---

---

Lights streaked by, the city a blur as the breeze tussled her hair, the golden ringlets floating on the air from the open window and probably ruining any effort she had put into it to make it look presentable. A curl of a smirk fluttered on her glossy pink lips, the purr of the engine giving her a spark of joy as the car suddenly revved while she shifted gears, strappy heels flooring the acceleration without a care in the world. She glided over the streets like a skater on ice, not even the fear of being spotted to down her delighted mood as she knew luck was on her side. It was something she had never been without and she pitied those that didn’t have it in their lives. She understood sometimes a lack of luck is needed though, that the moment has to be right which is why she had tucked herself away from her pantheon. Timing is everything and it had not been time for them to begin to prosper or need the luck she could give earlier than this.

The murder of a god even one not of their own meant she was necessary. Her pantheon needed luck, even with all the skills and knowledge they possessed...they say there is nothing like a stroke of luck. If the odds are against you and no way out can be seen, then luck is what you hope for as the next solution. The goddess hoped that she could help tilt the scales in their favor a bit and that those of her pantheon would forgive her absence. Bun knew that it was slightly cruel to leave them wondering about if she was alive or lost as many others. Just a handful knew she still graced this world with her presence, the single one from her own pantheon being Mercury and that had been a simple coincidence. She had chalked it up to a Roman in need being close enough while needing her luck which instinctively caused a tug to bring her there even if she thought it was of her own desire. It was another reason she drifted from them. Chains and bonds were never something she could manage, at least not in the past. It’s probably why Jupiter had outgrown her when he was younger and why her heart hadn’t broken at their parting. She couldn’t find a reason to want to be held back from doing anything she desired. After all, the world is a stage and a stage is a world of entertainment.
If she wanted it, she worked to have it. When she was done, then she moved on.

Bun found life to be simple in that way or maybe she just hadn’t found the right challenge. No one to make her want to continue sticking around. Well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true...a few had potential in the drive to make her keep coming back but nothing she could count as solid yet. She was interested to see just how those events would turn out but for now, she only had one event in mind. Tires screeched to a stop at the red carpet and a flood of flashing lights, the smell of burning rubber in her wake as she knew she had left a permanent mark of her existence on the pavement. She opened the door before anyone could step in to assist and stepped out with a toss of hair over her shoulder. She strutted around the hood of her baby, lightly grazing her finger tips over what some might find as obnoxious green but happened to be the best color that was ever created. A valet shuffled quickly to her aid but found himself fumbling to catch keys as Bun tossed them over her shoulder and into the air as she passed by. ”Thanks sweetie, I’ll be back by later. Oh, and I don’t mind if you have yourself a joy ride. Everyone should live a little, right?”, she said with a wave and a wink before making her way through.

It was a blessing in disguise that none of the reporters knew exactly who she was so she didn’t even get stopped on her red carpet arrival. The pictures were plenty and so would the rumors but she could care less about what they thought. If anything, the mortals finding out about her attending a charity event would be beneficial for her image and the company. Her heels clicked against the white floor, the gold fabric of her dress lightly dragging as she made her way inside and took in the arrangement and stylistic choices of the party. It was beautiful but nothing to what she could have done with it. It made her almost miss when she would throw wonderful banquets for the gods and use the cornucopia to its fullest potential instead of having to hide it. She snagged the last drink on a tray as it passed by, tossing it back as she made her way to the bar. Another waiter passed by conveniently for her to deposit the empty glass just as she needed it. She scanned the area as she entered, looking for anyone familiar and felt fairly disappointed for a split second before she finally stopped a familiar Celt by the bar. Bun made her way over, slipping up behind them while whispering in his ear, ”I really hope one of those glasses is for me, Aangy.”

