The Drunkard's Deal

Listen, you’re human right? So you get to know the feeling when something you did black out drunk comes back to bite you in the ass. Maybe it was a picture of yourself dancing on a table, to Let It Go, topless. That you’re friends then showed around at a birthday party. Now Nana won’t look you in the eyes.

Or a video of you trying to topple your buddy into the mud just to miss, go sprawling face first and then be told it was really a cow pie.

Well this is kinda like that but, I may have let it get too far. How was I supposed to know that the stupid little show I put on for a group of highly intoxicated mortals would grow into this? I was just visiting a friend. I happened across a following of his and thought it’d be the funniest shit to convince them I spoke for him. You know, play prophet for a few years. Convince a bunch of humans to dismember a few bulls, maybe a man or two. Fake a death. That was the end of it.

At least, apparently that’s what I did. Again I was in a drunken stupor for a good century and can’t remember anything. Until I’m strolling around Rome a few centuries later and damn if that’s not my face on a marble statue covered in grapevines.

But hey, what do you expect when you make a cult worshiping the Personification of alcohol and madness.

What I’m most pissed about isn’t the lost time. When you’re also an immortal it comes with the territory. It’s not even the fact that a norse can get so drunk off wine. Nah, those Ancient Greeks really know how to make their booze.

It’s not even that one of these ballsy factions, centuries later, decided it was a good idea to trap me of all people, to sacrifice to my buddy. Honestly the poetic justice of it all warms the very runes on my tongue.

No, I’ve been caught in worse shit than this before. This is a cakewalk compared to my trip through old germany. Don’t even get me started on the puritan era. So many restrictions on what can or can’t be said. That century gave me a migraine. In fact, maybe that was the reason for the drunken stupor, or was that after?

Eh, who can keep track of your history anymore?

But anyway, it’s the fact that I’m sitting here. Sorry, laying here with my face smashed against a concrete floor that smells more like beer pong and old jock straps then it has any right to. It would be nice to have the respect of hanging from a ceiling by my wrists or maybe even just tied to a chair.

No, these oversized pink apes drugged me, tied my arms behind my back, chained my feet to the floor and tossed me in the basement like forgotten laundry. I held all the dignity of a grown man forced to lay with his knees in the ground and his ass in the air. Did they think this was funny?

“This can not be happening.”

“Oh you bet your sweet ass it is.” I’d know that voice, lazy with a tang of condescension.

“Is this how all your worshipers treat their captives? Really Nysus, isn’t your dad all about hospitality or something?” The air slammed out my body as Dyonysus kicked my side, tipping me over to face him. At least my ass wasn’t waggling in the air now.

“Oh no Bragi, this little cult that you instigated has many lovely ceremonial and highly revered factions. I’ve seen bulls decorated with plush full grapes, sweet to taste and perfect for fermentation.” Dionysus licked his lips as if he could still hold the offering there for later. “Bulls fed lavishly decadent meals in honor of what it represented and treated better than some of those Americans around here.”

If I were to put into words just how pompous he was in that moment. Acting like it was such an inconvenience to still have secret societies that worshiped him. All while dressed like a college drop out in sweets and a backward cap.

Tech moguls would fashion themselves after him. Normally I’d be all for the banter the God would throw at me. Send a few back at him but my muscles where starting to cramp up and it was fucking cold down here.

“Nysus, what would it take for you to get me outta here?”

“What you don’t like,” He looked off to the side as if trying to remember a date months away. “Alpha Kappa Dionysus, faction in mid central America?” He stood over me looking down with the most unimpressed look, a cat would be jealous. “They are a true faction of your oh so well planned out cult. How I love the sacrifices from beer breathed mud brains with no potential and too much of mommy and daddy’s money. Did you know that by the way?” He pulled me up by the scruff of my hair tanned hand disappearing behind my head.

“Know what Nysus? That this would still be going so long? No, I didn’t.” At least it was warmer off the concrete. Except for my bare feet scrapping the rough texture.

Did they steal my shoes?

My skin was still plastered to the ground from hops residue. Not even the good stuff, it’s cheap and badly brewed. I could smell it.

“No, no, no my friend. You were too drunk to remember even making it. At first I was actually grateful, they worshiped me and kept me strong.” As if to prove his point, Dionysus gripped me by the sides and placed me like a child on a stone offerings table. No doubt just a block of concrete from a job site. It was probably stolen. “No, Bragi did you know that We, meaning the Greek Gods, taste, smell and hear every offering given to us? That every time someone gives something in our name we are filled with everything, not just the intent and motivations of that person?”

“Actually, no I didn’t. That’s not like Odin and the others.” I’d asked the Æsir before, as I wasn’t sure if I counted as a god in this era or not. The debate of mortals on the meaning of texts can get quite messy for us. “They said it simply gave them the intent behind the offering. A kitten named after and for Freya would just make her joyous. A Weapon forged with Thor in mind would make him stronger.” Dionysus watched arms crossed and I’m sure contemplating if there really was brain matter between my ears. Though he often gave others that look. It was nothing I hadn’t learned to expect from the god.

“So if the person burns the offering or it’s poorly made but the intention is pure and good your family still get all the benefits then?” There was knocking around up stairs, Nysus paused, eyeing the door a moment. “Sounds like they're coming back, I wonder what a bunch of drunk college dropouts will do to a man that will not die?”

