"All right, chop chop, move it along now, steady on." Onysus clapped his hands as the hordes of satyrs and maenads tromped up the gangplank of the cocoon, carrying a large wooden table laden with wine, simmering soups, grapes, and suckling pigs. Somehow, he was managing to keep himself balanced, although you couldn't say the same thing for the various liquids.
"Kind of want to see him fall right on his ass, don't you?" the Monarch muttered to his wife.
"Be nice. You're the one who invited him."
"Well, I didn't know he was bringing all his henchmen... henchwomen... henchgoats... okay, what is up with THOSE? They all look like Mr. Tumnus if he swallowed a coffee can full of Viagra."
"They're ithyphallic. And they did not have those things when I worked for him."
"Yeah, well, they didn't have Wikipedia when you worked for him either. I saw the old picture. He looked like he based his costume off the guy from Fantasia."
"Well, the new one really is an improvement."
"Y... you're right!" the Monarch said, suddenly remembering what he was trying to do. "It's very ... flattering. It makes him look... super sexy."
"Uh, yeah."
Just then, the Monarch found his eyes caught by the real reason for his invitation. Lounging in a divan borne by a quartet of chubby nymphs, wrapping her luscious lips about a bottle of wine, sat...
"Ah, Mistress Maim-Nad! What a pleasure to welcome you to the Cocoon." The Monarch extended his hand. "That is just a name, right? Or do you actually maim... nads?"
"No."
"'Cause my pal Rusty is desperately lonely and would just love to meet a woman who shares his secret kink for--"
"It's a play on 'maenad'," Sheila said, rolling her eyes. "You'll have to forgive my husband, he didn't have the benefits of a classical education. Well, he did, he just ignored it to focus on blowing up school facilities."
"Tha'" slurred Mistress M, "shounds like my kinda guy. An' you musht be the old Mistress Maim-Nad."
"The 'former' Mistress Maim-Nad, yes," Sheila said, frowning slightly. The Monarch hastily put his arms around her shoulders. "Ahahahah, honey, why don't you help get Die-Onysus settled?"
"Okay. I'll go see if we have a guest room somewhere that will fit a giant table. If we can even get it through the lower halls -- it's a pretty tight turning radius--"
"That's right, dear, go catch up." The Monarch shooed her away. "So, now that it's just us, give it to me straight. What's this guy's deal?"
"Huh?" Mistress M blinked blankly.
There was a thump in the background. "Ow! Fucking soup all over the fucking gangplank..."
"Die-Onysus, of course! How does some shlub in a toga bag..." turn on that old Monarch charm "... two of the hottest women on the planet for his number 2s?"
"Well, he ish a god."
"Yeah, right, like Zeus was? No, seriously."
"I wash being serious." She stuffed a chicken wing into her mouth. "He'sh got -- mmph -- godly powers an' stuff."
"Come on. He's not even Greek. He sounds like he's British or something."
"Well, I dunno about that, but he's got powersh, allright. Wash." Mistress M threw her head back and drained the bottle in a few hearty chugs, then held it out in front of her unsteadily. In seconds, a thin film of dark liquid appeared at the bottom. Soon, it deepened. The bottle was refilling itself with wine before their eyes.
"Shee?"
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