(no subject)

[allfather-odin.livejournal.com]

Date: November 16, 1999
Status: Public
Setting: The Bar
Summary: Wednesday reflects on his past and attains higher states of inebriation.  (An invitation to anyone who would like to have a good drunken conversation.)

Wednesday grimaced as he swilled his glass of mead.  He hated the stuff.  He tried to remember if he always had.

He closed his eyes, and thought back.  Thought back to the land of ice and fire.  Remembered the taste of blood on his lips as he constructed his world.  Tried to recall how it felt, all the ages of men ago.  After a hard days work, getting back to his hall, harnessing the goat...

...and sipping a vaguely warm glass of mead. 

Yuck.

No, even back then he hadn't liked the stuff.  The endless battles he had liked.  The raping and pillaging.  The deception.  It had all been good.  Why had he tolerated the mead?

Ah, yes, now he remembered.  The half-clad Valkyrie warrior-women that *brought* the mead. 

Yes, he had certainly liked *them* just fine. 

And Freyja.  Gods, she had had it all, and in abundance.  There was a woman he could respect. The love of battle had been buried as deeply in her heart as it had been in his. She was cut-throat in more ways than one. 

Now, all they saw in her was a fertility goddess.  A northern Aphrodite.  A powerful female spirit, embodying the divine feminine mystique in all of us.

It made him want to vomit.

Humans had lost the truth.  Creation and Death were different side of the same coin.  Without one, the other was meaningless.  What was orgasm other then a mini death?

He finished off his glass and drew some figures on the shiny bartop.  He wasn't sure if it would work in this neutral zone, but it was worth a try.

Even if it didn't, company was sure to come around and join him sooner or later.     

Comments

[entropyoptimism.livejournal.com]

The door swung open like it'd rather have exploded outward in a shower of splinters, and a tall, heartily cheerful man swung in. "Hello!" He called, striding across the room to the bar.

Destruction was in the mood for some really terrible beer. He was remembering the time he'd been a pavement artist in London, and all the swill he'd been bought by the college kids. He always thought it was the quality of his explosions that did it, although it might have just been that they were drunk. Still, it took effort to draw an explosion at a horizontal level, and his had practically singed eyebrows.

People sometimes wondered why the embodiment of Destruction liked art so much. But Creation was his domain too - because coins have two sides. The advice reminded him of someone he'd given it to, once. He wondered vaguely how the kid was doing, meeting the rest of the family... sort of. Still, his decision not to come back had been justified. Freedom tasted good... like cheap London beer.

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Crowley was feeling stir crazy again. He was tired of being stuck in the Manor with no one to tempt but Aziraphale, which was hardly a challenge anymore, and nothing to do but think. There had to be something going on somewhere. To find out what it was and who was doing it, he headed downstairs.

The bar seemed a likely place to start so he stuck his head in. John wasn't there, surprisingly enough, but two big, red-headed men were. No, not men. Something else. Crowley vaguely remembered seeing them at the Halloween party, but he didn't know who they were, though he felt like he should. Shrugging, he stepped inside and spoke jovially.

"Hey. Looks like you're having a good time. Mind some company?"

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Crowley grinned.

"That's true. Your people's virtues are very nearly our people's vices. Don't get too hung up about Jesus, though. He died, after all. He had just thirty some-odd years, but you've been here millennia." Crowley sipped at his wine. "And, hey, if you should ever find that you need some assistance in giving people's lives some meaning, I'm your demon."

He finished his second glass and stood up.

"Gentlemen, it's been a pleasure meeting you, but I'm afraid I must go. I'll see you around."

And he walked out of the bar, significantly more cheerful than when he went in.