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20151229_210102Loki propped one leg up on the coffee table. “You know,” he said while turning his crystal goblet and examining the whisky swirling within, “Dad’s name, Odin, actually translates from the human Norse as ‘Master of Ecstasy.’”

“I know this, brother,” Thor offered while dredging the sofa cushions for the TV remote.

Still observing his whisky, Loki continued, “But wouldn’t you agree that he’s nothing of the sort?”

“For what purpose do you bring this prattle to my ears?” Thor’s irritation was showing. “Help me find the blasted device that manipulates this mystic box.”

“If the people only knew that he resides in his quarters most often with nothing more than a loin cloth and can of Pabst Blue Ribbon, one shan’t believe that he’d be known and revered as Odin. Maybe Odius… Or perhaps Allfather Bob.”

“You tire me with your ramblings, Loki,” Thor growled. “Give me your assistance.”

“Do you know what my name means to them?” the lesser brother continued. But before Thor could answer, “It means ‘to break.’”

“At this, dear Loki, I am not astonished,” Thor said tossing cushions to one side and another. “Where is that beguiling… Ah! Behold, I’ve discovered it!”

Thankfully the cushion for the section of the couch that Thor intended to occupy as his throne was resting atop Mjölnir, and so with an outstretched arm, the hammer whisked to the thunder god’s right grasp, and by its swift travel, the couch cushion was carried to his left.

“Did you see that, Loki?” he said tossing the cushion beneath himself and plopping down. “Only a true warrior may accomplish such skillful deeds.”

“Yeah, great,” Loki said with disinterest. “What shall we watch this eve?”

Scrolling through to the Netflix icon, “I desire to finish season four of The Walking Dead.”

“Oh, not again, you bucolic swine,” Loki whined. “I grow so tired of these apocalyptic wanderers. The only one to be revered is Daryl, and it is all but certain that he’ll die soon.”

“Watch your tongue, brother,” Thor leaned in, “for if Daryl is ever found lying in the dust, it is done. T’will be a rebellion in the heavens, and I will be obliged to lead the battalions through the gates of AMC.”

“I’m not watching The Walking Dead. It’s lame.”

“You are mistaken, for this is our fate this night.”

“I tell you, I am not watching The Walking Dead.”

“Heed my words, brother,” Thor burned and pointed to the TV screen, “Rick will be before us in moments. We are watching The Walking Dead.”

Loki reached for his scepter. Thor was still holding Mjölnir. There was a distant crack of thunder.

Loki smiled and set his scepter down. He exchanged it for a bowl of popcorn. “Can’t we be civil, brother?” he asked and shoveled a handful into his mouth. “There’s no need to destroy the rec room once more.”

A moment passed.

“Yes, brother,” Thor conceded. “Let us not quibble again, for I’ve been searching eBay for many days trying to find another life-sized ‘Andy Griffith’ standup after the other was destroyed. My heart remains scarred by this.”

“Here,” Loki said pouring a generous three-fingers portion of the Highland Park Dark Origins into Thor’s empty goblet. “Drink with me and we shall decide in equity.”

“Yes, this is a fine edition, brother,” Thor smiled. Loki’s offering was already bringing calm. “I’ve enjoyed it before with Erik Selvig on Earth.”

“Aye, she smells of a clean sweet sherry, doesn’t she?”

“She does,” Thor grinned. “But there’s more. She seeks to convince me that she is bringing fresh fruits to the assembly, and each has been warmed in a chocolate drum.”

“I say, you speak truth, brother,” Loki sighed. “The palate confirms your deduction.”

“Indeed, and there, right there is a portion of smoke, just beyond the chocolate. Did you sense it, Loki?”

“I did, Thor. It is as a distant morning haze that has just crossed into Asgard from the iron camps in the border countries. ‘Tis the sweet smell of burnished steel forged in peat fires.”

“Ah, but the finish is too swift, too fresh.” Thor poured another clip. “It would be finer with a longer, a firmer clasp.”

“Perhaps,” Loki smiled. He put his hand on Thor’s shoulder. “But still, it is has stirred a peaceful countenance between us, brother.”

“Yes, Loki,” Thor agreed, “it has.” Still holding Mjölnir, he laid the weapon on the coffee table and reached across his chest to affirm Loki’s gesture. “I am your humble servant, brother,” he said gently. “What shall we watch?”

“Downton Abbey?”

“Aye, Downton Abbey it is.”