e was twenty-three and outrageously clad when Trent first shoved his toe onto the surf and surveyed the endless blue of the distant horizon. He’d long forgotten the name of the landmass beyond but he’d aspired to cross the Atlantic on foot ever since that head of his had learned to do things like aspire. “One, two, one, two, three,” he began to count. His feet quickly found rhythm to the old melody and his tapping body incredibly began to dance away from the shore. We were amazed to see his bulging frame grow smaller and smaller. A cheer went up. Jenny Craig had never been able to do that. Halfway across the ocean though, the water found his expiration date.
Or so we all thought. A few weeks later, a postcard set us straight. A sea monster had gotten him. We were content either way. But the postcard was something of an invitation. Trent was in Valhalla. Apparently he’d fought such a mighty battle with the sea monster that Odin had taken note and granted him a seat in the Hall of Warriors. We immediately consulted wikipedia to find that Odin was a one-eyed Norse god. Trent wanted us to come visit him. He’d send a valkyrie to pick us up the next Wednesday. Wednesday came and so did the valkyrie. In a matter of an hour or so we were in Valhalla.
What a glorious sight! Horns and hogsheads and puncheons and firkins of beer and mead were scattered everywhere. Our instincts had been right! Pure joy is a fickle and fleeting beast however. No sooner had we arrived in paradise than we became greedy. We turned a corner to see what other wonders the place might hold, and there was Trent entertaining his newfound friends with a tap dancing routine on one of the trestle tables. He spied us before we could retreat and hurried over. A cheer drifted from the lips of his old audience.
Trent had clearly been having a grand time tasting all the different beers and meads, and we lulled ourselves into attributing the gleam in his eyes to that and nothing more. He showed us around and it wasn't long before we gave into temptation and began partaking ourselves. Some time after nightfall, Trent slipped away. Moments later we heard a loud metallic clattering and then a great hullaballoo of raised voices. Trent came tearing down the stairs at the end of the hall with Odin himself in hot pursuit. Odin appeared to be missing his eyepatch, and then Trent raised his hand with whoop and we saw he possessed the iconic accessory.
With a packed hallway still to cross, Trent yelled for us to grab a horse. Sensing unrest, Justin quickly shot away, ostensibly to secure us all a horse, but Blaise thought better of leaving that fidgety one alone. “Hogtie him,” Blaise yelled at Grame, and then he and Austin and Kilian proceeded to grab as many casks as they could before heading out the door. As Austin crossed the threshold, he turned to see if Trent needed any help getting past all the warriors. But Trent simply tap danced his way between, below, and even over his would-be obstacles until he reached the doorway. No help needed.
His escape all but over, Trent turned to Odin and hurled, "I still have half an ocean to cross!" With that, we were on the horse, casks in hand, flying through Bifrost, well on our way back. Sensing a trapped audience, Trent elaborated on how this had been his plan all along: to steal Odin's eyepatch in order to get kicked out of Valhalla so that he could finish his journey. Shaking our heads in pity at the poor delusional fellow, we dropped him off in the Atlantic and made our way home to start reproducing some of that otherworldly beer. If you happen to see him on your next cruise, throw him one of our beers, will ya?