2015-01-28 - A Whale of a Tale

The gods have smiled upon Greenwich Village, New York City this day.
More specifically, they have smiled upon an especially popular, artsy diner in the heart of Greenwich Village: Stella's 'All You Can Eat' Family Restaurant. The gods in question are none other than two heroes of Asgardian/Norse legend: Fandral the Dashing, and Volstagg the Enormous.
The sun is shining. The day is warm. Evening is yet a couple of hours away - and the staff of Stella's restaurant are having the most demanding time of their lives - which might be considered odd since the diner itself is largely unoccupied.
The street outside, however, is another matter.
"Another!" Fandral exclaims as he upholds a clear plastic jug that once had a steaming hot liquid in it of some description. The man laughs gaily and waves to a large, pear-shaped woman fussing about in the kitchens. "I say, Goodwoman - O' Voluptuous Stella - I pray thee tell me what is this delectable beverage of thine? I feel oddly envigorated yet I know this to be not mead, nor ale, nor any other drink to pass my lips." He chuckles again and casts a mirthful look around the near-empty restaurant. Tables have been cleared aside to make room for the 'Robin Hood' lookalike and his... gargantuan companion. Both Fandral's swords - the rapier and the katana - lie across the table amid stacks of plates with a variety of mostly-eaten dishes from the buffet.
Fandral frowns when he does not get a response straight away, and he looks over at Volstagg. "Perhaps she did not hear me. No matter, I can wait. How doth thou, my large friend? Doth the food of mortals compare with that of the gods, hmm?"
Volstagg sits down over, "Yes, another!" He smashes his own mug, "While this thing the humans doth refer to as coffee lacks the taste of mead, it doth have a lovely barb all its own, and is quite refreshing!" He glances over at the otherwise empty buffet - in the literal sense, the two Asgardians had gone through everything it had upon it. "And tell me whence we shall have more food! For I be ravaged and barely yet started to satiate mineself!"
Otherwise, Volstagg was in good cheer during his stay over here on Earth, "And 'tis a shame that Hogun the Bold could not have joined us! For what is a meal of such repast without all of us three together?" His axe had been laid over against his chair, which otherwise staggered under Volstagg's voluminous bulk then, somehow having not yet gone to splinters even as Volstagg's shirt threatened to burst.
"Another, he says!" exclaims a frazzled, feminine voice from the depths of the kitchens. "Another! Just like that - oh, Mamma! Mamma mia! Mamma said there'd be days like this..."
"Like this? Like this?!" barks another - a man, older. The voice sounds tired, but still jovial in contrast to that of Stella herself. "At last we have customers with real appetites! Look at him! -- No, not him. The other him -- the large one! Already he has eaten the lamb, the beef, the chickens, the ducks -- the turkey you were saving for us tonight -- the supreme pizzas, the chilli pizzas, the meatlovers pizzas -- ow!"
"Stop it, Mario!" Stella snaps. "Give these trays to the children, and -- where is Maria? Maria?! Maria!!"
Fandral, meanwhile, reaches for a leg of lamb and bites into it with relish. When he has finished his mouthful, he grins broadly at Volstagg across the tables (joined together into a 'banquet table') separating them. "Aye, my friend. Aye! I had messages sent to our Earth-allies - and to Asgard in the hope of reaching him. Perhaps he is engaged in battle and shall return with tales of it? Mmmm. Coffee. Aha!" He turns to look at a young girl -- probably in her twenties -- who is standing at the bar, staring dreamily back at Fandral. "Maria, O' Darling Heart of the Green Witch Village! If thou wouldst but refill my tankard with thy wondrous coffee, I shall tell thee a daring tale of Dark Elves and darker magicks!" he glances at Volstagg again. "Or, think you the tale of the Jotuns would impress them more? I see Stella eyeing thee, my friend."
Mario approaches with a large tray (normally used for buffet itself) of assorted meats and vegetables. There are two full jugs of gravy with it.
Mario! Volstagg looks over in good cheer, "Thank you for thine presence mine friend! And this shall be excellent whilst thine prepares the main course! For I am famished and the day doth approach mid, and soon it shall be time for the mainst meal for the early afternoon!" Yes, one could very well say that Volstagg's eating preferences approached those of the fabled Hobbits.
