Shadows of Olympus: Chapter Two IC

[Lillian Thorne]

Echidna

A melodic drip drip came from the corner of a low ceilinged cave as mineral rich water dripped into a pool along the outside edge. I was raining outside and up in the world of mortals, enough so that even here they got a taste. Echidna rolled in her nest and smiled as the babe within her womb rolled inside her and began to kick. He was strong this one, already so much like his father. She ran a gentle hand over her distended belly, now slick with blood and fluid from where his claws had popped through. She smeared the rust tinged fluid into arcane symbols of protection and hummed him a little song, a song that promised freedom and safety to grow big and to live a long life. Her boy was restless though and the song wasn’t soothing to him because he jabbed at her hand as it passed and she felt a sharp burst of pain in her palm.

“You little devil you.” She said with a smile evident in her voice. From all around her sounds of movement could be heard, the sound of scales scraping along the floor, flesh against flesh, claws and horns scratching at the wall as the smell of her blood and birth fluid roused her brood. She smiled into the dark, her features, so beautiful in their alien cast all but lighting up the room.

“I think tonight you want a story don’t you?” she asked with gentle indulgence making her voice ring with love. The little monster inside her quieted, settling down for his tale and she rubbed at her belly with affection. The brighter blood from her palm smearing the symbols she’d drawn earlier in its slow circular path around her ripe belly. The cave around her quieted as her other children settled down for the tale, each one eager to hear its mother’s voice filling the echoing cavern with a story. When she spoke her voice was like song, rolling off of the walls and filling their hearts and minds of her eager and devoted audience with pictures. Images of things they had never seen, pictures of the way things had been when their parents had been free, the way things would be again filled their heads as she wove her tale.

“Long ago in the days of gold my children, your father and I lived in a cave in Scythia. We roamed in the sunshine and cavorted in the moonlight and all the world was ours. The fruits of my body were plentiful and spread like a blessing over the earth. But the gods high on Mount Olympus disliked the way my children looked. Vain gods, they didn’t like to see anything that was different, what they perceived as ugly. See how they treat their own? They cast Hephaestus out for nothing more than being what they saw as unsightly. And so with me and mine they had even less reason to be kind. They gifted mortals, Mortals!!, with the weapons to kill my children and made it into a game for their entertainment. They would call forth a hero; gird him with the means to slay one of my babes and then watch. My poor children were slaughtered and they did it for sport, congratulating themselves afterward. They called it a challenge for their chosen ones and expected me to watch and let it happen.”

She paused then, her voice becoming rich with fury and the bodies in the cave began to move, reacting to the emotions of their mother, their lover, their goddess. She smiled and crooned a little as the small one in her womb began to kick again, black claws ripping through her flesh in sympathetic fury. She rocked her fecund form and sang again until the babe was soothed, her multitude of teats leaking rich colostrum down her belly and to the floor. It perfumed the air and caught the attention of the multitudes whose bright eyes focused with devoted attention onto the woman who had birthed them all.

“I would not let it stand, what mother would? I called out to the Olympians and demanded that they stop. They ignored my words, laughed at my pleas and told me to go and make them some more sport.”

There was a loud hissing from the thousands of throats, a hissing that filled the cave in a cacophony of sounds and Echidna laughed, a rich, ringing sound that cut through the hissing like a fine blade.

“My dear babes, do you want me to finish or not?”

There was the sound of settling and with a smile she began again.

“When my pleas were ignored I went with your father to the titans, to all the enemies of the Olympians and asked them to join us and rise up against the arrogant young gods. Many were eager to join because the Olympians had few friends, being too proud, too brash to keep them. We rose up and fought and many of your siblings died.”

She paused then, wiping at her cheeks which glistened with tears. They were wiped away and in their place was a smear of her red blood that looked black against the pale turquoise of her scales.

“We lost that battle and for the crime of wanting to live free and to not be hunted we were locked into the deepest pit of Tatartus, in the dark and cold for countless years with nothing but our fury and revenge to sustain us. What’s worse, they denied us the gift of your Father’s presence. They divided our family in the cruelest of acts. It is for those crimes, their cruelty and hubris that we fight now. We will live free and we will cover the earth once again and we will rule as is our right.”

The last part rang out into an absolutely silent cavern, the drip drip even held its peace as if confirming the promise behind those words. For a long moment the silence reigned, but then in cry that was nearly uniform all the mouths of those gathered spoke. One word, no matter how disfigured the mouth, no matter how many the teeth or how forked the tongue and the word they cried was a promise and a prayer, that word was, “Mother.”

Athene

Athene stood on the steps of the Parthenon and swore. Loudly and long with words that didn’t fit the image she presented in her steel colored, silk floor length evening gown with a long slit up the side and coordinating heels with straps that twined up her well muscled calves. The warm night air that brushed past her bare shoulder carried the bustling sounds of Nashville Tennessee, cars and people and the soft touch of country music. The sound seemed out of place as she stared up into the replica of the statue that had once stood outside her temple on the acropolis. He would do it here, she thought to herself as she chocked back her irritation.

