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Victor Anderson Network Solutions

4102 13th Ave Apt D6

Brooklyn, NY 11219-1333

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Laverna, ?goddess of thieves'...that's what they call me...the few who still know my name, that is. I've mostly been forgotten, like many of the old gods. Few are those who pour out a libation of boozy goodness with their left hand in my honour, nowadays. Instead I'm forced to steal my own beverages. I've come to develop a real fondness for whiskey, something that wasn't around back in my day. My people, the ones who inhabit the criminal underworld, also seem to have a penchant for it. The sweet, strong, spiced wine mixed with water that they used to drink in the old days just doesn't cut it in the modern world. Wine is still around, granted, as is Dionysis, that old lout. He's invited to few orgies these days, though, and spends most of his time hanging out at wine bars, boring disbelieving youth with tales of how he invented wine. We've all had to adapt, I suppose.

 

Speaking of adapting, I used to be one of the goddesses of the underworld, back in the day. I wasn't one of the more important ones, though, so it was pretty dull, to be honest. Who knows what I was even doing there? I wasn't very fond of the mouthful of ash that was generally offered in sacrifice to the lower gods, either. I did enjoy those horse races they used to put on for us, though. Many of my brethren frequent the track, even these days. There is much trickery which goes on there. The sweat, the danger, the backroom deals, the schemes...that's really my scene. It kind of reminds me of my breakout schemes...the ones that got me this gig.

 

There I was, down in the underworld, choking on some ash from the latest burnt offering, when along came a beautiful woman. She was newly dead, and she had no coin, so Charon, that greedy, ugly bastard, refused to ferry her across the Ascheron river. Curious, and bored as I was, I wandered over to ask the lady what was the matter, and why she didn't carry a coin under her tongue to pay for her passage. She explained that she had been a slave belonging to a large temple dedicated to Aphrodite. One day, a priest of some importance had come to the temple on business, and she had, unfortunately, caught his eye. When she was alone, he cornered her, and forced himself on her. She didn't resist, because she figured things would be worse for her if she did, but the priest was a cruel and violent man, and he strangled her to death in order to enhance his perverse pleasure. She wasn't sure what had become of her body, but of course, as a slave, it was doubtful she would have been given a proper burial under any circumstances.

 

It seemed to me a terrible thing that this woman should be forced to wander about on the shore for a hundred years. Whether the rest of the underworld is any better than the entrance is debatable, but a hundred years is a long time for anyone to wait for a change of scenery. I should know I was itching to get out of that hellhole. I told the woman that she shouldn't worry, because I would make sure that that priest got what he deserved, and would make sure she sailed across the river of pain in no time. Then I put on my blackest cloak, the one made out of misogyny. I had used water from a certain part of the river Styx to make it. Since misogyny was woven so pervasively into the reality that made up the world, wearing the cloak made me so unremarkable as to escape the notice of almost everyone I easily passed undetected past the rabble that congregated around the gates, taking care to hold my breath as I passed by the hydra. That thing should really have its teeth cleaned once in a while.

 

Once in the clear, I set about finding the priest. It wasn't difficult. When I got to Aphrodite's temple, I slipped inside, to the inner sanctum. Two priestesses were there, preparing some offerings. The priest was the topic of their conversation.

 

?Is Demon still here,? asked one.

?That visiting priest,? inquired the other.

?Yes, the one with the cruel eyes.?

?No, he left, thank Aphrodite. I didn't like the way he looked at me. And what a flimsy excuse he had for visiting the temple! As if they don't have any Myrrh in Epidaurus. He must have come just to see the sights??

?Sure, if by sights you mean girls??

 

Indeed. So I travelled to Epidaurus, and there I found the priest, who had freshly returned from his voyage. I knew him by his unkind eyes and the dust on his sandals. By hanging out in taverns and listening to what the locals had to say, I learned that he was a rich man, and owned a few estates in the area. I let it be known that I was a priestess looking to buy a great estate, with room enough to accommodate many other priestesses and a temple, which I wanted to build. I gained an audience with him soon enough.

 

I appeared to him as a beautiful woman, though I did, of course, have to hide some of my glory from him so as not to burn his human eyes with my majesty. I told him that I wanted to build a temple to Aphrodite in the area, as it was near to where my family was from, but that I, of course, could not be a priestess for the whole of my life, so after one year, I would return to him his land, for which I would pay him in full, and he would get to keep the temple I would build as part of the bargain. When he asked what surety I would provide as a guarantee for this loan, I told him that I would swear upon my body.