♧⌞⌝⌟⌜⌞⌝⌟⌜⌞⌝⌟⌜⌞♧ ♧⌞⌝⌟⌜⌞⌝⌟⌜⌞⌝⌟⌜⌞♧ ♧⌞⌝⌟⌜⌞⌝⌟⌜⌞⌝⌟⌜⌞♧ ♧⌞⌝⌟⌜⌞⌝⌟⌜⌞⌝⌟⌜⌞♧

@KZOMBI3

---

Cu Chulainn

---

Connor listened to the purr of the engine as he spread through the streets of Seattle towards the ball that he had so kindly been invited to. Though if he was being honest he had no idea why he got invited in the first place. He wasn't some important figure in the mortal world if he was being honest with himself, just a simple detective and an MMA coach, nothing that would really spark the interest of the "elites" But hey a party was a party, and seeing the gods at each other's throat would always be worth having to were this stupid suit. At the thought, Conor pulled slightly at his own tie trying to give his throat some space allowing himself to breathe. He had to admit that he looked good in a suit but that didn't change the fact that he was never a fan.

He did wonder what gods would be in attendance tonight. He figured the Greeks and the Romans would be there in full force up to their usual nonsense. He knew his cousin was supposed to meet him there but that was as far as he knew about his pantheon. Now that he thought about it he wondered if his new partner was supposed to be there. His mind was pulled to the greek goddess known to the mortals as Agent Steele. "Well, what a better place to make a first impression than at a ball full of ego and alcohol," he thought happily to himself as he pulled to the front of the venue.

As he stepped through the threshold of the ballroom Conor held a mischievous grin on his face as his eyes scanned the room. The room was painfully white, which was a poor choice considering the list of guests that would be attending. As his eyes continued to roam the room his eyes settled on the bar off to the corner with none other than his very own cousin already starting off any good celebration right. Slowly making his way over to the bar he made sure to sidestep the various waiters and individuals already lost in their own stories and drinks to notice the Irishmen. As he reached the bar he threw an arm around his cousin pulling into a side hug as he laughed a bit. “Aye there you are.” Letting go of the man Connor took his seat next to him getting the bartender's attention for a drink. “So what's the plan col ceathrar?” He said with a devilish grin on his face as he brought the drink to his lips for the first of what was probably going to be many a drink for the night.

---

PLUTO

---

“Up and at 'em Kingsbury!”

A demanding voice abruptly pulled one sleeping roman from his stupor, before being followed by a loud series of bangs on the outside of the steel door. The noise reverberated through the room like bullets, stopping any chance of slipping back into unconsciousness. This rude awakening alerted him to the more familiar noises of the prison. The opening of doors like clockwork, guards barking orders, laughter mingled with shouting. For a man who had spent most of his life in the dreariness of the underworld, it had taken him a while to get used to the organised chaos. But now the customary cacophony was little more than soothing background noise. Unfortunately today there was a guard pushing back at him, stopping any further sleep, and the god was unable to help the hand that came down to rake lethargically over his face.

“Why the fuck are you waking me so early?” Pluto bit back, his voice little more than a languorous growl. Giving the guards lip normally was a guaranteed recipe for disaster. But he firstly, didn’t give a shit, and secondly, had known this particular guard for near on five years now. Steely blues moved to glance back at the slither of face he could see through the small opening in the door. LaVance was young but worth his salt, and had been the one to persuade Pluto that maybe, just maybe, beating the shit out of other inmates wasn’t in his best interest. He couldn’t help but feel a little pissed off at the guy for being so damn likeable. _{Fucking dickwad.}

“Pax, don’t test my patience today. My asshole of a toddler vomited on me this morning and I’ve already had to break up two fights.” The latino guard made a noise of disgust when he spoke of the former and it was clear that this was the more undesirable of said events. Pluto couldn’t help but let out a humorless laugh, eyes rolling at the idea. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise I was your personal therapist. Remind me again why I should care?” He knew he was pushing it but he was barely awake and testing the boundaries of mortals was something that he had always found endlessly amusing. Luckily LeVance didn’t seem to care, just letting out his own booming bark of a laugh in response.

“Therapist my ass. I don’t need someone else talking at me...wife does enough of that herself.” LeVance paused for a moment, still chuckling at his own substandard joke. “God, you really are such an asshole that you’ve forgotten what day it is?”

