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“Tap-scrape. Tap-scrape. Tap-scraaape.”

The firelight’s nervous on Hephaestus’s face as he makes tapping/scraping gestures at his audience. Hermes has stuffed his face with popcorn; Ganymede’s so rapt that he hasn’t noticed Aphrodite’s hand halfway up his thigh.

“A bit lowbrow even for him, isn’t it?” murmurs Apollo to his sister.

“They can’t all be… lyrical,” she says, grinning.

“Christ,” he scowls, “I don’t know why I even talk to you about this kind of thing.”

“Because,” says Hephaestus, “he’s RIGHT BEHIND YOU!”

Thunder tears down the slopes of Olympus. Humanity cowers. Zeus has to go change robes.