Beer and Cigarettes.

Dionysus had never been known for his virtue, or his healthy habits. He liked to travel, sleep around, and drink. The great thing about traveling to Europe was that he had very little power there, unlike in the U.S., so to the habitants of London he was nothing but an adventurous traveler with an encyclopedic knowledge of alcohol.

He met Karen Lestrade in a bar. She spoke with a heavy French accent, and was delighted when he spoke to her in her own language. Please, it was France—he'd been a dozen times exclusively for the food. And damn, could they party. Karen said she didn't put out on the first date—he bought her more wine. Rules got more flexible with the application of alcohol and a godly deviance aura.

Three months later Dionysus popped in on her again, after she hadn't shown up at the bar again and he knew why she wasn't drinking.

"Here, you'll need this." He handed her a glass of scotch and guided her to a seat.

She took the news well, if she did drain the glass.

"What about," she gestured to her still flat stomach, were they both knew another person was gradually growing, "this? Will she—he—it be in danger?"

"No." He assured her. He told her to stay out of America, and the child would (probably) never be troubled by other-worldly things. He was only the god of wine, wild animals, and sexual deviance, and Karen had a steady head on her shoulders. The kid could do a lot worse by way of genetics.

Fast-forward a few decades, and Greg Lestrade rubbed his forehead as he stared at a pile of paperwork. Damn, he could use a drink and a cigarette.

.

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