text: (WP) The Real Housewives of Mount Olympus “Welcome to Mount Olympus, home of the great Greek gods and goddesses, as well as the occasional demigod!” Mena’s first thought was that these deities really, really liked pastels. Soft splashes of color were everywhere, and it was near impossible to keep her eyes trained on one place. The tour guide was an overenthusiastic young woman, dressed in the tackiest purple toga Mena had ever seen. This place was a far cry from what she’d imagined. It was the worst kind of tourist trap, and if she didn’t know better, she would’ve thought mortals were sporting costumes and cheap dollar-store tiaras. But that thought was soon forgotten; Mena’s eyes were drawn to a bickering couple, who didn’t seem to notice that there was a knot of nosy people watching them. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times: I’m not sleeping with anyone else, Hera!” “So you’ve said. But you’re forgetting that I found lipstick on your shirt collar not three days ago!” His companion retorted, tossing her head like an angry horse. She was dressed in a voluminous gown that brought to mind purple sunsets; her dark hair bound in an elegant chignon that was coming loose. “Do you think me completely dense? You’ve been doing things like this for eons!” A guy next to Mena was surreptitiously recording the disagreement on his phone, and she bit her lip to hide a smile. It was one thing to catch mortal celebrities biting each other’s heads off, but two godly beings? The kid would probably sell the video to the highest bidder, a filthy gossip rag that Mena hated. A god was sitting on a fluffy golden cloud, strumming a lyre, pretending not to listen, but his bored expression hid sharp, bright eyes that were more observant than thought of at first glance. Another pair of gods stood nearby, ones that Mena couldn’t immediately identify. Both were clad in armor, and their voices were muffled. “Come on, I’m bored!” One pleaded, brandishing a spear. “Please? Look, there are people here! They can watch us!” “You know I don’t fight unless it’s absolutely necessary,” The other replied, shaking its head, its helmet clanking with the movement. There was a groan of annoyance, but Mena’s attentions were distracted the arrival of another couple, in a cloud of cold blue smoke, and they were a contrast in every sense of the word. The man was tall and dark, clothed in a black cape and a dark gray suit; he had dark skin patterned with tattoos, and an afro that added a few inches to his height. His face was grim and unsmiling, and a dark aura pulsed around his body, forbidding and sickly. The woman was tiny, bringing to Mena’s mind a forest pixie. Her gown was pink, the color of cherry blossoms, and her long, brown hair streamed down her back, strung with bright blooms, and her feet were bare. Her olive skin was covered in what looked like moving vine tattoos, and she kissed the man’s cheek before flitting off to talk to a man with winged shoes. Mena felt like she was more in a dream than real life; this all had such a surreal feeling to her. But she couldn’t say that it wasn’t entertaining.