Hearing a snicker from the bunk above him, a well-aimed foot came up to kick the mattress where he knew the head of his cellmate would be comfortably situated. The asshole, otherwise known as Benny The Blowhard (it was a damn creative nickname that had a multitude of connotations), still had six years left to serve...so Pluto wasn’t entirely sure what he had to be so fucking happy about. Probably gotten his hands on some crack sticks again. “It’s tuesday. Fuckin’ Tuesday. Why the hell does it matter?” He muttered indifferently as he moved to prop himself up on his elbow, fingers raking through the dishevelled hair atop his head.

“Right you are.” LeVare replied with a small sigh as if he were contemplating whether dealing with the shit stains that were the inmates of King County, was really worth it. “Your times up bud. Unless you wanna volunteer for another twenty years in this shithole.”

“...So it is.” After a moment's silence the words slipped apathetically from the gods lips. A small part of him had assumed he wouldn’t get this far. The pressure of having to behave was heavy and one that the god would often rather fight against. But somehow, he’d done it. Sitting up, Pluto smoothly ducked his body so that his head didn’t hit against the wrought iron bars. A hand came up to rest against the cold metal, gaze roving over the cramped cell that he shared with the jumped-up thief above him. Five years in what barely could be classed as a broom closet. The one at max had been even more abysmal, though at least he’d been alone there.

“Damn, try to look more enthusiastic Kingsbury! Most guys are chomping at the bit to get outta here.” The steel door had slammed open at the guards words and LeVance curtly nodded at the God of Wealth. Pluto was well accustomed to this rigmarole. Standing up, he held out his wrists, allowing the cold bite of metal as it bit down against his skin. “I’m excited on the inside.” He countered dryly, although he was unable to help the smirk that pulled at the corner of his lips, revealing a hint of his true emotions.

As he was led out of the door the god, after a moment's thought, turned to glance back into the room. “Oi, Blowhard.” His voice cut through the air, causing the man the namesake belonged to to sling his gangly legs over the edge of his well-worn mattress. "I meant what I said.” This vague statement was simply met with a nod and content with this silent communication, Pluto responded with an equally stoic gesture before being led away from this life of slamming doors and ceaseless predictability.

After being strip-searched, given his clothes, and made to complete a near endless amount of paperwork, they were finally done. The god found himself desperately craving a cigarette, only that sharp hit of nicotine being able to soothe him after such a drawn-out process of bullshit. Unfortunately murder was something that mortals didn’t take lightly and he’d had to answer an endless stream of questions, several of which he’d had to bite back a laugh as he blurted out bare faced lies. The correctional officer, this one was known as Sanderson, had triple checked everything before she’d finally gave him a content nod.

“Looks like we’re all done here.” She said as she handed him a folder of useless contact details for ‘support services’. “You behave now Kingsbury.” Sanderson quipped, gaze steely as she stared the god down, eyebrows raised in questioning disbelief. She obviously felt the same way as him - surprised that the billionaire had managed to keep his composure long enough to wait out his sentence.

“Don’t I always?” Pluto muttered with a crooked smile as he slipped a Bregeut timepiece onto his wrist. He’d offered it to the officer but apparently taking gifts from convicts, or former convicts as it would now be, wasn’t allowed. Her loss.

It was a strange feeling to be back in the same place he had been decades before, though he was unable to deny the familiar wash of freedom, one he had felt a thousand times more intensely when he'd finally been released from the hell that was the Underworld. It was by no means unwelcomed and without looking back, the god had strolled out of the prison, doors slamming behind him with an air of finality until he was greeted by the hustle & bustle of Downtown Seattle. _{He was out.}

The drizzle of the morning had just cleared away when Metus pulled the black Porsche into the visitor parking lot. Fear was ripe in the air that morning, almost wafting from the building a few hundred yards away, providing a warm welcome to Metus as he exited the suv. A deep inhale abated the growing hunger from the past uneventful week, had his uncle been needing a ride from anywhere else he probably would have said no.

