"Yuck! There’s still someone’s hair and blood all over this. Guys, can you clean up the weapons once you finish your fight? Disgusting slobs. Thor...wanna use a big wooden fork?"
"No."
"Yeah, not really useful unless you’re fighting off three vampires that were huddled together."
"I really wish I had my hammer."
"Hammer?"
"Quite unique. It was made from this special metal from the heart of a dying star. And when I spun it really, really fast it gave me the ability to fly."
"You rode a hammer?"
"No, I didn’t ride the hammer."
"The hammer rode you on your back?"
"No. I used to spin it really fast, and it would pull me off the..."
"Oh, my God. The hammer pulled you off?"
"The ground. It would pull me off the ground, up into the air, and I would fly. Every time I threw it, it would always come back to me.
Sounds like you had a pretty special and intimate relationship with this hammer and that losing it was almost comparable to losing a loved one.
That’s a nice way of putting it. See her, the one that put me in here.