“So,” said Catrina, “you’re sure that wasn’t you.”
“Pretty sure,” said Thor.
“Shouldn’t you be, you know, more sure than that?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I mean, I think I should be.”
Thor took a bite of the waffle in front of him.
“I hate waffles.”
“That’s impossible,” scolded Catrina.
Thor chewed slowly, and seemingly with effort, almost as if he actually, truly did hate waffles.
“God, you’re such a fucking baby.”
Catrina switched Thor’s plate of waffles with her plate of scrambled eggs.
“Happy?”
“No,” said Thor. “I wanted pancakes.”
“Dude, no. You’re gonna get poisoned again. She said no pancakes, you get no pancakes.”
“Fine,” relented Thor. “Thank you for your eggs. I will eat them and pretend they are fluffy and moist and delicious.”
“OK, whatever,” said Catrina. “Back to the smiting issue. How are you confused? Shouldn’t you know when you’re cracking open the heavens and striking some mad scientist’s atomic werebeast dead with a bolt of electricity?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, I know what it used to be like, what it’s supposed to feel like. And this certainly wasn’t that. But, at the same time, nothing feels the way it used to, so my point of reference is all fucked up. Given what the things I used to be able to do that I can still do now feel like, though, I think I know what it would probably feel like, and it was kinda like that, a little.”
“What?” asked Catrina through a mouthful of waffles.
“OK,” said Thor. “Calling down lightning isn’t like throwing a baseball or a midget or something.”
“You throw midgets?”
“Once, bachelor party, long story. Not like lightning. Stay focused, woman.”
“Me? You’re the one side-tripping for waffle rage and dwarf tossing.”
“Look, do you want to know the answer or not?”
“Do you actually have one?” asked Catrina, with more waffles in her face.
“No, not really. Not a coherent or useful one anyway.”
“Well, OK, then.”