Gesturing over at the girl behind the bar (Maria), "Come, let us share stories of our glories with thine! For I am Volstagg the Valiant, and my friend Fandral the Fair is but fair at what he does! I am sure of our many adventures thou canst hear a paltry few appropriate to thee mine woman!" Volstagg went over to liberally start dunking the meat. In the gravy. And then taking a long draw from the gravy itself, drinking it as if it were mead.
As Maria pours more drinks, Mario stares at Volstagg - his moon-faced visage shifting from awe, to pride, to incredulity, to shock, to awe... all in the space of a few heartbeats. Mario, himself, is no small fellow -- well, he is not tall, but he makes up for it by being round -- and he places his hands upon his dirty apron as he continues to watch, dumbfounded by what he sees.
"Erm. I -- thank you, Your... Your... ahh. Lordship. Ahh. Should I -- we -- I... bow? or something? We do not often get such, ah, personages as yourselves here, in our humble, ah, establishment."
Each time he stammers, his lips form rapid, embarrassed grins -- as a fanboy would in the presence of his comic-book heroes. Mario glances between Fandral and Volstagg, taking a step back and nearly treads on his daughter's foot. Maria, a girl with long raven hair, an olive complexion and large, dark eyes, sets down a tray with two more plastic jugs full of steaming hot, black coffee.
Fandral smiles winsomely, and rises from his seat. Bowing lightly, he takes the girl's hand in one of his, then lays the other hand upon them both. "The waters of the deepest rivers of Vanaheim would hush at thy passing, Lady Maria Ravenlock. Thou hast the thanks of Fandral the Dashing for thy kindly service."
He bends forward to plant a kiss upon the girl's hand.
"I'm watching you!" Stella calls out abruptly from the kitchens, stopping Fandral in his tracks.
Volstagg hammered his hand playfully, this causing the table full of meat to flip as Volstagg's eyes went wide, "Save the meat!" And save it he did. Displaying surprising agility, his hands shot out as the food flipped into the air, and like an acrobat doing a magic trick, he flailed around with his meaty hands out, going to catch each over in tow upon one of the quickly yanked out trays as he managed to land every single bit upon it..
Other than the gravy - which had landed upon his head, splattering all over it. But Volstagg let out a deep belly laugh then, going to take up a chunk of meat to use it to wipe his beard before biting it, "More!" 
Meanwhile, over in the kitchen, someone could be heard to snark, "Wha'chew talkin' about Willis? And what's Lucy doing with Ricardo?" Some things were better left unanswered.
"Oh... Em... Gee..." exclaims a voice from the bar (a young man of maybe five-and-twenty, watching Volstagg try to save the flying meat). The lad's jar falls open and he stares dumbly, whilst completely ignoring the customers standing at the bar waiting for their drinks.
Actually, they're staring too.
Maria yelps to escape the spilling gravy, and only the rotund Mario (clearly her father) suffers any spillage on his clothes as the jug flips around before landing on top of the enormous Asgardian.
Fandral, on the other hand, becomes a blur of green and silver as the beautiful maiden trips backwards on her father's foot and starts to fall. She lands in the ready embrace of the blond hero, already on one knee and cradling her in his arms. "There, Dark Beauty!" he remarks with a brilliant smile. "Such a fall would do no good to thine -- " he is cut off by a sudden: "Hands off, Robin Hood!" from Stella, glaring out of the kitchens. Fandral smiles ruefully and lets Maria back up again.
Several bright flashes of light - like lightning - come from across the restaurant and outside as people from the crowd, as well as other patrons, take photos with their smartphones: both of the two Asgardians' heroic saves - and their humiliation. Fandral instantly leaps to his feet and bows floridly.
Applause ensues.
If there were any alcohol left in the bar, the other customers might have a chance over at it. But, at the display, Volstagg the Valiant rises, bows, and then gives a twirl that has his considerable girth rumbling, "Thankst thou! Thanks thou! And for that, I shall entertain thine with a story of our great heroics and acts of valor!" His cheeks sparkling then. "For whence myself and mine friend Fandral the Fair here duelled with but a pair of cooking utensils over a matter of great honour! And from whence our friendship came! For I proved myself the more Valiant, but he proved himself a fair loser then, and an honourable confidant!"
