Mr. B let out a happy sigh as he finally managed to pop his shoulder.
"Praise be to whoever came up with the idea of different aspects." Muttered the slim young man as he strolled down a particular stretch of street in Pittsburgh. He sometimes wondered how mortals could stand to be in just one place at a time. At this very moment his consciousness was spread all over the US in countless parties and vineyards. True he wasn't fully present at any of them, but he was at least aware of them in the same way people were aware of the coolness of the air on their arm while the other arm is facing a warm fire. The only place he was more directly aware of at this moment was Camp Halfblood, where his Greecian half was confined, currently tucking into a hamburger.
That, really, was the beauty of different aspects. While Mr. D was bound by the word of Zeus to watch over some teenagers, Mr. B was free to earn himself some new experiences and bring back the memories like someone bringing home a doggie bag. So long as he didn't do anything too disruptive, Jupiter would be happy to let Mr. B have his fun.
His errand this time around had been sparked by his other half's little trip out to the bar in Manhattan, reminding him of something he hadn't done in at least a season.
Mr. B pushed the door of the bar open, immediately noting the quality of the insulation as the wave of sound slammed into him. This bar was filled to bursting with the raucous and inebriated, most gathered around a stage where a band filled the room with music straight from the isles by way of the Cleveland rock scene. Mr. B breathed it in, feeling the barely contained power in the restrained chaos. He moved expertly through the crowd to the bar, manned by a beautiful woman who sported ears as sharp and pointed as a knife.
"Hey" Mr. B said as he caught her attention. "I'm here to see your boss."
"Of course, sir." Said the woman with a dazzling smile. "May I have your name?"
Mr. B rolled his eyes, such an old trick.
"No but you may deliver my intentions." Mr. B's response caused a pout to form on the woman's face. The god watched her go, idly wondering how many names she had collected with that trick. Poor nameless drunks, sent out into the night with no claim to anything, lost to the mortal world by sunrise while the woman and whatever family she had fed on the energy their life left behind. The fae woman returned a few seconds later, her smile back in its usual place.
"He says you're welcome to go upstairs!" She chirped.
"Much obliged." Mr. B responded with a bow and a tip of his hat. The noise of the crowd became muted as he climbed the stairs, the speakers up here still providing the music from the band below but at a much more reasonable volume. Mr. B made his way up the pine scented stairway up to the second floor. As always there were three doors here; on the left a door with no handle, on the right a door frame made of sticks and leaves that framed a bare wall, and straight ahead a door of polished Irish oak with an iron handle. Mr B wasted no time and headed straight for the oak door.
The room inside was exactly how it had been the last time Mr. B had visited; polished wooden floors with a tasteful oriental rug, a fireplace against one wall, burning despite the summer heat outside, a barbed spear and a sword crossed over it. Against the other wall was a fully stocked bar, a dart board hung on one wall beside it and against the other sat a poker table and a Ms. Pac-man machine.
There were three in this room; a thickly built Caucasian male with thick black hair and an even thicker mustache stood behind the bar, mixing up a drink for the slim, olive skinned man who stood in front of him. The second man was wearing a tanktop, blue jeans, combat boots and tattoos from his toes all the way up to his forehead. Mr. B was sure if they cut off those curly black locks he'd have tattoos on his scalp as well. The last person in the room was a lanky African American woman, with dreadlocks down to the middle of her back, a dark purple suit and a matching top hat. Her eyes looked up from the card's she was shuffling, revealing an unnaturally green iris and a bright white pupil. She grinned at him.
"Well if it ain't the noisy one? Got yourself an itch to lose again?" Her voice was husky and deeper than he expected, speaking with a faint Creole accent. Mr. B rolled his eyes and crossed to the poker table.
"Please tell me you actually asked to wear that." He said, nodding in her direction.
"Cha, who do you think you're talking to?" She asked, her own eyes rolling.
"That's a no, then." Mr. B groaned.
"This lovely miss made a deal. Sad thing, mama had lung cancer. She asked for my help so in exchange she is my Cheval for seven months." The young woman explained.
"Why seven?" Mr. B asked
"That's how long her mother had left." Explained the tattooed man gravely as he brought his drink to the poker table. His voice was deep and rich, but everyone in the room knew the high pitched war cry that could be conjured when he was in the right mood. "Samedi, amongst his other qualities, is hardly the most creative individual."
"Oh Tū, if you don't stop with all this flattery, a girl might just fall for you!" The baron teased, fluttering his borrowed eyelashes. There were many places where the gods of many pantheons could meet; The Colosseum, Stonehenge, the Halls of Asgard, Dodger's stadium, but Lugh's bar was unlike other locations. For one thing it was far more relaxed. You wouldn't hear declarations of war or woes about the lack of worship here, this was not a place of business but a place of casual conversations and mild gambling.
"What brings you by, Bacchus?" Asked Lugh as he slid into his own seat.
"I ran into one of your cobblers while I was doing a bit of therapy work. It reminded me I hadn't been by for a drink in a while." Mr. B explained.
"Therapy? You?" Lugh laughed his big, booming laugh. "That poor thing! Bet he's still in a ditch somewhere!"
All the gods got a good laugh out of the thought. Mr. B had always liked Lugh. After the disaster that was his first meeting with Thrúd, Lugh had been the one to fish him out of the sea. Lugh had treated his wounds and bruised ego, they had shared some war stories and he had even gotten him a ship so he could get back to the mainland. Lugh was just the kind of god that made his fellows like him. He was talented, brave, humble, hard working, and always quick to offer a helping hand. Had it been up to Mr. B Lugh would've remained his pantheon's king after the business with the Formorians had finished. Ol silver hand was nice enough but he reminded Mr. B of a less blustery Jupiter.
"So are we playing or what?" Lugh prompted.
"I'm playing, ya'll are losing." Samedi said as the cards danced between his fingers. The four gods put down their buy-ins, a full year of worship ready to be given to the winner. The worship appeared as a swirling orb of energy before shimmering and turning into an equal number of different colored poker chips.
The little poker party tossed in their blinds and took the cards dealt to them.
"So this patient of yours," Tū began. "You get through to him?"
That was Tū for you, grumpy on the outside but always concerned for mortals on the inside. Mr. B had never met a war god quite like him.
"She seems to be on the mend, but she has a lot to work through." Mr. B answered. "But even if she doesn't, not my circus, not my clown."
"Come on Bacchus, you help raise these kids, give us a bit of insight!" Lugh laughed.
"Dionysus is the one who's stuck with the demigods!" Mr. B groaned.
"And you're acting like that makes a difference in this case!" The Baron laughed. Mr. B scowled. With a wave of his hand he conjured a can of Diet Pepsi which he cracked open and took a sip of in the most derisive way possible.
"This is either going to end with her continuing her life, or she's going to end up going to prison in a spectacular fashion. There's no real in between." Mr. B said as he tossed in a few chips.
"Really? How do you figure that?" Lugh asked.
"Her depression was caused by rage and fear, both directed at the same person. When she sees that person again the fear will start to crumble. With the amount of anger she's carrying she may just end up becoming a murderer." That was the last Mr. B would say on the matter. Thinking of that business was leading the wine god down a thought hole of rage and grief caused by the very goddess who had given Alexa this task. Such depressing recollections were not conducive to an entertaining inter-pantheon poker party.
Author's Note: Fun fact, it was Mr. B and Lugh's cordial relationship that kept the Roman Empire out of Ireland. Mr. B made it his mission to keep the land from falling under the legion's banner.