Step into Asgard

This is not a love story. But, if you want to find one in this story then go right ahead. This is about a girl who gets transported to Asgard and begins an adventure that is big. One question still bugs her from the Thor end credit scene and...she'll meet Loki. Still confused? Then read it.


25. ghost: Cold opener anyone?

We were weaving baskets for a family. Now why are we doing this in the first place? This family happens to live in a haunted house, there was this ghost that got mad whenever they took baskets out of the house.It was very unusual when they told us, that is  until we saw it first hand. They had recently moved into this house about a month ago. This family I'm talking about is the Weaver household no literately their last names ARE Weaver (but they don't know how to weave baskets) and own a orchard.

  So,Callie volunteered us to make ugly baskets that the family wouldn't want to take out into public.The insane thing is the husband  owns a big company called Weaver-Plants.Wanna know how they found us? Here's a little refresher how it happened:

 Mr.Weaver walks into his office carrying a briefcase, then he turns around and shuts the door behind him. He flips up a light switch beside the door. The room shines to life.

 "Paranoid, much?" Loki said, sitting at Mr.Weaver's desk.

Mr.Weaver turns around, and saw Loki.

 "How the hell did you get into my office?" Mr.Weaver demands an explanation, his face is red and he is sweating profusely.

 "The door is unlocked,"  Loki lies, sliding a finger on a dusty table as he got up. "I have a little bird who told me you can feed an army."  Loki  tilts a family picture away from the chairs direction towards Mr.Weaver's direction. "The security systems here are terrible."

Mr.Weaver is baffled.

"Selling fruits and vegetables as a business is a messy time to be involved in a war." Mr.Weaver said, getting close to the most nearby table with a phone machine hooked into the wall. "We can't sell that many to an army; we got regulations and restrictions on the line! The Paperwork we have to sign is---"

 "That never stopped you from getting this 'business' started." Loki interupts him.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't call security on you, thief." Mr.Weaver picks up a phone and begins dialing.

 "Thief? Is that all you have to say for a door that is unlocked?" Loki asks. Best picture scenario is that Loki is in his Midgardian attire.Honestly he is in his Midgardian attire. He goes on to criticize Mr.Weaver. "I think not! You blame me being a thief but thieves do not come in silently  when you least expect it;  that is silent killers."

Loki pauses briefly, "I have associates who can take care of your 'little' problem."

The receiver on the end is heard asking, "Something wrong. Mr.Weaver?"

"No, a bird hit my window." Mr.Weaver said, with the phone close to his ear. "Thought it was a man; sorry for the false alarm Julie."

"Okay sir, is the twelve pm meeting still up?" Julie,possibly his secretary, asks.

"You know it is." Mr,Weaver said, with a slight smile seen at the corner of his mouth. Then puts the phone back on the black square machine. He turns his direction towards Loki. "You have friends who can?"

"No, they are associates." Loki corrects him.

"That still means 'Friends' in business." Mr.Weaver said, his sweating had stopped. "Are they like Ghostbusters?"

Perhaps Loki had been surprised at the time but he didn't show.

"They are called Ghostcalmers." Loki lies, again.

"So they can calm the dead, that's  a fair deal." Mr.Weaver remarks. Mr.Weaver sighs as he shook his head. "At least there's some good out of the law suit's my company's been getting."

"There are suits for law?" Loki asks, genuinely confused.

"Those are lawyers." Mr.Weaver tells him. "They get the hefty end of the court payment. Representing companies, people,  kids, and objects, or land." Mr.Weaver sits down on a couch across from the desk. He slouches while grabbing a pillow. There is also a table with pen and paper near the couch."The Justice system can take a lot of energy out of you."

"This 'Justice system' sounds confusing." Loki remarks.

"No, it's a pain in the rear." Mr.Weaver admits. He looks towards Loki as he took the pen and paper. "What is their phone number?"

"I don't know." Loki said.

"Know their names?" Mr.Weaver asks.

"Karlos Stone, John Bruce Wayne, Joy Jelenisto, and Calie Summers." Loki said.

Mr.Weaver jots down the names.

 "And Callie Summers  .  .  ." Mr.Weaver looks up and saw Loki is not in here.

~                                                ~

    I had to tell Loki one of these days. So who had to break it? You can all point fingers at one person: me. I had told Loki a few days after getting out the hospital--well, I told Loki next time we met--being fine as a whistle. He didn't take the news well. Recall the year is 2011; before the year that the Earth should have ended. The year before the supposed rapture was to occur (Which it did not, as I am still alive from the year 2014).  If ya think about it I won't go to school in August on the 18th. Because there is no file on me, and, I look like an adult with three dots under her eyes.

"Hey Joy," Karlos said. "Did you break up with your boyfriend?"

Yes, we are weaving. That previous event I told ya about was . . . A cold opening in a way.

"Loki is not my boyfriend." I said.

"Loki who?" Karlos repeats, his eyebrows rose up and cocked his head.

"Who's Loki?" Callie asks.

John's intent on making his basket very, very horrible so he's got some ear buds in connected to a small mp3 player with a big paintbrush in a paint bucket.

"I mean; like really? that man is not my boyfriend." I said, getting a strange look from Karlos and Callie. I continue on my way waving this terribly painted basket. "I am single, very single."

Callie held up a finger, paying attention like a bird was about to swoop in,and glances to both directions.

"No." Callie said, like a fake spirit-reader. "The winds say he's going to pop up."

"He's not a piece of cardboard that flips up when there's a Men In Black alien attacking at night shooting practice."'

"Practise?" Callie repeats.

"Or  shooting range?" Karlos asks.

"Why do you care about shooting practice?" I ask, rolling an eye.

"You opened a bottle of worms." Karlos said, wrapping the material around one  wooden bar instead of going straight, turn right, go straight, then turn left and turn right. "Because a shooting range; is an area provided with targets for the controlled practice of shooting."

 "How do you know this stuff?" I ask.

"You'll be surprised what we do on Saturdays." Callie interjects.

"I thought you went to Sunday Church on a Saturday." I tell Callie.

"Wish we could give you a criminally insane award." Karlos said.

 "They care about minor things; they are lerds of training terms." John makes a uncanny remark about the duo's insistence. "Also, if you did lot notice; Callie's British, Karlos is .  .  . just Karlos, and I sound like I have Dyslexia."

"Do you?" We ask.

John shifts his shoulders, uncomfortable with the question in one perspective.  What? It's clearly obvious!

 "I'm lot an Alien." John insists.

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