Afghans for Asgard

I’m on a bit of a writing kick at the moment (understatement of the year. I think I’m up to… 40,000 words? Over the last week and a half?) so I don’t have any actual knitting content to share. So, I present to you, the next best thing: knitting-related fiction.

Background: There was a thing, recently, with knitters and the USOC. Check the #ravelympics tag on the twitters, that should fill you in. During the discussions on this, someone suggested that we send all our Pan-Ravelry Games projects to Asgard, for the old Norse gods, because… well… I have no idea either, but probably because Tom Hiddleston/Loki.

Anyway. This is the story of what the foremost Asgardians might think of our donations.

Apologies in advance to knitters, gods, comic book readers, film viewers, Afghans for Afghans, and Vikings everywhere.

Also profuse apologies to all Classicists, who will be doubly enraged by the whole Olympics = trademark thing, before we even start talking about weird northern gods.

Scene: Asgard.

Heimdall brings in another box, placing it before Odin with an expressionless face.

“More?” says Odin.

“Yes.” replies Heimdall. “And this will not be the last.”

Odin sits on his throne, fidgeting uncomfortably before reaching under his leg to retrieve a small, flat packet. He tears it open, taking out a number of brightly coloured knitted tubes. He pulls and stretches at one, unsure what it is, and puts it over his fingers, before noticing a small note that has fallen from the packet, onto his knee. He reads.

‘Dear Odin,’ says the letter, ‘Please find enclosed a selection of willy warmers. I wasn’t sure what size to make, so I made a few. Pass them around!’

Stony faced, he removes the tube from his fingers.

“Father!” says Thor, entering the room at a run, nearly tripping over a box marked AFGHANS FOR ASGARD. “Father?”

“Son. I have need of… assistance. The Midgardians persist in sending their crafted goods. I need this to stop.”

“But why, father? They honour us with their skills!”

Odin brandishes the tube, and throws it to the floor. “They send us clothing for our intimate parts. They go too far!”

Thor kneels to inspect the discarded knitwear. “Are you sure? This is not remotely big e…”

“Enough!” shouts Odin.

“Exactly!” says Thor.

Loki sidles in, having heard the outburst. “Something up?”

“Loki! Perhaps you can succeed where your brother fails. Take this… so-called knitwear and dispose of it. Now. I do not care how.”

Loki puts his hands on his hips. “Very funny,” he says. “Knitwear? For a frost giant? My sides are splitting.”

Thor holds up a multicoloured blanket. “Look! It’s just Sleipnir’s size!”

“Oh!” says Loki, clapping his hands and smiling widely. “Shut up.” He turns away, then spins smartly on his heel, snatching the blanket, and stalking out of the room.

THE END.

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