Prometheus's Gift VII - The Brawl

    Brynhildr smirked.
    Three drinks came.  A pint of ale, a bottle of beer, a double Bloody Caesar extra Tabasco.  Zeus lifted his pint then intoned:
    "A toast to us, then, be it we hail from The North, The South, The East or The West; to our deeds and our exploits, to our bravery and our valour, to the fear and awe we commanded from the mortals until we were cast unto these lonely shadows by the wrath of painful progress."
    They toasted.  Zeus swigged greedily, spilling ale down his chin.  Prometheus slurped noisily then loosed an echoey barf-burp.  Brynhildr took several measured gulps.
    A minute of reflection passed in total silence.  Finally, Prometheus ventured:
    "How did you find me?"
    "Loki."
    "Loki?" He gasped, bug-eyed.  Limp wrists waved:  "Oooooh!  That little bitch!  That little whore!  Oooh she promised not to tell I'm SO going to bitch-slap that-"
    "Here we go again," Zeus sighed, rubbing his eyes.  He turned to Brynhildr.  "She-?"
    "They," she explained, "are of, how shall I put this-?  Of the same tastes and persuasions?"  She turned to Prometheus with a smirk.  "Captain Alruna and I tied him down then threatened to rape him.  He couldn't get the lisping and betraying words out quickly enough."
    "How awful!  You heartless furies!  You repulsive Cyclopes!  You...  You... You..."  His face contorted to the imagery.  "Eeeeew!  That is SO disgusting!"
    Brinhildr sat back.  "And to think that for once I had actually hoped all of this was nothing more than another one of his churlish tricks."  She finished her beer with a dozen little glick-glicks then placed the bottle silently on the table.
    Zeus guzzled his ale then chucked the glass over his shoulder with a belch.
    Prometheus moved the straw to his mouth, half his face still contorted in disgust.  He closed his eyes and slurped and it all went away.
    "Well well well," intoned a gruff, ebrious voice from behind.  "What 'ave we 'ere?  A jackbooted army dyke and a fag in a woman's blouse right 'ere in this very bar."  They all turned then noted a dozen men, sweaty and swaying against a backdrop of another score.  "We don't be thinking," continued the nearest, burly and front teeth missing, "that your kind don't be welcome in a respectable establishment like this."
    "And I don't be thinking," Brynhildr said, acrid and eyes ahead, "that our kind be any business of yours, pariah amongst lepers.  We will allow you this one opportunity to leave, that you may retain what few teeth remain.  Not that your smile can suffer any losses for it."
    The crowd chuckled then hardened.  They moved in.
    "Aye," Zeus said, standing and rolling up his sleeves.  "Tis been a mighty long time since I indulged in a good old fashioned drunken brawl!"
    He roared then belted the fellow nearest, shattering both cheekbone and jaw.  From the nearest table he snatched a pint glass then drank, beer poured around his face...  He disappeared under a dogpile of pounding, snarling bodies...
    Brynhildr acted with the swiftness of the ages.  Stone jawed and eyes ahead she dropped two men with two fists.  Another went down as she stood, another as she donned her beret and two more as she adjusted it to that perfect 30 degree angle.  Three more to her heel, another to her elbow.  She checked her uniform for signs of blood-spatter, finding none (that last thing she needed was another reprimand from her commanding officer).  For a moment she considered unholstering her side arm...  But decided against it.  No mortal wielded a blade, the brawl was honourably executed, if for dishonourable reasons.  There was no reason to end a life, cracks and contusions would do well enough.
    Men crashed onto balustrades and walls and tables as Zeus stood, face bloody, bellowing and laughing maniacally.  He found another beer then poured it over his head, just before disappearing under another dogpile...
    "Oh stop," Prometheus said, standing and flailing.  "Why must we all act in this way?  The mortals are supposed to be our guides, not our rulers-"
    A large-fisted punch ended his sentence, taking him not so much by pain as surprise.
    "OOWTH," he said, cross-eyed and holding his nose.  "That was not nice!  You...  You..."  He threw his bitch-slap of legend, a man fell unconscious and lucky to keep his head.  Another fell.  Then, another...
    Men crashed onto tables and chairs and other men as Zeus stood, flexed in his favorite crab pose (and having a great time at it).  The crowd was thinning, men were questioning the wisdom of fighting these people that seemed downright indestructible.  "Aye!" he yelled, turning around.  "Who's left?  Come on, by Icarus I'm just getting warmed up!  I promise I probably won't break the spine of the one manly enough to show it-"
    The supple curves of the wench stopped him.  He noted two, so bosom and comely as they huddled under a table, both watching him in awe.  He smiled and strode, wide-eyed and bloody and chuckling to himself, already aroused...
    "Come," Brynhildr said, grabbing Prometheus's arm, making sure to stay clear of his wild swings.  "The mortal authorities will be here soon.  We must leave."
    "But Zeus-"
    "You owe Zeus nothing.  Let's go."
    They exited the Tavern, now in ruins.