Meanwhile, at seeing Stella caught and twirled over in the arms of Fandral, someone in the kitchen, arms deep in utensils, called out, "Lucy you got some 'splainin' ta do!" Giving a glare over at her then at seeing her over.
And Fandral himself probably remembered the story.. Quite, quite differently...
"Hah!" Fandral retorts, planting both hands firmly on his hips and exaggerating the laugh for the benefit of the audience outside the restaurant. A few of the patrons outside brave the spectacle within by stepping through the double doors and taking up positions at stools and tables not far from the pair of Asgardians.
"The lie rests ill upon thy lips, Voluminous Volstagg, my friend! For lo'!" and he kicks the hilt of his sheathed katana -- lying as it was upon the table top -- and flips it into the air, catching it by the hilt in his right hand amid more applause. He grins. "Although, 'twas indeed a matter of honour, the valiance was mine! By chance, it so happened, that I came upon Volstagg and our future comrade, Hogun the Grim, in a tavern nestled upon the outskirts of Asgard herself." He slings the katana over his back and spreads his hands toward the crowd.
"And what should I hear? But this gargantuan braggart boasting, with a leg of mutton in one hand, and a tankard of mead in the other, of how he slew a Frost-Giant -- a Frost-Giant -- with naught but a carving knife and a spatula!" Fandral swivels on the ball of his foot to face his friend.
"How dare a man boast so woefully before such beautiful maidens as the three that hung upon my arms that day! Lo', I called him a liar and bid him prove otherwise!"
Oh, it is on. And if the two go their normal route the buffet will not be saved. Volstagg's eyes widen over at the playful jibe, and he rises up, mutton in one hand, giant mug of gravy in the other, which he chugs it as if it were mead, then takes a huge bite out of his mutton. "HAH! Friend Fandral I might think that thou hadst lost thine memory! Perhaps too many beatings upon thy frail head from the husbands whom thou hadst annoyed by making passes at their wives? For that is the only explanation for how thou couldst have misremembered things to such a degree!"
It was a matter of food. And thus, Volstagg the Valiant would defend himself! "For it twas two Frost Giants, and I had upon myself not a knife, but only a spatula and naught even my armor! And what dost though fight with? Fine words? PAH. Thoust fight with that imbecilic hair thost has upon thine face that thoust shines so thoroughly!"
A murmur ripples through those gathered within -- and without -- the dining area of the restaurant at Volstagg's bold claims... and Fandral's also. Various onlookers lean in toward each other to make comments or ask questions. One such person asks aloud:
"What's... what's a Frost-Giant?"
"Shh!" says another. "It's made up! They're just actors -- it's a fairy tale!"
That last comment catches Fandral's attention and a slow grin spreads across his features, as a wry glint sets his eyes afire. "A 'fairy tale' say ye? Ah, but take care -- for beneath the mountainous mass that is my comrade's well-intended embellishment of this tale, there lies but a grain of truth. Observe!"
The man turns and takes two steps toward the bar, springing nimbly up onto its surface -- accompanied by a yelp of alarm from Stella in the kitchens just behind him. "Verily doth the Jotun, the Frost-Giant, stand yea high and almost as wide. Verily doth the mere touch of a Frost-Giant spell chilling death for those unfortunate to cross its path. In truth, only the breath of a Frost-Giant is deemed worse that its touch -- worse even than my good friend Volstagg, after drinking a barrel of gravy!"
With a swish, he draws his sword -- not the katana, but the rapier at his side -- and 'shadow-fences' with an invisible foe upon the bar-counter. "I liar, I called him -- the Great Volstagg, whose girth is out-grown only by his penchant for tall tales! -- and so the tavern-patrons agreed! 'Thou saist thou hast slain a Jotun with but a spatula?! 'Tis a jest, I declare! A jest! In truth I have slain no less than three with but a fork in mine hand!' Wielded as mightily as I wield the Word."
He bends down to thread the tip of his blade through the handle of a mug of beer, and lets the mug slide down the blade toward the hilt, whereupon he brings it to his lips to drink, giving Volstagg a nod to pick up the story.
