Spirits Pulque Maguey, Tequila and Mezcal arrive: He was a ruggedly handsome guy, this Pulque Maguey, a tad prickly around the edges, but what do you get when you are the son of a cactus? He was tall, dark eyes, strong Aztec features and usually willing to pick fights, except when in the company of his younger siblings, as he was tonight. He'd let them pick the fights, maybe. Sloe-eyed Tequila who flirted with any comers, and the short, stocky bottle-like Mezcal, who liked to grunt a lot and insult people. Fortunately, he had a speech impediment or a tendency to mumble, so most of his comments came out like "Yer Muffer" which no one could really take offense to. It bugged the be-Quetza out of the poor Spirit, though. The threesome walked into the Four Corners Bar and Grill, noting the decor. A lot of it was mite unfamiliar - those shiny white columns? And who the be-Quetza was that what just vanished in a bolt of lightning? "You gods?" asked the coat check girl, gingerly taking Pulque Maguey's coat of feathers and agave needles from him. "We have a special on gods today." "Yef yafwannamake sumffin ovt?" said Mezcal, flexing a wrist. Pulque Maguey could see this developing into a full body flex, so he pushed him aside. "Man, well, chick, we're spirits. Not Spirits in the Sky, but Spirits on the Soil, at least tonight. Spirits in the FCB&G?" Pulque Maguey was hopeless with acronyms, and wondered what it meant. Tequila had already gone past him, to flirt with some oddly-dressed folk in white linens. Pulque Maguey could see this was going to shape up to be quite an event. And, oh, man, oh, man, that teetotaler, Cacao, was already here. He sighed, a deep resonant sigh of distress. Why o why was Cacao here? He didn't trust that conniving Mayan-Aztec, despite the fact they shared the same part of the world. The three Agavaen spirits took leave to wander around. The place was incredible, decor for just about any nationality imaginable. Since Cacao was hogging the MesoAmerican region, just by his simple ambiance of chocolate bean, and Pulquey Maguey hadn't invoked enough pulque maquey into his system just yet, allowing his true prickly self to come to the fore could wait. For a while he hung out with Mars and Lugh, watching Celtic battles. New word that, "Celtic". Interesting these gods - seemed that gods, just like at home, were just elevated spirits, more worship, less drinking. A little less, anyway. Maybe he could bring his own person up to the level of divinity, but keep the drinking. He could just see the mortals now: "God, I can't believe I drank this much Pulque Maguey!" The capital letters would catapult him into full divinity. After awhile, he roamed the Bar and Grill, admiring the marble of the Rome region, but looking for any other Spirit he might know. Pulque Maguey found Aqa Jora checking out the Egyptian region. Watching them doing on the spot mummifications on barley grains. The whole Inca area, where Aqa Jora was from, was steeply elevated and just simply littered with llamas. He wanted to talk to Aqa Jora, but she didn't seem to be in one of her more coherent moods. Too much corn, that girl. He waved at her, but she merely seemed to be observing a spot on the wall. Dodging llama spit, he departed, to see what trouble his siblings had gotten into. He hadn't heard Mezcal mumble loudly anywhere around for some time -- a warning sign of the calm before a storm.