She had received a hand delivered invitation with her mail a few days back, the envelope a soft white that one could only get with high cotton content and her fingers had lingered on the paper, appreciating the craftsmanship that had gone into making it. The invitation inside, with a high silk content she was pleased to note, had been hand lettered by an artist, which was evident in the grading on the ink and the different curves of the letters. She’d been impressed with the skill that had gone into making it and read eagerly. Written in that lovely hand had been an address, a time and date as well as the promise of a good time and not much else. Once she saw the host and recognized the name to be Hermes in his latest guise, she knew she had to attend.

She’d been in communication with many of her siblings and family since the events of a year ago but had actually seen so few of them. She hadn’t realized it had fully been a year and the invitation had made her sit down and realize with a start that it had been a full year since their greatest triumph in the modern day or their greatest failure depending on your perspective. He would want to celebrate that, she had thought with bitterness and fondness mixed in equal measure. She thought about spending the evening mingling with them in this modern replica of her past glory and sighed. There was no helping it, she couldn’t and wouldn’t stay away, there would be talk and there would be plots and in the end they were family and she needed to be there, likely as they all would need to be there so she made preparations to go.

With a final sour look at the statue she finished ascending the steps and walked through the door which was opened by a rather hairy gentleman in a servant’s suit who bowed low. With a smiled she saw deep within his curling mass of hair that he had horns. She felt something ease inside her upon the sight, they could be themselves then. She gazed around the lobby of the art museum, with its many galleries and saw servants milling about, all of them with the distinct look of Fauns and Nymphs. Hermes had done well she thought and eased over to the bar to grab a flute of champagne and wait for the others to arrive.

OOC

The Lovely Banner was made with great skill and speed by Noel

[Serge Drevlan]

Apollo

The rather large and slim television screen glowed in the darkness, silent. On it was a movie, an old one, about cowboys and an indian or two. The title had been long forgotten and the present audience didn't care. The apartment was quite nice, having been designed by the ultimate artist. Various greek statuettes of naked men and women were placed about the house. On the walls were several different pictures depicting some of the battles the greek gods had taken part in. All penned by the owner of this place. They were all the true originals, though the museums would like to think they possessed the first copies. At the entrance one was greeted by the famous painting of Apollo chasing Daphne, by Antonio de Pollaiuolo, or so mortals believed. Further on were even more famous pieces: "Aphrodite and Ares", the "Allegory of Love", and even the "Creation of the Galaxy." All these works of art painted by the gentle hand of a god. And sitting in the living room, high above the television set, was the latest painting. A huge piece reflecting their latest battle against the bitch Echidna. It was ten feet long and five feet high, he'd worked hard on it, not using his divine gifts but his own hands.

That's what Apollo was really looking at, sitting in his leather couch dressed in a finely cut grey suit, the painting was what drew his attention. In his hand was a purple tie that he'd yet to even consider tying on himself. His visage, though still beautiful, was scruffier than it'd ever been. A five o'clock shadow now covered the lower part of his face and instantly made him look different. His hair had grown out and had returned to its curly nature, he'd done that for his sister, like she wanted. The god of art was sat in his couch with very little life in his eyes, on the table before him laid the invitation Hermes had sent him, the curved F's had given it away. Apollo just watched the scene on the canvas unfold it was like a movie all on it's own, he'd sent a copy to various family members: Hermes, Aphrodite, Athene, and of course his sister Artemis. The name made him smile a bit.

Apollo wouldn't be going to this party if it wasn't for his sister. He loved his family, yes that was true, but he was tired. Apollo had become very depressed in the small amount of time between the battle and his present state. Apollo began despising his immortality, hating his divine birth and life. He was frustrated that he could never fall in love because the person would just die, and he'd be alone again. The only person he could safely love in this world was his sister, she would always be there with him. So, Apollo sold his club, and had retreated into himself, cutting himself off from the world, and subsequently from regaining much of his power. He didn't sing, play music, act or paint much anymore. More than that, he didn't use his powers, ever. Apollo just wanted it all to be over. If the Titans took over one good thing would come from it, he wouldn't be pressured to protect anyone.

Apollo stood and turned on a nearby radio. Music played and his body came to life. It was touched by the art as it empowered him the way nothing else could. He placed the tie within the fold of his collar and breathed in deep. The sounds of "The Who" filled him with power as he summoned as much as he could. He outstretched his hands in front of him and he shook as he summoned the power. Suddenly he was transported, leaving the sweet sounds of "The Who" behind him. He appeared before a nymph and fell to his knees. The abruptness of the power leaving him wretched his stomach and he began vomiting. The nymph gave him a bucket and stared at him as he emptied his stomach's contents. After a short while Apollo stood and gave the bucket back to the Nymph, who ran with it to the bathroom. Apollo looked around the large room, which housed a bar,eyeing the various servants. Yes, this was certainly Hermes' party. At the bar was an interesting sight, it was Athene. He smiled a small, weak smile and walked toward her. As he walked he tied his purple tie in a weak Windsor, he also grabbed a glass of red wine.

"Athene." he said as he approached her, it was nice to see her, but he wasn't going to get too close, she wasn't known for being the most affectionate. "Are we the firsts?"