Volstagg the Vociferous laughs, a booming voice, "Fetch me my mug of mead then for how I might drink enough so that thine version of the truth maketh sense! Thou spout out such words whence or not they have any meaning beyond what thou has thought! If thou hadst truly tried such a thing, thine would have found thine head whupped around so mightily that one would have found it compressed within thine's own backside!"
Now it was on, as Volstagg went to smash his hand over into the table with the gravy mug in a show of what was normally appreciation. Smash went the table. And the mug. But the mug was empty. So there was no loss of food. Ham still in the other hand, Volstagg went to take another chomping bite of it. "What sort of malady wouldst thou claim next? Fighting Fenris in thine underwear? Listening to the terror that this Midgard claims is music called dubstep? For in each story is a kernel of truth in the fact that thou wouldst say it is a story, and such the kernel exists for thou to sow from the ground as if thou wert Frigga tending a field!"
Fandral looks aghast at Volstagg.
"My friend! My dear, sweet, deluded friend! To suggest such a thing -- that I would fight the Fenris Wolf in but my small-clothes is the very height of madness! ...For there were no maidens present to appreciate mine attributes, as thou well knowest -- or thou wouldst know, if thou hadst not been cowering behind a flock of goats when Hogun and I did fight the Fenris Wolf!"
He lets the mug slide down his blade again - but before it can drop to the bar, he flicks the tankard into the air and slashes twice: first horizontally, then vertically, causing the glass to fall in four distinct pieces rather than just smash.
It smashes when it hits the ground instead.
Stella's face goes bright red. The rest of the staff merely stare...
And stare...
"Then, ere I was forced by mine honour to spit the great Volstagg on the tip of my blade and roast HIM over the firepit, Hogun the Wise spake up and suggested a contest to settle the debate: who, indeed, was the greater warrior!" Fandral somersaults off the bar and lands easily on the ground, sheathing his rapier. "It would be a contest of might, wits, and charm - both Volstagg and I would choose a utensil from that very table, and with it slay a Frost-Giant. Verily I tell ye, I did give Volstagg the greater chance -- knowing he would need it -- by choosing but a simple stirring ladle for my weapon, leaving him the choice off..."
There was a loud laugh over from Volstagg the Vocal, "And thence thou had the madness to suggest that thou could beat me with but a simple thing! For I hadst taken out a Jotun whilst I was but a young lad and barely into beard-dom! With mine spatula and nothing else but mine wits! They never again would take my supper from me!" With that, his mug of mead back in his hand, Volstagg went to wave the now meatless leg of lamb over with one hand then, swinging it as if it were something used to make pancakes.
"Since thou art mine friend and mine ally, I shall forgive you for such impertinence! Thine valor occasionally makes up for such overindulgence. But thou dost need a reminder then of thy talents, and their limitations! And were Hogun here now he wouldst remind thou of how handily I won! For thou could not defeat me over even when thou had added a large pot to thine arsenal! Thou wert desperately retreating and reaching out for everything in the kitchen with which to arm thineself! Why thoust even put thine mead at risk! Thine mead!" The horror.
	
People look back and forth between the two 'verbally duelling' comrades, blinking in as much incredulity as enjoyment. Even Stella finds herself peering out from the kitchens, listening -- and leaving food to overcook behind her. The scent of burning beef wafts through the restaurant. Fandral scoffs indignantly at his friend.
"Hah! A pot, thou saist! 'Twas not part of the bargain for thou to take up a leg of bilgesnipe and wield it as an ungainly club!" and he returns his attention to the ever-growing crowd (especially the raven-haired Maria). "Besides, as it so happened, that just ere we could venture forth -- spatula and ladle in hand, in search of adventure -- that adventure did come and find us!" He springs forward, landing in between father and daughter (Mario and Maria), placing a hand on each one's shoulder and looking from one to the other.
"Bilgesnipe I tell thee -- and bilgesnipe there came: a full herd, trampling all in their path in the direction of the lonely tavern and all the helpless maidens within. What was I to do, but... save them all?"
