The constant fighting gets old after a while. Even the God of War needs a break occasionally. Honestly, I’m on vacation right now. But Hermes popped in with a letter from dear old Dad, Zeus, who is demanding that I do some public relations work. I’m pretty sure he means damage control in my case. He thinks I like to wreak havoc wherever I go. Well, obviously I don’t, if I’m sitting on the white sands of a beach right now, drinking Mai Tai’s and enjoying the view of beautiful women playing beach volleyball.
I looked at him, incredulous. “You need my help? Well, let me mark this down on my calendar. The great Hephaestus, the great forge master, needs help from his brother, the god of war. Whose butt do you want me to kick for you, brother?”
“You will never say anything about her in a demeaning or degrading way, am I clear? She is a beautiful woman who deserves respect. If you cannot treat her or anyone who comes into my office with a modicum of deference and respect, you can go right back to that cabaret where I found you.
The jest of it was that by tomorrow morning, someone close to Dad would be dead. The only way to prevent this from happening was if the Gods left and never returned. Our kind wasn’t welcome here among the mortals anymore.
Dad paced the floor on the opposite end of his office from the body. I’m sure he was wondering what Mother was going to say when she found out about this. She’d either give him an alibi or hang him out to dry.