One brow rose in sinister thought of such a plan. Enstate a Mcdonalds atop Mt. Olympus, poison all the gods with their addictively bad food, become ruler of the world… sounded pretty solid, really.          ❝   A fiddle, huh? Pipe organ’s more my style. I can do that disney-villain laugh, too. Make it all theatrical.   ❞      One hand reached outward grab hold of a jacket on instinct. The cold didn’t bother her at all (and neither did the hot, really ), but she might as well pretend.    

               ❝   Hey, do you like volcanology? It’s almost that time of the month and I have a feeling that Iceland has had it too good for too long.   ❞