“Do you remember what he looks like?” The question was asked without any serious interest in the answer but his listless eyes did turn their chilled gaze onto his better half (as per the consensus of everyone that knew the twins).

Timor met his brother's gaze with his own dark eyes, pale features expressionless as small drops of rain collected in his hair. “Dark hair. Strong chin. Decent fashion sense. Prison couldn’t have changed him that much,” Timor said with a noncommittal shrug. He was better at remembering the various visages of fear.

“You’d be both a terrible and wonderful witness with that description.” Metus’ response was flat and he turned his attention away from his brother. Intel gathering was a specialty of his, testing the human limits of loyalty against terror had become a favorite past time of his in this life among weaker creatures. He was good at his day job and even better at his night time hobbies.

Luckily, it wasn’t necessary for him to comb through the many dark-haired and strong-chinned faces of his memory, because alone stood a man, outside the detention center, exuding a casual confidence. Wordlessly the tall man crossed the parking lot, eyes darkening as he drew closer to the building, “Accurate description.” There was a hint of smirk on his stoic features as they approached their long lost uncle.

Plutos hand reached towards his pocket, the male letting out a disgruntled ‘fuck’ when he realised that he, obviously, did not have any cigarettes on him. Hoping that the twins had decided to take up the problematic habit of smoking, he lifted his head to see one unnervingly impassive god strolling towards him. Though it had been a couple of decades, he recognised Metus instantly, an eyebrow cocking up in amusement at the bitter mix of terror and trepidation that radiated off him.

Having no interest in soppy greetings or emotional embraces — which had been part of the reason he’d asked the twins to pick him up in the first place — he simply offered his nephew a small nod before slipping his hands gently into the pockets of his black chinos. “Got a smoke?”

Metus offered Pluto a single raised eyebrow at the question, patting himself down as if to ask himself the same question. An infuriating silent type of sarcasm he had nailed down in the past few decades, when no such smokes announced their presence on his body he offered a palms up gesture of ‘oops’ before finally speaking.

“I prefer to take the edge off with something that’s easier to wash away, and smoking doesn’t quite attract the ladies like it did back in the day, old man.” As if he cared about any of that, but his ease of slipping into the casual tone and nonchalant mannerisms of a young, attractive 20-something male was the very thing that made him respected and feared amongst both the Police Department and the Mob.

“We can pick some up on the way, but no smoking in the Cayenne.”

Timor fixed his uncle with his trademark unnerving stare, and shrugged. “He likes his car,” he said, before hopping in shotgun.

“Well that’s a load of bullshit.” A deep and biting laugh escaped his lips at the idea that people didn’t smoke anymore. Pluto liked to assume that any decisions mortals made were generally stupid ones, and the notion that tobacco was now dangerous was little more than humorous to the immortal being.

Eyes narrowed at the thought that he would have to wait even longer until he could have a hit but he bit back any retorts that came to mind. “Fine, fine. I won’t smoke in your…” The romans voice trailed off as they made their way over to the Porsche, a hand lingering on the handle. It wasn’t exactly what he would’ve chosen but he supposed it’d have to do. “They all out of Spyder’s?” He said with a sardonic smile before begrudgingly taking his place in the back.

Metus cast his unreadable gaze to Pluto through the rear view mirror once he was behind the wheel. The Cayenne purred to life and the engine revved at the behest of its owner, “I’ll make a note to ask next time I’m in the factory.”

There was a silence that fell in the car, Metus wasn’t a fan of modern music, and much preferred the sound of Italian performance and bustle of the city to accompany on his drives. There were many corner stores and smoke shops on their way from the prison to Pluto’s opulent five-star hotel and three of them passed by with no signs of Metus slowing down.

“So, a crime of passion?” As much as Metus tried to remain neutral the idea of murdering someone in such a way seemed unpleasant and menial to him.

“Mm?” Plutos gaze had moved to glance out of the window, a frown knitting his eyebrows together at both the fact that it was forever fucking raining in this city and because Metus was clearly not stopping for smokes. Apparently the guy really did love his car...

