All pre-party long, Hercules was guzzling Ouzos, nervously fidgeting and watching everyone have a good ole funky time at the villa. Including his wife.

Meg worked the room, schmoozing reporters - with her wrap on, thank Zeus - while artists came up to Herc and stamped his likeness on a scroll, the Ancient Greek equivalent of taking pictures.

He wasn't in the mood for pictures. Not when his entire career hinged on Meg's body temperature fluctuations.

Then the live music began. Phil had invited his satyr friends, and Pan was blowing serious beats on those pipes while the Muses sang along. Jamming to the infectious beat, Meg reached up to undo her wrap and -

"Nnnnnnnooooooo!" Hercules cried in slow motion. At least he thought it was slow motion… he'd guzzled so many Ouzos, he couldn't tell.

The music stopped. The Muses stopped. Everything stopped; Meg looked around, guileless at everyone's shocked and horrified reactions. "What?" she said. "Ohhh, the bruises… "

"That's right, ladies and gentlemen." Phil had gotten his little self up on the countertop and was screaming like an auctioneer. "Show's right here. Ten silver coins to see the thrilla in the villa on the hilla!"

Hercules wanted to throw his glass at Phil's head. Instead, he stumbled out in the middle of the room. "Alright, look," he started. "I can tell you how she got those bruises… "

"What happened, honey?" Calliope said.

"Yeah, what happened, honey?" Melpomene said.

The Muses were getting involved. The women were getting concerned. The men were getting angry, crowding around Hercules. He bore his eyes into Meg's soul, telepathically pleading with her not to tell them. Meg nodded resolutely.

"He did it," she said, pointing at her husband.

Everyone whipped around to face him.

"Why you… look. A'ight," he slurred, still attempting to salvage this. "What had happened was - "

The villa erupted in an outrage. They turned on the hero they were just idolizing. "He clearly can't handle his drink… " one woman said.

"What would have happened if we didn't arrive?"

"I've always known Hercules to have anger problems… "

Hercules didn't even know who that last lady was. He settled his guests down. "Alright everybody, listen. What had ha - HIC! - what had happened was… sometimes Meg and I wrassle around a lil' bit. I didn't think I was going too far, but I came home today and she had all these bruises… "

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe she got them from 'wrassling around', Demigod Hercules with the Superstrength?"

"Phil," Hercules began, closing his eyes, "I was debating slapping you before, but I will absolutely slap you again."

"Again?!"

A fresh new wave of outbursts shook the villa like the Earth Titan. The Muses hooked arms with Meg, leading her out of harm's way. "Leave him, girl," Clio said.

"Yeah," Terpsichore said. "Athena may justify the abuse of women, but we do not."

"Athena?" Meg said. "When?"

"Have you never heard the story of Medusa?"

"Wait. Wait, please wait." Hercules fell to his knees, too drunk to stop her from leaving or to even argue properly. "Do whatever you want to me… but please don't take her away from me."

The Muses' eyebrows raised, somewhat enjoying this. "Why shouldn't we?" Thalia said bluntly.

"Because… she's my reason for living. My reason for being down here on Earth. I gave up everything for her. I gave up my home in the Heavens… "

"Breeds resentment," someone coughed in the crowd.

"Just please… please, please, please don't take her away from me. Please. I love her." Hercules sniff-snorted in dismay. "I love you, Meg. I'm nothing without you."

"Girl, don't fall for it," Thalia whispered. "That's what all abusive men say."

"Look at him. Slobbering all over the floor," Clio said.

"Come on. Let's leave him," Calliope announced.

"Oh Wonderboy… I'm nothing without you too." Meg broke free of the Muses to hug him, earning the ire of the partygoers. They wailed in disapproval while Meg tended to her snotty, slobbering husband. "Can somebody get me a moist towelette or something over here?" Meg called. "He's making a mess."

A withering guest dunked the rag in the sink, shaking his head.

"I love you, Meg," Hercules hiccuped.

"I love you too. Oh, don't do that… "

The guest was back with the rag; Meg took it and scrubbed the bruise on her shoulder until it came off.

"Ooh what?"

"Huh?"

"Hallo."

The entire villa watched as she erased all of her other bruises, rendering everybody utterly and completely speechless. Even Hercules looked like a startled, puffy-eyed baby.

"Dear?" Meg crooned.

"Yes?"

"HAPPY SATURNALIA!"

Numerous artists crawled out from every nook and cranny like spiders, immediately setting down their easels and beginning to paint the scene.

Hercules was dumbfounded. He'd completely forgotten about Saturnalia. But it was December 17th, calling for the festival of neverending pranks and gags in honor of the farming god Cronus - or His Silliness Saturn, as the Greeks called him. Phil, Pegasus, Amphitryon and Alcmene all gathered around Hercules, cracking up and mocking his slobbering, groveling state.

And Hercules broke free and ran all the way down the hilla of his villa!

. . .