Divine Diversions

Anubis, Hades and Mot, as gods of the dead, decided they weren’t playing. The whole concept was against their nature and not in their skill set. After some grumbling they agreed to come along to watch and make themselves available to dispatch any creations that might prove troublesome.

Themis, twirling her scales of justice in one hand, insisted on some rules. 

“Always with the rules,” muttered Loki. 

“OK, but a random tangle of limbs and orifices just won’t cut it – remember the Medusa debacle?” 

That put the wind up them; no one wanted to go there again. 

“Your creatures need to function, even thrive, in the environment that they are in and they must conform to the rules of the physical world. Ok, lads and lasses, you’ve got the brief, go create. In keeping with tradition, you’ve got seven days.”

#

It was (yet another) perfect day on Mount Olympus when they met for the judging. The gods ignored the glorious sunshine and the azure sky - all that mattered was the contest. They had to admit that Athena had really pulled out all the stops. Spread out before them was a large arena with comfortable seats, awnings for shade, colourful pennants fluttering gaily in the breeze.  The Daghda had brought his magic cauldron and, in deference to the variety of the crowd, it was set to produce more than porridge. 

The judges had made an effort. Hera was peacock-like in a gorgeous blue-green shimmering gown. Athena was her usual elegant self in simple glowing white and a crown of olive leaves. Bacchus had made an effort just by being present – he was suffering from an almighty hangover. 

Hermes, communicator extraordinaire, was really enjoying hamming it up in his role as announcer.

“Gods and goddesses, prepare yourselves for a mighty display of ingenuity and wonder. Let the parade begin!”

Vulcan had his dragon rejected for impracticality - its mouth burnt off every time it roared. He was always given a bit of leeway due to his understandable mother issues. Hades stepped in to help the creature on its way.

Mars, weapons never far from his mind, produced a surprisingly small creature with a hard shell. He placed it down within sight of a sharp-beaked bird.  A quick peck produced a noise, steam and a foul liquid aimed precisely from the creature’s rear end. The bird leapt backwards and flew upwards dizzily. Kronos usefully employed his control of time to replay the action and the assembled crowd got a better appreciation of the ingenuity of this bombardier beetle. Loki just had to make a fart joke and that broke the atmosphere a bit. Though, to be fair, the creature had already done some damage to the surrounding air.

Mars and Vulcan sat down together to examine the possibility of melding their two designs.

Tethys, goddess of fresh water, presented her desert creature, an ungainly animal with two bumps upon its back. It approached the judges’ table, leaning forward while working its lips in a frenzy of movement. Bacchus, being well familiar with the habits of drunks, just managed to dive under the table before an avalanche of spit and worse hit the upright judges squarely in their faces. Tethys grabbed the animal’s rein and beat a hasty retreat.

After the clean-up, judging resumed and Hermes grandly announced,

“And now, all the way from the river Nile – it’s Neith the weaver and her spider.”

The eight legged many-eyed lifeform started to construct a most intricate, delicate web, but gods are not renowned for their patience. Before the spectacular web was half-way to completion, the audience had lost interest. 

Poseidon was excited by his anglerfish, and the overhanging light was declared clever. The general opinion was that the teeth were overdone though.

Proteus came forward carrying what appeared to be a large plant. The judges stared, stared longer and strained their eyes. 

“Ok, ok,” groaned Bacchus, “Just explain, my head is killing me here.” 

Grinning, Proteus grabbed what looked like some leaves and revealed a large lizard. 

“You see it adapts to its environment.” he said as the animal wrapped itself around his arm and turned a dusky brown. Proteus did like to change things up. The trick produced some desultory clapping from the audience.

It looked as if Isis would win the day. Her talent for putting small pieces back together gave her something of an advantage.

 “Webbed feet, fur, tail, no stomach, no teeth, and a stinger on its heel - you’ve certainly won on originality. And that beak is just a classic finishing touch.” Athena said admiringly.

“That weird sensing system is just amazing.” agreed Hera.

“Are you sure you weren’t drinking when you decided it would lay eggs and then feed its young on milk?” queried Bacchus. “Well this... Platypus, did you say...? is definitely getting my vote.”

Zeus marched in, late as usual, looking particularly smug. He jostled aside the crowds around Isis and paraded his work. Mutters of disappointment spread through the group, they really had been hoping for better things from him.  Unusually, Zeus didn’t flare up, but beamed happily. 

“But it’s just one of those bipeds. I mean, it hasn’t got much fur and it’s a bit straighter than your average ape, but I really can’t see anything original about it.”  said Athena, frowning.

  “You just can’t see what I’ve done.” 

Zeus spelt it out slowly, “This one can think.  It knows it will die. It will have to believe in something.”

The others took this in. Delphyne, quicker than your average god, explained it to those who weren’t too fast on the uptake. Grins spread around the gathered faces. Eternity was going to get a lot more interesting.