Dio whistled a tune he couldn't quite recognized as he strolled through a small park. For now the small area was vacant of humans, which was helpful for Dio. If any of them saw a young man walking through a park holding a stab wound they might make a fuss. Dio truly disliked hospitals, and most government funded institutions in fact. He could trace his distaste for these kind of things since his worship used to be banned in Greece. His followers would even be killed and treated like second class citizens at times. Of course it didn't help that they were typically exactly that: second class citizens. Women, slaves, and the downtroden had often used him as an escape from their lives. He was a way to forget pain and suffering, if just for a couple hours.

As he pondered Dio tripped over a gopher hole and stumbled to the ground roughly. Groaning he picked himself up and felt a tearing sensation in his wound. The hole in his stomach began to bleed aven more than before and Dio felt a nagging sense of worry in the back of his mind. "Well this is shit." While he wouldn't die from this, he could still feel the pain. Pushing through the pain he continued on his previous path, towards the street in front of him. Dio stumbled across the street and made his way up onto a raised porch. Testing the door he was relieved to find it was unlocked which meant someone was probably home. The injured god leaned on the wall as he entered the house, "Apollo, are you here?"

Dionysus stumbeled towards the closest chair he could find and fell into it. "Your a god of healing, right? Please tell me you better at fixing people up than you are at prophesy."

The house had been empty when Apollo returned from his escapades with Eros, but still a hot mess. Taking on the single molecule of responsibility that he and his friends shared amongst themselves, he set to work cleaning up his room. He needed it to look presentable, if Eros was going to come over tonight.

"Oh shit." Apollo's eyes widened for a moment, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion before instinct took over and he was grabbing a towel, then crouching next to his friend, lifting up his shirt to get a better look at the injury. He pressed the towel to the wound, watching as the white cloth bloomed with red. "Hold the towel right there, I'll be right back," he commanded, rushing back to his room, and returning with a black bag. He opened it to reveal an assortment of medical supplies, stolen from the hospital most likely. The way shit got around here, it was always good to be ready to sew someone up.

"So uh, what the fuck happened?" Apollo asked while he got to work cleaning the wound. He handed Dio a maximum strength Ibuprofen, the closest thing to godly painkillers he could find. Any urgency he'd once had was gone, now that the bleeding had been gotten under control. Dio wasn't anywhere near death, but Apollo had just cleaned these floors in anticipation of tonight. No blood on the floor was a major accomplisment as far as he was concerned. He knew a stab wound when he saw one, and he had to say, while it wasn't uncommon for one of his friends to get stabbed, it was almost always a damn good story.

Dio coughed in a poor imitation of a laugh as he winced in pain from the stab wound. "Unfortionately this wont be the best story I've ever told, but talking will distract me a bit. I had been drinking at that one bar downtown, the one with way to much blue paint everywhere. After a few drinks I feel the need to 'eject' my breakfast, so I head out back. After I handle my business this kid comes up to me and tries to take my effects. After a bit of arguing I give him back his knife and he runs off. Told you, lame story"

The sun god chuckled. That poor kid had probably thought he had an easy job that night. No clue he was mugging a fallen god. "It's certainly not the worst one I've heard."

As Apollo worked Dio was reminded of something similar to this situation that had happened more than a millenia ago. "Do you remember when I showed up at your palace on Olympus with a broken spear in my chest. Just like now you only started asking questions until after I was stabilized, something I'm not sure many of the others would do. I wish ... Thank you." What Dio almost said aloud would have betrayed more of himself than he ever wanted another to know. "Hephaestus also never asked too many questions. When I needed help he asked when not why, especially when I needed to get away from the others and their politics." At this point Dio was beginning to ramble thanks to the mix of alcohal, painkillers, and other substances the Federal Government heavily dissaproved of.

"I just want to see them again. Hephaestus, Ariadne...they deserved to live. Why did they die, but I'm alive? What did I do to deserve this?"

Apollo pursed his lips, carefully choosing his next words. He wasn't a stranger to grief. Many times he'd sat with one of his siblings and helped them mourn a loss. After all, healing wasn't exclusive to the body."That is Hephaestus alright. Not much for words but..." Apollo couldn't pretend like he and Hephaestus had been lifelong friends. Hera's son, his older brother if you wanted to get technical, had seen him as a usurper more often than not. He was treated to the affections of Zeus that Ares and the smith never recieved. It had been bound to cause jealousy. But still, when the twins needed weapons, Hephaestus forged them the finest bows, gifts beyond compare.

"We'll find who did this Dio. Knowing our family, they're out combing the streets as we speak." He couldn't prove it, but it didn't matter. A couple millenia with the same people, you start to realize that their first step is usually revenge. Not that he could blame them. If it had been Arty's name the Morrigan had called out at that Conclave, he definitely wouldn't be cleaning his room.

Dio couldn't help but roll his eyes when Apollo told him of their family's actions, "Of course they are looking for the killer, but they are probably all trying to screw each other over atthe same time. When has our family been able to have a simple converstion, let alone solve a murder?" A harsh anger tainted Dio's words, but he wasn't angry at his family. He was angry with himslef more thananything else. Dio hated that he knew that even if they weren't accomplishing much, they were doing more than him. He hated that he fell right back into his normal habits. He hated that he had tried to forget what was happening by drinking his sorrows away.

Mere seconds after being filled with rage he felt it all disipate, leaving him feeling empty. His anger just highlighted the fact he had no idea how to help no matter how much he wanted. "I...just don't know what to do. I haven't known what to do since Ariadne died. I feel so....lost."

The despair was familiar. Apollo had seen it take hold of many gods since the Fall, himself included. Immortality hardly bred happiness. He glanced up, brown eyes meeting Dionysus' gaze, delving into the darkness. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't think any of us know what to do," Apollo said. He glanced back down at Dio's wound, bringing up a needle so that he could stitch it shut. Godly regeneration would take care of the internal injuries, but the stitches would keep it from opening again too soon.

"The sun always rises," he said, eyes trained on his hands now, nimble fingers steady as he tried his best to minimize Dio's pain. "Even when it seems like it won't." Artemis had said that to him, once, long ago, in a tavern lost to the sands of time. He wasn't sure they'd have the same effect on his friend, but he could hope. "If I've learned anything down here, it's that there's never a perfect path. You just, do the best you can."

Dio could feel the pain in his side fade slightly as the Ibuprofen began to set in. He peered down at the the sun god working away at his wound and weakly smiled at him. "You are starting to sound old and wise, have I really been left that far behind?" Though he didn't completely show it he understood his cousin's words, and knew Apollo was right. Dio has a mission, and he can no longer put it off. "Thank you cousin. Even more than a thousand years trapped on earth cannot dim your light."

"Woah woah woah. Arty is old and wise, I'm young and clever," Apollo said, punctuating his jest with that dazzling grin he wore so well. He stood up, finished repairing Dio's side, and clapped his cousin on the shoulder. "Speaking of, if you really want to play detective, I'm sure Artemis is well on her way. I'm sure if you bug her enough she'll be happy for the help." Happy might've been a bit of an overstatement, but he knew Arty wouldn't rest until she had some answers, and with a god killer out there, it would give him some peace of mind to know someone was helping her. Not that she ever really needed it, her and her insistence on independence.

"I just hope she caves in to letting me help before an arrow or two is stuck in me. I would hate to make you fix me up twice in one week." Dio knew that Artemis had little patience for fools, and he knew he was prone to act a fool on occasion. On the other hand it was a way for Dio to help. "Maybe she will at least let me in the loop if I can't actively help her. Does your sister still hide out in her mountain stronghold like some billionare doomsday prepper?"

"That's the one," Apollo said. "Just, y'know, buzz in at the front gate, and try not to look threatening. Nine times outta ten, they call her down." His sister's rule about boys was a nuisance, but it was a nuisance he was forced to work around. Plus, he didn't want to be pulling an arrow out of Dio anymore than he did. Smiling, he clappped a hand on Dio's shoulder, looking him in the eyes as he delivered his next words. "Hang in there man."

Dio nodded to his friend and slowly stood up from the chair. Before he attempted to move any further he let his body become accostemed to it's new weakness. "Thanks again Apollo, I'm really glad you were here to stitch me back up. Would have hated to bleed all over the place." Dio looked around and could tell the Acropolis had been cleaned up quite a bit more than usual. "Especially after you made it looks so nice. Well I better head out, I apparently have a murderer to catch."

Dio made sure to avoid making any sudden movements as he walked back into the hallway he had previously stumbled through. As he reached the door Dio felt his phone vibrate and pulled it out of his pocket. Other than being on 7% it appears no emergencies had happened during his "incident". One notification though caught his eye and curiosity made him tap on it. After reading his screen Dio would have chuckled if he could have without hurting himself. "Well looks like I shouldn't go too far... and you shouldn't have cleaned so much." As he finished his sentence the amused god tossed his phone back towards Apollo. On that phone was the latest post from Jackson Drake's Instagram.

Apollo pursed his lips, torn between a love of amazing sex and great parties. It seemed like tonight might be a double feature. "Well, that's what I get for trying to make this place presentable." He shrugged. Eros was gonna have to watch him do a keg stand sooner or later.

Themis.

To this day, the name filled Hera with envy. Zeus’ first counsellor, the Goddess of Divine Justice, who never seemed to see that it was Hera who deserved justice most of all. Now, her son was dead, and as far as she was aware, the Titan goddess hadn’t raised a finger. It disgusted her, the shirking of responsibility. If anyone should be concerned with the murder of a god-- a Grecian, at that-- it should be the Mistress of the Scales.

Night had fallen by the time Hera pulled up to Themis’ home, a humble apartment in the suburbs of Seattle. It was hardly quaint to anyone except Hera, but the Queen of the Gods always found some way to look down on her fellow Olympians. Her face was steel, cold and unyielding as she stepped from her car and strutted up the stairs to rap her hand against the wooden door. Her visit was unannounced, but the possibility that no one would be home hadn’t crossed her mind. Hera was used to a world where people answered her demands and were available whenever she needed. She rarely had time to think about the needs of others.

