Rosmerta sat back and admired her handiwork. It looked, if she did say so herself, wonderful. It looked just like those ransom notes on the old television shows, with all the cut out magazine letters. Totally cheesy. And she was rather proud of it.

( Of course, she was rather proud of herself in general these days. )

The place was packed, which was how it was supposed to be. There were costumes everywhere... also exactly how it was supposed to be. Because it was Halloween. It was also Chicago and Americans went all crazy for the holiday. On top of that, it was Thirsty Thursday, something everyone in the American Midwest was familiar with. Professional drinkers, this lot, and Ninkasi loved them for it. Most of the costumed were immortal in some way, not just gods but nymphs and the like as well, but she was clearly allowing an occasional mortal in as well. There were rules outside to her bouncers for screening them properly.

Shortly, the specialty taps would be opened and her private brews would begin to flow. Which is what, she was sure, Kratos was hoping and/or waiting for. ( Wherever he was. )

Well there was no help for it. None at all. Rosmerta had checked every single bathroom drawer and gone through her make-up case three times. Her eyeliner was missing. Now, she could have misplaced it, certainly, but she was more inclined to believe that her almost-husband had actually taken it. No matter what his text said. Which meant that even if it mysteriously showed up in the next day or two, she couldn't use it again. It had been used on Loki, and Rosmerta had no idea where he'd been, but she'd heard rumors. ( A lot of rumors. )

The viewer will see a large desk with Hermes behind it. A whiskey bottle is off to his right beside two glasses.

Hermes: Hello, again. Welcome to another episode of Coffee, Tea, or Whiskey- where the answer is always whiskey. I'm The Messenger, and I will be pouring out the drinks, as well as serving up the latest gossip. For those of you joining us for the first time, or for those of you who got drunk with me in the last episode and don't remember, I have a couple of disclaimers. The people are real, but some of the names are changed to protect the innocent...namely, me!

Also, not everything I tell you is the truth. As I get drunker, I'm more likely to lie. Or maybe I'm lying now, and more likely to tell the truth as we go along. I leave it to you to decide what is fact and what is fiction.

Today I have a special guest with me in the studio. He got a bad rap many years ago, and is finally oot and aboot again, and I for one am glad he's back. The world was a little duller for a while there, folks. With that, I'm very happy to introduce my old friend, The Torch. Say hello to the viewers, Torchman.

( Camera pans out to reveal Loki behind the other half of the desk. )

One of the few problems with being Hermes was needing to decide who to spend an evening with. Others might think it sounded pompous (and it partially was), but he knew so many people that it sometimes made it difficult to make a choice. On such occasions, he usually just threw a party, and got them all over with in one shot. But Hermes had not been in a party mood. He was feeling like experiencing something a little cozier.

Which still left the question of who to spend the evening with. Peitho or Rosmerta? It was still a tough call, after all this time, but Mert won out. Probably only because she was far enough away he didn't get to see her as much, and he honestly missed her. He sent her a message, inviting her for the evening.

( To his delight, she was available. )

It was rare this time of year that he was able to sit down and put his feet up on the tasseled hassock in his study. Which was why, as he settled into the cushy plumpness of his red velvet chair, Santa began mentally reviewing his to-do list for today. Did he really have time to enjoy his peppermint hot cocoa, or had he forgotten something that would require his attention?

( The List )

Dio was of the mind that the house belonged to him, not to Thyone. He had good points to back up the assumption. Mainly that he spent more time in the chateau than his owner did, and that he was a cat. From the wooden dock down to the curved driveway with the paved red stones, all was his feline kingdom. ( He ruled it with a velvety paw that hid lethal claws, which had many a time been stained with the blood of his prey. )

There were a few theories where the term flea market came from, but Rosmerta had always been partial to the explanation that it came from the French term marché aux puces, or “market where one acquires fleas.” It was likely because of the prevalence of fleas that infested the furniture that had been brought home from the original marché aux puces, an outdoor bazaar in Paris. But wherever the term had come from, she was definitely a fan of the thing itself. ( There was something for everybody at a flea market. )

Churchill Downs was all a flutter with activity. Which made sense. It was the most exciting two days of the year at the Louisville, Kentucky track. Zeus had been on site since early yesterday. Mostly for networking purposes, as while he had interest in the Oaks -the filly race held on Friday, from a gambling side of things, he had other things on his mind. He had a horse in the Derby.

( It was a very tricky business, racing horses. )

It wasn't the warmest day the town of Barton, Vermont had ever seen at the beginning of March, but it wasn't the coldest either. It fell somewhere in the middle, cold enough that a hat and mittens were appreciated, but warm enough that a body didn't have to bundle up like an eskimo to be outside. If she was moving around, it probably wouldn't feel quite as chilly either, but Rosmerta was staying planted exactly where she was.

( In a little town, outsiders could stand out. )