Gods Out Of Luck

A 1-post collection

So That's What They're Up To...

Scenes from an apartment building for divinities who lack major worshiper populations. Thor complains about Sobek using all of the building’s hot water, Huitzilopochtli and Apollo are catty he-bitches to each other, and even the other Gods of Death agree that Anubis is damn creepy; that sort of thing.

(#00758 - B027)

[AN: Apologies for the eurocentrism, but I did have to do very quick research on this and finding non-european obscure gods is an exercise in frustration]

Hestia ran the apartments. As far as being a landlord was concerned, this was her heaven. She was a goddess of hearth and hospitality, and ran a family clinic on the side with some of the other fertility gods.

St Isidore teamed up with Mímir, a disembodied and mummified head, to run the internet equivalent of an advice column and were seldom seen outside of the shared meal times in the dining hall. Which was when Mímir would tell his ‘joke’ to anyone who bothered to hang around and listen to it.

“…and then Odin goes to the dwarfs and asks them nicely for them to create a new body for me, since Vanir threw a hissy fit and shredded my original corpse…”

Iris, clad in clashing spectrums of gaudy, angrily added food items from the buffet to her tray. “Mercury! Bloody Mercury. I could have been just as good for the messenger business. But no. They had to go with a dude with wings on his hat and his winkie hanging out…”

“At least you get girls named after you. All I get is the occasional side-fling in Sailor Moon episodes and scungy weeaboos using my name in vain.”

“…flaw after flaw after flaw after flaw,” Mírmir continued. “They fix the knees but the hips go wrong. They fix the hips, but the neck goes wrong. They fix the neck…”

Antevorte sighed. “Nobody is really listening and if you do finish, you’re going to get eggs thrown at you again. I’ll help.” She reached forward to soothe Iris. “It’s all right. We’re all here, hoping for our next big break. And believe me, it’s harder than it seems. You have to find a really specific niche.”

“I might have an in with crazy cat ladies,” offered Faustitas. “Hardly anybody has herds of anything, any more.”

Mímir was nearing the end of his joke. “…and finally I said - You know what? Odin can just carry me around. It’s a hell of a lot easier than returning this curse-ridden body to the shop every other day. Not that you’re not doing your best–”

The entire room chorussed, “But it’s better to quit when you’re a head.” and then half of them threw eggs at him.

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