He claps the two humans on the shoulder -- not too hard -- and spins away, picking up a spoon in one hand, and a tray in the other. "Our weapons lay by the door, so we took forth that which we found near at hand: Hogun, with a stool - Volstagg with a spatula (and a leg of bilgesnipe), and I with naught but a ladle... oh, and a pot. Stella! Stella, goodwoman! Hast thou a pot of which I could make some use? Stella!"
There's a cough, "And thou hast forgotten that thou hadst already violated the duel by grabbing up a large crockpot with which thou were using to defend thineself! But a true warrior such as myself does not argue over such minor trivialities! We were interrupted by such a minor thing. Bilgesnipes! I hadst taken them since I was but a young, beardless man, a tenth as valiant as I am now!" Slapping his belly for emphasis then over as he held up his eaten bone then as if it were a spatula.
"And thou were inept enough to not have simply continued the duel then it was thine own fault for not being as surefooted as I as they rampaged through the kitchen! Whence we leaped up and over atop them and continued our brawl, fighting upon them! Thou were getting the worse of it at that point! Thou canst barely defend thineself with a proper blade! Thou were a disgrace when thou were wielding but a chicken leg that mine wife had thought too scrawny for proper cooking!"
The onlooking crowd laughs.
Some with amazement at the gargantuan Asgardian.
Some with horror - but the kind of horror that makes retreat (indeed, even looking AWAY) impossible. 
Stella, the poor woman, neglects to reply to the gallant hero waving a spoon and a serving tray around the room as if they were sword and shield. This is possibly due to the fact that the blood pressure rising in her generous face may have temporarily robbed her of the power of speech.
Nevertheless, that is what children are for!
The young man serving at the bar - Luigi - upon hearing Fandral's request for a pot, bounds like a gazelle into the kitchen and re-emerges with a large metal pot ideal for cooking large amounts of pasta. Gratefully, Fandral exchanges the tray for the pot, and then begins sparring with an imaginary, charging bilgesnipe - "Hah-hah'ing" joyously!
"A necessity of the moment, I assure ye - mine favourable admirers!" he tells the crowd, in reply to his friend. "For though I am fair of face, and swift of foot, hand and wit - mine head is not nearly as... thick as my good friend here! Thus, the pot. For the creatures did charge, and I did spring into action - striking the first of my MANY foes in the head with the Pot of Indestructableness, following through with a slash of the Viper's Spoon, hah-hah!"
And Volstagg the Valiant, swinging around his own giant mug which had been full of gravy which was now dribbling down his beard, "For all thou wouldst claim thou wouldst say that thou were part troll! That thou were part Svartelf! The only thing which has sprung forth from thy tongue of honesty is that thou thinkest greatly of thineself!" 
Crashing his mug of mead over to the floor then and going to grab up another implement of cutlery, somehow ending up with a giant plastic spatula that was used in serving pancakes in one hand, and yanking up the other to find a giant pair of tongs that had been left after cleaning out the buffet. "All I heareth from thou is thine excellent opinions of thineself and all thine has done! And I might deign to think that thine doth think rather highly of it! Perhaps elevated! For all thine's prowess on the field of both battle and brew! Thou couldst not match me in a game of eating, battle, or drinking!"
Around this time the belt about Volstagg's pants burst from his sudden surge forwards, and his hand shot down to keep it yanked up.
*Click! Click! Click! Click!*
Cell phones are out. Videos and stills are being taken. The ever-growing crowd murmurs fervently, creating a background hum like a chorus of generators. One young fellow nudges his friend.
"I... don't think they're actors."
"Shouldn't... shouldn't someone call the cops?" the other asks timidly, as though reluctant to even suggest it.
No one answers.
Whatever retort Fandral had had prepared for Volstagg's wild claims, it dies with the bursting of his larger friend's breeches. At the same time, Fandral's intended leap forward - followed by a twist in mid-air, accompanied with what might have been a daring slash of his ladle - also halts mid-stride, and the nimble Asgardian slides to his knees, spinning about to gape at Volstagg.
He blinks, unsure of how exactly to respond.
Then he laughs.
"And that, my friends, is how the first three of the charging beasts did perish on the spot! For, overtaken by the horror of the sight that lay before them, their hearts gave out and they crumpled like leaves and twigs in the dirt!"
