Achilles' Heels

This was not the plan. This was so not the plan. The plan was sailing quickly across the Aegean Sea to get as far away from this chariot wreck as possible. This pseudo plan had left Achilles dressed up like a woman trying to keep two horses from running in separate directions.

"Patroclos!" He yelled, dodging a kick aimed at his face from the more feisty horse. "Patroclos, what's taking so long? Everybody else has already left." There was no answering voice from within the silent hut. "Patroclos!" One of the horses surged forward, yanking the reins from Achilles' grasp. He was staring blankly after the white blur disappearing into the night when Patroclos finally emerged.

"I couldn't get the hat on right." Patroclos paused, straightening the petasos on his head before brushing phantom dirt off of the rest of Achilles dance clothes that he was wearing. "Where did my horse go?"

"It ran away because I look ridiculous." Achilles snapped back. He was tired. His feet hurt in these heels. He was fairly sure there was something living in the tangled wig on his head. "Why are we doing this?"

"Don't worry about it. I'll explain later."

Achilles huffed. "Now which one of us is walking because I'm not sitting on this horse with you."

Patroclos approached the horse and good naturedly patted its nose. "Seeing as how it's your problem, you can walk."

"Come on, man! It's miles to the The Wall. Don't make me walk that."

"I've seen you slay men on the dance floor for a fortnight straight and you can't run a few miles?"

"Not in these heels! You're wearing my good shoes!"

"Well, I'm not walking either!"

"Fine. Get on the horse!"

"You get on the horse!"

"We're both getting on the horse!"

"Okay!"

"Okay!"

Achilles swung himself up onto the horse before patting the space behind him and looking down at Patroclos. "Are you going to get up here?"

Patroclos looked at the ground, scuffing his toes in the dirt. "I dmtwma"

"What?" Achilles leaned down in an attempt to hear what Patroclos was mumbling.

"I don't wanna put my arms around you, man. Let me sit up front."

"I don't want to put my arms around you either."

"Just let me sit up front."

"No! I'm older."

"Fine!" Patroclos climbed onto the horse's back, slowly and dramatically. He positioned himself so he was sitting facing the end of the horse, his back pressed against Achilles'.

"Are you good now?"

"Oh? Who? Me? Yeah, I'm just great. I love this. The horse is pooping. I can't believe you're making me see this."

Without responding Achilles whipped the horse into motion. Patroclos, too stubborn to hold onto Achilles nearly flew off into the steamy pile the horse left behind, but, perhaps by the Zeus' own intervention, he did not.

By the time they reached The Wall the party was already going. The Auletris and the Lyrist were keeping the dance floor hopping with an uptempo number praising Athena, Goddess of Wisdom, in some ironic reminder of what was about to go down.

"Alright." Achilles stopped just inside the door. "He's right over there in the corner. Your backup dancers are all ready for this. Are you sure you're ready for this?"

"Of course I am." Patroclos answered flippantly. "I just don't see why you can't do this."

"I told you. I swore off dancing forever because Agamemnon took my dance partner. We almost had the Bacchanalian down and he just took her away because his partner got grounded by her dad because she was spreading the plague. I told him not to get choose a priest's daughter, but does he listen to me? No! I'm only the best dancer in-"

"Achilles."

"-all of Greece-"

"Achilles!"

"What?"

"I got it. I'll go do the dance with the Myrmidons as backup and put Hector to shame. Then we can take the Troyphy and be done with this madness."

"I still don't see why we I had to dress up as a woman to do this."

"I didn't want to pay the cover charge, and you don't want anybody recognizing you. They're supposed to think I'm you and we can't do that if you're you too."

Achilles shrugged. That was a fair point. "Alright. I'll be right over here. Just… Be careful. Don't do that move you always get hurt doing. Just drive him down the ranks a little, but get close to losing us any points, okay? We don't want to lose our spot in the finals."

"I know. I know." Patroclos rolled his eyes and began to turn away. "I won't let you down."

"Better not." Achilles muttered to himself as Patroclos made his way through the crowd toward the Myrmidons. He signaled the barkeep for glass of Rosé and immediately poured it out on the floor. "For Zeus." He claimed to the shocked barkeep before dropping the glass and letting it shatter on the floor while keeping direct eye contact.

A cheer went up from the Myrmidons when they saw Patroclos through the dim light. They swarmed around him, already formulating a plan. "We're going to go in strong and drive those little babies back away from our winning scores. They're getting close enough to burn down all our hard work. We've got to push them back to the other side of The Wall." Another cheer erupted.

Patroclos grapevined onto the dance floor and all eyes fell upon him. With the wide brim of his petasos hiding his face from the flickering firelight he looked very much like his mentor, Achilles. A club-whisper went up at his arrival.

"Achilles is here!"

"The dance warrior has stepped back onto the floor."

"He has returned."

"He is going to save us from the horrors of twerking."

The Myrmidons began engaging the Trojans in single dance combat as they went. Patroclos stopped in the middle of the floor and came face to face with Sarpedon. Sarpedon made the first move; he ballottéd right into Patroclos' space.

