The group of gods came in, carrying their old gray suitcases and blue suitcases and duct-taped suitcases and eagle.
“Hello,” Svanalf said, dropping her fingers to a keyboard. “Reservation?”
The guy at the front of the queue shook his head. He had a pointy gray hat and long gray beard and gray robes. And he had a staff.
Svanalf sighed. “How many?”
He did a quick head count. “Seven.”
“One for the eagle, too?” Svanalf arched a brow.
The eagle fixed its yellow, one-eyed gaze on her, and she hurriedly booked the rooms. “For whom?” she asked.
“Odin, Odin, Woden, Woden, Wednesday, Wedding, and Gandalf.”
“Gandalf isn’t a god,” Svanalf said. Her brow went up again.
Gandalf pounded his staff on the ground. “I’m the tour guide. Book the rooms. Three days.”
She lowered her gaze to the computer screen. “Rooms 101, 102, 103, 104, 105, 106, 107.” Picking up a stack of cards, she slid them over the counter. “Room cards. Four hundred twenty krone, pay by cash, check, or credit cards. No unconventional forms of payment accepted, including blood sacrifice.”
The eagle deposited a dead mouse on her desk. Gandalf briefly had a conversation with the other Odins and, after a fair amount of scuffling, dropped a wad of bills on the counter.
Svanalf counted, slipped the bills into a drawer, and handed Gandalf the change. “No stealing, fighting, cannibalism, or unnecessary destruction. Checkout at eleven in the morning, Norwegian time. Breakfast will be provided in the lobby from seven in the morning to ten in the morning, Norwegian time.” She rapped the desk. “Your rooms are down the hall. Have a nice stay.”
They left, a group of ragged shadows.
The eagle remained on the counter, talons scraping the granite.
“What is it?” Svanalf asked.
It opened its wings and soared up and through the ceiling.
~ ~ ~
Svanalf drummed her fingers on the desk, absently eavesdropping on the group in the lobby. They were a traveling troupe, performing nearby, which was probably why they’d booked the rooms here, and they were practicing. Handsprings, backflips, cartwheels, human pyramids.
A man with black hair and a green cape and gold armor sat on an armchair nearby, watching, one hand reaching across his chin. A horned, golden helmet rested at his feet.
A fox slunk over the counter.
“Hi,” Svanalf said.
“Hi.” The fox sat, curled up, and started licking its fur. It had a strong Norwegian accent.
“That’s very impressive, isn’t it?”
“I’ve seen better,” said the fox in between licks of its fur. “When I was a human, I could pretty much anything I liked-”
“Stop it,” the eagle screeched, swooping down on it and fixing it with its fierce yellow one-eyed gaze.
The fox glared back. “I was simply correcting an incorrect statement. Never let it be said that Loki the Skywalker was not impressive.”
“I didn’t say that,” said Svanalf with a sigh. Gods inevitably got into arguments.
The eagle glared and left through the ceiling.
“How does he even do that?” Svanalf asked.
The fox shrugged. “He’s Odin. Pretty much does what he likes.” It licked its fur again, tail flicking. “Man of few words. It’s a bit annoying.”
“Ah,” said Svanalf. “Well. There are worse persons.”
“Yes.” The fox flicked its tail at the man in the armchair. “That’s the other Loki. Loki Laufeyson. Ugh. The grammar. Anyway, HE’s probably worse. Been in therapy for trying to take over Earth. Honestly, why would anyone want to take over Earth? There’s Asgard, Vanaheim, Svartalfheim, Alfheim-”
“Oh,” Svanalf said.
“And Freya! You could get her, but no! She doesn’t exist to him!”
~ ~ ~
Eight o’clock in the morning. Breakfast was commencing.
Svanalf already had eaten, naturally. She had a mostly normal diet and had no intention of eating while the gods discovered breakfast meats. Laufeyson, for example, had just discovered them the day before and was piling his plate with turkey sausage and bacon. Also, especially in the Scandinavian division, conversation was capable of destroying appetites.
(Svanalf hated bacon.)
The extremely muscular redhead shouldered through the tables, balancing a multitude of plates heaped with roasted chicken (Svanalf had a very bad feeling about where it was from) and sat down next to one of the Lokis (she wasn’t sure which one).
“Hi,” he said.
They left, a group of ragged shadows.
The eagle remained on the counter, talons scraping the granite.
“What is it?” Svanalf asked.
It opened its wings and soared up and through the ceiling.
~ ~ ~
Svanalf drummed her fingers on the desk, absently eavesdropping on the group in the lobby. They were a traveling troupe, performing nearby, which was probably why they’d booked the rooms here, and they were practicing. Handsprings, backflips, cartwheels, human pyramids.
A man with black hair and a green cape and gold armor sat on an armchair nearby, watching, one hand reaching across his chin. A horned, golden helmet rested at his feet.
A fox slunk over the counter.
“Hi,” Svanalf said.
“Hi.” The fox sat, curled up, and started licking its fur. It had a strong Norwegian accent.
“That’s very impressive, isn’t it?”