It was because of this distraction that it took him a moment too long to acknowledge the question, his sharp blue eyes narrowing when he finally did. Yet this quickly faded and the god instead leant nonchalantly back in his seat, cupping his mouth to stifle a yawn.

“Not particularly.” Came his deadpan response. Pluto had absolutely no desire to share anything close to his true feelings with his fellow Romans, especially the ones so aptly labelled as fear and terror. “I just have a particular distaste for stalkers. Especially ones of the mortal persuasion.” He shrugged his shoulders. Pluto had never once regretted his decision and he wasn’t about to start now. “I’m sure you have some far more interesting stories anyway…” He quipped, arms reaching up to languidly stretch away some of the fatigue he still felt.

Metus shrugged his shoulders, the shred of interest he had in Pluto’s murder vanishing as the older god deflected the question, “Timor’s the writer, could probably tell you a great story.”

Fear turned around so that he could look at his uncle. Of course, he had stories galore, filled with details that only his brother and uncle could truly appreciate. “Hephaestus is dead.” Now was not the time though. Who knew what they were taking Pluto back to?

A light chuckle escaped Pluto's lips at the mention of the recently deceased Grecian god. “I heard about that.” He said with a small shake of his head. “Well, if anyone was going to get themselves murdered, it was always going to be a Greek. I’m surprised there’s so many of them still alive to be honest.” That particular pantheon really did have their own brand of stupidity that was unmatched by any of the others.

“I heard the conclave was a shitshow…as usual.” He added, feeling a thousand times grateful that he had been unable to attend. Those so called ‘meetings’ were usually something he avoided like the Black Plague…less he be subjected to the eternal follies and dramatics of the greeks. “Do you boys know what happened?”

“Not a clue. Metus answered followed by a small yawn, a final corner store appeared on the horizon and opulence just a few hundred feet behind it, “only Mars attends the conclaves and we weren’t invited to brunch. Ask your king when you see him.”

At the mention of his brother the mild amusement melted from Pluto’s expression, replaced instead by disgruntled irritation. Jupiter had once befitted that title but the Roman was now as much a King as he was Lord of the underworld. “If I knew any Kings I would.” He grumbled, disdain dripping heavily from every word.

A smirk played at Metus’ lips but he didn’t offer any further commentary on the matter. Instead his gaze was locked on the quickly approaching corner store, which any sane being would consider out of reach with his current speed and position in the furthest lane from the turn. But this was easy.

A screeching of rubber and blare of horns offered a symphony to the reckless move he made. The agile Porsche jerked across three lanes, the sudden turn catching the systems of the car off guard, and the rain from earlier aiding in the car’s loss of control. For the first time that morning Metus’ face cracked into something a bit wider than a smirk, it was an unnerving smile that was devoid of any joy and held only malice. The fearful reaction from the bystanders bubbled in his gut like a giddiness for something great that was coming.

That buildup ended in a flat climax after the car narrowly missed an elderly woman who had been crossing the entrance to the parking lot. An abrupt stop had all passengers in the car lurching forward, the eyes of mortals were filled with awestruck terror. To them it was a miracle not a car was wrecked and not a person was injured, to Metus it came with a practiced precision.

Turning around with his smile toned down into a grin he faced his uncle, “Almost forgot about the cigarettes. Great job practicing seatbelt safety, that could have gotten messy at the end.”

The roman clenched his jaw, hooded eyes moving to stare over at the driver's seat. An eyebrow raised at the self-satisfied smirk on Metus’ face. Damn the twins. He should’ve expected that they would be up to their usual tricks, which apparently included trying to scare the shit out of him. It had taken the god more by surprise by anything and he was annoyed at even that.

“You missed the old woman.” He pointed out as he opened the door, stepping out before Metus decided to try and write off his precious car again. Mortals, who seemed to have forgotten what they were doing, were gawking stupidly at the Porsche, muttered whispers passing between those who were standing in pairs or groups. The roman paid no mind to this however. Two decades had clearly done nothing to curb their dull mindset. “My hotels round the corner from here. I’ll walk the rest of the way.” Pluto offered no thanks as he strolled towards the store, hands tucked idly into his pockets.