After spending most of the day between the sheets of Themis’ bed and watching movies together, Thor had excused himself after getting an emergency work call from a client, leaving his girlfriend to her own devices. The man’s cheerful presence had been enough to ward off that dreadful nausea that always seemed to bother her these days, but in his absence it returned with a vengeance. Whatever plans that she had of going out for a walk or even going to the quaint little coffee shop nearby to catch up with her work email flew out the window. Instead, Themis found herself bedridden once again, with a bottle of ginger ale on her nightstand and a bucket at the ready next to her convalescent figure.

By the time evening rolled around, Themis had mustered just enough strength to eat an acceptable amount of dinner and get a shower. Dressed in a matching short nightgown and robe set of navy blue and white lace, the young goddess had been getting ready to retreat for the night when she heard a knock on her door. Frowning, she walked the short trek to the entryway and took a look through the peephole at who on Earth would possibly be dropping by at this time of day. And when she saw who it was, her disbelief was strong enough for the blonde to unlock the door and swing it open.

“Hera?” Themis exclaimed with her hand still on the door handle, momentarily forgetting her illness in favor of the utter shock now coursing through her body. Out of all the gods and goddesses she would expect for a visit, Zeus’ wife was definitely at the bottom of the list. The Queen of the Gods had never held any positive feelings towards her, and it was obvious she and Themis were cordial with each other at most whenever forced to interact. Hera showing up at her doorstep-- and at this time of day, no less-- was certainly not the best of omens to start off her evening. “What are you doing at my house?”

Hera’s gaze trailed up and down Themis’ body, taking in this new look for the lady of divine justice. There was something in the air… what was it? A scent she couldn’t quite place, a fleeting feeling that felt so familiar… She’d clearly caught her in the midst of her nighttime routine. Perfect. Catching people off guard was a specialty of Hera’s. “I’m here to discuss your shirking of responsibilities,” Hera said, cold as ever. “Should we talk out here, or will I be graced with the interior of your home as well?” Hera’s confidence (or arrogance, depending on who you asked) had returned in full force, spurred on by her mission for vengeance. It was clear that she would be having this discussion, whether Themis liked it or not.

The tone of voice Hera was taking with her made Themis raise a haughty, defiant eyebrow towards the older woman. It was one thing to show up at her house unannounced, but quite a different one to turn up making accusations of neglect. It was rude, disrespectful and definitely not the way to gain entrance to somebody’s home. But the way Hera was carrying herself spoke of a fierce determination of someone who wouldn’t vacate the premises until she was heard… In the end, did Themis really have a choice?

Without uttering a single word, she swung the door open and stepped aside, motioning for her unwelcome guest to step inside. Once Hera had entered the apartment, the blonde closed the door, and turned to her visitor with her arms crossed in front of her chest. “So. To what do I owe the honor and great pleasure of being graced with your unannounced presence? And at my home in the evening, no less,” Themis began, the sarcasm ringing clear in her voice. She took position in front of where Hera stood, squaring her shoulders and never once taking her eyes away from hers. She wasn’t afraid or the least bit intimidated by the woman like the rest of the Olympians were.

“I take it you’ve heard about my son,” Hera said. She cast her eyes down for just a moment at the mention of Hephaestus, a rare flash of weakness, gone as quickly as it had come. “I’m sure the mortals are throwing everything they can at it, given his celebrity status, but it would bring me peace of mind to know I had someone on the inside.” Still, that feeling was following her, a tugging in her gut. Could she… No... Her senses were just on the fritz, still reeling from her time under Hathor’s trance. That had to be it.

Well that made Themis feel like shit. Where was that patience and sympathy she normally had for the loved ones of homicide victims? Here was the queen of the gods: swallowing her pride to seek her assistance with one of the most horrific events a mother could ever face; a collateral victim of her son’s murder. And what had Themis done? Get defensive and jump to conclusions when Hera, Zeus and the rest of their children deserved truth and justice as much as the departed did. Shame on her.

With her demeanor now humbled and much more approachable, Themis took a seat on the beige sofa in the living room and gestured for her guest to occupy the chair directly in front of her if she so wished. “I’m aware of the situation… And let me take this moment to say I am so, so sorry for your loss. I can’t even fathom the amount of pain and heartbreak you must be feeling at this time,” the blonde said gently with a solemn expression. She was and had never been a mother, but could only imagine the suffering Hera must be going through. “Before we get to discussing the case any further, can I get you anything to eat or drink for your troubles?”

Hera nodded, solemn in her grief. “I appreciate it,” Hera said, her tone still cool despite Themis’ moment of warmth. In truth, the words meant more than she could say. So many had brushed her pain aside, it was comforting to have someone who sympathized. “A glass of wine?” Hera suggested, exhaustion lacing her words with a sense of exasperation. She was spiralling, no matter how gilded she made herself seem.

"Sure!” Themis replied in a significantly brighter tone, rising from the couch and gracefully making her way to the cozy kitchen to fetch some refreshments for her guest. She pulled out two glasses of wine and a small wooden cheese board from one of the cabinets before moving towards the wine cooler and addressing Hera again. "Is there any particular flavor you prefer?” the blonde asked, pausing to smile at one of the many polaroids of her and Thor that decorated the refrigerator door before peering inside the cooler. "I’ve got most of them here, actually: sauvignon, moscato, pinot noir, cabernet, merlot… Pick your poison.”

“Sauvignon,” Hera said, following Themis into the kitchen. Her voice trailed off as her attention fell on the polaroids hanging off the fridge. Themis and a man, smiling, arms wrapped around each other in a loving embrace. Suddenly, the gears, rusted still with pain and mourning, began turning again. The tugging in her gut, the feeling in the air. How could she have been so blind? Had grief addled her that much?

Without warning, Hera spun Themis around, and brought a hand down to hover, just above her stomach. Her eyes closed, and she reached out, extending the tendrils of her immortal soul outwards until she found what she was looking for; the beginnings of a new life. Two, in fact. Hera’s eyes shot open, lips pursed together in curiosity. “You’re pregnant,” she said, the softest she’d ever been with the mistress of justice.

Themis, who had been in the process of uncorking the sauvignon bottle per Hera’s request, flinched in startelement when she felt the older woman spin her around. Eyes wide with alarm, she watched as her guest placed her hand a few inches from her stomach and shut her eyes, as if focusing all of her attention. She’d been ready to politely pull away and dismiss Hera as having gone insane with grief when the woman opened her eyes again and dropped a bombshell so unexpected all Themis could do was giggle in disbelief.

"What? No!" she answered without hesitation, shaking her head with a smile and quickly dismissing Hera’s reading. "I mean, sure: I've been a little bit sick for some time now, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I’m pregnant… Right?” she asked her, doubt starting to creep in and casting a shadow over her face. Was she really pregnant? Was that why she’d been so sick all the time lately. No, it couldn’t be. “It’s probably undiagnosed lactose intolerance or something. Maybe the milk and creamer I put in my coffee’s messing with me.”

Hera shook her head, stone faced and confident in her read. Now that she’d pinned down what she was sensing, she couldn’t believe she’d been so foolish. “Themis, a mother always knows.” She reached out again, once more connecting to the lives that were just forming, two possibilities awash in the sea of fate. “Twins but… only half-siblings. Their fathers are different,” Hera said, fixing Themis with a stare that held it’s fair share of judgement.

If Hera’s soft demeanor and the possibility of being pregnant wasn’t enough of a shock for the blonde goddess, the news that the growing children, plural, inside of her had been fathered by different men left her at a loss for words. Themis was quiet for a long moment, eyes wide as she tried to process all of this information at once. And when she was finally able to formulate words again, her voice was hoarse with distress.

“If the fathers are different, that means one child is Thor’s, and the other one is--” she trailed off, feeling her eyes slowly fill up with tears while her bottom lip dangerously trembled. There was only one other person who could have donated his part of the DNA to make that second child... And that man just happened to be her boyfriend’s father. “Odin's.”

Fuck...

All of a sudden, an overwhelming wave of dizziness suddenly overtook her. Themis’ knees felt weak, her legs seemingly unable to carry both the weight of her body and the one who now rested on her shoulders. The world around her began to spin, morphing together into indiscernible shapes. She reached out and grabbed the countertop to steady herself, but the smooth surface slipped under her touch. The last thing she remembered was the sound of Hera's voice asking if she was okay before her eyelids fluttered closed as she began to fall.

Hera moved with a surprising grace and agility, hands closing behind Themis back, catching her before she could crash against the tile floor. Gently, like she was handling one of her own children, she led Themis to the couch, and left her sitting there, only to return with a glass of water.

The tables had been flipped. She’d come here for Themis’ help, only to find that it was Themis who needed her aid. She pursed her lips, carefully choosing her new path. She took an armchair across from the couch, resting her arms on the sides as if it were a throne. “It seems we both have reason to help each other now...” she said, her voice soft, but certain, purposeful.

The voice of a queen.

“Hah! Suck on that, posers! House wins again!”

Jackson Drake’s party had been in full bloom for close to half an hour and in that time, the number of people had nearly doubled almost to the point where it was starting to appear like a full house. Beer Pong tables were spread all around because if there was one thing Heracles knew about the company he kept, it was they cared more about getting buzzed off of warm beer touched by a golf ball than they were about any form of solid food. After all, it wasn’t a Jackson Drake party if a few dozen kegs weren’t part of the main investment.

Jackson’s fifth beer pong match was about to begin. He was up to bat. His opponent was one of his mortals that spoke to Heracles on a personal level. He was as, if not slightly more, rowdy than Heracles could be on a good day. His energy had levels that not even Hermes nor Dio could rival. The way he lit up a room when he entered could easily put Apollo to shame. But the most important thing about Trevor? He was terrible at beer pong, which made him the ideal candidate for a show-stopping shot.

