Note: This is an excerpt from an online RPG that I participate in that involves the Greek Pantheon interacting with modern life. If anyone is interested in the RP, please drop me an email.

This short involves Eris, the Goddess of Discord, and she's doing what she does best: Causing trouble. In this instance, she is a nightclub owner in Tampa, Florida and she's on her way to work. ;)

Another incredibly pasty hot September afternoon…

Highs near 90; humidity at 80; chance of rain: 70.

Heat mirages drifted up from the surface of the white-washed bridge, creating the illusion of a large puddle that would disappear just seconds before the car would approach it. This was typical of course, for Florida weather this time of year. The first cold front of the season wouldn't push through for at least another month, and for the locals, this was when the state felt like Hell the most; for not only was the heat and humidity near unbearable, but it was also the time when the coastlines were ravaged by severe hurricanes. It was life though, and a lot of the Bay Area residents would have it no other way.

Traffic was starting to build on I-275, the main artery that dissected Tampa and St. Petersburg, crossing Old Tampa Bay in the process. It was Friday afternoon, and in just a few hours, the nightlife would explode, but first people needed to get home from work.

The flow of cars across the bay bridges was pretty smooth despite the growing congestion, and at a stoplight coming in from the Clearwater side, a couple of youths in an oversized SUV were attempting to out-blast their neighbors with their car's sound system. Darkly tinted closed windows vibrated with the bass, as the riders of the car basked in their air conditioning. Heads bobbed along with the music, which was barely discernable through the amount of reverberation, but they would pause as soon as she would pull up next to them.

It was a sleek black Pontiac t-top with the panels off and the windows down. Aside from the heat, the driver looked very comfortable…in a masochistic sort of way. She was pale, a bit too pale considering the regional climate, with short black hair and blonde highlights. Oversized sunglasses covered her eyes and a portion of her cheeks and forehead, and a clove dangled from her lips. She removed the cigarette and panned toward the booming car, a smirk gracing her lips. The guys sort of froze as her gaze slowly reached them, and even more so when her smirk cracked into a smile. She reached for her radio, and turning the volume up slowly, a familiar rock intro began to play, and continued to build. The volume seemed to continuously grow, even as the driver of the car began to play her dashboard like a drum set.

"Say your prayers little one, don't forget my son, to include everyone…" She sang along with the songs, mocking the guttural tone of James Hatfield. The boys in the adjacent vehicle just watched, but for some reason, none of them laughed, they were just completely fixed on her.

The light turned green, and she hit the gas hard, leaping the car forward while keeping the steering wheel percussion in complete sync with the track. The ghetto-wagon pursued, taking it as a challenge to race. They caught up to her as they neared a merging point and another traffic light before the bridge, and once more as they pulled up to her right side at the light she continued her rock act, "We're off to Never-Neverland!"

"This girl is insane…" The passenger of the opposite car muttered. "Damn goth chicks. I hope she knows that she's totally not hot."

As if the driver heard what he had said, even through their closed, tinted windows, her head snapped over to their direction. She looked down at the passenger seat of her car, where a MacBook Pro laptop computer was resting with its golden cover complete with a gleaming metallic apple opened so that the display was facing its owner. She proceeded to quickly type in a few lines before the light turned green again and the cars starting rolling toward the bridge.

The driver of the car looked at the passenger, "I don't know…I think she's FREAKIN' fine!"

"You're out of your MIND!" The passenger replied.

"No way dude, I wanna follow her…"

"What?"

The black Pontiac pulled ahead of the SUV as they sped onto the bridge, continuing her song, "Now I lay me down to sleep…"

"What does her license plate say?" The driver squinted, "I got a buddy at the DMV, and he can tell me where she lives…"

"It says 'DISCORD', dude. I don't think that's a good idea…She's FUCKED UP!"

"Whatever…"

"I fucking HATE you man! Gimme the wheel!" The passenger reached over and grabbed the steering wheel, jerking it to hard right.

"What! NO! DUDE WE'RE ON THE BRIDGE!" The driver regained control and the car swerved back into the lane, resulting in loud beeps from the oncoming traffic.

The Pontiac driver looked back in her rearview, and began laughing, then hushed, waiting for her queue in the song…"BOOM!" She shouted, as she made a gesture with her right hand that emulated a pistol. As soon as she did, the SUV blew a flat, and began to completely lose control. Stopping perpendicular to the rest of the bridge's traffic, a large pile-up began to take place behind the disabled SUV; its occupants completely bewildered. Meanwhile, the Pontiac sped on along the rest of the span of the bridge, its driver looking back on her work with a euphoric expression across her face. To ice the cake, she blew on the tip of her index finger as if it was a gun's barrel, and then laughed herself silly before entering Tampa's city limits. "Take my hand…Mwhahaha."

The car continued into Ybor City, the once Cigar Capital of the World now turned into the Tampa Bay metro area's party central. Nightclubs, dive bars, arcades, and shopping boutiques lined the avenues of the old Cuban district, and the car drove into a gated, secured garage. The t-top panels were secured back into place, and the gothic driver armed her car with a 'boo beep' of an alarm. She walked out of the garage into the hot late afternoon air, laptop in hand, and casually sauntered across the street to the back entrance of a night club by the name of Disco'DiaWalking to the bar, she placed her closed MacBook on the counter and took her seat at a stool. Popping it open, she pulled up a database of information pertaining to the club, and began to peruse it.

"Hey boss!" A bar-back approached her location from behind the counter, and smiled, "How's your day so far? Eventful?"

"Of course, sweetie." She said softly, pulling her sunglasses off revealing jet-black pupils. "Nothing like a hard day's work."