Fucking twins.

The night of the ball...

The last few days had, admittedly, been a bit of a blur for the roman god. He'd ignored the pull of desire which urged him insistently in one direction, instead focusing on those simple pleasures that had been out of his reach for the last twenty years. A penthouse view hadn't done anything to improve the dreary sight that was Seattle but a bottle or two of a suitably aged Lagavulin had nearly done the trick.

Nearly but not quite.

Ignoring any and all calls that the hotel had informed him of, the god of wealth had been unable to resist the temptation to spend. He admittedly preferred acquiring money but spending it was a pleasure that he had been bereft of for nearly two decades. It was for this reason that Pluto arrived at the ball in a car that cost more than dozens of mortals would earn over several lifetimes. Sure it was a ridiculously indulgent purchase, and sure the money could've been spent more wisely elsewhere, but Pluto frankly didn't care.

Yet when the night of the ball came, Pluto did not pull the multi-million dollar car up infront of the reams of paparazzi, but instead chose to steer it down a decidedly dim and sparsely occupied side street. Biding his time by lighting up a cigarette and allowing the smoke to drift through an open window, a few minutes passed before an equally smartly dressed man approached the Bugatti. The roman offered him a small nod as he stepped out of the vehicle, tossing the man the keys before reaching into his wallet to pull out a couple of hundred dollar bills. "Make sure they don't scratch it." He muttered, dark eyes casting over the mortal before turning to glance up at the grand — if you could call it that — venue.

There was only one reason he would ever deign to attend a ball, particularly one held by his brother. Luckily he was confidently certain that said reason would definitely be in attendance so, after tossing the half-lit cigarette on the ground, he'd made his way round to a back door that was only being watched by one solitary security guard. No journalists hounded this entrance. No cameras and incessant questions. Only a guard who already seemed to know that Pluto was coming and who stepped aside to allow him to pass through the sturdy fire door.

Striding through hallways filled with overworked catering staff and a kitchen where hors d'oeuvre were being carefully assembled, he ignored the confused glances that were cast his way until finally he reached the ballroom. He was neither late nor early but the ball already seemed to be in full swing, pockets of mortals meandering about, some recognisable deities standing out amongst the gloom of mortality. Pluto cared little about any of this though.

Now...now it was time to find his reason.

---

Hades And Dio

---

No matter how many times throughout history he had been forced to wear a suit, Dio could never be comfortable in one. It could be how stuffy and formal it made him feel, or could be deep-seated issues with his identity compared to his father. Both perfectly reasonable reasons, or so thought the god of wine. Fiddling with his collar he sat in the passenger seat of a car that probably cost more than a year's worth of rent for his apartment. The city was mostly a blur to Dio as the vehicle sped downtown towards the charity event. The invite had been very surprising to DIo, but he had soon realized how amazing of an opportunity it was. For starters, it would hopefully let him meet up with some friends of his he had not seen in centuries. Dionysus would also be able to talk to Artemis about her investigation and ask if he could help. Finally, it was going to be so much fun. So many people who hated each other were going to be in an enclosed space with copious amounts of liquor. There probably hadn’t been an event like this since the parties with the French monarchy. Dio could only imagine the chaos that was going to happen.

“This is just funny isn’t it? The Romans hide for years then suddenly reappear and invite everyone to a party. Almost like they got lonely plotting the demise of everyone and missed us.”

