First Entrance

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A tiny poof of ... smoke? mist? ... appears on the bartop. It resolves into a perfect three-inch-tall replica of one of the Milliways tables, with two chairs to scale.

In one of said chairs comes an even smaller poof of white cloud, dissipating to reveal a tiny white-robed figure with little feathery white wings, a halo, and a golden harp roughly the size of a Sacajawea dollar (circa early 21st century America).

In the other, almost simultaneously, comes a poof of flame, dissipating to reveal ... a tiny red-jumpsuited figure with little spiky red wings, horns, and a pitchfork that an ordinary human-sized patron might easily mistake for a salad fork if it weren't barbed.

Both of them are looking around in startlement. The red-clad one gives a short, dry laugh.

"What are the odds?"

Comments

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" -- Oh."

The white one's demeanor totally changes. He folds his arms and gives Ray a squinty, stink-eyed glare.

"One of you."

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The red one's demeanor changes in the same moment.

"Oh."

Well, that's all right then.

"Gimme five, big guy." He offers a tiny, tiny hand, and a big smirky grin.

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Ray grins, offering the red one a high five of his own, and looks to the white one. "If it helps at all, it's a very specialized and localized sort of deityhood. I don't go around stealing worshippers or anything. That would be really cheesy. My name's Ray."

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"Really?"

He...almost looks like this might be kind of okay, before he remembers and pulls his back straight again.

"But you're still encouraging idolatry!" he shouts, shaking his harp at him.

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The red one is positively beaming.

"Name's Ralph. Good to meet ya."

A dismissive headtilt in the general direction of the white one. "That's Sam."

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"Good to meet you, Ralph, and you too, Sam. And if it helps at all, I've fought a couple of other gods in my time, when they threatened the people of my city. It got messy. Wrecked rollercoasters, marshmallow all over the place, rooftop Sumerian temples being blown completely to smithereens-"

This is probably not helping his case, but eh.

"Seriously, can I get either of you two a drink? Or something, anyway. I feel like I owe you for giving you a turn like that."

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Sam's wings ruffle in agitation.

"I can't accept anything from the likes of you," he declares, and turns, prepared to stalk back to their table.

Beat.




He turns back and says, "Maybe just something kind of small."

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Ralph glances at his counterpart.

And grins slowly.

"Do they do Atlantean here?"

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"They do pretty much anything," Ray says, and slides his Visa card onto the bar surface. "Bar? You heard the gentlebeing."

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Pop.

Two tiny glasses of Atlantean. One of them's a little smaller than the other.

Sam considers them.

"You tempters," he mumbles, and picks it up.

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"Come off it," scoffs Ralph.

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"You!"

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"You."

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"You infinity."

Smug smile.

Evil, as they say, always sows the seeds of its own destruction.

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Grrrrr.

Ralph scowls, and silently concedes the point.

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Ray's attention, this whole time, has been bouncing back and forth between the two beings like someone watching a tennis match. "Are you two done?" he asks, picking up his own glass. The stuff inside is dark green, faintly opalescent, fizzy, and gives the impression of being sluggishly moving on its own. "Should there be a toast or something?"

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Oh, yeah. That's exactly the kind of thing an evil heathen god would drink.

But Sam's feeling pretty chipper about his victory, so he grins, flutters up until he's level with Ray's glass, and clinks his own thimble-sized cup against it.

"Sure. To the vanquishing of evil."

Ignore the long, meaningful stare that follows.

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"Hey."

Scowl.

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Ray grins. "All right," he says, "but Ralph there gets to make the toast next round. Fair's fair."