[May]

Artemis

Formal gatherings had never been her thing. She didn’t even know what formal dress women wore in this day and age. She’d long since abandoned the trappings of the ‘modern’ life. And when it had been modern then, was now old history for the mortals. She’d been fine with feasts when they’d been powerful, often the one to catch the meat that they feasted on with her siblings and family. But not this party. Though she was going for one reason alone: Apollo. Likely the only reason he was going was for her.

He’d been even more distant from the world since their somewhat victory. Part of her was pleased by that, to have her twin with her in having thrown off society for the most part. But part of her was sad as well. He’d been such a social creature when they’d been powerful. Even for a time after as well. She didn’t like to see him so drained, so not himself. He’d lost some of his vibrancy. But so had she. They all had, and it was painful to see. But she was going to go and there was nothing to help it really.

She stood at the bottom of the steps, looking up at the impressive replica of her sister’s once fine temple. It had been made by mortals then, and made by mortals now. Even if no one worshiped there now. She was fidgety, hating the feel of the long dress she wore. A happy surprise is what we need here, she thought with a half amused laugh. I don’t think they’ll believe it’s me at all. The dress was modern, but still Grecian in style. The hunter green fabric puddled and lapped around her feet and ankles, dragging on the ground some as she’d decided heels were a bit too much for her. She hadn’t even worn sandals either, just her bare feet. If Hermes didn’t like that at his party he could just say so to end of her arrow…when she got them back. Because for once, she was without them, her golden hair down her back in curls instead where her quiver normally rested.

Smirking a bit at that, trying to keep things happy, she padded quietly up the steps, slipping in through the big front doors to look at the gathered inhabitants. There were more servers than guests at the moment, but at least some of her favorites, and indeed her most favored, sibling was there already.

The Goddess of the Hunt moved silently among the nymphs, some of whom she’d run with for ages, and fauns to her brother and elder sister. Still smiling she came up next to her twin, she reached for his hand without thought, looking over to him as her smile grew. "Isn't it nice to be first at something?" she asked him teasingly, poking fun at something she'd not done since they were children and she had reminded him of who the elder of the two of them was.

♦♦♦♦

Persephone

She thought that she’d gotten over this. She really, truly had thought she’d been over this anger. But it lingered, festered in her and she lashed out at anything and anyone who even remotely annoyed her. Which was why she’d avoided most of her siblings in any stretch of time since that day. That horribly fateful day.

It didn't help that part of her blamed them for not doing more. Even though she knew that that was foolish and just her grief talking.

And here in her hands now was a beautifully done invitation to a party to celebrate, or so she assumed. She’d been in the Underworld for a long time. A month of more and she hadn’t surfaced to the land of the living. She couldn’t even stand to see the faces of breathing mortals because it just reminded her that he wasn’t breathing anymore and that they weren’t as immortal as they thought they were. But the invite had been there, waiting for her. It was the day of that celebration. Celebration. Even the thought of that word alone brought seething bitterness and hot tears to her eyes and left a bad taste in her mouth. Probably the bile in her stomach that was threatening to make her sick again.

Persephone had taken one look at the thing, read it through once, stupidly memorized the address, and ripped the fine paper into shreds, tossing them into the hot fire. The once happy, bright and youthful goddess watched as the pieces curled up and burned in the red hot flames of the fire. How dare they think that today was a day to rejoice. They hadn’t won anything. The thing they’d gone to do, they had failed at. And they’d lost someone. Didn’t they feel his absence in the world? Or had they all long grown accustom to not caring about him?

She stormed away from the fire after another moment of not noticing the tears running down her cheeks. There was no thoughts to her actions, only movements, and soon enough she was out of her house, her house she’d once shared and now lay empty more often than not, and was on her way, using underground ways and Underworld paths until she was close enough to use a bit more power.

Persephone popped into being just inside the doorway, looking around with dark, stormy eyes set within dark rings of flesh. She didn’t look herself, even more than her sister Artemis didn’t look herself. Her dress was simple, unadorned, and completely black. Strange for her as she had always taken delight in at least have intricate patterns woven into her dresses and skirts. It also looked a bit too big on her. More than likely because she’d let herself wither away some. She looked haggard and her eyes were still red rimmed from her tears, dark hair a mess of tangled curls. She looked rather like a lot of modern depictions of her husband did: awful and covered in soot from the fires that burned in Tartarus. She couldn’t even smile at the beauty of the setting that her brother had chosen.

There was no joy left in her.

Her dark eyes scanned the room to see who was there before her, her hands clenching up into just contained annoyance. At least it was only a few of them. And one of them who’d been more than helpful to her since the battle. She’d made good to herself and sought out Athene a few months afterwards to help her train, help her learn. She wasn’t going to be defenseless anymore. And someone had to pay for what had happened, and if she had to seek out the revenge herself, than she damn well would. Athene had been so very kind to help her. And Apollo and Artemis. They were fine as well, the both of them quieter now, though Artemis always had been that way.