“And to the victor goes the spoils.” Heracles shot Trevor a sly grin. “Or in this case, you better drink up, Trev. You played Russian roulette, so now you’ve got a minute to drink every drop of all nine cups or that beautiful Porsche is mine!”

“You know, sometimes you can be a real ass, Jack.”

Trevor’s discontent was well received but as he consumed the putrid cocktails of warm booze, Jackson was on a high. Or rather, he was literally high. He took something about ten minutes ago -- something crafted from those wild cats over in the Egyptian Pantheon. He hadn’t the faintest idea what was in it or how nasty the effects would be, but he was feeling it. The room felt like he was in a rave as the music pounded heavily in his ears and every inch of his well-toned body felt like it was on fire -- but in the good way, not like how it felt getting blazed by Hades’ Hellfire back in the day.

As he turned back to the table, he saw a minute passed and Trevor gave up with three cups left. “What a shame! Guess that makes five wins in a row.” Yeah, maybe whatever he took was starting to affect his personality. Oh well. “Will nobody be able to stop me?”

It was almost too easy to spot the host standing above his subjects which he promptly destroyed once more in the game of Beer Pong. The foldable table, stacked with colorful solo cups and filled with cheap keg beer, was calling out to Comus. Stroking the embers within her chest, coaxing her true nature from her.

Shouting out above the music, and the heads of the party-goers between the two friends, she took up his challenge with a determined twinkle in her eyes. "You're going down Drake~!" there was a timbre to her voice that commanded attention to flit from one opponent to the other. Upon coming closer to her friend, and soon to be loser, she made a very wide show of presenting Hebe's presence.

Nudging the god of the people on the sternum she gestured with a nod towards the brunette sidled up beside her, in all her flower crown and tie-dye glory. "Drake, you remember my cousin. Hailey riiiiight~?"

His attention was equally divided between Coco’s usual bold bravado and her complete opposite. How she could go from proclaiming something that was unlikely to happen (especially considering the victory streak Herc was on) to making way to reintroduce him to her cousin. _{Yeah. Cousin, that’s a nice one.}.

But of course, he knew her. There hasn’t been a day in this world, not before the pantheon’s descension nor in the mortal life would Heracles ever forget that face. Laced with the purest beauty in all of Olympus, Hebe was the only one that Heracles could ever recall not being tainted in any sense, which considering the torture she endured at the hands of the hateful queen who sometimes pulled the mother card, that was saying a lot. Demeaning her to the role of the cupbearer, he always had a soft spot for her. And in all of the mortal years that have passed, that soft spot was as plush as a sponge cake.

“Of course I remember her!” Jackson flashed Hailey a smile, saving face for all of the mortals who probably shouldn’t hear anything about god names. “Really dig that crown. It fits this whole hipster chic vibe you got going on. Super dope!”

At his words, Hebe peeped round from behind Comus, have been trying (and failing) at stopping her from dragging them over to the table. She wasn’t ready...she needed at least one drink first! Yet when he spoke, the goddess of youth was unable to stop the small smile that tugged at her lips, fingers coming up to delicately adjust said crown. “Oh, thanks! I er, I made it myself…” She could feel her heart hammering furiously in her chest. Of course, they didn’t age but Hebe was still surprised at how perfect he looked. It instantly took any intelligible words from her mouth, leaving her to nervously stammer the first thing that popped into her head.

“I-I like your…shoes?” She blurted out, immediately cringing at her own stupidity. She hadn’t even looked at his shoes for gods sake. “I mean, I-” Trying desperately to push back the blush that threatened to bloom on her cheeks, Hebe nervously chewed on her bottom lip as she looked for something, anything else to talk about…

Oh, beer pong. Right. That’s why Coco had come over here. Walking over to the table, she picked up the winning solo cup, delicately fishing out the ping pong ball. “So…you’re pretty good then?” She smiled gently as she glanced over at Herc once more, finally managing to get out a full and coherent sentence. It had been a while since she’d played but Hebe figured she still might be able to give the demigod a run for his money. Maybe. Hopefully.

Heracles shrugged. “I guess I am, yeah.” He wasn’t going to deny it. And why would he? It was clear he ruled this game and nobody could touch him. With five wins under his belt, he was feeling pretty damn invincible. “You seem like you know a thing or two around the table. Or do you just want to watch as I show Coco here just how the pros do it?” He shot an arrogant grin towards Coco’s direction as if trying to get under her skin.

“Oh no, I wanna play!” Hebe proclaimed, the briefest hint of a childish pout gracing her features. Nerves momentarily forgotten, the goddess was practically bouncing on her toes in her eagerness to take part. No way did she want to miss out on a game! “Me and Coco can be on a team. Right?” She looked over at Coco eagerly, before grabbing her gently by the elbow and pulling her over to the other side of the table. “Um...we could do girls vs. boys?”

"YES! Great idea Hay!" The look that passed between Chaos and Man seemed to have gone unnoticed by the mortals and gods among the throng of party-goers in the immediate area. But not to them. Herc was trying to intimidate the sable headed woman, her homemade crown of flowers drooping with the fast actions being thrust upon them, and with the way his surefire cockiness soared this night might have been cause for her to be wary of his party game prowess; but then that wouldn't be in Comus' nature. She was party personified. _{'Well, sort of...'}

Coco did, however, manage to catch the silent back and forth playing between the two love birds besides her and could do nothing more than exclaim in excitement the fact that the tie-dye queens would be playing teams. "Prepare yourself Drake for utter embarrassment." To drive the taunt home with a wink and kiss was nothing out of the usual for the frat squad and all the baseless and idiotic shenanigans they seemed to create for themselves. Though tonight, Coco was playing for something much more important than a fucking Porsche.

"You win you get a one of a kind Coco favor; anything you want that I can provide... is yours," the smile on her face was telling. It was an open invitation to have and get whatever the holder so chooses to request of her. A way to hold her in limbo until it was time to call upon the chaotic energy and cash in the favor. Which, honestly, she hated the idea of being at the beck and call of anyone, but this was for a good cause she keeps telling herself and waits for his answer, looking up into his face searching for the acceptance she knew would be coming.

Whether it was the confident high that he was feeling from his past wins or the fact that he didn’t think Coco or even Hailey -- no offense to her, of course -- had what it took to dethrone him, he snickered victoriously. “As if I could pass up the chance to have a freebie favor owed to me. You’re on!” He shook Coco’s hand with a grin on his face. “And because I know it would be unfair for me to have a teammate, you two can gang up on poor old me!” The arrogance was climbing at an alarming rate and he wasn’t showing any signs of stopping.

Whilst the two came to their arrangement, Hebe had been quietly making her way around the table, carefully setting out new cups (because who knows where the old ones had been) and pouring in whatever type of beer Herc had chosen for the party. Her eyes twinkled with uncontained delight as she topped off the last one, hands moving to place the can alongside the rest of the empties. “Done!” She announced to no-one in particular before skipping back over to her place next to Comus. Her drinks had always been significantly more…potent than most mortals, and gods, were used to; and she hadn’t been able to resist the temptation of making this just that little bit more fun. It was a party after all...

Hebe's attention moved back to the others when Herc said he would play alone, a small frown darting across her face. ”But that doesn’t seem very fair…” Her voice trailed off at the heavy air of self-confidence radiating from the god in waves, realizing that he would have it no other way. Hebe tried to remember if he had always been like this. She supposed he probably had…though it had been a very long time since they’d last seen each other. “Well…then we can at least let you go first.” The goddess concluded with a small smile, holding the ping-pong ball out to him.

Coco tried to shush Hebe and her tender nature. There would be no 'going easy' or complaints of sides being imbalanced. He was a big boy, he said it was fine himself. Besides, she wanted to win. More than that, the daughter of Dionysus wanted to crush the son of Zeus. Not for any other reasons besides not wanting to owe any favors to the degenerate that was Heracles _{not like she was any better} but because she wanted her winnings to go towards setting them up on some dates and reignite that wild flame that had been brutally hacked down to small kindling. Hebe and Herc were made for one another, everyone knew it. Back before the Fall, and everyone within close proximity to them now knew it. It was fate, and who was Comus to fuck around with fate? When it didn't profit her When it dealt with familial issues... This was for noble and romantic reasons! Comus wouldn't do anything to take that happiness from her best friend. And Herc too, she supposes.

But that can only happen if they mop the floor with his smug face. Once Hebe has passed the small, white plastic sphere to the man she is yanking Hebe by the elbow to their side of the table. A small gathering has taken up residency around them, a lot of the mortals favoring the side of the host - as to be expected. Though the sandy-haired goddess was a model it wasn't like they were going to be as easily recognizable to the social media king. "Heebs," the whisper came out a tad harsher than she intended, "You do remember how to play right? Because I could have sworn you were something along the lines of 'sorority champion' in the nineties..." a wide, all-knowing grin was set in place upon Coco's face as she watched her attire twin produce a sly and cheeky grin of her own.

"This," she started turning back towards the table and those who were awaiting their next move, her body alight with a buzz she couldn't get from mortal consumption. No, this was a high she could only obtain from the types of situations that called to her on a more primal level. A duel between Gods, as it were. Stakes and bets were laid out before them, it was only a matter of time before the victors were crowned and Hebe and Herc would be well on their way to coming back together as the cutest couple Olympus could produce. "This is gonna be very exciting."

”That’s only if you can win!” Heracles snickered through his potentially premature grin as he approached the table.

The table tennis ball was on his side. He picked up, rolling it between his fingers. Not only was ‘Jackson Drake’ the ruling champion at Acropolis when it came to the pong, but he had a certain flair that made every experience a memorable one. That same flare always ended with him acting a little cockier than his usual self would allow. As he took a quick look at the girls and then at the table, he aimed his shot. Arms were bent as though he were on a basketball court. He aimed for the middle cup and he squinted his eye so that only it was in view.

