Child of the Moon

Mr... B?

Tempest and Luna raced down the road with Blackjack soaring overhead.  Fortunately, we didn't pass any cars, or we might have caused a wreck.  In no time, we arrived at the thirty two mile marker, which looked exactly as Piper had described it in her vision.  Luna howled as both horses pawed the asphalt.  Neither looked pleased to have stopped so suddenly, just when they'd found their stride. Blackjack whinnied.

Percy: You're right, no sign of the wine dude.

???: I beg your pardon?

We all spun around.  The wheat parted, and a man stepped into view.  He wore a wide brimmed hat wreathed in grapevines, a purple short sleeved shirt, khaki shorts, and Birkenstocks with white socks.  He looked maybe thirty, with a slight potbelly, like a frat boy who hadn't yet realized college was over.

Bacchus: Did someone just call me the wine dude?  It's Bacchus, please.  Or Mr. Bacchus.  Or Lord Bacchus.  Or sometimes Oh-My-Gods-Please-Don't-Kill-Me, Lord Bacchus.

Percy urged Blackjack forward, though the pegasus didn't seem happy about it.

Percy: You look different.  Skinnier.  Your hair is longer.  And your shirt isn't so loud.

The wine god squinted up at him.

Bacchus: What in blazes are you talking about?  Who are you, and where is Ceres?

Percy: Uh... what series?

YN: I think he means Ceres, the goddess of agriculture.  We'd call her Demeter.

Jason nodded respectfully to the god.

Jason: Lord Bacchus, do you remember me?  I helped you with that missing leopard in Sonoma.

Bacchus scratched his stubbly chin.

Bacchus: Ah... yes.  John Green.

I snorted.  I guess even with two different personalities, some things stay the same.

Jason: Jason Grace.

Bacchus: Whatever.  Did Ceres send you, then?

Jason: No, Lord Bacchus.  Were you expecting to meet her here?

The god snorted.

Bacchus: Well, I didn't come to Kansas to party, my boy.  Ceres asked me here for a council of war.  What with Gaea rising, the crops are withering.  Droughts are spreading.  The karpoi are in revolt.  Even my grapes aren't safe.  Ceres wanted a united front in the plant war.

YN: Ugh, hate the karpoi.

Percy: The plant war.  You're going to arm all the little grapes with tiny assault rifles?

The god narrowed his eyes.

Bacchus: Have we met?

Percy: At Camp Half-Blood.

YN: We know you as Mr. D.  Dionysus.

Bacchus: Agh!

Bacchus winced and pressed his hands to his temples.  For a moment, his image flickered.  He was a different person.  Fatter, dumpier, in a much louder leopard patterned shirt.  Then Bacchus returned to being Bacchus.

Bacchus: Stop that!  Stop thinking about me in Greek!  Do you have any idea how hard it is to stay focused?  Splitting headaches all the time!  I never know what I'm doing or where I'm going!  Constantly grumpy!

Percy: That sounds pretty normal for you.

The god's nostrils flared.  One of the grape leaves on his hat burst into flame.