who: Eris and Dionysus when: Saturday night where: New York Marriott Marquis, main hall, elevator and later a private room warnings: They're both gods of crazy, so yeah, here be sexin'
Saturday night found Eris uncharacteristically elegantly dressed and made up and also on the arm of an extremely boring yet lusciously rich stock trader named Dennis Leary. Mr. Leary also happened to be a coke fiend, courtesy of the goddess on his arm. She kept him very well supplied, and he provided her with any accommodations she wished, not to mention the ear of nearly every influential trader in New York. The fat cats, the Rockefellers of their day, dear Dennis gave her access to them just like she'd had in the roaring twenties, the prelude to one of her finest hours. But it was not good to dwell on such things. She felt too collected amongst the quiet chatter of business. She'd already influenced a few men to make a few choice drastic decisions in their portfolios that would have several thousand people's lives thrown into financial torment by the end of the week. Glorious, yes, but without immediate results she was ever so slightly bored. And a bored Eris meant trouble. Perhaps if she did a couple lines she might be able to find some real fun.
She kissed Dennis on the cheek and told him she'd be heading upstairs, her eyes seduced him with the promise of more drugs should he comply with her, and then left the semi-packed dining hall, stolen, half-full (or empty, depending on how one looked at it) crystal glass of champagne in hand. She headed for the elevators, pressed an 'up' button, and waited.