Persephone didn’t approach them. She didn’t want to. She knew she wouldn’t be able to hold back her tears or her anger, and she’d done more than enough crying in front of Athene to last a mortal’s life time and then some. She wouldn’t do it anymore. If anyone wanted to talk to her, they could come to her and that was just the way it was going to be. Instead she slipped away from the door and walked towards the statue of her warrior and wisdom sister holding in her hand the winged goddess of victory.

Where were you Nike when we needed you?

[MerlotBeauty]

Demeter

“Dude. Whatever you do, be nice.”

“What do you mean, 'be nice?' Is the old lady going to hit me with her cat or somethin’? Besides, why would I be mean to some old lady?”

Neither boy was more than nineteen years old. The first sported a thick mane of blonde dreadlocks and a worn Ramones T-shirt. The other was bald with a thick patch of chin fuzz dyed bright blue, with an assortment of piercings in his brow, nose and lip. Both walked anxiously down the misty coastal highway just outside the town limits. The sunset peaked through clouds on the Pacific horizon in beams of gold on an otherwise dull gray vista.

“Dude, no, dude. Just be nice, trust me. And whatever you do, don’t comment on her looks.” Dreadlocks replied.

Baldy let out an irritated sigh. “Oh-my-god dude, it’s not like I’ve never been to grandma’s house. You make it sound like this chick is Wicked Witch of the West or somethin’.”

“I’m just sayin’ dude, keep it cool or you’ll be sorry. And whatever you do, do not call her a ‘witch’ where she can hear you. Seriously, dude.” Dreadlocks rolled his eyes as they stopped on the road just outside a white picket fence.

The other side of the fence displayed an exquisite garden. Along the border were thick rosebushes, full with healthy green leaves and large hybrid blooms of reds, whites, pinks, oranges and other radiant hues. Other smaller flower beds rested towards the center of the yard with an assortment of perennial bushes and annual flowers of all shapes in sizes. The grass smelled lush and freshly cut and a white rock path led up to the small deck, painted white to match the fence. Other random accessories adorned the scene, wind catchers, decorative rocks, even a pink flamingo.

The house behind the garden was small and dainty, and painted bright blue with white trim. Over the balcony was a simple vinyl awning, hanging low, and rustling slightly in the ocean breeze.

“Dude! This is where you get the stuff?” Baldy snickered. “How in the—Ow! Dude, what’d you hit me for?”

“Because, dude, you’re going to get us in trouble. Look. Just stay here. Seriously.” The boy with the dreads walked through the gate and up the white rock path.

Demeter watched from her rocking chair perch, eyeing the boy. He was clearly nervous, as he should be. The boy was smart, or at least could be if he ever quit his little party habit. His eyes never quite met her gaze, and the old woman found his trepidation was refreshing.

“Well good evening, boy. You have the money?” Her voice was as gentle and comforting as a set of nails gliding slowly across a chalkboard.

“Y-yes, ma’am.” Dreads replied, placing a small wad of bills into her waiting palm.

Demeter smiled, flashing a set of yellowish-blue teeth while tucking the money beneath her heavy wool blanket. She then reached down next to the rocking chair and passed the boy a turquoise Tupperware container.

“Here you go lad. Enjoy.”

Dreadlocks took the sealed container, smiling, and slowly backing away, stepping back onto the path while keeping his gaze turned towards her. “Thanks, Ms. Spirios.”

“Hey, dude! Check out the garden gnome! Just like on those commercials! It has the pointy red hat and everything.” Baldy had picked up the garden gnome from its perch among the petunia’s and showing it to Dreadlocks. Demeter scowled. She did not like having her garden disturbed. Oh no, she did not like that one bit. She looked at Dreadlocks, her displeasure showing in every wrinkle on her brow.

Dreadlocks turned to his companion. “Dude! Put the garden gnome back exactly where you found it. Seriously.”

Baldy, of course, was completely oblivious to the rising tension of the scene, as he merrily danced the gnome with the red pointy hat across the lawn, reenacting one of those ridiculous Travelocity commercials. All color drained from Dread’s already pale complexion, and he looked at the old woman in terror.

“I’m really sorry, Ms. Spirios. I will, I’ll, umm…” He turned and ran to his friend, where took the gnome, and carefully placed it back where it belonged.

Baldy rolled his eyes at Dreadlocks. “Dude, you’re such a pussy! What’s this crypt keeper going to do to us? I was just having a bit of fun.”

Demeter stood, then, her voice carrying across the wind, “Crypt keeper?!”

Both boys froze, still kneeling by the gnome looking up at the old woman in frozen terror. Baldy even had the sense to tremble. That pleased Demeter. It had been a long time since any mortal feared her. She took the steps from the balcony slowly, the wood creaking under her weight.

“Oh stand up you fools, you look ridiculous.” Demeter was getting tired. With a glower she placed her hands on her hips as the boys scrambled up and faced her sheepish as children caught doing something naughty. Demeter turned her gaze to Dreadlocks. “Perhaps next time your friend should stay home.”

Dreadlocks nodded, opening his mouth to speak, though he never quite managed to form any coherent words. Bored, Demeter turned to Baldy, taking a step toward him. She let her stony gaze bore into him, and his dark brown eyes glistened while his face turned ashen. Given the amount eye shadow he was wearing, he looked positively ghostly.