Greatly offended Patroclos did a heel turn around Sarpedon and moonwalked away from him. Sarpedon tried to avant after him, but he slipped on the smooth floor and fell to his face, right out of the competition. As blood gushed from his new broken nose Sarpedon bid his battle buddy to rally the Trojan team and finish what had been started. Apollo helped Sarpedon off the dance floor, washed his face in the bathroom, and sat him down at the Lycian booth.

Glaucus heard his friend's petition for greatness and he turned to the Trojan Dancers. "Hector!" he called to the lead. "You have utterly forgotten your allies, who languish here for your sake far from friends and home practice studios while you do nothing to support their lifts and arabesques. Sarpedon, leader of the Lycian ballerinas has fallen- he who was at once the ballet master and the Mikhail Baryshnikov of Lycia has been lain low by the well polished floor of The Wall. Plié by him, my friends,and suffer not the Myrmidons to strip him of his point shoes!"

The Trojans were thus roused and a jazz routine drove most of the Myrmidons back toward the edge of the floor. Patroclos pushed back with a perfectly executed rap verse. It was then that Hector stepped forward. "It is time we settle this like men, Patroclos. Face me in a one on one-"

"No," the crowd cried, "don't say it!"

"Salsa!"

A single scream rent the air, but Patroclos was not afraid. "Prepare your Latin dance skirt."

Hector laughed. "Ha! My Latin dance skirt is always ready!"

"Then prepare it to be unready!" The smug smile fell from Patroclos' face as he thought over what he had just said. "Nope. No. I do not want to have said that. Let's just- Yeah, let's just forget that. Just- Let's just dance now."

The two stepped forward and joined hands. The music began, and there they went stepping to the beat like they had always been lifelong salsa partners. It was at the first change of hand that things began to go south. Literally south. In an overzealous, overconfident commitment to the groove Patroclos abandoned the Latin vibe for something a little more contemporary. First he popped. Then he locked. Then he dropped down into a nearly perfect split.

"Oh sweet mother of Gaea!" Patroclos toppled over, his hands clutching his crotch.

Hector leaned down and snatched the Petasos from Patroclos' head and placed it on his own. "Who else dares to challenge me in battle?" He yelled over the crowd.

Only the soft clicking of heels across the now silent dance floor answered his challenge. Achilles stepped into the light and tossed the long strands of his wig hair over his shoulder with a flick of his head.

Silently a group of dramatically dressed men entered the The Wall with instruments the like of which Ancient Greece had never seen before. The Auletris and the Lyrist were escorted away as one of the used the black and white war paint upon his face to write four Greek letters upon the wall behind the stage: Φιλί.

Hector grinned, his eyes alight with the challenge. "Looks like your little Patrocl-pal," he motioned down at the sobbing Patroclus at his feet, "took a tumble."

"Enough talk." Achilles gestured to the band and an intro began to play. "Time to dance."

"Mmmm yea-a-ah" went the band.

The two started to warm up, falling into the beat of the music.

"Do, do, do, do, do, do, do, do, do

Do, do, do, do, do, do, do

Do, do, do, do, do, do, do, do, do

Do, do, do, do, do, do, do"

Achilles shook out his hands. Hector started nodding his head.

"Tonight I wanna give it all to you

In the darkness

There's so much I wanna do

And tonight I wanna lay it at your feet"

Hector was swaying back and forth. Achilles was moving his hips.

"'Cause girl, I was made for you

And girl, you were made for me"

They both paused slightly in anticipation of the beat dropping.

"I was made for lovin' you baby"

The fight began in earnest. They were moving so fast each dance warrior was a blur.

"You were made for lovin' me

And I can't get enough of you baby

Can you get enough of me?"

"I can do this all night!" Achilles yelled over the noise.

Hector was panting, but he managed to answer anyway. "So can I, buddy. So can I!" But alas, it was not to be true for even as he spoke Hector made a grave mistake.

"Rule violation!" The stripe clad referee called, blowing a shrill whistle as he materialized out of the crowd. "Sloppy kick! That's a one point deduction and it takes you out of the competition!"

The Trojans wailed out their misery. Their greatest dancer was now disqualified, and Achilles remained standing.

"What have I done?" Hector cried, dropping to his knees.

Achilles stepped forward and did perhaps the most disrespectful thing he could possibly do to a disgraced dancer. He grabbed Hector by the ankles and dragged him off the dancefloor before raising his hands above his head. "You will never dance in this town again, son!"

Yet another cheer went up as Achilles stomped around the dance floor, but it was cut off short when one of Achilles shoes broke. The heel of his left shoe snapped out from under him and Achilles joined the fallen danseurs on the floor.

"Noooooooooo. He was the dancing queen! Only seventeen! He will never dance again. All beware the danger of Achilles' heels!"

"What do we do now?" The crowd asked the heavens.

Odysseus awkwardly walked into the scene. "Hey guys. I just got back from helping Chryseis home. She showed me this new move. Said it was called the 'wooden horse'. It's pretty good, actually."

The Greek dancers glanced at each other. "Yeah, that'll work." They turned to the newcomer. "You want fame and fortune, buddy?"

Odysseus shrugged. "Sure, but can somebody give me a ride home when we're done here?"

"Uh," the dancers looked at the crying Patroclus, "yeah," they glanced at the wailing Hector, "totally," they shook their heads at the unconscious, drooling Achilles, "do the dance."