Pros and Cons
by Amorette

Sometimes there are disadvantages to having some divine blood in the old ancestry. Granted, if I wasn't distantly descended from a couple of minor deities, I'd never have my current job but still, sometimes it was disconcerting to have to deal with gods in their divine forms.

Take Skanda, for example. The Hindu God of War. If I were a normal, average, run-of-the-mill mortal, I'd see him with one head. Unfortunately, because of my bloodline, I get all six heads at once. And it's not easy registering a god for a convention in the first place, let alone one with six heads.

Head Number One was flirting with the hotel concierge, who was several generations removed from some slavic forest god, which is why her hair was green. Ordinary people no doubt thought it was a dye job but it wasn't. And she had a couple of gremlins who lived in the bun on the back of her head but that's another story.

Anyway, Skanda Head Number One was flirting with the concierge. Skanda Head Number Two was actually talking to me about his registration and trying to decide whether he wanted to sign up for the optional closing day buffet or not or fly back to Delhi that morning.

Head Numbers Three and Four were arguing about which seminar they wanted to attend the following morning, with Three complaining that he, frankly, had had enough of Odin's doleful lectures to last the rest of his immortal lifetime while Head Number Four felt that the Incan war god's lecture would be a pain because no one could ask any questions since no one could ever pronounce "Huitzilopochtli" correctly and he wouldn't answer questions unless addressed by his full name.

Head Number Five was ignoring the whole conversation and was reading the latest issue of "Fortune" magazine and muttering under his breath about "and they call me cruel."

Head Number Six was checking out the rest of the lobby when he suddenly hissed, in a low but very intense voice, "Shut up and brace yourselves."

Six heads pivoted on six necks.

"Uh-oh," said Head Number Five, tucking his magazine under his arm. Unlike many of the other Hindu deities, while Skanda had lots of heads, he only had two arms. No accounting for somebody else's religion, I guess.

"This should be interesting," muttered Head Number Three.

"Damn sight more interesting than any lecture of old One-Eye's," agreed Head Number Four.

Two groups had entered the lobby, one through the main entrance and the other through the door that led to the parking garage. Everyone in the lobby froze as the two men in the lead caught sight of each other.

Coming in through the main doors was a tall, strikingly handsome man, clean-shaven, with neatly trimmed jet black hair, wearing an expensively tailored grey suit, cut to discreetly show off his considerable physique. He radiated wealth and power, from his two hundred dollar haircut to his two thousand dollar shoes. He wore a Rolex and carried a brushed steel briefcase that undoubtedly cost more than I earned in a month. He was followed by a gaggle of well-dressed, slim, handsome, chic people of both sexes.

Across the lobby was a tall, strikingly handsome man, his full lips framed by a mustache and goatee. His curling black hair hung to his broad shoulders. He wore a skin tight black tee shirt that showed off every sculpted muscle, black jeans and the black leather chaps favored by American motorcycle riders. He wore a black leather biker's jacket, with no design or other markings on it, and carried a plain black helmet in one hand. His entourage consisted of three, bone thin young men, also in black leather, one with coal black hair and the others white blonde, and one busty woman who wore too much hair spray and eyeliner. The entourage all had lots of visible body piercings and I'd bet a week's salary, lots of ones not currently visible.

Some poor human, who was late checking out, came to a stumbling halt when he saw the group in black leather. They didn't look like the type who'd be checking into an upscale hotel like this. He veered over towards the more well tailored group, but something in their predatory eyes made him backtrack and head for the bar.

"Ares," breathed Head Number One, his attention momentarily drawn away from the green haired concierge.

"And Mars," snickered Head Number Six. "Together at last. This should be interesting."

Great. The concierge and I exchanged looks. I could tell she was considering diving under her marble topped desk. I'd been working godly conventions for the past couple of centuries and I had never been at a God of War con where both the Greek and Roman War Gods put in an appearance. It was always one or the other, usually Mars. He was more into networking than his more ancient counterpart. Ares, I gathered, was still something of a lone wolf.

Mars handed his fancy briefcase to a slim young man with impossibly tiny spectacles and murmured something to a slim young woman whose dark hair was slicked back close to her head. The entourage hung back as their god strolled across the lobby, his shoes clicking softly on the marble tiles.

Ares tossed his helmet to the woman, hissing, "Fuck it, Discord, I thought you said he wasn't going to be here."

