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Now that's interesting.
2020sight wrote in milliways_bar
Epimetheus is perched on a table, with his feet up on a chair and a guitar in his lap. He's picking out the riffs from "I Know What I Know" on it, occasionally interrupting himself to sip his whiskey.

He's sort of resigned to the fact that his family may come kick his ass, now that he's showing his face in public. It's a calculated risk. Or something.

[ooc: Eep! No new threads, por favor! And slowtime imminent. <3]

[tinytag: demeter, dara of chaos]

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"Your family is strange," she says, pointing at the toaster. "This, and throwing fertility at people, and then there is your brother, who defies all description besides 'tall and goofy'. What have I married into?"

"So I guess you don't want to have a reception."

Neither does he.

She stares at him. "I will have to divorce you if you want one. Wishing someone fertility is one thing. Standing next to a pantheon of whores and virgins is just asking for trouble."

". . . It's 2008. I don't think even Hestia's a virgin at this point. Or even Athena or Artemis."

Beat.

"Don't tell them I said that."

"I know some New Agers who would be very disappointed. Only one way to find out, if you forbid me to ask."

Coyote smirks. "I also know you were not, however."

". . . You don't really want to get turned into a deer, do you? Or a spider?"

He waves a hand. "Stop. You'll make me blush."

She flaps a hand right back at him. "I have been worse than she could do to me. Besides. They wouldn't want to, after? You don't seem to bear me any ill will."

Coyote leers.

Thoughtful: "That's true. 'Course, you'd be horrified at how long it'd been since I had sex."

"Please, do not tell me." Her face looks pained. "I may have been having a lucky streak recently, but if I hear, I might have to do something drastic."

One eyebrow arches.

"Like what?"

"Ply you with energy drinks and attempt to make up for lost time?"

She taps a finger on her chin.

"All at once. It could take a while, but I could probably make some count for more than one."

"Energy drinks? Are you implying I'm not up to the task?" Beat. "Wife?"

That sentence seemed to need a little chauvinism.

"Oh no, husband. I would never. But you might need some extra protein. To remain up to the task. Unless you care to switch off."

". . . Beg pardon, 'switch off'?"

"The 'fluid gender thing', as your brother so delicately put it, does seem to weird people out occasionally." She points at him.

"Zeus was a golden shower. How is that not stranger?"

"--Oh! You can do that?"

He makes a face. "Also, please never put me, Zeus, and sex in the same context again. Ever."

"Only because you asked so nicely. Of course I can do that. At home I must stay one way or the other for the majority of the time, but here I am under no restrictions but those of habit."

A man sits next to him for a moment, then flickering into a coyote.

Epimetheus blinks, and grins.

Or possibly smirks. Or leers.

Eh, semantics.

"Well."

And then a woman again, who flutters her eyelashes outrageously. "Well?"

He grabs his guitar and quickly plays the chords of "Why Don't We Do It In the Road."

"Your place or . . . your place? Or upstairs?"

Prometheus would quite possibly explode if they went back to Chicago.

Coyote spends a brief, fevered moment with the image of sex on a motorcycle before discarding it as being too far away.

"Upstairs now. My place later."

"Deal," he says, standing with the guitar in one hand, extending the other to her.

After all, they have to get the toaster to her place.

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