Hades continued to look forward as the city passed by him at a fast pace as he pondered his son's statement. “It is indeed.” Hades said in his usual even calculating tone. “I find it odd that they would openly invite everyone like this considering.” Hades stopped for a moment to let it hang in the air. He didn't need to bring up his Nephew, it was clear what he meant. “I am more concerned about my brothers being there and the usual drama that follows our family.” Hades thought for a moment more on the idea of his brothers all being present in a confined area for an entire evening, with Alcohol. They weren't even in the same room for long and the conclave had gone to shit in a heartbeat he couldn't begin to think what an entire evening would bring. “Just watch yourself when we get there. I don't trust the imposters, the rest of our family, and most other gods to not make some scenes tonight.” Hades knew his son could handle himself and definitely didn't need him as a protector anymore, but this whole issue still made him feel uneasy.

“I plan to enjoy the spectacle rather than, be it. I’ll watch myself while I’m there.” Dio knew that his father didn’t like or trust the Romans, or really any of the other gods for that matter. While they were at the ball he would have to make sure to watch his tongue. Couldn’t let any of his father’s enemies know Hades’ plans. “I have a few people to talk to once I’m there, so I probably won’t see you until the end of it. Or maybe a few days from now depends on how drunk I get.”

------------

There was an easy silence in the car, not uncomfortable but rather nice, an easy calm before the storm that would inevitably hit the ball itself. That brief bit of silence was a nice feeling for Hades who had been so busy since the conclave it felt like the old days when his family once wagged war. That small time of peace, however, was quickly shattered as the car pulled into its place in front of the venue drawing the attention of plenty of photographers. “Well, it was nice while it lasted.” He said as he straightened his bow tie in the mirror. As he exited the car he put on a small smile just enough to please the swarm of mortals clambering for a photo of the wealthy man and his guest. “Always hated this part.” He said under his breath as he began to ascend the steps towards the ball itself doing his best to ignore the mortals and their rather loud and obnoxious questions.

Dio couldn’t help but grin as the cameras began to flash all around them. While he managed to slip through most of the crowd unnoticed, his father was not nearly as stealthy. Being a film student at the local college thankfully let him be inconspicuous amongst the mortals. Dio caught his father's eye from across the crowd of people and gave him a quick wave before entering the venue. Dio took a moment to scan the gleaming room that spread in front of him.

Dionysus immediately noticed many of the gods that had spread throughout the room before his arrival. Across the room, a few of the Romans had begun to gather around their “king”, though some still remained scattered amongst other guests. He hadn’t seen many of those faces for centuries, well at least not in person. His father could be described in many many words, but careless would never be one of them. Paranoid? Sure, but never careless. Ever since the fall, Hades has been preparing for war, and information is as valuable as Ambrosia.

Other than the Romans a few other pantheons had decent representation, though none of them were as organized. Of course, his Greek family had scattered like leaves in the wind, off to mingle and get wasted. While locating his Greek brethren he noticed a poor fool who happened to be getting wasted at the bar. After a second Dio recognized that poor fool as being his Uncle Poseidon. Dio was happy the sea god had resurfaced, no matter how unfortunate the timing was. He always preferred Poseidon over Zeus back in the day, especially since Posiedon wasn’t married to someone who had tried to kill Dio.

“I should go say something before the party is over. Doubt there will be much time for a calm discussion after this thing.”

As he passed the threshold, Hades was immediately struck by just how blindingly bright white the room really was. As Hades let his eyes adjust slightly he gazed over the room seeing the usual suspects of an event such as these. Various companies, groups, banks, and especially politicians all mingling, trading stories, and fake compliments. So was the way of mortals he supposed, and gods to be fair, to always use an opportunity to push themselves forward. Glancing up towards the balcony of the main ballroom Hades could see two figures standing across the many attendants with a seemingly angry look on their faces, though it would be overlooked had you not been aware or perspective enough. “Ah so there sits the king,” he said to himself with a heavy amount of sarcasm as he lifted a glass from the serving tray that just passed him. Just as he began to lift the glass to his lips he paused for a moment at the sight of two figures gracing the dance floor. Almost immediately he could recognize the two people dancing carefree on the otherwise empty floor. For all his ability to never show a sign of weakness or a shred of emotion Hades felt a slight smile pull on the edges of his lips. It was almost too nice of sight to look away from until he felt a pain of shame and grief in his chest forcing his eyes to look away from the dance floor.

