Areiôn smiled at the barista, his eyes twinkling, before he openly winced. Really? Already thinking of another girl? Tyche hadn’t been “dead” more an hour. Then again, why shouldn’t the horse move on? It was not as though he could ever have what he truly wanted.
Once again, the need to wash away this sickening, besotted, moping reared its head, and the Prince of Horses let his gaze flow over the woman, from her blonde dreads, to the oh so lick-able tattoos on her bare flesh and the well-shaped ass that wanted to be squeezed. Areion’s smile widened, just a little. Rebound or not, he could see himself having a very nice time with this one.
Holding his smile—though the glimmer faded in his eyes—Areiôn opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by commotion from behind him to be utterly distracting.
Areiôn’s expression went from pleasant to enraged the minute he spotted Hermes. Without a thought, he started to reach for his gun. It was, apparently, a good day to shoot gods, and Hermes—despite being recently stabbed—was an excellent target. Did the messenger fool even realize what fate he put on his daughter? Did he even care?!
“Help this man. He’s been shot.”
As if struck by lightning, the horse suddenly remembered that he was in public. He quickly let go of the gun, leaving it properly hidden under his clothes. Instead, he just glared at Hermes, and slipped into the background. Watching and waiting.
As he could feel his rage pulsing, he quietly imagined the joys that came with “shooting the Messenger.”
The Crone rubbed her temple with one hand, while cradling her tea in her other. This display of drunken immortals was not going to end well. For a minute, the goddess had to seriously think about why she even bothered trying to help out at all. These immortal buffoons… were they really worth the effort?
As Demeter thought about her one and only friend in the world, currently breathing on a respirator, she instead turned her head to look at Hermes and the man she could only guess was Asclepius.
With a sigh, Demeter turned to Hebe, looking at her sympathetically. “My apologies, we will need to continue this discussion later. Would you mind going ahead of me and take these things back to the penthouse. I will follow shortly, but first, there are children I need to scold.”
Taking one more sip of her drink, Demeter stood and made her way to Hermes. “You idiot, what do you think you’re doing?! You’re drunk for one, and why are you here and not at Dionysus’ penthouse?!”
The old woman stamped her cane down against the hard flooring petulantly. “Now, go get that sorry excuse of an immortal out of that chair and come with me.”