drunken shenanigans; a lito mythficlet
Of course, every finger of blame was pointed at Dionysius-three days later, when the last of the hangovers wore off and Hephaestus had finally unclogged the last pair of panties from the hot tub’s filter.
But Dionysius immediately denied it, which threw everyone. He had always taken a great deal of pride in his ability to mastermind drunken revelries; a firm denial was hardly in-character
“There was a huge box at the front door,” he explained. “A good fifty bottles. I just assumed Hermes had placed an order for delivery.”
The Lito had seen its fair share of parties, but this one, this one must have taken the cake. The fact that no one really remembered any of it was just further proof. Sixty years into the Pact, and they were still learning their limits. Being half-mortal certainly had its downsides.
While their memories were largely muddied swirls of chaotic music, laughter, and greasy pizza, there were enough photographic images saved on mobile phones and digital to fill in some of the blanks.
Dionysius had apparently serenaded everyone during an impromptu karaoke session, wearing one of Hera’s designer ceramics as a hat. This would explain Apollo’s hazy recollection of Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’”.
Artemis-and whoever had convinced her to take a drink must’ve had balls of pure platinum-had collected all of the taxidermied trophies and set them up in the garden around the wrought-iron tables. It wasn’t entirely clear, but it seemed she had laid out a complete tea set for them, and had enjoyed a rather amusing conversation with the long-dead foxes, bears, and lions.
Pan had thirteen new numbers in his phone, under names like Tiffani, Amber, and Natasha. There were at least four distinctly different shades of lipstick staining his white button-down shirt. His back was so badly strained, he was finding it difficult to walk normally. It hardly took someone of Athena’s intelligence to deduce what he’d spent the evening doing.
Almost everyone shrugged the affair off quickly, chalking it up to just another mad weekend. But Zeus had to wonder: exactly what had been in that wine, that was so powerful it could make even well-controlled goddesses like Artemis throw every inhibition to the wind? Who had sent it, and why?
And was this only a hint of something bigger to come?