And then the ball launched into the air, suspending itself for a few seconds before unspecified alcohol splashed into the air, it’s mysterious contents signaling the equivalent of a swish. “And that, ladies, is how it’s done!”

Soft brown eyes had been watching the god uncertainly, only flitting to the ball when it hit its target. "Nice shot He-Jackson..." She smiled gently, quickly correcting herself as a hand moved to pick up the losing cup. Her nose scrunched up at the smell of beer, suddenly regretting making the drinks so strong. It had seemed like such a good idea a few moments ago too. But Hebe, not wanting to subject Coco to her creation, still chose to quickly down the drink herself, a small shudder running through her body at the taste. "So gross..." She muttered quietly, sticking her tongue playfully out at Coco before her focus moved back to the table.

“Oh, shall I go now? Erm…one second.” Pausing, Hebe took off her flower crown, placing it next to an extremely drunk mortal who looked like he would struggle to remember his own name. “Would you mind looking after that for me?” She asked sweetly as her hands came up to tie her long locks into a high ponytail, either ignoring or oblivious to the fact of his heavily inebriated state. “Thanks!” The goddess chirped as she picked up the ball, gaze briefly glancing over at her opponent before trailing back down to the cups.

Taking a small breath, Hebe prepared to shoot. She didn't have the same showmanship as Herc but her body still moved with a well-practiced ease, arm rising to easily sink the ball into one of the back cups. It took her a moment to realize what had happened and when she did, the goddess jumped up excitedly, pulling Coco into a hug with a loud squeak. "I did it!"

The sable blonde returned the embrace with a quick squeeze and cheered along in tandem, "Aiight Drake, drink up." The once smug grin that occupied her facial features for the idea of crushing the son of Zeus beneath her Hebe exploits was quickly making way to one of a more genuine enjoyment. The revelrous momentum the party was building only added to the excitement she felt coursing through her veins and she was sure she wouldn't be able to contain herself much longer.

“So you did,” came Herc’s surprise in the form of a congratulatory smile. His tone was flat and full of intrigue. He wouldn’t have thought the passive Hebe he remembered from before the fall and was at the mercy of her mother, who didn’t have so much as a backbone in her body, had acquired such a deceptive poker face in addition to having quite the keen eye. And even as he consumed the putrid-smelling cocktail that got worse with every sip, the only thing that had stopped him from puking it all up was trying to solve the mystery surrounding Hebe and his own desire to know what other secret talents she was hiding behind that smile of hers.

As he took the palm-sized ball into his hand, he knew he might want to take them a little more seriously, so he took his shot. He aimed for the cup at the front. When he released the ball from his hand, it tipped off the rim and fell into the cup. “Nice!” He self-congratulated with a self-five.

”Lucky shot,” Comus joked in good spirits, even more so now that she tasted Hebe's very own renowned inebriant. The liquid flowed like water as she threw back the plastic solo cup, emptying the contents in one go. Eyes wild and twinkling with a mirth that had been building up since the games began. A heavy and steadying sigh escaped her as she tried to focus on the cups and what the winning goal was to be. _{'Herc can't win, cause then imma hafta owe him something fuckin' dumb... do this for Heebs.'} Excitement lighting her skin on fire she took aim and tossed the lightweight object across the table, sinking into the center cup filled with the elixir of the gods.

A hoop and a holler a beat later and she was inciting a riotous chorus of "Down in one, down in one, down in one!" All eyes were now on their fearless, charismatic leader and Jackson Drake was never one to back down. Coco eyed him as if daring him to not heed his loyal subjects' chanting. He wouldn't dare dream of such a thing and that is what she was counting on. A few more plays like this and Herc was bound to slip up.

“You want me to do it one go?” The showman Jackson Drake looked at everyone who was chanting and they responded with a resounding ‘yeah!’. He repeated it two more times, his voice getting louder with each round. It was at the point that Heracles was starting to really show just how deep into his party-boy persona he was. He grabbed the red solo cup and didn’t even think. He sent all of its contents into the bottomless pit that was his stomach and furthered the feat by grabbing an empty beer can from the ground, crushing it with ease against the center of his forehead, and let out a deep, noisy belch. ”WOO! I’M FEELIN’ IT NOW!”! His primal yell came with loud holler.

Whilst the others watched the demigod in all his glory, the look of excitement that had been etched across Hebe's face suddenly dropped away. It was instead replaced by uncertainty, eyebrows pulling together in a brief moment of confusion. Her fingers came up to play with the ends of her ponytail, nervously wrapping themselves through the brunette strands. She definitely did not recall Heracles being like this. Not that there was anything wrong with it…but the goddess suddenly remembered why she had stayed away from frat parties these last few years. It was too close...too much. His face suddenly swum in front of her vision, threatening to pull her back to that ever nearing precipice.

Shaking her head, she turned to Herc, forcing herself to focus on him instead…even if she wasn’t entirely sure who he was anymore. “I think it’s your go…” Her voice was barely audible over the noise as she picked up the ball, carefully tossing it over to him.

Regardless of the adrenaline surging through her from the raucous nature around them, Comus was extremely in tune with Hebe's new switch in demeanor. As perceptive as Coco was, which wasn't very, even she caught wind that it had to have had something to do with Heracles and his display of machismo that put off the goddess of youth.

A defensive measure took root in her in the form of aggression, because there aren't many things that Comus approaches without some kind of wild abandonment. This called for a delicate touch she just didn't possess. A small, genuine smile was thrown Hebe's way, a hug and a kiss to her temple Coco pulled away to gaze into her eyes. A deadly glare was sent towards their gracious host as she downed another cup of the ambrosia liquor. With a well-placed wobble, a show of throwing her arms up and above her she played her part of 'messy white girl wasted' well. Footing slipped beneath her sending her balance off-kilter and causing Coco to knock into the beer pong table, sending plastic cups flying into the air and scattering on the floor and even atop her cousin's outfit. "Hayyy! I'm soooooo sorry, like, for real! Drake!" she had to pat herself on the back for her awfully accurate depiction of trashed mortal women.

"Here! Go get cleaned up! Drake, go with her. I'll hold down the fort for ya! Byeeee!~" Coco was adamant on getting them alone together, and hopefully with him away from the limelight he could deflate that big ego of his. For just a moment at least.

As soon as Freya had received Xolotl’s text message invitation to meet up, she knew what to expect and where the rest of her night would go. Sure: by running off with a guy, she was basically proving her friends’ point of being an eternal booty call. But what they didn’t know was that things between the Norse goddess and the Aztec god were different. There was a friendship involved-- one based on the first-hand knowledge of the feeling of loneliness, the yearning for long-lost lovers, secrets kept for centuries and a lifetime of appearances needing to be upheld in order to maintain a certain status or image. If there was someone else (other than the Roman god Pluto) that Freya cherished beyond measure, it was Xolotl.

Once she was safely nestled inside her SUV, the young woman tapped her phone screen a few times and placed a call to Xolotl. "Before I say yes or no to your proposal: do you plan on kicking me out tomorrow morning after tossing me some McDonald’s money on the kitchen counter for breakfast like a meth head you picked up at a bus stop?" she asked him, her voice bristling as she was clearly still peeved about Odin's actions that morning. Although she knew this wouldn’t be the case, she still needed to be certain beyond belief. The last thing she wanted was a repeat of her last meeting.

“Freya… Have I ever been the type?” Xolotl’s voice is droll, though not offended, and he arches a quizzical eyebrow even if Freya is not there to see it. Taking another sip of his wine, he watches the reflection in the glass pane before him, at his colleagues’ merrymaking. A few of them had started talking about going to a bar downtown, and he’d excused himself for the moment to take this call. “Stay however long you’d like.” I don’t care, he nearly says. “Where are you right now?”

Atta boy! the beaming beauty couldn’t help but call out in her head. In the many times she and Xolotl had been together, he had been nothing short of a gentleman-- a trait the Norse goddess had realized was rare for the gods. It was a welcome (and much needed) change of pace considering the morning’s mishap.

“I’m at the Jade Jaguar parking lot. I just finished having some drinks with Eros and Tlaz, but they’ve got other shit to do, so I’ll be free for the rest of the night,” the brunette answered, pulling down the sun visor to carefully inspect her reflection in the mirror. “Where do you want to meet up?”

Xolotl makes a humming noise when the Jade Jaguar is mentioned. He’s been there his fair share, mostly to catch up with his sister, sometimes to entertain clients, but he’s never really been interested in its services himself. Still, the liquor was good, and he appreciated Tlaz’s ability to run a business the way she does.

“Let’s see…” He trails off for a moment, turning his wrist around to glance down at the timepiece there: 9:37 P.M. Still early, then. No need to rush things. “How about that place downtown, the Amaranthine? It’s quiet, upscale —– I think we could use some of that, don’t you?”

“Ugh, fucking tell me about it!” she whined, thinking about the negative headspace she had found herself in. Quiet, upscale and quality time in Xolo's company was definitely something that could help boost her spirits. "Anyway, The Amaranthine sounds perfect! I'll see you soon, okay?"

At Freya’s response, Xolotl allows a faint smile to grace his lips. “Good. I’ll see you then.”

It doesn’t take long at all for Xolotl to get to the Amaranthine. The hard part was convincing his coworkers to go on celebrating without him. His car, a powerful yet understated Audi RS7, glides smoothly along the asphalt, easily maneuvering through evening traffic until finally making a right into a subterranean parking garage.

He stays in the car for a few more moments after shutting off the engine, feeling the rumble beneath the wheel, under his fingers, die down. When he finally does step out of the vehicle, the door shuts behind him with a muffled thump, and he starts making his way to the adjoining lift lobby. The heels of his Oxfords click softly with every step he takes, the only sound in the garage apart from the distant screech of tires and buzzing fluorescent lights.

