Ice Cream
I managed to turn the request around, fortunately, by inquiring if Atlanta’s family would mind me being a guest in their home for the day. This would not only save me from any more awkwardness regarding my current situation, but also allow me to delve more into what Midgard is like nowadays.
And, however askance she looks at me, Atlanta agrees. “My mother is rarely home. I can bring my friends home as long as I tell her. I will when we are on the way. Now let me buy us an umbrella. Stay here. I will be quick. Call the nurse if you feel faint again or anything.”
She is gone and back again swiftly, indeed. She is toting not only one item as she implied, however.
“I-C-E-C-R-E-A-M,” she signs, grinning, while showing me two cups held in a transparent bag beaded with condensation.
Still grinning, she reseats herself beside me and hands one of the cups over. Like this, she looks painfully like Thor in his better moments….
Dismissing the thought, I pry open the cup and dig the tiny wooden blade that she hands me next into the brown, savoury-and-fragrant-smelling, solid-looking, food-like thing, imitating her. And…, “Whoa.”