own tools and I keep them in my living room cupboard, because there is nowhere else room for it and because I'm too lazy to go down to the basement for every little screw. Anyway, somewhere in this cupboard is my flashlight and I'm looking for it. But beforehand I bump to the edge of the table. It's not like the table wasn't there before, no, I did it, because I felt like it. I have so much natural grace; I would never run into things without purpose. Maybe with purpose, like right now. I rub my throbbing shin, drip candle way everywhere on the carpet to all abound and find blackouts completely stupid.

Cursing under my breath I open the cupboard; a open box containing screws flies out and the screws start rolling around the floor. Okay, at least I have a job for the rest of the night, because otherwise I would step onto them at the latest tomorrow morning. Barefoot, of course, I don't do things by halves.

Finally I find the flashlight, but, of course, the batteries are down. The gods love me. Every day they place new, little obstacles in my way, which are a pain in the ass. This time I bypass the table safely and bump only my toe to the armchair, pick a screw out of my foot and thank the gods, that I keep my knifes in the kitchen. How could I get so old without breaking my neck? In the next cupboard I find batteries, put them in the flashlight, and while the fat kind next door demands, that its mother has to get the TV working INSTANTLY. I'm pretty curious, where the mother finds a TV running on batteries. Switching on the flashlight, I open the living room door. Actually I want to go the bathroom, because I am caught short.

Attention to the word 'actually'. I am slightly confused by what I am seeing in the glow of my flashlight. I am sure, that there are no pillars, ten meters high, standing in my hallway, it's not well over 100 meters long and an hour ago no soldiers with gormless looking helmets have been running around there. Simply some lints were lying on the floor because I'm too lazy to vacuum.

One of them horned helmet wearers spotted me. 'Hey, you, woman! What are you doing here?' Well, he's got a nerve! 'That's what I wanted to know! What the hell are you doing in my hallway? And why does your helmet look so incredibly stupid?' His jaw dropped open, he gasps and then looks at me viciously. I am not even slightly impressed; I just can't take him seriously. 'Answer me, woman!' He's growling now. I tell him the truth, 'I'm looking for the toilet'. It's starting to get really urgently, my hallway is not my hallway anymore and my bathroom is gone as well. The situation is getting serious, I think. 'What an insolence'horn helmet barks.

Right at this moment I'm getting the bright idea to turn around and go back into my living room. The outworking simply fails because of the fact, that my living room is also gone. Someone stole my entire flat and put pillars in my hallway instead, which is not the worst tradeoff, to be honest. But still I need to pee and shoot a look to one of the vases standing decoratively in front of those pillars. Now I only have to get rid of this bloke, so I could jump behind that vase to pee. But I think, that's not going to happen, because the guy points his spear at me and exceptionally I don't have doubts about the sharpness of its tip. 'Come with me. Now!' That sounded like an order. I really, really like it, when someone orders me around. 'I have to pee badly' I'm wincing. 'Don't care. Come with me!' That didn't sound friendly anymore and the tip of his spear is less than an inch away from my throat. Shit. I rather follow him. Peeing has to wait.

The guy is walking behind me, spear pointed at my back. My stomach hurts, because my bladder is about to explode. 'I'll pee my pants. Pleeeeease!' With tears in my eyes I turn around and look at him. He rolls his eyes and sighs, 'Whatever'. He waves to a door left of me. 'Thank you!', I gasp and rip the door open. I am a bit confused about the privy, but with golden toilet seat, and then I follow my urgent call of the nature. Not even three seconds later it would have been too late. Afterwards I can think straight again. Obviously, something is wrong. This is really happening, I am sure, in my imagination I would have never have to pee. Oh dear. The gods love me more than anything. It seems they listened to my complaints and lamentations about my so boring life and brought me to a place, where a privy has a golden toilet seat and really soft towels. I should stay calm and I should absolutely open the door, because the soldier knocks on the door slightly impatient. Alright, potty break's over.

My escort leads my through huge double doors into the next room/hall, where more men with helmets are sitting. Looks like the annual assembly of the hunting club. Did I mention, that their helmets are as golden is the toilet seats?

One informs the highest helmet wearer about me, one counsels together and I wait good and dutifully. Flight would be stupid right now, I don't know this place and I wouldn't hold much against twenty men with golden helmets; additionally to that is my stamina not the best. To be honest, it is quite shitty. And: I'm wearing only socks and the floor is damn slippery. 'Who are you and why do you rove about here?', asks Captain Helmet. 'I just wanted to go to the toilet', I reply whining. That's the simple truth. And for this truth I'm shouted at, one doubts my common sense, thinks I am a traitor and finally decides to put me in a cell until those responsible decide what to do with me, but they are not available at the moment. I'd like to know who IS responsible here, because I have some annotations to make regarding hospitality. But hopefully my cell has a toilet; I need to use it again.

