Almighty Odin, the Father of the Gods, clenched his fist and growled. A deep, low growl that could shake the mountains of Midgard or cause the frost giants to tremble. By his side Sleipnir, his eight-legged steed, stamped on the icy ground and shook his head. Even he knew that, this time, Loki had gone too far. Odin’s brow furrowed. The signs were not good. But they did say this was his parking space.
In the doorway his wife Frigga flicked back her long blonde hair and spoke in a voice like wind through the fjords.
“Well?” she said. “You bringing the shopping in, or what?”
“Look what he’s done!” replied Odin. “Have you seen this?”
“So talk to him! He’s your adopted son too!”
Odin staggered into the kitchen, weighed down by Asdagard carrier bags. Loki was sitting at the table with his back to the door. As usual he was wearing his black leather jacket with the picture of a skull and the writing across the shoulders: Hel’s Valkyries.
“What’s that piece of junk in my parking spot?” demanded Odin.
“It’s called a motorbike,” said Loki, without turning. “Got to have one when you’re a rebel.”
“Oh really. And what exactly are you rebelling against?”
Loki turned round and sneered.
“What have you got? I’m sticking it to The Man.”
“No you’re not,” said Odin. “You leave the mortals out of this.”
He dumped the carrier bags and stalked across to the living room. The giant frame of his eldest son was sprawled in an armchair. Across the room the television crackled and fizzed.
“Thor!” said Odin. “Have you been chucking lightning bolts at the telly again?”
“Sorry Dad. Couldn’t find the remote.”
“What are you doing here anyway? Thought you were building that rainbow bridge thing?”
“The trolls have stopped paying,” replied Thor, “so we walked out. Industrial dispute. Right now, Thor’s hammer strikes.”
Odin sighed. Teenagers. Who needs them?
“And when you’re done in there,” came Frigga’s voice, “go and get changed. Remember the Zeus’s are coming for dinner.”
Odin sighed again. Just what he needed: a fat drunk breaking all the crockery. Sometimes this God lark really wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.