"Then, over the bodies of the fallen did I leap - " and he gathers himself up, to jump over the nearest table (clearing it easily), " - out of the tavern and into the open sun, to do battle with the larger horde! I threw my pot at the nearest creature, covering its foul visage in full! And verily did it sway into its companions, skewering them in a gory mess upon its fearsome horns!"
There is a glower from Volstagg. One hand down to secure his breeches, the other moving to try and dual wield the spatula and the pair of tongs which he had otherwise moved. Given each was otherwise about the size of one of his meaty fingers, his ability to maintain the grip in a static manner was rather wanting.
"And then we didst joust as they charged through the kitchen! Rushing forwards as they made for the cabinets! Leaping from one back and forth to the other. Thou wert screaming over like a little girl. No, for my daughter doth scream less than thou didst that day! Chickens this way! Trolls that way! Thou wert going on like the prime pig which had been prepared for a feast with an apple in its mouth had suddenly risen from the plate and was breathing fire about the main hall!"
Swinging about, pants in hand, improvised weapons in the other, using the tongs to grab another pitcher of what passed for brew and taking a swig of it. "How canst thou dream thou hast a place in great Valhalla when thou cannot wench, thou cannot drink, thou cannot fight, and thou most pleases with thine high pitched singing voice when thou doth squeal like a mewling baby!"
*Zing!*
Faster than sight - perhaps faster than thought - a metal ladle flies through the air across the space of the restaurant separating Asgardian from Asgardian...
...spoon-first, straight for Volstagg's eye!
"Blaggard!" the fair-haired warrior exclaims with more drama than a Las Vegas showgirl. "Poltroon! Thou vermicious knid, thou! Verily as my name is Fandral the Swift thou shalt rue thy words as surely as any maiden would her time in thy bed!" He turns to address the crowd, now empty-handed.
"Hearken and attend, good... Mortals. For having thwarted the charge of the bilgesnipe without the tavern, 'twas now my time to return within and save this... globulous fraud within! As the ever-grim Hogun warded off more of the beasts with but a stool and a coat-rack, I dived in through a window amid a shower of razor-sharp glass, landing in a roll upon the ground and picking up a curtain-rod!"
As the spoon shot for his eye, Volstagg had to make a choice! Defend his face, or defend his dignity! Ultimately it came down to one thing. One hand was holding alcohol. The other was not. So, Volstagg went to flip his hand up that had formerly been holding on to his split belt, catching it out of midair even as his pants rolled down about his rather prodigious girth as they split further.
"Thou art too quick to take the glory for what others hath done! Thou canst not appreciate such delicacies! A story is meant to be told! Thine own acts glorified amongst others!"
Pants down, catching his mug and, mug still clutched in tong, fingers twirling about the oversized spatula even as he took a swig from it. "There we were! In the main hall! Facing off the roaring beasts! Hogun putting arrow to arrow to them! Mine splitting their heads off armed with but a crockpot and ladle, having to crush their skulls down and hard as they rampaged through the halls! The maidens squawking and squealing as they fled!"
More phones click as shots and vids of Fandral's and Volstagg's antics are taken - and instantly uploaded onto Tumblr, Twitter, Facebook, YouTube... etc etc. Stella hurries over to Maria and Luigi to drag them away from the two 'duelling' Asgardians and into the kitchen.
She has marginal success.
Mario, however, is awestruck by what he sees and hears, and remains standing by the buffet - a little too close to Volstagg, perhaps. His eyes are wide like saucers, and his hands remain clasped at his groin, rubbing his thumbs together in anticipation of whatever comes next.
Fandral snorts - and this time, draws his rapier to mimic his attacks with the aforementioned curtain-rod in his part of the tale. *Thrust! Parry! Thrust! Thrust! Dodge! Poke!* "Many the rear-end of a bilgesnipe regretted storming into our favourite tavern that day!" he exclaims, shooting Volstagg an indignant glare. Then he smirks. "Aye, tales should be told, my dear, voluminous friend," he remarks in a lighter tone of voice, deceptively... calm. And he winks at Mario for good measure.