“Run along now, and enjoy those brownies. I made them extra special just for you.” Demeter smiled at him, and pinched his cheek lightly. Baldy yelped, his voice cracking, and jumped back at the touch. When Demeter started laughing, both boys raced out of the garden and down the road toward town like jack rabbits escaping a shotgun. Demeter cackled until both boys were out of sight.

Drained from the evening’s entertainment, Demeter retired into her small abode. Inside, she rarely turned on any lights or bothered with electronics--she did not even have a radio, and she only used her telephone in case she was ever called in to work. Really, Demeter never saw the point of electricity. She did just fine with the tapered glow of candlelight, and a burning hearth.

Absently, the old woman struck a match, lighting one of the many candlesticks she kept at various corners of the house, and looked down at the invitation on the entry table. It was beautiful. The calligraphy curved and flowed across the smooth paper with expert artistry. Gently, she traced her finger over the typography carefully reading the invitation, poetic and formal. It had been so very long since she was in the company of family. In truth, she did not remember the last time she saw any of them, or details of the occasion. Parties held no entertainment value, and neither did the various schemes, drinks, and debaucheries. There was no power anymore, no worship, and no purpose; only an inescapable cycle of decay.

She was barely aware that she was now holding the invitation, hand-made and perfect, over the candle’s flame. The natural burning of the paper wafted through the air, followed by the oily ink of the lettering. Slowly, the paper disintegrated and the particle ashes dropped into the candle’s holder. The paper burned slowly—and quickly—until it reached Demeter’s icy fingertips, where the fire instantly died. As with all things, beauty was turned to ash.

Demeter then felt the tears trickling in rivulets down her leathery cheeks. Gently, the old woman touched the fluid on her cheeks, knowing they were not her own; at least, not entirely. With a heavy sigh, Demeter took the candle and walked into her small bedroom, placing the candle onto her nightstand. She then curled up in her bed and stared at the candle, wishing she could hold her daughter close and ease her sorrow and rage. Alas, that was a covenant she could not break. Instead, the old woman blew out the candle and let sleep’s merciful oblivion take over.

[Unlit]

Zeus

Presidential candidate Mr. Richard “Dick” Deus and his wife Mrs. Hera Deus arrived with much less fanfare than usual. No media cameras awaited them here. No paparazzi or pundits or campaign supporters with picket signs. No. Not here. This was one party that the associated press would not be welcome. Tonight, Mr. Deus was not delivering a speech or kissing babies or cutting ribbons. Tonight, Richard Deus was Zeus, Father of Gods and Men, God of the Skies, of Thunder, of Lightning. Tonight, Zeus was taking a clandestine trip down memory lane.

A trip back in time, he thought wryly, as he saw their unbelievable destination grow through the windshield of their limousine. What will these mortals think of next?

When the tires crunched to a halt, Zeus pressed a button on his armrest. The heavily tinted window rolled down with a soft mechanical whir, and he peered out. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered under his breath. He never knew such a place existed here in America. Evidently, the builders of this day and age had run out of ideas and now sought to recreate eminence of old they could never truly understand in full or deserve.

Merely shaking his head, the god of thunder climbed out of the car after the driver had come around to open the door. The vehicle’s suspension seemed to bounce upwards a few inches as he exited. Zeus’ tall and muscled frame was clad in a sleek Brioni suit a deep grey nearly black, custom-made to his size, white shirt beneath, his silk tie the sole slash of color in a bright electric blue. His close-shorn beard was groomed impeccably, a shadow emphasising the handsome squareness of his jaw and the statuesque prominence of his cheekbones. Pitch black hair was styled back sleekly, leaving free stormy eyes that vacillated between sky blue and thunder-cloud grey. Those eyes searched heavenward and found stars winking to the earth. No clouds in sight. A good omen, perhaps.

But for whom?

Shirking his meanderings, Zeus bent and reached into the limo, extending a hand for his wife. As he lured her out of the seat, her dainty, flawlessly manicured nails lightly perched astride his large index, he had to admit to himself that she made a fine sight tonight. He was reminded that there was a reason he once pursued and wooed this lovely creature eons ago. When she wasn't Ice itself, scowling at him, lashing him with her acid tongue, glaring at him with heat that could maim and kill lesser beings -- she was absolutely stunning.

As she stood outside of the vehicle, he offered her the crook of his elbow and said with a smile, "Have I told you how gorgeous you are tonight, my dearest?" He pretended he didn't see the subtle tightening of suspicion in her light brown eyes. With Hera, he often pretended to not see many things. Especially in recent times. She finally chanced him with a cryptic smile when she registered no mockery in his expression and tucked her hand against his elbow. The limo driver slammed the car door shut behind them as they moved forward in step. Zeus glanced to her from the corner of his eye, watching her watch this false Parthenon.

An uneasy truce had existed between them these path months.

