Enki liked the bar. Brewing was as old as crops, as old as Enki and beer always reminded Enki of his daughter-goddess Ninkasi, who had bestowed this gift on mankind. The hymn to her, a recipe for brewing, was the oldest writing in human history.

Easing off the sticky red leather of the barstool he padded softly over to Mr Winter, gently becoming... who would it be? 

Mr Winter looked up at him and nothing happened. The deep, primal feeling of kinship that Enki could tap into in all humans, the well from which he had been born was absent in this creature. He recoiled, repelled by the slick alien psyche housed in the human form. Now he reached out, but not to touch as a brother, to hold an enemy at bay.

"Who, what are you!?! You are no kin of mankind, no seed of Sumer! Speak truth abomination!", and Enki's form was suddenly that of the Winged Lion of Sumer and he was angered.