All of that is completely silenced when he steps into the elevator, the doors sliding soundlessly closed after he presses the button for the fiftieth floor. Left alone with his thoughts, it’s all Xolotl can do to not try and question the wisdom of his decisions.

Was it a good idea, meeting Freya like this? It’s been some time since their last encounter, and yet, his memories of that time have yet to fade. Not the conversations between them, soft and low. Or the electric touch of Freya’s fingers against his skin. Truth be told, he doesn’t quite know how he’d ended up tangled up in this mess in the first place, but he doesn’t have time to think about it before the elevator reaches its destination.

The Amaranthine is located at the very top of the Marriott, overlooking much of the city and offering a scenic view of the iconic Space Needle. The place is dimly lit, though not uncomfortably so, with a large, glittering chandelier hanging from the ceiling like a constellation. Everything else is equally as lavish —– plush armchairs, gilded flatware, and tables spaced far enough apart to ensure the patrons’ discussions remain private. It’s a popular haunt amongst the white-collar demographic of Seattle, catering to a variety of business meetings and other such liaisons.

Xolotl isn’t here for that, though, even if he does have a terrible habit of letting work encroach on his personal time.

No, he needed to relax, to let loose, somehow. And through some strange sequence of events, Freya had slowly become one of the only people he trusted to witness this other side of him, the side he usually kept hidden away like it’s something to be ashamed of.

Xolotl doesn’t falter, simply drawing in a bracing breath before making his way to the bar.

“What can I get you, sir?”

He takes a moment to consider. “Mezcal. On the rocks.”

The bartender nods and begins to prepare his drink. Unconsciously, Xolotl smooths a hand over the countertop — Calacatta marble, some part of his brain supplies — and his fingers start to drum a steady rhythm against its surface.

He didn’t have to wait long, though. By the time he was halfway through his drink, the long-haired brunette he’d been expecting was making her arrival to The Amaranthine.

One of the benefits of being a single woman with an active, unpredictable social life and no small children was that the spacious black Navigator Freya drove around doubled as a mobile dressing room whenever needed. The trunk and back seat held a selection of outfits for every occasion, ranging from sweats, hoodies and sneakers to evening gowns with matching Louboutines. Upon receiving Xolotl’s invitation to The Amaranthine, the young woman knew her current choice of wardrobe wouldn’t cut it, so she’d been quick in disposing of the slutty school girl outfit in favor of a long-sleeved, form fitting white mini dress with matching beige thigh-high boots. Appropriate enough for the upscale setting, but sexy enough to showcase her best attributes.

With that flirtatious smile in place, Freya made a beeline straight to where Xolotl was waiting for her. “Hey there, Hot Shot,” she greeted him as soon as she was within earshot, wrapping her arms around him for a brief hug and planting a soft kiss on his cheek before taking a seat on the empty booth next to him. “Long time no see, don’t you think? I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me. Work keeping you busy?”

Xolotl isn’t quite taken aback by the kiss — after all, there’s only one person he was expecting, and such an affectionate greeting was part and parcel of sharing an acquaintance with somebody like Freya — but he still finds himself tensing up a little, almost unwittingly. It’s familiar, somehow, yet unmistakably different, dredging up old memories like driftwood on the tide.

He can’t dwell on it for long, though, knows as well as anyone that the past is dangerous territory. So instead, he wills himself to set it aside, at least for the moment, and schools his features into something resembling amusement.

“I guess you could say that.” Xolotl doesn’t offer much by way of explanation, just lifts his shoulders in a shrug. He has been busy. Working. Thinking. Hephaestus’ death still weighed heavily on his mind, a constant reminder of the oppressive influence of the Colossus. But he doesn’t want to talk about that right now. Not with Freya, anyway. Even if the Norse goddess already knew about what happened, this was neither the time nor place.

He clears his throat, then, motions one of the servers over to take Freya’s order, whatever it may be. Xolotl only begins to speak once the two of them are alone again, voice low and steady. “You look good. How have you been?”

That observation made the young woman snort with disbelief. It was obvious that Xolotl wasn’t in a talkative mood, but his attempt at steering the conversation to her was comical. “Well, shit. If you still think I look good even when I’ve been poppin’ xanny bars like TicTacs all day, then I guess I really am a goddess of beauty after all,” she snorted, taking a sip of her cosmopolitan. “Which, by the way, should be enough for you to imagine just how excellent I’ve been doing today.”

“Well, excuse me for wanting a civil conversation.” Xolotl heaves out a laborious sigh, but it’s clear from the smile on his lips that any aggravation is purely for show. When Freya takes a sip of her drink, he mirrors her action after a second’s delay, bringing his own glass up to his lips. The mezcal tastes like smoke on his tongue and burns on the way down, a grounding sensation that reminds him of what they’re really here for.

Like a switch that’s been flipped, he suddenly grows serious. His gaze is steady, unwavering, though the ghost of a smile remains. “Really, though. If there’s something wrong, I’d like to hear about it.”

Instead of answering right away, Freya couldn’t help but let out a deep sigh. After knowing each other for so long, the brunette knew she could be open and honest with Xolotl about anything that bothered her-- no matter how big or small. Anything she expressed to him would be received with no judgement, and the best attempts at guidance and comfort would be made. But when you spent your life putting up the façade of a carefree party girl, it was hard to open up even to those you trusted.

“It’s more of the same, really…” she began, shifting her eyes to the city skyline visible through the nearest window so Xolotl couldn’t see the regret in them. That made it easier for the story to flow out of Freya’s mouth like the rush of a river. “Odin texted me late last night, and instead of telling him to go fuck himself I dropped what I was doing to go over to his place, only to have him kick me out the next morning because ‘he had other things to focus on’,” she scoffed with distaste while shaking her head, feeling angry again just thinking about the incident. “And, I mean, I get that it’s my own fault for taking the bait in the first place. And, sure: I might have overreacted when I made a little scene before I left his place. But I was just so pissed, you know? I was upset that he treated me like I was this fleeting toy thing that he could just use up and toss away whenever he felt like it. As if being the mother of his favorite fucking child didn’t mean a thing anymore.”

Xolotl doesn’t say a word, but simply listens, rolling the deliciously cool glass between his fingers. The movement itself is smooth, well-practiced, an old habit he finds himself returning to every time he’s faced with a dilemma.

On the surface, Freya’s problems were vastly different from his own, but the more he thought about it, the more he understood. She spoke of resentment, of feeling unwanted, both of which he’d experienced at one point or another in his long, execrated existence.

Xolotl, god of lightning, sickness, and misfortune. He’d paid the price for his cowardice, and it still wasn’t enough to shake off the guilt that followed him everywhere he went. Always hungry. Always baring its teeth in a snarl.

A mangy stray snapping at his heels.

He tears himself out of his introspection with a cough.

“I can see why you’d be upset.” It’s a neutral response, broad and almost infuriating in its vagueness, but Xolotl wasn’t quite done yet. Of course, he didn’t know Odin personally — much of his business was conducted outside his sphere of influence, and he always worked to steer clear of any conflict both in and out of his pantheon — but the way Freya described his treatment of her was enough to stir up a twinge of annoyance within him, a sense of… displeasure.

“He doesn’t have any business acting that way.” Like a spoiled child, he wants to say, but doesn’t. His disdain for the Allfather was already evident in the way he spoke, how the syllables rolled off his tongue. And when he does begin to talk again, Xolotl leans forward a little in his seat, head inclined in an inquisitive gesture. “But if he wants to, why indulge him? You have better things to do, don’t you?”

"I just felt lonely. Like, really, really lonely. I thought seeing someone would help with that-- even if it was him," Freya admitted, rolling her eyes at how pathetic she sounded. But it was true, and there was no point in trying to hide or deny it. Pouting, she turned her sad eyes to Xolotl again. "I hate coming home to an empty house and a cold bed. It makes me feel so unwanted. So… Unloved. Like I always give out my everything when I really fall for someone, but end up getting absolutely nothing that matters in return. As pathetic as it sounds, there’s an empty space in my chest that’s starting to eat me alive, and I don't know how else to numb the pain of it."

His brow furrows at Freya’s admission. In all their years of acquaintance, Xolotl has never seen the Norse goddess this vulnerable, so achingly sincere, and to be honest, he doesn’t quite know what to do with it.

“I wish I knew what to tell you,” is all he can think of to say, but his mind continues to work, searching for something he can offer to Freya as a form of advice. To make up for the lull in conversation, he takes another sip of his drink, savouring it instead of finishing it all at once. Was this his way of stalling for time? Possibly. But Xolotl has always found it prudent to think before he speaks.

“Look, Freya. I’m no good at this, so… take it with a grain of salt.” It’s probably not a good sign, starting off with a disclaimer like this, but he powers through before doubt gets the better of him. The warm buzz steadily making its way through his system does its work lowering his inhibitions, thawing the cold, dispassionate facade he’d built his name upon. “I just don’t think you should be this concerned with being alone. And you’re not alone. You have people you trust, people who understand you.”

It’s what he tells himself, too, when the nights grow lonely and the days are long. And if Xolotl ignores the longing, the rose-tinted haze of the past, he can almost bring himself to believe it. But now, he just reaches for Freya’s hand, lacing her fingers with his own.

“You are worth something, you know? More than you believe.”

Xolotl's comforting words, along with his gentle touch and his mere presence, had been a soothing balsam for Freya's aching heart. As aware as she was of her self-worth (too aware, some might say) and the existence of people who cared for her, it was always greatly appreciated to have a verbal confirmation come from a cherished individual such as the Aztec god. When the doubts and negativity tried to drown her mercilessly, it was easy to lose sight and perspective of the things and beings who really mattered. And it was in moments like these when Freya was eternally grateful to have people like Xolotl be the lifeboat to bring her back to the safety of the shore.

