195.44.214.136 writes:

The scene: Dancer wakes up with incredible headache to find herself in strange bed.

Dancer (thinks): What the heck happened? I do not remember anything about last night.

Dancer (hearing deep snore from hump next to her in the bed, thinks): Aaaaaaggghhh! What exactly did I do last night? And who is this person?

Hump in bed: Snooooooorrrrrreeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!

Dancer (thinks): Please do not let it be spiffy.

[Dancer looks round room trying to work out a clue to where she is and whose bed it is. She can’t help but notice the drinking horns, the spikey helmet, and the large sort of baseball bat hammer thingie with a sticker on it that says "property of Donar."]

Dancer (thinks): Ooops. But how did I end up here? and where are my clothes?

Freyda (coming in through the door suddenly and glaring at the bed): What the hell is this? DONAR!

Dancer, holding blanket up in front of her as seen in all the best bedroom farces: Er, I can explain everything. Well, actually I can’t, but I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation. (Thinks) I sure hope mortal contraception works with hemigods.

Donar: Wssrrrummmph? Snort. Hmph! Who waketh the son of Oldman at such au ungodlieth hour?

Dancer: Er, hi!

Freyda: You two timing no good son of a bitcheth! After I gave you the best centuries of my life!

Donar, noticing Dancer for the first time: Heillsa! Er, dost I know thee?

Freyda: Don’t you try that, my ladeth! I art going to have thy goolies for earrings for this.

Dancer: Er, where am I exactly? Only I still don’t actually remember how I got here or what happened. (Plaintively) Or where my underwear is.

Freyda: Silence, mortal cow! I shalt smite thee mightily after I hast finished with Donar.

Donar: But Freyda, I don’t remember anything. I know better than to dally with mortal women, else I would have given Lisa the sorting outeth of a lifetime long ago!

Dancer: There is something pretty funny about all of this. Can I borrow these tin bowls and this fur hanky please, only I think I need to do a little dance?

Freyda: Thou hussy!

Dancer, now clad in best Boris Vallejo style: No really, I want to try something.

Freyda: Thou has already tried something. Now I shall rip thine hair from thine headeth.

[ Freyda hurls Ausgardian war-spear at Dancer, but Dancer somersaults over it so it instead bounces off Ausgardian disemboweling treddle, flipping full tankard of Ausgardian mead onto war-goat sleeping at foot of Donar’s bed, which leaps up in alarm knocking over oil lamp onto bearskin rug.]

Bearskin rug: Ouch! I am on fire! Help! Help!

Dancer: You Ausgardians have talking bearskin rugs?

Donar, reaching out and grabbing smouldering rug: Not usually. [Shakes rug until it shapechanges to its proper form] Ah, now this maketh more sense. T’is really Hoki, mine evil sibling! Doubtless thou broughtest yon maiden and transported her into mine bed to sow discord twixt Freda and me.

Hoki: You can’t proveth anything! And if you hitteth me I shall tell father!

Dancer: Fine. I’ll hit you.

Hoki: Hah! The chances of a mortal hitting me are… oh shitteth, thou canst manipulate probabilities, can’t thou?

Dancer: Yes *smack*

Hoki: Eeep *Thud*

Freyda: How canst I ever make it up to thee for doubting thee, Donarcake?

Donar: Well, thou couldst go put on that outfit for us to play a game of Valkyries and Vikings…

Dancer: Er, could somebody please get me home first, only I don’t think I want to be here for that.

Donar: Aye, the Oldmanson will transport thou hence.

Dancer: Thanx. But you might want to put some pants on first. Not that I’m objecting, you understand, but Freyda’s already tried to kill me once…


Dancer