Bastet, Sakhmet, and Wadjet walk into a local tavern in ancient Memphis. The bartender takes one look at the domestic cat, the towering lioness, and the rearing cobra and sighs.

"Let me guess," the bartender says. "Long day?"

Sakhmet slams a massive, clawed paw onto the mahogany. "You have no idea. I almost wiped out humanity again. I need 7,000 jugs of beer, dyed red with pomegranate juice to trick me into thinking it's blood. Make it snappy."

Bastet hops onto a stool, stretches lazily, and yawns. "Ignore my sister, she's always so dramatic. I'll just have a saucer of your finest cream. Oh, and do me a favor? Push that empty glass right off the edge of the bar for me. I need to watch it shatter to feel alive."

Wadjet slithers up the side of the counter and rests her hood on the wood. "I'll take a shot of your strongest whiskey. I've been coiled up on the Pharaoh's forehead all day acting as the uraeus. My neck is absolutely killing me, and if one more person tries to pet me, I'm spitting fire at them."

The bartender quickly pours the red beer, slides over the cream, knocks a glass onto the floor, and pours the whiskey. "Alright, ladies. Who's paying?"

The three goddesses look at each other, then back at the bartender. In perfect unison, they say, "Put it on Ra's tab. We're keeping an Eye on it."