I know that his name is Toby. I'm a goddess and to an extent, all-knowing...but if I were to tell you the truth (and I don't do it often, believe me), I'm just a really,<i>really</i>good guesser.<br/><br/>He looks like a Toby. A Toby or an Arnold or a Harold or a...something else that fit his description. I can tell you this- he doesn't look like a Justin or a Brad or an Alex. He isn't poor looking. Not in the least. He doesn't compare to some gods, of course, but I have a feeling that he can make me laugh. And I like men that can make me laugh.<br/><br/>I tilt my head to the side as I survey him, and I'm dimly aware that I must look like a curious cocker-spaniel puppy. My wild blonde curls are thick and glossy, nearly reaching my tailbone. They are loose and lush and natural (no curling iron here, folks!) and often so unruly that I wonder what it is that I have done to be cursed with such a monstrosity.<br/><br/>His hand is warm and his gallantry causes my very white and very bright smile to widen, and two secret dimples show themselves, carving out craters on the sides of my cheeks. "Toby, Toby, Toby." I shake his hand up and down now, then upon realizing that such a handshake is long and awkward in both human and deity standards, I let go of his hand and allow my own to fall to my side.<br/><br/>Now, there's something you must know about me. Something important. Listen carefully, children.<br/><br/>Despite being the Goddess of Comedy, I do not like leaving my home.<br/><br/>Nope! That's right. You heard it here first. Thalia, Goddess of Comedy, is a homebody. Sound the alarms! Call the coastguard! Tell Hades that hell has finally frozen over!<br/><br/>And the reason I left my home? My good for nothing sister, Mel, who just<i>had</i>to come out<br/><br/>Another thing you should know about me. I'm not actually<i>that</i>funny. I'm funny, don't get me wrong, but I often like to find the humor in others. I err on the side of playfulness, similar to the god of mischief.<br/><br/>Well, I suppose that's incorrect. He's a mischievous little shit, so I wouldn't say that I'm<i>quite</i>like him, but I'm close.<br/><br/>I suddenly decide that I'd<i>love</i>to sit down and finish the drink that was served to me, so I slide back onto the barstool and adjust the silk dress that Mel forced me to wear (quite literally. She held me down and threatened me at knifepoint). I take a sip of my drink slowly and similar to Toby, revel in the sweet taste. I'm not too sure what Dion mixed together to create this sweet treat, but it truly is delightful. So much so that I drain my glass and immediately order another.<br/><br/>“So, Toby,” I begin, turning my head to look at him. My chin rests on the palm of my hand, which is decorated with borrowed rings and begin to tap an invisible melody on my jaw with my polished fingertips. "What brings a nice boy like you to a place like this?" Although when I spoke I realized that he was not a boy, and that 'this place' was not necessarily deserving of a negative connotation. Ah well. I'll be forgiven for my mistake.