Ever since the last episode with the intern, right after Dick Deus had announced his intentions to run for office. This mortal vision of perfection in her tight mini-skirt and low-cut blouse had sashayed into his office, fresh from one of those countless American academies, a pristine resume' in hand, and ready to work. She had been eager to climb the corporate ladder and be a part of something larger -- whatever it took. Well... it hadn't taken all that much. The girl could suck like a typhoon, after all, and she was lithe as a minx between sheets.

Then came the morning mortal authorities showed at his door, flashing their golden badges and asking questions about the last whereabouts of Ms. Ladder-Climber. Dick Deus had professed ignorance, and rightly so -- he hadn't a clue -- but Zeus had his doubts and theories. He hadn't mustered the nerve to accuse Hera openly yet, but he suspected his wife had quietly dealt with the girl. But the god of thunder would not give his wife the satisfaction by asking her about it and letting her know she'd actually stung him in some way.

In truth, he inwardly thanked her; though, she'd never believe it if he voiced it. The situation had served as a wake-up call. This was an age of cell-phone cameras and newsmen filming a celebrity's bedroom at night. An age of biographies and tell-all interviews and E! Hollywood Stories. Zeus could not afford to let a dalliance slip out of his control and hear of the knowledge entering mainstream. These were not the days of ancient Greece. He simply could not swallow a nuisance of a woman whole, never to be found, or turn her into a cow.

So he must play the part. For a while longer, until the election, at least. The dutiful, doting husband. Though... he could not help but feel that for the first time in eons, Hera finally had him soundly by the balls. If she let loose the wrong word in public, all his hopes as a candidate could be undone. His success largely depended on her social good behavior, and he had trouble enough managing his own whims. He could only hope Hera was crafty and rational enough to realize her ascent and possible fall were inextricably tied to his own. But sometimes... sometimes, he wondered if she wouldn't send them both spiraling to the blackest pits of Tartarus, if only so she could have the last gloating laugh.

Mentally, he shrugged as he escorted his consort to the stone steps leading up. He'd know his fate soon enough. As in all things, time would tell. And what was a little time, to a god?

"I wonder how the children are faring," he idly murmured to himself.

[Arbitio]

Hephaestus:

A new sound emanated from the driveway up to the 'Museum.' A slow and steady pattern of footsteps and that of a walking cane. Eventually a body appeared that matched the sounds, a thin and aged figure, dressed in a more or less 'clean' Trenchcoat, made of brown leather and unbuttoned. His Black slacks were fine and pressed, and his dress shoes shined as though brand new. A matching Fedora crowned his head, and sunglasses like usual shielded his eyes from the sun, and any other eyes.

He approached the Guards casually, keeping his sunglasses on, and the tip of his Fedora shielding his aged and warped face as best as possible. The hand not occupied with the cane, made of aged wood with an Engraving of what seemed to be the Titan Atlas, with the world on his shoulders acting as the handle, was his invitation, held between his index and middle fingers, he briskly held it up for the Mortals to see, before moving by them again, ignoring their usual gestures of welcome and have a pleasant stay.

He entered the establishment without another word, never deviating from his path or planning, he saw no need for it, although his eyes did dart to and fro underneath the sunglasses, as he observed and analyzed how the Mortals had created the building. He considered it 'sufficient enough.' As he entered the room where the rest of what he assumed to be the rest of the Olympians, he tried to hold back his scowl, and without much fanfare, quietly saw himself over to a distant corner, and began looking over the portraits which ordained the walls.

[Lyzan]

Ares

The wind howled and whistled as it swept through the shattered glass to his penthouse. What was used to be gold and white on the inside was now black and with glowing amber, fresh still from recent flames. Ashes now coated the once beautiful floor, painted by the documents he'd set ablaze to. Solid walls were concaved in and was filled with cracks which decorated the office's interior, crafted from his brute strength. Debris was all that's left of his furnitures and the room resembled more to that of a ruin rather than a home where he once run his kingdom from. All were deliberately destroyed by none other but the Wargod himself. His staffs were sent away everytime they knocked, with harsh and thunderous dismissal and none were allowed to enter. But there was one that he would make an exception to.

One that he couldn't bring himself to hate... One that he could never forget... The one and only that he'd truly loved, Aphrodite.

An image within his immortal's thoughts then flashed before his grimly eyes on the recent encounter that took place a year ago. How first she'd ignored him in the throne hall, how she'd refused to ride with him in his war-chariot and how she'd slipped away from his embrace then while spitting onto his face about wanting to return to her new life. But yet, in the end, she'd fallen from the sky, as if from Olympus itself, and landed right into the arms of the one where he knew she belonged to; in his.

Frustration boiled through his bloodstream ever since. Having given the opportunity to redeem a place in his Father's eyes in that moment and he blew it, he'd failed. He'd not managed to make the Olympians no longer despise him and that had fueled his rage even more.

Seated over a pile of burnt down furniture, the Wargod stared at the card between his fingers on one hand while the other held his thirteenth bottle of strong ale, which weren't doing him any good as he'd expected. He grunted at the piece of invitation and set it ablaze with a blink of an eye. Watching it burnt into thin air, Ares then drank from the bottle.

For good times? Whose good times?