Maybe cell is not the appropriate word for my accommodation. Floor and ceiling are clinical white and nearly hurt the eyes with their cleanliness and instead of bars there is a pretty, yellow-golden wall, hitting me with a light shock when I tried to touch it. But: there is a small, narrow door and behind that door is the toilet. Saved is my night. There are no inhibitions for me to squat down, no, but the guy sitting in the cell across the hall watching me curiously is a bit suspicious. 'Something wrong?' I ask after a while, because his watching gets pretty annoying. He seems stunned, and then a minimum smile plays upon his lips.

'Where are your shoes?' He waves at my black socks, having red reindeers on them. Well, it's December and I think a little bit Christmassy flair is appropriate. Besides, they are warm. 'In my flat. Where I have been about an hour ago, before the lights went off and I had to spend a penny. And then the toilet was gone, my hallway was gone and a horde of horned idiots imprisoned me. I just wanted to pee'. By every word he gets more and more confused. I can't blame him; I think I would feel similarly.

'And where was your flat?' He does not really think that I'd tell him where I live? I mean, contrary to me his residence here is certainly justified. 'None of your business' I tell him. 'Right'. Clever little guy. Although, little guy is understated. He's pretty tall and lean. Long, dark hair reaches his shoulders, but is neatly brushed back. When it comes to such hairdoes I always get the feeling to rumple them up. Might be some hereditary defect. Additional to that: I have a weakness for long, dark hair. And for tall, lean men. I look closer and was as if struck by lightning. How gorgeous his eyes were! The color was pretty intense, somewhere between green and blue.

'As you said, it is none of my business, but I assume you do not originate in Asgard?' 'Asgard?' I cock my eyebrows and try to think, where I heard that before. Northern mythology. They had an Asgard. And Valhalla. I guess. They had a lot of gods running around. 'So I am right?' The jailbird with pretty eyes seems pleased with himself. 'You're kidding, right?' Asgard. Sure. I'm pretty sure, I bumped into my living room door because of my natural grace and knocked myself out. Another logical explanation doesn't come to my mind. Actually nothing comes to my mind concerning this whole thing here.

'You have an unbecoming manner of expression for a woman.' And he has pretty good observation skills. At least he realized that I am a woman. The only one down here. There are only two inmates - me and him. 'I very much apologize for my filthy utterances, Your Majesty.' 'I knew it. You played a joke on me. Quite brave, woman. So you know, who I am.' I surrender. I sit down on my bed, turn my back on him and strike my forehead with the flat of my hand. Doesn't help, but it is very relieving. I am not the only one to have a nut loose. This guy considers himself a king, emperor or prince. I consider myself a victim of a cosmic conspiracy, not very funny in my eyes, but surely a knee-slapper for the gods.

'I don't even know WHERE I am, how could I know WHO you are?' Now he looks subtly offended, he looks peeved at me. 'I am Loki Laufeyson.' Ah. Well, all right, I have to pass, I've never heard that name. So I say, 'pretty extraordinary name.' And way better than some names you come by nowadays. 'And what is your name?' Somehow I can't get rid of the feeling that he has been here for far too long with few visitors and little company. He pretty much forces a conversation on me. 'I won't tell you, that's not relevant, Mr. Laufeyson.' Always stay polite, right? 'I am a prince! You have to refer to me either as Your Majesty or Your Grace.' Okay, this is no prison, this is a psychiatric hospital. 'And what is Your Majesty doing down here? Has Your Grace been up to something?' Oh boy, apparently I pushed the right buttons. Your Grace is getting pretty angry. 'How dare you, you worm! You should consider yourself lucky, that I even think about talking to you!' Actually I'd consider myself luckier, if he shut up. His jabbering is annoying.

'Why don't you just shut your royal mouth then?' The prince's royal jar is now dropping, he gasps and falls silent. He shoots me a lethal look, then he turns his back on me. I must say, I am really charming when it comes to dealings with men. Because of this absolutely absurd and simultaneously real situation I have to chuckle. Prince Loki puffs indignantly, he probably thinks that I'm laughing him out of court. If he wants to. Why should I care, I've got my own problems. And a bad feeling, that they might get even bigger.