"For in that moment, disaster did strike my fellow warrior, as his elephantine feet became entangled in the breeches gathered about them..." He pauses for effect, sidestepping across the restaurant floor - which now looks like a war-zone crossed with a food-fight. He motions with the tip of his blade at various onlookers, arresting their attention with the confidence of a prolific storyteller.
"As Volstagg the Great - " a compliment thrown in there. " - toppled to the ground, three - nay, four - of the remaining beasts turned upon him, lowered their horns with malicious will... and charged!"
His pace quickens as he sheaths his sword with grim resignation, and backs up a few careful steps.
"Oh, Mamma Mia..." Stella can be heard murmuring.
"Laying aside my curtain rod, I set my eyes upon my quarry and leapt a leap for the bards to sing of - reaching mine hand for the chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceiling, and swinging o'er..."
Fandral takes two steps forward, and springs into the air with all the grace of a bird. He could not have done better even with the added powers of his katana, as his feet touch upon the air as though walking, and his hands take hold of the stem of an overhead ceiling fan...
...and something in the ceiling breaks.
As you went to charge, parry, thrust, Volstagg went to thrust out his giant tongs, still clutching a mostly empty mug of alcohol at the end. "I did not look over like a beached flying whale that had somehow entered into the main hall!" A.. Seemingly suspiciously specific denial in such a descriptor. "And thou vastly overstateth! There thou wert, running about in thine undershirt whilst trying to fend off the bilgesnipe and having yanked mine pot away to put upon thine head while blubbering about how thine hair was too pretty to get such things upon it! Since when does a warrior care over for his hair when there is food and battle to be had?"
Gesturing emphatically over with the tossed spoon in the other hand then.. Right as the ceiling fan breaks off. Your recovery would likely be a bit more even-handed than Volstagg's...
Who would let out a loud scream as one of the blades would fall down from the ceiling, and miss his pantless front end by millimetres before embedding itself cleanly over in the ground right as he was about to take a sip of the remainder of his alcohol.. The high pitched scream that came out a moment later would match a pitch that his daughter would have to cover her ears if she were present.
Three minutes and thirty-four seconds later...
Dust fills the air, and darkness has fallen upon Stella's Family Restaurant. Emergency generators in the back room kick in, powering up the kitchen, the fridges etc... and the sound of coughing and spluttering and gasping fills the gyprock dust-ridden air.
Several flashes from cell phones blind those within the ruins of the restaurant, illuminating in brief moments the destruction wrought by the two Asgardians - in particular Fandral's attempted 'chandelier swing'. The gallant warrior can be heard groaning from underneath a pile of broken gyprock and wooden ceiling struts as well as insulation batts - whilst onlookers make a mad dash for the exits (to watch from outside).
One young fellow glances at his friend and remarks. "Okay. Now we call the cops."
Fandral rises like a ghost from the wreckage that has left a gaping hole in the ceiling and many ruined tables and chairs about him, dusting himself off. He rubs at his eyes, squinting to see his friend and trying not to cough. Had he been able to breathe properly - and not so preoccupied with his own disgraceful display of valour - he might have had a quip or jibe for his friend's scream of fright... alas, no words come to his lips, except a grimace of disgust as his tongue takes powdered gyprock.
Over by the buffet, the rotund-bellied Mario - husband of poor, poor Stella and head chef of the restaurant - climb out from under the serving tables, and rises to his feet. In awestruck silence he surveys the damage revealed by the light of the kitchen and the drink fridges nearby, and lifts his hands to his head - brushing dust from his crown like dandruff. He sniffs and licks his lips.
"Never liked this place anyway," he snorts.
At this point, Fandral is otherwise disoriented, and the sounds of police sirens, "Yo ho the constabulary comes! Quickly, friend Fandral, we must get away before they doth arrive!" With that, charging along, with one final swig over of his beer before casting cutlery and cooking items aside, yanking his pants up in one hand, and with the other going to toss Fandral up and over his shoulder, Volstagg would be running at full tilt!
This is the part where the duo, minus Hogun, would do the final part of their impeccable routine. Namely the 'get out of dodge' as they fled. Thor and Sif were going to be apoplectic.. And Hogun -might- even deign to crack a smile.
THIS... IS ONLY THE BEGINNING...