"Thank you, love. And I hope you know that so are you," she answered, downing the rest of her drink before setting the empty glass atop the bar to focus her complete attention onto the man in front of her. "You don't have to say it for me to know that, sometimes, you feel just as lonely as I do. But you're not, okay?" the girl said, gently cupping his cheek with her free hand before continuing. "Just know that if you ever need anything, I'll be here for you. Be it as friends or lovers, for a listening ear, a drink, or a good fuck, and no matter the time or place. Always."

Would she really? Xolotl found that hard to believe, or maybe he didn’t want to. He’s never liked having to depend on others, to have to hinge his hopes on the whims and inclinations of someone else. Too many moving parts. Uncertainties. Xolotl was a man who valued control, and maybe that’s why he’s better off alone. He knows that. And yet, he had been the one to contact Freya, hadn’t he? He had been the one to pick up his phone and bring the both of them here. What did that say about him, then?

A soft hand against his cheek stops the roiling maelstrom of his thoughts dead in its tracks.

For a long moment, he doesn’t draw back or move closer, just stops, like he’s unsure of what to do. There’s a strange flicker in his eyes, something dark and almost… confused. And then, he’s surging ahead, pressing his lips to Freya’s own in a heated kiss, who was kissing him back with the same amount of passion and intensity. He tastes the vodka on her lips, mingled with the smoky edge of mezcal. A hand comes up to rest against Freya’s face, like he’s trying to pull her closer, but he breaks the connection before long, jaw set in a rigid line.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, though he doesn’t sound very apologetic at all. Xolotl shakes his head after a moment, breathing out a humorless huff of laughter. “You don’t have to worry about me, Fre. I get by just fine.”

“Bullshit,” came Freya’s fast reply-- her tone a little bit brasher than she'd intended, but she knew that it had proven to be one of the most effective ways to get through to her friend. “No one can do this alone. We all like to pretend that we can, but the reality of the situation is that not even the strongest can survive on their own. Now, the way I see it, is you have two options here, Hot Shot. One: you can cut the bullshit, stop lying to me and yourself, and we can go back to the room I'm almost certain you booked for us, to indulge in that therapy that will make us feel a hell of a lot less lonely. Or two: you can keep up the Superman charade, and we can both go home alone to spend another pathetic night wallowing in our own self misery. So, darling: what's it going to be?" she asked him, raising a questioning, defiant eyebrow in his direction.

Silently, Xolotl stares at Freya, thoughtful, as if he’s weighing his options. He could say no, that he’s not in the mood, and it would be true. He doesn’t know if he wants this, but at the same time, he doesn’t not want it either.

It’s… exasperating.

“You’re mouthy.” He says it in a way that’s more amused, more matter-of-fact than chiding. And somewhere deep within him, his sense of pride resents that. He hates how Freya believes she knows everything about him, hates how she’s right. Their relationship was one built on the back of mutual trust and shared desire for intimacy, though it came with one unsaid agreement: there would be no strings attached.

A wicked smile lit up the Norse goddess' features at Xolotl's observation. "I know," she smugly declared with a small shrug, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Most women would be offended by that statement: even if the tone of voice suggested that no negative connotation was meant in the first place. But, of course, Freya wasn't like most women. She was anything but ordinary. "And if you let me, I'll remind you of just how mouthy I can really be."

Sighing, he leans back in his seat, downing the rest of his drink in one smooth gulp before turning back to Freya.

“Well, you’re wrong about one thing. I don’t have a suite booked for tonight.” At this, Xolotl offers Freya a derisory smirk, absentmindedly brushing a lock of hair away from her face. “How about I take you home, and we just… see how things go?”

Excellent.

With that flirtatious smile still in place, Freya slid off her stool, placed her hands on Xolotl's thighs and seductively leaned forward. "Sounds like a plan," the brunette whispered in his ear before shifting her attention to his mouth. She let her warm breath tease the man before taking his lower lip between her teeth and gently nibbling it in that way she knew drove him to sin.

Xolotl can hardly resist rolling his eyes at Freya’s antics, but allows her to do as she pleases, shifting a little in his seat to give her more space to maneuver. It seemed to him that even after all these years, the Norse goddess — with all her sultry looks and honeyed words — hadn’t changed one bit.

“Freya…” he murmurs against her lips, and at the scrape of teeth, feels a bolt of molten heat shoot up his spine. All the while a part of him wonders: how did he end up here, in the middle of a busy bar, kissing Freya? As if on a tether, he pulls away suddenly, placing a firm hand on the side of Freya’s neck to still her movements, and looks her straight in the eye.

“Not here.” His words are quiet but clear, in a tone that leaves no room for argument. The hand he has on Freya’s neck shifts, moving to take her by the chin instead. For a moment, Xolotl is silent, dark and heavy-lidded eyes studying every inch of the goddess’ face, like he’s waiting for a reaction.

Just as she was skilled in the ways to provoke Xolotl, so was the Aztec god with the Norse goddess. There was nothing Freya loved more than a dominating man: one that could turn her into a puddle with a simple look. Xolotl knew this. His firm grasp on the side of her neck, along with that authoritarian voice and those piercing dark eyes, were enough to send goosebumps down the young woman’s sunkissed skin. Lust immediately clouded her hazel eyes, and her craving for him multiplied-- no doubt with a little persuasion from the drinks she’d partaken in earlier). Whatever the case, it was obvious that Freya, in all of her submissive glory, would do as she was told in order to get what she so desperately wanted.

“Wait for me at the elevators. I’m gonna pay for our drinks.”

She didn’t have to be told twice. With a satisfied smirk and a playful wink, Freya pulled away from Xolotl and strutted away in the direction of the elevators.

Xolotl keeps a watchful eye on Freya’s retreating figure, waits until she’s halfway across the floor to summon a server with the universal gesture for “check, please.” He takes only a cursory look at the tab before passing his credit card to the server along with a ten dollar bill that they pocket with practiced efficiency and a grateful nod.

“Thank you, sir. I’ll be right back with your card.”

As promised, the server doesn’t take long to return, and Xolotl finds his way to Freya soon after. When he approaches, he touches a hand to her lower back, though he only allows it to linger there for a moment before drawing away to call the elevator.

“You ready to go?”

Freya eagerly nodded. "Yes, sir," she answered in her politest, most innocent tone of voice before stepping into the luxurious hotel elevator and closing the doors behind them once her companion had entered.

It’s only a short drive to Xolotl’s place: a sleek, modern building of steel and glass. It’s late enough that the corridors are empty, elevators vacant, and they’re able to make it to his front door without any strange looks.

Xolotl easily finds his keys in his pockets, unlocking the door and allowing Freya to enter first. “After you.”

The apartment is furnished exactly as you’d expect it to be — all hard angles and muted grays — like something out of a catalogue. But there are a few touches here and there that make it clear exactly who the apartment belongs to. The faint, smoky aroma of incense in the air. The rug on the floor, woven in dizzyingly intricate patterns. And the shining disc of copper on the living room wall, ancient and etched with the shape of a man with the head of a bird.

As someone who had visited this particular apartment more than a fair few times, Freya knew exactly what to do and where everything was. After carefully placing her Chanel handbag on top of the kitchen countertop, the brunette took stealthy steps in the direction of Xolotl’s back. And when he finally turned around, she wasted no time in grabbing him by his tie and pulling him into the nearest corner, pinning her body against the wall with his and locking her lust-filled hazel eyes with his own again.

"Is this private enough for you?” she purred, lightly grazing his lips with her own as she spoke. The anticipation was building up, and the sexual tension between them grew thick. It would be Xolotl’s next move that would define the direction of the rest of this night.

Xolotl doesn’t stop Freya when she moves for him, humming out a quiet noise of agreement. If he were not willing, he would have stopped her right then and there. If he were not willing, he would not have let her pin herself with his body against the wall so easily. But he was, and now, with her back flush against the cool, hard surface of the wall and Freya’s hot breath on his lips, Xolotl can hardly stop himself from running his hands over every inch of her skin.

It was still too soon for that, though, too soon; and Xolotl wasn’t the type to rush things.

They had the entire night, after all.

As a concession, he reaches up to brush a hand against the underside of Freya’s arm, fingers ghosting over the surface of her skin in a featherlight touch.

“Better. I don’t like people staring.” Xolotl’s voice has dropped an octave now, low with a hidden, dangerous edge. His hands slip lower as well, coming to rest against Freya’s hips. “This is between you and me, Freya.”

Then, Xolotl closes what little distance remains between them, claiming the goddess’ mouth in a deep, languid kiss, and little by little, begins to trail off to the side. First to the corner of her lips, the edge of her jaw, and finally the soft, golden expanse of her delicate neck. When he draws his lips across her skin, he feels the steady rhythm of her pulse thrumming just beneath the surface.

“Only you and me.”

Baldr stood in front of his mirror, fidgeting with a black tie. On the bed behind him, his clothes from the day were piled up, wrinkled and damp with sweat. He’d been doing construction work in one of the neighborhoods in the city before running home and showering, and the mess reflected his rush.

Parties always seemed to make him nervous. Once he’d loved them, more than anything in the world. Baldr the Brave was always the guest of honor, adored by all, celebrated for every minor deed. There were no parties in Helheim though. Only him, and Hel, and the legions of the dead, cursed to remain in the frozen reaches of that barren tundra until Ragnarok came. Or so he’d thought. Ragnarok had come early, or it had never gotten the chance to come at all; whatever happened, Baldr was alive now, had been for nearly two thousand years, and he was changed.

He’d never quite regained the gregarious nature of his old self. After an eternity with one affectless goddess of the dead, you grew accustomed to the quiet. Tonight though, he’d promised someone he’d attend. She wasn’t his beautiful Wolfsbane, but she seemed to care for him, which was more than he could say about the one who’d stolen his heart. Or was it? He never seemed to know, with her. Duty bound them to opposite sides of an eternal war, and maybe she was right, to choose responsibility over him. Those thoughts only exacerbated old wounds.