He smirked, amused and slightly lightheaded. His fiery eyes flared as he stared almost blankly to the tarred floor. The beard he'd let grow over the year, glowed amber reaching to his sternum and his hair, hung over his shoulders and was pretty much in a tangled mess.

Obviously, it wasn't good times for him. Besides, he wouldn't be missed by the family and probably won't even make any difference if he were to attend or otherwise. He knew too well that they don't need him during happy moments, especially when he was renowned to be the one that spoils it with his limitless fury, his anger and the tendency to start a fight. So he slumped himself in the garbage he'd created and leaned back. Watching the ceiling as he drowned himself with one of Dionysus' charms, he chuckled to his idea of how he'd once thought having power among the mortal could earn him a place among the Olympians.


Typhon

There, where the sunlight never shined and where it was either cold or chilling, he stood tall, towering over all of his children as he stared ahead. They'd followed him through Cape Taenarum from the southern part of Peloponnesus and now they're in. His childrens slithered, crawled, stalked and flew behind his twin slithering viper limbs. Some even clung onto his shadowy-hue hides just because they could. They hissed, snarled and growled with anticipation as they moved. Eager to see to their new home. Eager to conquer the very place that had held them captives for aeons. Tartarus were their playgrounds and now, they got to play in the upper regions, Erebus and everywhere else that the latest ruler had ruled.

Yet, they patiently awaited for their Father's command. They waited as he stared over the five subterannean rivers; Acheron, Cocytus, Lethe, Phlegethon and Styx. Typhon's eyes flashed with glancing fires, with dirty matted hair and beard, with pointed ears and his wings ocassionally flapped lightly. Vapors emitted from his childrens mouth like angry horses whereas for him, it was fire that he breathed.

In a thousand voices of horrible sounds, Typhon spoke to his children in the words where only the gods could understand, but at the same time, the sound of bulls, the roar of lions, the barking of dogs and even the whistling where the echoes told them the very same words and meanings of his speech. Typhon roared then and spread his wings wide for his children to sweep over the realm and to take whatever they could. Eyes wide as they sought for limbs to tear, they drooled as they sought for flesh and bones, to crack it open and to suck the marrows dry. His childrens poured into the Underworld like the tsunami he was capable of creating.

Typhon grinned as he glanced to the dark sky above. As if he was looking for his beloved wife who'd freed him, who'd reunited their family together to bring down their enemies.

"Soon, my Love! Soon, we'll have it to ourselves!" the thousand voices rang into the space between them.

[Killerclover]

Hecate

It was raining in New York, something that happened every now and again quite common which was nice to have on the citizans that lived there, people walking down the streets on sidewalks, people taking subways which could be heard sometimes from the rumbling it gave, planes and helicopters flying overhead the buildings. Even the trains that go above ground and of course, cars and yelling could be heard, people got upset for no reason alot in the city, cursing and causing a fit because there was an extra sausage on the pizza for example. It all amused a certain someone living in a large mansion out away from any other house in the city, she could see clearly from the window how noisy it would be over there, that wasn't something that bothered her though, Jackie Tyson or better yet known as Hecate walked away from the window hearing her fill for the time being, walking away like the Goddess she is, hips occasionally swaying, magical aura filling the air around her, she had a max human control of it for now, sometimes she was able to strike up extra power that was rare.

Wearing a pitch black dress with red streaks and some dark green also, it also had strips of gold lines in some places adding to the strange beauty of the outfit, a slit on her left leg to show off the curved muscle, the click of her black high heels as she walked, the V shape lining on her chest holding up the rounded cleavage and long raven hair that flowed down her back beautifully taken care of.

Then the door bell rang, the guards let someone in the gates, must be someone with a message or someone important sometimes the same thing, she raised an eyebrow and spun going to the door calmly. When she opened it no one was there, just a letter on the ground with a small rock to keep it dry and in place, she bent down slightly and removed the rock, then took the letter and went inside, she read it after peeling the covering off, an invitation. The hand writing seemed familiar though she couldn't quite place a finger on it at the moment, she shrugged and memorized the location. What she was about to do was going to take some time with her mage friends nearby.

Going down the hall and after explaining it to them they agreed and they all went into a room. It was a large room with paintings around, this is where big magic spells were formed up. All of the Mages began channeling their aura and Hecate did the same, standing in the middle, the wind blew much more faster causing her dress to flap around, then a burst of bright white and yellow light flashed out around her. And when it faded she was gone.

Later on she appeared, she was at the place, she was standing calmly looking around she was at the front entrance of the huge place, it was deffinatly familiar now, she smiled slightly and looked around abit. Finally she went inside, closing the door she was only very slightly exhausted from the spell because the group helped her form it, sighing lightly she tossed the invitation away no longer needing it, she looked for the other guest she was sure to see, leaning against a wall she crossed her arms under her busom and continued waiting patiently.

[Fallenreaper]

Tyche

The letter was turned over and over in her hand, the words written in her father’s flighty lettering, handcrafted fashion of it was so like him. Ty’s back fit in the cold wall corner and her eyes studied the invitation endlessly and every word repeated more than ten times over, the question of why paused in her head. The one question was left without an answer yet the memories, both bitter and sweet ran their course until the last image of the ‘happy’ family pushed up from the chaos. Her green eyes darkened just as they had on that day.