 

After he heard my proposal, he was only too willing to agree to my terms. His lascivious lizard-like eyes sought to burn their way through my clothing, giving me no doubt regarding which outcome most excited him. Our business concluded, I told him I would see him in a year's time. I then proceeded to sell everything on his estate that had any value, including the houses, land, and livestock, before once again donning my cloak and returning to the underworld with plenty of coins for all of the unfortunate souls who roamed the banks of the river of pain, unable to pay Charon for passage. Charon had a busy few weeks following my return, let me tell you.

 

Some time later, after things had calmed down somewhat in the underworld, another woman arrived without any coin. She explained that she had been a slave belonging to a rich lord who owned many estates and a castle, and that she had not been his slave long, when he had summoned her to his chamber in order to satisfy his lust. She had pleaded with him to let her be, since she had long been in pain due to a miscarriage she had had a few years back, but he had flown into a rage, saying that no woman, especially one of his slaves, had the right to refuse him. He had ordered for her head to be chopped off and hung on a stake, as a warning for the other slaves.

 

This behaviour would not stand, I thought. I asked the woman to describe to me the location of the castle, then I reassured her, telling her I would be back with the money for her passage shortly. Donning my cloak once again, I slipped out as before.

 

With the information I had received from the lady, I easily found the lord. As I entered his estate, I saw that her head was still hung up on the stake. I told him that I was a great lady who had noticed a wondrous castle as I travelled to see a relative some ways away, and had been told that it belonged to him. I said that I had always wanted to live in a castle like that, and that if he would only agree to sell it to me, I would pay him for it six months from now. As a guarantee, I would swear on my head. The lord licked his lips like a salamander and glanced over at the head which hung upon the stake. ?Very well,? he said. ?You certainly have a fine head.?

 

Our business concluded, I left him and proceeded, as before, to sell everything of value on the estate as well as the castle and the land itself. I then donned my cloak, and returned to the underworld, where I gave the poor woman a coin so that she could finally cross the Ascheron river.

 

Some time later, I was summoned before a court made up of other gods and goddesses. The two slimy men who I had swindled were there. Evidently they had complained, and as rich men, their complaints were taken seriously by the high court. I was asked to explain myself. ?Well,? I said, fatuously, ?I swore the bargain with the priest upon my body...but I have no body.? Using my cloak to cover myself up to my neck, this appeared true. The gods and goddesses seemed amused. ?And I swore the bargain with the lord upon my head...but as you can see, I have no head,? I said, demonstrating this by wrapping my head in the cloak while leaving my body exposed. The party admired both my body and my spirit, but said that in the interest of fairness, I would have to pay the men what I had promised them. I had no intention of paying them anything, but I agreed, and in honour of my bravado and trickery I was given my current gig, goddess of thieves.

 

 So that is how I finally escaped the underworld for good. Thank Rhea I escaped that hellhole. Not that Rhea was especially helpful to me. No, if you want to get anywhere in this world, you need to claw your way up to the surface, and sometimes, trickery is justified. The poor don't deserve to starve, or suffer. The rich and powerful don't deserve to act with impunity. The house shouldn't always win. Sometimes, you need to make your own luck...and when that's the case, call on me. Just keep in mind that I prefer whiskey, these days.

 

 

I must say, it has always amazed me that despite how often humans have touted themselves as ?the most intelligent life forms?, they've always had the capacity to be easily duped if appealed to their vices, their hopes, and even their insecurities ( and we all know much of those they got). It's all quite simple, really: you just have to find what they're desperate for, what they can't live without, what they'd give anything to get - and many times their base instincts will get the better of them. Who am and how do I know all of this, you ask? Over the years, many different people have called me by many different names from the many forms and disguises I've taken: Anansi, The Trickster Fox, or just You-Cheating-Bastard. But hey, it's not my fault that every now and again some idiot will get in over his head by thinking whatever I give is totally free of drawbacks or payback. Still don't believe me? Well, normally I'd applaud you for having the common sense to do that, but allow me to share with you a couple cases where your fellow man wasn't so lucky.