His tux was finely pressed, an expensive suit that he’d had tucked away in his closet for an occasion like this. The Seattle Redistribution Foundation was not unfamiliar with galas, but Brian Andersen rarely showed his face at such events. Schmoozing was not for him anymore. He couldn’t stand the mummer's game, all the fake smiles and forced laughter. He had good people that worked for him, people who were much better at putting on a mask. Tonight though, he’d force himself to be happy, to be Baldr the Blessed, beloved by all.



He slipped his phone back into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, and soon enough, he was driving down the freeway, windows down, wind tousling his golden locks. He liked collecting these old cars, rebuilding them. He was often amazed at how fast the mortals seemed to throw things away now. When they’d first arrived on Earth, the people of Istanbul weren’t so terribly different from those he’d once watched over. The people today though, were unrecognizable. Not any less deserving of help, but certainly, much more confusing.

He wasn’t surprised by the venue choice. It was decidedly grand, though the stark modern architecture paled in comparison to some of the palaces he’d seen in his many lives. Where was the passion? The heart? Stiff marble reminded him only of a mausoleum, cursed places. The dead were not meant to be entombed in such a horrific fashion.

Baldr the Brave stepped from his car, quickly blinded by the flashing of cameras, the shouting of reporters eager to get a scoop on Augustus Kingsley or one of the other famous guests in attendance. He wondered how Seattle would react if they found out most of their celebrities were immortal deities, bound to the earth by some strange magic. Probably not well. He chuckled, and pushed his way to the entrance as the valet took his car. Brian Andersen had little trouble getting past reporters. His charming features weren’t comparable to the superstardom of his peers, and for that, he was grateful.

Inside, Baldr’s blue eyes searched the room for two faces, though he found neither there. In fact, it seemed he was early for once, at least in terms of gods. He hadn’t gotten a glimpse of any of his family, and the Vanir seemed just as elusive. Maybe that was for the best. He didn’t need to see her tonight, not when he was trying to accept that whatever he’d imagined between them was just that… imagined. They may share a strange and unusual sort of bond, but it could never be more than that.

He took a glass of champagne, and parked himself in a corner where he could see the entrance, watching for his date’s arrival. He hoped that his heart might skip a beat at her appearance, that she would melt the ice that had encased it and remind him who he was, so that he could make her happy, like she deserved. As much as he wished, and hoped and prayed, he still found that unlikely. He’d left his heart in Helheim.

“Ears open tonight ladies. We’re in the lion’s den now.” Artemis’ eyes never left the moon that hung high in the sky, her nose pressed to the cold glass of her limousine’s window. Despite her perceived lack of attention, Thalia and Zoe knew that Artemis was always watching, and they nodded with an almost religious fervor. “Pay special attention to the Romans, but if anyone seems off, check them out. I don’t want any surprises tonight.” The limousine slowed to a halt a moment later, and Artemis stepped out, cameras flashing to capture her gown.

Zoe and Thalia trailed behind her, assistants to the mortal eye, but once the cameras were gone, Selena O’Ryan disappeared once more, just another face the moon loved to show. A flick of the wrist sent her girls floating off into the ballroom, looking for a morsel that might sate her hunger for knowledge. Artemis’ attention was not with them though, but with a woman, beauty personified. Pale grey eyes traced her body, cloaked in elegance, and she couldn’t help but remember the treasures that hid beneath the cloth. She smiled softly, and crossed the room, snagging two glasses of champagne on the way.

She halted herself with an inhuman grace, her dress whirling around her at the sudden end of motion, her body a tornado of color for just a moment as she crept up behind Venus, bringing her lips close to her ear so that whatever words she spoke were theirs, and theirs alone. “I brought you a drink.”

Venus turned slowly, face alight with warmth and a twinkling of desire in those honey eyes that drank in the gorgeous goddess standing before her. The conversation she had been having with some “hot shot” mortal was long forgotten once she turned around, and the sound of a huff and heavy feet moving onwards made her chuckle, “Just what I needed, and the drink is a plus.” Venus’s voice was almost a whisper, the proximity of their bodies didn’t require a volume greater than that. The live classical music filling the room was a background meant to set the atmosphere but not demand the attention of the guests.

Venus claimed her drink gracefully and stole a quick peck from her dearest friend before she allowed space to fill them with a showy spin, the satin finished fabric twirling after her in a small sea of emerald green. The Emerald Dress had garner just the attention she was looking for as she entered the venue, paparazzi and reporters asking about her coming winter lines and asking for confirmations on various pieces of gossip buzzing around.

“Did you just arrive? I figured I’d be strutting into a room full of gods, and yet you are the first I’ve seen, the great and terrible host included.”

Since their first meeting years ago, Artemis had always thought that Venus wore the spotlight better. Her spin only cemented that theory in her head as Artemis watched the Victorious One twirl in elegant circles. There was a magnetism to Venus, a pull over others that impressed the moon goddess. She was incomparable, a beauty that knew no equal.

“Just a moment ago. If my brother’s coming tonight, I’m sure the rest of my family won’t be far off,” Artemis said, glancing at the entrance at the mention of Apollo. “Augustus is certainly in for an eventful evening,” Arty continued, a smirk spreading across her face as she looked back at Venus. “I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. Everything going on… it’s been busy.” She didn’t need to utter Hephaestus’ name to get her point across. His death had hung over the entire city in the past weeks, though the mortals still seemed to be hoping for their mayor’s heroic return.

Venus waved off the apology with an understanding grace, “I am not so insecure to demand your attention at every passing moment- not that I would protest such an arrangement.” A small laugh passed through her lips as she took a sip of her champagne, “but I understand, the news came as a shock to us all. I just hope you have been tending to yourself in light of all the things you’ve got going on.” There is only room for sincerity in her tone as a gentle hand grasps Artemis’. Venus felt nothing at the news of Hephaestus’ death, and felt nothing for the Greeks in general but she had found herself worrying over Artemis and how such a fate would affect her.

Despite her curiosities Venus withholds the questions she wants to ask, at least for the time being. Instead of searching for answers and prodding for information she settles on something more easily digested, “The guest list for this event is quite peculiar, I’d be interested in learning who threw this whole soiree together… and on such a short notice at that. All the gods, even some who we all believed were long gone, and only the most affluent of humans, I’m excited to see what comes of the night.”

Venus' words clued Artemis in to something peculiar; Jupiter was only playing the role of host. She could only guess as to what that meant, and she was anything but hasty. She tucked the thought away for later, and returned her attention to the only person in the room that could deserve it. “We haven’t had a good show in a while. I’m sure tonight will change that.”

The huntress took a sip of champagne, her eyes never leaving the woman before her. Venus was different from all the others. Dynamic and exciting and brilliant, she was the Mother of Rome, the woman who birthed a nation that had changed the world. She wasn’t prey to be hunted, but a fellow predator, to be respected, and admired. She was well aware of how complicated this would become, especially now that she’d placed so much trust in Poseidon’s will. Their families would likely be at each other’s throats before the night was through, and they’d yet to find Hephaestus’ body. If she was right, and they discovered that the Romans had been involved with his death, chaos was sure to ensue.

“You should come by, after all of this. Spend the night,” Arty said. The smile that followed was not so different from her brother’s radiant grin. Whatever chaos rained down on Seattle, she was certain her and Venus would slip their way through, somehow, someway.

Venus raised an eyebrow at the suggestion, letting her desire for such a thing to remain tempered behind a pleasant smile. The goddess of Love was not without her enjoyment of a bit of coyness, “Mm that is a thought..” she mused in a purr like drawl, the magnetism of her words drawing her own body closer to Artemis’ again, “I would quite like that.” her words drew on as she leaned into Artemis her own lips ghosting against her ear as she whispered conspiratorial words dipped in sultry honey, “Let us hope the secrets of our families coming to light don’t have us parting like the sea and sky have…” she pulled back slowly the light of a chandelier twinkling in her eyes, “or at least tonight not be the event for that. I’d much rather fall asleep to the sounds of our pleasure echoing in my mind than that of angered men and mothers.” Venus brought her flute to her lips and space found real estate between them again as her attention diverted from Artemis for a moment to cast around the room taking note of the gods and goddesses that had entered, especially of a man standing alone dressed in green. Oh fate, how sweet you are.

Her cheeks flushed red, a sight reserved for Venus. No one else could set her mind racing and her heart aflame. No one else could uncoil the knot she’d wound herself into. Artemis was a being of complexity, and no simple creature would satisfy her. So many words hung in her throat, begging to be released. If they were alone she would assure Venus that no one would come between them, not if the huntress could help it. She’d hold her close and remind her that the echoings of their pleasure need not cease. How cruel it was that they were born worlds apart, forced to cross so many lines to be together. Cruel as it may be, she’d cross every line if it led to Venus. Her hand, still pressed between Venus’ slender fingers, squeezed, firm and soft all at once. A grasp that said, ‘I’m never letting go.’ “I’ll do my best to make you forget any mishaps,” Arty said, smirking. “Fair warning, if you’re hoping for a private conversation, stay away from the girls in white.” Artemis nodded over at Thalia and Zoe, but made no other expressions. Alerting Venus to her spies was foolish, risky, a lover’s mistake. Perhaps she was in love then. Or just a fool.

Venus couldn’t help the giggle that fell from her lips as Artemis made her aware of her spies, it was a sound purely of amusement and her tone when she spoke was filled with admiration, “How I could expect anything less from you is a fault of my own. I hope your family only shows their appreciation for you, you infinitely beautiful and brilliant woman.” Venus returns the squeeze, an echo of the sentiment Arty sent her first, but perhaps not as firm, or unwavering, or reliable as what shines in the radiance of the goddess holding onto her. Venus would much rather spend her night ignoring all else conspiring and gossiping with Artemis, but duty rings its bell as more people and gods arrive, she has celebrities and politicians to dress and gods to question.