Each of the gods/goddesses seated on Olympus, their words flew like arrows at each other’s weakened trust and ties of blood. The air was filled with suffocating tension, her ears tired of the bickering, finally pushed past her breaking point. Unlike a smart girl, she refused to play the peace maker among them and turned into a pure vision of ice while her feet lead the way out. It was likely her absence was never noticed. She dealt with the years of wanted isolation fairly but wanted to see her family when the loneness became too much to bare. Them as a family, the word made her nervous and feel like a lamb sent to the lions' den.

How far had she fallen, they wouldn’t tolerate these mortal doubts Tyche carried like a snake bite deep in her skin. Thankfully these ideas would stay hidden, she would witness alone the poison drain her hopes and dreams leaving her nothing more than a husk. Ty’s pride demanded it so. The goddess’s head hit the wall with a loud thud, her divine skull barely felt it though her growing conflict to stay away or go. The only thing she had managed to do in her state of mind was to dress in an outfit fitting enough for the event. It was a simple black gown that fell just mid calf, and the fabric fit her ideally- not too loose or tight- with arm straps rested at the outer edge of her shoulders. Peered from beneath the bed were two matching high heels, the type to cause pain and suffering to any woman foolish enough to wear them. After placing the dress upon her frame the black feeling pressed Ty once more to reconsider.

In the past she was an impulsive thing, the judge of mortals luck and a protector of cities based on their worship, with arrogance to believe she could live alone. The choice was discovered as a mistake yet she remained here in this hotel, trapped by no one but her. It was a coin, a lone single quarter that caught her attention drawing her delicate hand pull it from its perch upon the table. The feel of hard metal against her fingers loosened the tension as an idea crept to mind, the one true way a goddess of luck should end the problem once and for all: a trial of chance. Heads she would meet Hermes at the gate of the Parthenon and tails she wouldn’t even show, disappearing once more to leave her family to their fate.

Ty’s breath held in her throat, her thumb slipped beneath the flat surface and tossed it up, she refused to influence the outcome. It sounded at the goddess’s touch as it rotated on its way back in to the palm of her hand. Not wanting to see the early result, Tyche turned her attention inside filled with the confidence from a finely made choice. Seconds and minutes seemed follow the pace of her heart, the coin’s face showed her the winner once her eyes fell on it. A glow of excitement as she gracefully stood up and on the way out of the hotel room Tyche slipped on her jean jacket, the coin tossed onto the bed with the heads side up.

It took a few hours of walking, her hotel not far from the place and Ty hated to draw attention with a loud motorcycle. Still the reality of how close she was to seeing, hearing and even the ability to touch them caused an electric feeling in her body. Though as one of the goddesses, Ty knew it was her responsibility to enter but possibility of rejection held her like the mouse in a snake’s ever tightening coils. The woman felt herself sink into the shadow of a nearby tree hoping to see her father while with the passing of time diminished her courage slowly.

“I hope this wasn’t a mistake…” words spoke the truth of uncertainty, her choice to meet the family held firm for now.

[tirgesfu]

Hermes


Hermes was waiting outside Parthenon, well actually one block away, on the bus stop bench. He sat, as he always did, with his feet on the seat and his rear on the top of the back. His bare toes wigged to an unheard beat. His good black dress pants, crease and all, and his crisp dull orange shirt contrasted his shoeless feet and uncombed hair. He watched the people pass by giving them nod and smile each time eyes met.

It would be very hard to notice but Hermes was just a tad nervous. Not that it was a bad thing; Hermes enjoyed the slight rush of unknown adrenaline. One of the reason he arrange this party. Party, he snickered out loud. Anytime his family got together there were fireworks. And if he was honest he would admit that’s what he wanted. A blast. A little friction was the only way to expose wounds and heal them.

A small boy walked pasted and openly stared at Hermes. Hermes returned the look with a big grin as the mother tugged the child past quickly. He could hear the child’s explanation of interest, he doesn’t have any shoes. Hermes wiggled his toes.

It wasn’t as if Hermes entertained any ideas of solving anything in this deep dysfunctional blood line. But every once and awhile he just craved to feel them. That’s why they all came, Hermes believed. They needed to feel those pulls, those conflicts, those unanswered needs for love and attention. In this human land they melted into they could never feel anything near as intense. They needed each other as much as they would all deny it. Hermes included.

And he did need them. As he waited for his daughter he realized again his purpose for the party. The connection was there, be it fury, be it unattained love and attention, be it masked respect and rejection, it was there. That’s what he wanted to show Tyche. You cannot deny what you are part of, whether it brings you pain or joy.

He laughed at the thought as he saw his daughter stomp into view. Determined, full or strength, resolve and doubt, she moved through the street toward him. He hadn’t arranged to met her but he knew, he could tell, so he hopped from his perch and stood, smiling.

As she stepped beside him he offered her his arm. Of course she gave him the skeptical look of surprising slight displeasure. What else did he expect? He knew he would be finding that look in many eyes soon enough.

“The party waits for us.” He chuckled.