 

 

I remember it like it was yesterday - New Orleans, 1968, to be exact. A rather downcast and tired looking salesman walked into a bar in the French Quarter, sitting down at a barstool three away from mine. I had noticed the man had a tan line on his ring finger, slamming down drinks one by one before happy hour even started. Upon talking to him, I found out his name was Henry and he was blowing off steam because he'd received word that his wife was most likely sleeping around with a local gangster known mostly by his nickname ?Big Fish? Johnson. I knew Johnson, to be honest. We had a business agreement that he'd give me a thirty five percent cut of whatever he made rough housing fishermen by the docks. Of course, he went back on the deal after he felt entitled to more of the profits and told me, in rather colorful language, to go pleasure myself. So, I pulled Henry aside and told him that he could probably make his night feel better by spending the night at a motel to get his mind off what's going on at home. What I didn't tell him is that Johnson goes there every Thursday night (which is what that night was, gods know these things), with a woman who probably was his wife(most likely was, now that I think about it). Henry went down there, forgot he's still got his six-shooter on him, and apparently ran into the two lovers. Two pops laters, I'm down one unproductive business associate, and Henry's got free housing for life to think about what he'd done. Brutal, but works for me. Hey, now, before you get mad or try to pin anything on me - all I did was tell the kid he should've probably taken the night off.

 

 

My first example isn't really endearing me to you, now is it? Ok, ok - let me try this again. This time the year is 1992 in Newark, New Jersey. There was this aspiring model name Patty who barely missed the mark for this new agency because she had like two or three extra inches on her. Now, keep in mind, I have nothing against people on the basis of height, weight, race, sex, or religious association - but a mark is a mark. In any other situation, she was an extremely sweet lady and I may have even taken her out on a date or two. But this was the era when things like people buying into products sold on television were actually gaining tons of traction. I was looking for a  new racket to get into, and my new business partner in time dipped his beak into selling these so called ?miracle supplements? for weight loss that had some type of Oriental writing on the bottle. I couldn't tell if it was Chinese or Japanese or something, but I do know that the whole Oriental appeal gave it an air of mystery and legitimacy. So, I somehow convinced Patty to buy a few bottles from us every now and then for one hundred and fifty dollars a bottle - sometimes getting two or three at a time, if she could afford it. Now, I don't know if the stuff actually worked, but to keep the business relationship going - I'd ask Patty how she got to looking thinner and sexier every time I saw her. And she ate it up, and my wallet ate her cash up. By all means, it was a totally degenerate and unethical business practice, but hey - those bottles sold like hot cakes I never knew if Patty actually made it as a model because I had to leave town to find new opportunities.

 

 

Now, if this last story can't convince you that I'm not a complete douchebag, then I can't help you at this point Back in 2004, I was in Florida on a vacation. I figured it'd be a nice break from business to just be at peace by the beach. While I was walking, I noticed a little kid sulking on a curb and I decided to walk over to find out what had been the problem. It turned out some businessman wanted to force him and his single mother to keep paying a debt the kid's dad owed when he was alive. Not to mention, I managed to catch the businessman looking at the boy's mother as if she was a hot piece of meat. His shadiness aside, I tried saying hi to him once and got blown off in possibly one of the most disrespectful ways possible. The guy just walked into me, splashing coffee into me, and then told me to piss off. Eventually, I may or may not have helped spread the rumor that I was ?connected? or at least knew people who were. That got his attention real quick since this businessman/wannabe gangster was basically foaming at the mouth to work with a ?real gangster? to get a better reputation and possibly make more money. So, eventually I tell this idiot that the real money was in letting three of his small time associates hit a bank in the city at night and watching the money roll in. I even offered to go on the job with them. What I didn't tell Larry, Moe, and Curly is that as a trickster god, I can sometimes mess with their sense of time to make them think they've spent two minutes in the door instead of the ten it took the cops to get them. Now, to make the deal even sweeter, these idiots leave me in the car to be a getaway driver. And of course, these bozos decided to squeal on their boss. When it was all done, the boy and his mother silently thanked me with their smiles before I zipped back to Indianapolis.

 

 So, yes, all in all - I love taking advantage of how impulsive and reckless your species can be. But I haven't always done it in a mean spirited type of way. Hell, you can even ask me about it in person. Who knows? I may even pop up suddenly in your city and your neighborhood, maybe in a tuxedo or maybe  in a hoodie and jeans. By the way, does anyone wanna buy a watch? I'm selling these for cheap?