Past flashes of white walls and sharp cuts outside of battle left a bad taste in my mouth. There was no doubt in my head what those children would do for a bit of cash.

“Come on Nysus, I’m sorry, is that what you want? I didn’t know the cult thing would give you shit offerings. It was just funny. A drunk tease.” Footsteps slammed through the house above, dust and plaster raining down over our heads. The loud boisterous voices were already slurring their words slammed across each other. “So let me the fuck out.”

“No see, I want something else from you Bragi. Something only you and the other influencers of art can do for me.”

“Wha-” I was a poet, true. I talk to people and we inspire each other but I have no influence on them. “I’m not a Muse my man. That's more your guy’s department.”

“I’ve got the Muses handled.” He waved it off making a slow move up the stairs, my heart leapt. He wouldn’t really leave me right?

A lock clicked and his soft footsteps came back down.

“Then what in all the seven worlds can I do? What do you even want?”

“I want my shit back bragi!” Nysus flopped into a dust laden bean bag that I was surprised even still had mass to it.

The ropes were starting to burn my wrists and I realized I hadn’t had food since that night. It was even cheap, drugged, bar food as well. Despite my immortality and just waking up. I was just tired. Though despite how much older the god in front of me was, he still acted like a child.

“What shit Nysus? You’re an old god getting worshiped by secret cults all around the world, what could you still possibly want?” I suddenly wanted to itch my cheek but wait, that's right I was still bound. It’s just awkward itching with two hands. “You know some of my pantheon would love to be in that situation? They haven't had true sacrifices in eons, just the accidental hit here and there.”

“I know, but still all these drunkards suck. I’m not just the wine guy you know.”

“Ah, so this is about an identity crisis. Aren't you a little old to be getting a motorcycle?”

“Fuck you.” Someone wiggled the door knob upstairs but neither of us moved to get it. The shouting got louder. “Listen, only the scholars really seem to care about my other aspects. Madness is just as much a part of me as getting plastered drunk ok? I taught the people how to make wine sure, but my powers revolve more around making them go insane. It’s like a part of me is missing without them acknowledging it in anything nowadays.”

“Oh yes it must be so hard to be in movies, books and even video games.” I sighed, still just as much of a child as when he popped out of his fathers thigh. “Not like there aren't plenty of gods who’ve had parts of themselves denied by modern humans. What about you’re one goddess, um, shit.”

“Aphrodite.” He supplied a sigh squeezing between his teeth. I managed a snap of the fingers.

“That's it, didn’t she have a war aspect in the beginning? Whatever happened to that? Don’t you think she misses that?”

“Ok sure, but Aphrodite lost a piece not half her identity. She still has all the forms of love and is even with Ares so it’s still mingled with her. No, these humans seem to forget completely that I am madness, I’ve caused grown men to go insane just for crossing me. All because it’s just more fun to keep me as the wine guy. Because the cult you started kept everything they originally did a secret.” He paused lifting his head from the bean bag to focus on me. “ Why did you do that anyway?”

I shrugged. “Seemed cooler at the time.”

“Well it’s annoying, they used to understand that the madness and indulgence in substances were hand in hand with me. Now most just use me as a party guy or a substitute for Demeter. That pisses her off too, I never hear the end of it.

“Ok that does suck, I’ve heard she holds grudges hard.” I sighed rolling stiff shoulders. The guys were currently trying to bust the door down but as Nysus didn’t seem worried I figured I wouldn’t either. “But what does any of this have to do with me?”

“Influance poets, Authors creators that you can write more with my madness!” Nysus flung his arms into the air, eyes rolling like a disgruntled teen. As a poet I have dealt with too many human teens in recent centuries. Hell even some grown ass adults never outgrow it. Though this did lift my spirits a bit.

“Is that all?”

“What do you mean? The Muses have been working on this for years.” Nysus sat up flicking off the cap so it landed in his hand. “Why do I have the sudden urge to hit you?”

“Well Nysus, from my understanding The Muses only give humans the urge to create, through spirit no actual physical influence.” The God stood eyes taking me in like prey again nodding. The cat was back. “Well humans are going to use what they know or what's popular. I, on the other hand, can actually talk to them. Put ideas in their heads and push them to do things outside the box. With a little Muse influence at the right time I can definitely get this done for you.”

“If you’re lying to me, I will find you and have Hades put you in tartarus for a few centuries, got it?” His finger in my face I grinned.

“Whatever Wine boy, now untie me.” He turned snatching a knife and key off the dryer that looked like it had never been used. That’s a horrifying thought. “How am I getting out of here?”

“How you Norse get anywhere on foot all the time I’ll never know.” He unlocked the chains around my ankles nodding behind us. “That window is unlocked so you can crawl out there.”

Free at last I ran my hands over my wrists to get circulation back and took a look around. Old christmas shit stuffed in one corner. The Window Nysus said was cracked open to let in a warm breeze. Obviously these guys had no brain cells between the lot of them. The ground littered with beer cans and cigarettes.

“What are you looking for? Go.”

“Where are my shoes?” Nysus took one look at my feet and snickered and just before he snapped his fingers and popped out of existence he said one sentence.

“Those are gone bro.”

“Fucking humans.”