The Sword of Summer (Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard, #1)

by Rick Riordan

I guess no true Bostonian would trust a place that was sunny and pleasant all the time. But a gritty, perpetually cold and gloomy neighborhood? Throw in a couple of Dunkin’ Donuts locations, and I’m right at home.

Clothes. Ripped. Washed up on shore.

No body means maybe not dead (book logic, everyone knows this)

“Judging has been difficult. We have weighed the merits of Junior’s boiling sludge, slag heap, and useless metal cylinder against the chain mail vest, bulletproof tie, and Expando-Duck. It was a close call.

Your sword is floating, Hearth noted. “Your elf is deaf,” Jack noted. I turned to the sword. “I know that. Sorry, introductions. Jack, Hearth. Hearth, Jack.” Hearth signed, Is it talking? I don’t read sword lips. “What is he saying?” Jack asked. “I don’t read elf hands.”

I struggled to clear my thoughts. “You’re—you’re a smooth talker. You’d make a good used car salesman.” Loki winked. “I think the term is pre-owned.

Something in my chest curled up and died—possibly my hope that there was any kind of justice in the universe.

Hearthstone Passes Out Even More than Jason Grace (Though I Have No Idea Who That Is)

The DISRESPECT, rick, is ridiculous

“According to my internal clock, it’s Sunday the nineteenth. I warned you, once you took hold of me…well, we fought those dwarves on Friday. You slept all the way through Saturday.” Sam grimaced. “We’ve lost valuable time.

Rick and his famous time wasters for time sensitive quests...

The League of Assassins in Arrow!

“What did the elf say? I do not speak Gesticulation.”