"I wasn't planning on it, originally," said Mars, obviously having heard the remark, "But I didn't want to miss the roundtable discussion on whether terrorism counts as warfare."

"It doesn't," replied Ares flatly. He only took a couple of steps of forward. His heavy boots rang on the tiles. I wondered, briefly, if they were cracked. "Killing women and children is murder."

"Ah, yes," murmured Mars. "You were always picky about non-combatants, weren't you, old boy."

The concierge was edging towards the main desk. The clerks there had already taken the precaution of ducking down behind it. After the last God of War convention, they had a protective warding placed around the front desk to protect them. Unfortunately, nobody had extended one to my temporary table.

"That's why I surround myself with soldiers," sneered Ares in return, "Not a bunch of pansy fashion queens. So, Martian, still making suits?" Ares flicked at the lapel of Mars' suit.

"Designing them, old boy." Mars smiled placidly. "Earns a little spending money. Modern warfare is an expensive hobby and I'd hate to have to borrow money from one of my kids to pay my bills."

"Score one for Rome," muttered Head Number One.

Ares shrugged. "At least my kids can work for a living, being adults and all. And some of them. . ." He reached out and snagged one of the younger men with him, one of the pair of blondes. "Even follow in my footsteps."

"And one for Greece," snickered Head Number Two.

We all knew that was a sore point. Mars had Cupid, a perpetual child or, at best, spoiled adolescent, as his heir. At least Ares had two sons who were willing to fight, plus a few other relatives. Mars' entourage were all hired hands. Ares' were blood.

The blonde wrapped one arm around his father's waist and then reached up to tug at Ares' dangling earring with his teeth. Ares laughed and pushed him away.

"So," said Mars, sounding bored as he studied his carefully manicured nails, "What brings you here? Surely not the open exchange of ideas."

Ares grinned. "Surely not. I'm here to see the weapons display and get laid." He turned towards Skanda and called loudly, "Hey, Head-Boy, is Kali the Wrathful here?"

Head Number Two glanced down at me. I nodded. "I checked her in about an hour ago. "

The concierge popped her head up long enough to add, "Room 404."

"Great!" Ares showed even more teeth. "Ever fucked a woman with four arms, Martian? Lots of fun. And those Hindus. . .they love sex. Don't you, Head-Boy?"

Five of Skanda's heads laughed. Head Number Six just rolled his eyes. "Should be an orgy after the hospitality suite, if that's what you're asking," said Head Number One with a wink.

Mars yawned politely. "I've got a meeting but I'm sure you old guys will have fun." He turned on his heel and stalked back towards his entourage. "Register for me," he commanded a young man, and headed for the bar. I wondered if the poor mortal who had been frightened by the war gods earlier was still there. I hoped he had gotten out the back way.

"Still has a stick up his butt," chirped one of Ares' minions cheerfully.

"And I put it there." Ares laughed uproariously at his remark, as did his followers. "Discord," he commanded when they stopped laughing, "get up to Kali's room and get her warmed up. Strife, find out what room the weapons display is in. I promised Heph I'd check it out first thing. Deimus, Phobus, check in for us. I'm going to register."

Everyone nodded and dispersed. The desk clerks crawled nervously out from under the desk to assist Ares' sons. Skanda's heads all smiled broadly as Ares approached.

"Ares," said Head Number One, taking the lead. "Haven't seen you since you crashed the Sex Gods con, what, ten years ago. Now that was a good time."

Ares laughed agreeably, then gave me one of his broad grins. "So," he said, "what looks good at this century's convention?"

I didn't say what I was thinking but I'm pretty sure he could guess it. The concierge was back, leaning forward to discuss the restaurant choices and let Ares get a good view of her breasts. She obviously thought the same thing I did.

"And the optional buffet," I said, for the hundredth time that day, "features a ritual battle and beheading. Should be fun."

"Oh, yeah." Ares grinned. "So, are you busy later or can you come up to Kali's room? She needs something to do with those extra hands."

Okay, so working the registration at godly conventions isn't the greatest job in the world and can be downright boring but it does have it's advantages and pinning a name badge on the chest of Ares, Greek God of War is one of them.

I'd just have to be sure that I didn't mention who exactly my godly ancestor was. I guess he never did get along with my great-grandfather Hercules.

September 2002