“I’ll be finding you again later tonight, try not to be too rough on anyone.” Venus’ parting kiss was gentle but long enough to leave her desired effect before she completely pulled away and lost herself in the crowd with the Governor and her Husband in her line of sight.

Artemis bit her lip as Venus disappeared into the crowd, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. She knew why they had called her Venus the Victorious now. Even against the cold stone that she had erected, the Roman found a way. If Greece fell once more, would it matter, if Venus was by her side? That kiss made her think it would not.

In Seattle, once the sun went down, fear ran through the streets like rain through a gutter. Everywhere Timor walked, the smell enveloped him, invigorated him. Every breath he took brought the taste of it to his tongue. A woman across the street was unnerved by his smile, and a man in the nearby park was beginning to worry about what the gathering clouds might do to his tent. A child in an apartment he passed was watching a scary movie past his bedtime, and a young woman passing through an alley was clutching her keys between her knuckles, jumping at every shadow.

He shouldn’t be here, roaming the city, but he couldn’t help himself. A night surrounded by gods and rich, prattling mortals would not quench his thirst. The wealthy had fears, but none quite so sweet as those who’d been swept under society’s rug. And the gods? Well, fear ran off them the same as anyone else, perhaps better than some mortals. The deepest darkest secret of any god, is that they’re just as afraid as mortals. Timor’s hatred of the other pantheons stemmed less from a distaste for watching them squirm, and more so from a lack of patience for those divine beings who’d stood against Rome. Some were simply less worthy than others.

The apartment he shared with Metus was on the edge of the nicer parts of Seattle, where the haves were forced to look at the have-nots who’d been sacrificed in their scramble to the top. It was a nice place, surrounded by neighbors who’d describe the Salvius brothers as ‘good people’ and ‘hardworking boys.’ Timor let himself into a dark living room, and was greeted by a bolt of fur and a sudden series of loud, deep, barks.

“Crowley, sit.” Timor said, his voice monotone, yet commanding. In the dark, he could see the shape of a pit bull, face marked by a few old scars, plop down, tongue lolling out to say hello. He crouched down, bringing a hand up to pet Crowley, smiling softly as the dog lunged towards him in greeting.

After a moment with Crowley, Timor rose, and strode confidently through the darkened room to his own bedroom. Calloused fingers found purchase on a lightswitch and suddenly, the room was bathed in scarlet light, casting long shadows across the floor. Vintage horror movie posters covered the walls, and a desk across from his bed was cluttered with books, paperback spines intermixed with leather bound tomes. The tone of the room might’ve been off putting to most, but to Timor, it was comforting. The select few mortals who managed to find their way home with him often found it intriguing, though if they were spending the night with Timor, they were likely already intrigued by all that was strange and taboo.

His suit was hanging behind the door, freshly pressed this morning for the occasion. He might not have been looking forward to the event, but he’d been requested and that meant he’d be prepared. Crowley sat quietly on his bed while he changed and looked himself over in the mirror. He was gone as quickly as he’d come, a shadow in the night.

Flashy as his car might’ve been, Timor pulled out of his parking lot and onto the street with restraint. Power didn’t tempt him like it did others. The engine purred as he drove down the street, winding through the streets of Seattle. When he finally arrived at the venue, he parked his own car, and slipped in through the service entrance. Cameras held no allure for the god of fear, and he preferred to enter with a bit less conspicuity.

Italian leather slapped against white linoleum as Timor found his way to the ballroom, eyes quickly scanning for his fellow deities. He saw Baldr, watching the entrance, and Athena joining the fray. His mother stood off to the side, whispering in the ear of Greece’s huntress. He watched as they tried to hide their intimacy, but it was clear to see the dance they were doing. Mother, what are you doing?

Timor kept still though. Any judgements he had were not for him to speak. His mother knew what she was doing, even if he did not. Standing still, Timor found it easy to fade from view. Most mortals simply would prefer not to see him, and when he stood against the wall it was all too easy to overlook the pale, dark haired Salvius boy. On his right, two girls stood, dressed in white gowns, beautiful. They whispered before breaking apart, heading for opposite sides of the room. The same fear wafted off of them, ripe and bursting with flavor. Fear of discovery.

Strange. Like a cat, he moved from the wall, following one of the girls at a distance. Who had come along tonight? Spies in the ballroom? He couldn’t tail the both of them, but he could at least follow one. Every move she made tonight, the sentinel in the shadows would be watching. Nam bonum Roma

The garden behind the venue was well lit, and still devoid of most mortals. As the sun’s rays faded from view, Artemis gazed down at the city, from her vantage point behind a sculpted stone railing, and sighed. She had toiled after this wretched rock for centuries, and still, she was hardly any closer than when she’d begun. Could she truly be called the Mistress of the Hunt? Perhaps not…

The sun had set just moments ago, and already, it rose behind her, a singsong greeting piercing her thoughts. “You knoooow, if you missed me that much, you could’ve just come for a visit? You know where I live.”

Artemis turned and rolled her eyes, placing a pale hand against the fine fabric of his tux and shoving him back. “Personal space, Pollo,” she said, earning a chuckle from her twin. Despite her obvious annoyance, a smirk tugged at the corner of the huntress’ mouth. However much he vexed her, Apollo was one of the few people in this world that understood her, loathe as she might be to admit it. He didn’t need the ego boost.

Apollo, grinning, took a spot next to his sister, leaning against the railing. “Not quite so good as the ones I used to make, just saying.” This time, Artemis laughed. It was usually like this with them. If anyone could chisel away the stone that Artemis lived within, it was Pollo. “How are you Arty? No bullshit, please and thank you.”

Artemis sighed, looking everywhere until she was forced to meet Apollo’s eyes. “How do you think I am, oh great Oracle?” Her brother was many things, but he was not her keeper. If he’d guessed her thoughts, she’d have no choice but to go along with it, but she would not offer him her plans so willingly, as much as she wished she could. If Apollo ever found out what she truly wanted with the Colossus, he would place that chisel through her heart, of this she was certain.

“Low blow,” Apollo said, miming a wound to his heart with all the melodrama befitting a god of the arts. Artemis’ scoff was all the applause he required, and he quickly regained his composure, nudging his sister playfully. “I think, you’re tearing yourself up trying to find out who killed Hephaestus, because you can’t stand not having all the answers. Am I right?”

“It’s more than that Pollo, and you reducing it to something so trivial is foolish,” Arty replied, her mood quickly shifting. “Someone has a god killer, don’t you see why that might be something we should try and control? Ignoring it won’t make it go away.”

“Why do you think I want you to drop it!” Apollo hissed. Artemis might’ve seen the two as being on opposing sides, but Apollo never seemed to. Selfish as he could be, he wanted his sister safe. “You’re not invincible. Is it so hard to believe that I don’t want you to get hurt. Let Ares deal with this, you don’t need to be involved.”

“Oh, yes, because Ares ending up with a god killer is so much better!” Artemis threw her hands up in exasperation, a laugh brought on by the derangement of anger breaking through her lips.

Apollo’s retort was cut off by a muffled shout behind them, followed by the doors they’d come through shuddering. Concern replaced anger on both of their faces, and the two shared a look that said, ‘I’m not done, but this is much more troubling.’ In unison, the two tore open the doors, and Timor and Thalia came tumbling outside, Timor falling on top of the Maiden, hands clutching her wrists.

“Who sent you?” Timor hissed, only to be met by a swift kick to the side from Artemis.

“Get off of her, Dog. She’s mine,” Artemis said. Her words were thick with authority, a mother bear who’d caught a predator trying to make a meal out of her cubs. Timor grunted, growled, and stood to face her. He managed to take a step forward before Apollo spun him around.

“Hey, Sweeney Todd, this is not the place. Why don’t you go tell your daddy we say hello, okay?” Apollo said, smarmy as ever. Timor clenched and unclenched his fists, steely gaze boring into Apollo, surely imagining all the terrible things Metus would do to him if he asked. With a chilling grace, he brushed off his suit, and removed Apollo’s hands from his shoulders, before walking inside, gone like he’d never even been there. A shadow in the night
.
“Which one was that? Fear or Terror?” Apollo said, eyes trained on the doorway. The scene might be new, but this situation wasn’t all that strange. The twins had been quite the team in a fight. Having each other's backs was second nature.

“Fear. Timor. Mars and Venus’, and apparently he’s the nicer one.” Artemis said as she helped Thalia to her feet.

“Fucking Romans.”

Artemis focused now, on the girl in front of her. She was shaking, ever so slightly, but when Artemis brought a hand to her shoulder, Thalia pushed it away. “I’m fine, my lady. I can go back inside, if you want.”

“No. Go back to the car, Thalia. You’re done for the night.” Sympathy had left Artemis. She had a whole night left to get through, and Timor had already exposed one of her little birds. She didn’t have time to waste on Thalia’s ego.

“But-”

“Go. Now.”

Thalia didn’t hazard another word, and instead turned on her heel, slipping back into the ballroom, and presumably, back out to the limo in which she’d arrived. Once she was gone, Apollo turned to face Artemis, grinning despite the recent tension. “Gods, that was exciting! We never get to do fun shit like that anymore.”

Artemis rolled her eyes. If she kept speaking with Apollo, she was liable to lose them. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. That was a fucking mess.” She pursed her lips and crossed her arms, pacing back and forth. “If I’d known that Mars would’ve brought his hounds I’d have left the girls at home.”

“Oh look on the bright side, Arty. I think I agree with you now.”

Artemis chuckled at that. “I’m not surprised. You usually get there, eventually.”

It was Apollo’s turn to roll his eyes. “And they say I’m arrogant.”