Mars sat at the bar, Bacchus noted his mug was empty, and refilled it for the Mars day before the king and queen did not go well sixth time. Mars picked up his mug, and drained it. Bacchus sighed and shook his head, “Not even a little one?”
Mars frowned, looking at his empty mug, trying not to cry, “No. Not even a little one.”
Pluto approached Bacchus, “I need a drink.” He looked at Mars, “He’s getting me depressed.”
Bacchus put a mug before Pluto, and filled it with blood-red wine. “Ah, Pluto. You must forgive him. He’s had a bad day.”
Pluto looked at the calendar behind the bar. “Oh. This was his day before the court wasn’t it?”
Bacchus nodded. “He made his request of Jupiter and Juno this morning. It did not go well.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“Mars asked for a war. Any war. Even a little one. Between two tribes in South America. Tribes known to hate each other.”
Pluto sighed. “Juno didn’t approve, did she.”
“No.” Bacchus looked at Mars, great sorrow in his eyes. “She didn’t even approve of his little war.”
Pluto put a brotherly arm around Mars shoulders, “Another drink for my friend, barkeep! On me!”
Pluto wished that bitch Juno would die, or find a deity to run away with. Since she’d married Jupiter, the old man had just become pussy whipped, and being a deity on Earth had become no fun at all.
I wrote this for Siobhan Muir‘s #ThursThreads, Week 74. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are good reading.