The Big House bathroom was not meant for this. It was meant for normal, responsible hygiene activities. Not… whatever this was. You stood on the tiled floor while Castor and Pollux circled you like chaotic stylists on a deadline.

“As children of Dionysus, it is our divine right,” Castor declared solemnly, holding up a purple Hawaiian shirt that looked exactly like the one Mr. D wore every single day.

Pollux was trying not to laugh as he shoved a fake curly wig onto your head. “Tilt your head. No—more judgmental. You have to look disappointed in humanity.”

You crossed your arms dramatically. “I am disappointed in humanity,” you said flatly.

“Good. Channel that,” Castor encouraged.

The shirt was too big. The sandals were too small. Someone—probably you—had drawn tiny stubble on your chin with eyeliner. Pollux adjusted the leopard-print belt like it was a sacred artifact. You caught your reflection in the mirror. It was uncanny. The slouched posture. The half-lidded eyes. The exaggerated boredom. Even the way you held an empty plastic goblet like it contained centuries of resentment.

You practiced the look. Blank. Unimpressed. Mildly inconvenienced by existence.

Castor gasped. “Oh my gods. That’s terrifying.”

Pollux wheezed. “You look like you’re about to sentence someone to a lifetime of Diet Coke.”

You deepened your voice as much as possible. “If anyone requires me, I will be in my office, ignoring responsibility.”

They both lost it. You stepped closer to the mirror, perfecting the final detail—one eyebrow raised just slightly higher than the other. The godly expression of I cannot believe I am cursed to supervise you people. The exact one he always wore.

Footsteps creaked somewhere in the hallway outside. All three of you froze. Then slowly, dramatically, you turned toward the door, fake goblet in hand, ready to debut your masterpiece to the world. Or at least to the actual Mr. D.