“I’ve seen better,” said the fox in between licks of its fur. “When I was a human, I could pretty much anything I liked-”
“Stop it,” the eagle screeched, swooping down on it and fixing it with its fierce yellow one-eyed gaze.
The fox glared back. “I was simply correcting an incorrect statement. Never let it be said that Loki the Skywalker was not impressive.”
“I didn’t say that,” said Svanalf with a sigh. Gods inevitably got into arguments.
The eagle glared and left through the ceiling.
“How does he even do that?” Svanalf asked.
The fox shrugged. “He’s Odin. Pretty much does what he likes.” It licked its fur again, tail flicking. “Man of few words. It’s a bit annoying.”
“Ah,” said Svanalf. “Well. There are worse persons.”
“Yes.” The fox flicked its tail at the man in the armchair. “That’s the other Loki. Loki Laufeyson. Ugh. The grammar. Anyway, HE’s probably worse. Been in therapy for trying to take over Earth. Honestly, why would anyone want to take over Earth? There’s Asgard, Vanaheim, Svartalfheim, Alfheim-”
“Oh,” Svanalf said.
“And Freya! You could get her, but no! She doesn’t exist to him!”
~ ~ ~
Eight o’clock in the morning. Breakfast was commencing.
Svanalf already had eaten, naturally. She had a mostly normal diet and had no intention of eating while the gods discovered breakfast meats. Laufeyson, for example, had just discovered them the day before and was piling his plate with turkey sausage and bacon. Also, especially in the Scandinavian division, conversation was capable of destroying appetites.
(Svanalf hated bacon.)
The extremely muscular redhead shouldered through the tables, balancing a multitude of plates heaped with roasted chicken (Svanalf had a very bad feeling about where it was from) and sat down next to one of the Lokis (she wasn’t sure which one).
“Hi,” he said.
The Loki sighed. (Svanalf thought they weren't from matching stories. The Thor was actually a Donner, she remembered. Germanic, not Norse, and the Loki wore leg warmers.) “Hi,” he said back. That was pretty much the entire conversation. Thor ate the chicken (Svanalf realized, with a sinking feeling, that she’d forgotten to check on her chickens), stood, and left. The Loki followed.
Another Thor came in, hefting an axe-like hammer, fair-haired and grinning. He sat down next to a boy called Luke, who immediately turned and started discussing quantum physics.
The room slowly filled with Odins, Lokis, Thors, and a few others: Freys, Freyas, Friggs, a Skadi, a Ullr, a few Heimdalls, a few Baldurs, a few Tyrs.
Then a very blond, very tall, somewhat muscular, wing-helmeted guy walked into the room, and the room fell silent.
Laufeyson stood, slowly, still chewing a slice of bacon.
“Was this a bad time?” the Thor asked. He had an Australian accent.
“No,” Laufeyson said, reaching out a hand and plucking a scepter from thin air. “In fact, there is no better time.” He swallowed very visibly. Svanalf hoped that he wouldn’t choke on the food.
“Oh,” said Thor, putting a hand out. A hammer flew into it, a parallelepiped of metal. (Math terms! Yay!)
“No unnecessary violence,” Svanalf called. The two ignored her, and Laufeyson rushed at Thor, scepter raised. The mass of people cleared away a circle, forming the ring for their fight.
Gandalf strode into the room, staff raised, and pointed it at the two fighters, shouting a spell. Light flashed, blue fire erupted, they continued fighting.
Another Thor strode into the room, wearing only a pair of undies. Svanalf frowned at him.
Using íslenskt táknamál, Icelandic sign language, he motioned that no one ever imagined him with a shirt on, then fingerspelled a few choice words. Svanalf sighed and fingerspelled Sorry. (Her sign language was rusty.) The Thor shrugged and left.
A bear bounded into the room, sniffed, and attacked the breakfast buffet, officially ending breakfast as the eagle watched it from the chandelier, screeching in protest. The fox, sitting under the eagle with tail swept over paws, looked at Svanalf and grinned foxily.
“How amusing,” it said.
~ ~ ~
For reference:
Odins:
Eagle, a.k.a. Odin 1: Odd and the Frost Giants, Neil Gaiman
Odin 2: Marvel
Woden 1: How to Train Your Dragon, Cressida Cowell
Woden 2: Der Ring des Nibelung, Wagner (It's a German opera)
Wednesday: American Gods, Neil Gaiman
Wedding: Eight Days of Luke, Diana Wynne Jones
Gandalf: The Hobbit, Lord of the Rings, J. R. R. Tolkien
Lokis:
Fox: Odd and the Frost Giants, Neil Gaiman
Loki Laufeyson: Marvel
Loki with leg warmers: How to Train Your Dragon, Cressida Cowell
Luke: Eight Days of Luke, Diana Wynne Jones
Thors:
Bear: Odd and the Frost Giants, Neil Gaiman
Aussie Thor: Marvel
Undie-wearing Thor: How to Train Your Dragon, Cressida Cowell
Donner: Der Ring des Nibelung, Wagner
Fair-haired Thor: Eight Days of Luke, Diana Wynne Jones
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