Hundreds of years after Eugenides Annux dies, his descendants are visiting a museum when the Thief comes to call.

In the corner of the room of a museum, an old man and his granddaughter listened to the tour guide drone in front of a grand display of artefacts and paintings and sheer pomposity.

"In the many centuries following the death of Eugenides Annux, due in part to the wars that plagued the Peninsula and the death of his line, the role of the Queen's Thief disappeared..."

A wiry boy stepped to the side of the old man and the girl. "Who should tell them that they're dead wrong. I'll throw dice for it," he said conspiratorially.

Both paused to look at him, before glancing at each other with grim faces.

The boy smiled, teeth radiant against deep brown skin and vibrant green eyes. "Now, now. Don't be like that."

"Is that him?" The young girl whispered to her grandfather, the tour guide's speech forgotten.

"Eugenides," the old man said after hesitating, "This is my granddaughter, Genia,"

"You have a funny nose," Genia told the god with every sincerity a seven-year-old could offer.

Eugenides scowled, and covered said appendage with an outraged motion. When he removed the hand, the nose was even larger. The god then stuck out his tongue, and Genia giggled.

The old man winced. "Genia, go on and have a look around. I won't be a moment." They both watched her go.

"So that's who I am to annoy when you're dead and rotting, Eugene."

Eugene snorted. "Thanks. I'm so glad you have it all planned."

"Only a fact." Eugenides then tilted his head towards the statue cast in bronze, a sword raised in a heroic pose and a grand crown gracing his brow. He squinted at the statue, a sneer curling up his face. "I may have to have the roof accidentally cave in on that monstrosity.

"Not accurate?"

"An understatement, old man. And you have to go into the last room before you even find one painting of Irene, that's the true disgrace." The boy-god's voice was low, and dark.

It passed in a flash, though, when he spotted Genia skipping across to another display. "She looks like him, you know, your many-times grandfather. Of what he looked like as a boy."

Eugene raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "That's what you said about me when I was her age. And my father, and my grand—"

Eugenides shushed him."Shut up and take the compliment for your spawn. And you can't blame me, he was my favourite. I see him in all of you."

"Is that you getting soft in your old age, Eugenides?"

The boy tutted, and roughly poked the Eugene's stomach, before Eugene swatted him away.

"Not as soft as you apparently, old man," Eugenides grinned. "Don't go climbing any more roofs, Eugene. You might break a hip."

Eugene glowered. "The only good thing about this is I know I'll forget this by tomorrow."

This would just seem like a strange dream, or a bad hallucination. Probably the latter. Eugene did grow up in the 60's after all.

The boy bounced on his feet, eyes full of wickedness and spite, "Don't be so sure. The rules don't always apply to those favoured by the gods."

"Is that what we are? Who knew?"

"We're now moving on to the Medean exhibition!" The tour guide's voice broke through as shrill as a gull. "Keep up please!"

There was a brief silence, and Eugene checked where his granddaughter was. He sighed. Her childish curiosity of this exhibition wouldn't last much longer.

"You know, I enjoy listening to them." Eugenides spoke up. "They all think the rise of technology could push us out, with their fancy cameras and computer networks and such."

"Push who out?"

"Us, old man. Gods, magic, the old ways. As if we weren't still lurking in the corner of their eyes, in their cities and their wild places alike. We are everywhere, and we always will be, the morons."

Eugene waited for the passionate little monologue to end. "That's nice," he said, provokingly bland.

Eugenides gave him a sphinx-like stare. "Sometimes I think out of all of Irene's descendants, I hate you the most."

Eugene took a certain joy in tutting back at him. "Now that's a lie. What about that tyrant that committed genocide in Eddis and killed all his brothers?"

"At least he was interesting."

Eugene scowled.

The god huffed and flicked a long curl back, "Whatever, as the kids say these days."

Frankly, Eugene thought he deserved an award for putting up with this peacock.

Eugenides sobered. "You know, I lied before. Your granddaughter doesn't look like him. She looks like her."

His brow's creased. "Who?"

The god fiddled with his right sleeve, which covered his hand. "Irene. She looks like Irene. You wouldn't think it would be possible after so many centuries, but there it is."

Eugene glanced sideways at the man. And squints. And squints some more.

Eugenides caught him staring and hissed, "Can I get you some water? Some laxatives, perhaps? For that constipated look on your face?"

"Well – hmmm," Eugene pretended to consider it. "That is what the prune juice is for, actually."

Eugenides pulls a face.

"You're him, aren't you?"

The god froze. And then relaxed slightly. "The magnificent and all-powerful god Eugenides, you mean?"

Eugene snorted, "Maybe. But also the man, the Annux. I somehow doubt the first god would obsess about Irene Attolia the way you seem to."

Eugenides was uncharacteristically quiet. "You know," he said finally, "You couldn't get a peep out of the original Eugenides. He just grinned at you while he ruined your life, the bastard. I could only aspire to that level of sheer malevolent chaos. A work of art, really."

"A high praise coming from you. We've all heard the stories."

"I wish I could choke him with that praise," Eugenides sighed. "But he had the indignity to go and die before I could."

"How did it happen?"

A sly glint came back into his eye. "Well, I drowned him in a pool of his own—

"No, how are you a god?"

"Oh," Eugenides slumped forward, as if only disappointed that he couldn't tell the original story.

"Well," he started casually, "when Irene died, I tried jumping off the roof of the palace. The bastard took offence to that – in his opinion, I chose the most ignoble death a Thief could have, and deliberately insulted him. So he decided to play the ultimate trick. I would never be able to join Irene, and the pantheon suddenly had to deal with another mortal made god for the first time in a millennia. I wasn't impressed. They weren't impressed. There was a general unimpressedness all around—

"I don't think that's a wor—

"Shush, I'm still speaking."

There was a long silence.

"Well?" Eugene asked, "What else are you still speaking about?"

"Oh, I'm done now."

Eugene groaned. But his empathy was stronger than his annoyance. That really was a fubar situation. "Is there anything I can do? That we can do?"

There was another long silence, which ended with Eugenides ducking and violently scrubbing his face.

"Are...are you crying?"

"No!" Came the sulking response.

"Uh..." Awkwardly he shuffled closer to the god, and put a comforting arm around him like he would with any of his young grandchildren. To his utter surprise, Eugene felt Eugenides lean into his embrace.

The sheer strangeness of it all struck him like a bell. By the Thief, Eugene was grandfathering his ancestor, the man who had conquered cities and countries, and the god who had looked after their family for centuries. Who was older than this city. This country as well, actually.

Finally Eugenides pulled away. Red, watery eyes accused Eugene. "You tell anyone about this and I'll make your balls into tea cosies and your cock into a fly squatter, o' descendant of mine."

Eugene grimaced, but couldn't resist adding a condescending, "Of course, son."

Eugenides hissed like a cat. "I won't kill you for that, seeing as you look like you're already dead," he spat.

Then Eugene felt a tug at his sleeve. "Grandad, can we move to the next place already? I'm bored."

He took her hand, the angry god momentarily forgotten. "I thought you might be, sweetheart."

When Eugene turned back around, the space where Eugenides had been was now empty. A sole ray of sunshine hit the floor where the god had stood.

Eugene laughed. Guess he had found the original dramatic shit in the family.

A/N: Just a stray plot bunny to tide me over until the next book comes out. Comments are appreciated xx