---

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All the drugs in the world couldn’t compare to this high. It rushed through him like the unstoppable crackle of electricity, lighting his skin ablaze. His body felt as light as the clouds he had once floated above; when freedom was a gift he had clutched firmly in his hands and one he had valued only once it had been taken away. Yet, there had still been little, even as an Olympian, that could ever compare to this rush. The endless hours, the graft and toil, the risk and subsequent bounty. Had he known that cons would be so deliriously decadent, he would’ve started doing them centuries ago.

Short cons gave instant gratification but long cons were where he felt his true self. There were few things in this world that came close to the thrill of the game. The grecian adored mortal sins as much as the next man, but they still fell short to a god whose life had been spent ever testing the boundaries of others. He always required something more, something different. But as he strolled down the street, hands tucked in his pockets, shooting a cocky smile at everyone he passed, Hermes had to admit to himself that maybe there was one thing that could trump this feeling. Or perhaps one deity would be more accurate.

Finally reaching Cannabistro, the ever fleet of foot messenger god wasted no time before he was bounding up the stairs, taking two steps at a time as impatience pulled his body forwards. He couldn’t tell why he was so eager. Maybe it was just the desire to share his accomplishment or maybe it was something more. Hermes was never one to linger on these thoughts for too long though, instead focusing on immersing himself in the delicious feelings that arose from them.

Stopping at the front door, fingers came to press against his crisp white suit, smoothing down the wrinkles that had gathered. Anticipation pulled at Hermes’ lips, a small smile lighting up his already animated features. Nerves were a foreign feeling to him but the energy that rushed through him was probably as close as the herald ever came to such a thing, though he would be at a loss to explain it if he tried to. Raising a hand, his knuckles rapped firmly on the door, Hermes forcing himself to keep still as he waited for it to open.

Only the eager raps against his door could pull Jorm from his thoughts, gently pulling him from the stars he found himself in. This felt like years in the making, yet felt so natural like Hermes slotted himself right next to him. There was understanding in the puzzle piece analogy, but it never really fully came together outside of the bubble of experience he now found himself in. Hermes was there one second and then his the next and it brought him close to a searing sun without the scorch of heat against his skin. He wanted to bask in it.

But Hermes awaited him and the serpent sprang to his feet with all the giddiness trapped inside pistoning him forward. Wind swept him away, hair neatly pressed, eyes widened and his lips bit down upon as he pressed his hands against his suit and reached for the door to his apartment. First to light his vision was Hermes and Jormungandr drank in the glow that set upon Hermes’ shoulders. Lightning lit his eyes and coursed from Hermes’ skin to his until Jormungandr drank the sight of his newly found lover in.

”Oh… hey, wait a second,” Jormungandr’s brow pinched in question at the suit wrapped perfectly around Hermes’ lithe frame. The first thought was ‘damn’ followed quickly by a wandering mind so prone to daydreams of tangled arms lost in the desert of sheets, but that quickly faded to bewildered surprise. Jormungandr looked down to his own suit, perfectly matched to fit Hermes in some serendipitous display set by the universe that had ordained their meat. ”Well, uh, you’re always a present surprise, but this is certainly something else, Jormungandr said with a wry grin twisting his lips.

There left no chance for Hermes to respond in kind as Jormungandr immediately grasped the god’s hand and pulled him into the entryway. He pressed Hermes close to him, both arms coming to wrap around the messenger god’s waist as he leaned in close. ”Did you somehow arrange for this to happen, Noodle?” Jormungandr whispered as he touched his nose to Hermes’ cheek, ”Just to get me flustered, huh? Cause it’s working.”

Allowing himself to be pulled into Jormungandr's arms, Hermes pressed his body against his, relishing in the warmth that burned like a constant flame between them. The edge of his lips pulled into a small smirk at the norse gods words and feigning ignorance, he shook his head lightly. “Me? Do something like that? Of course not…” He trailed off, tongue dipping out to unconsciously wet his lips. “But tell me again about how you’re getting flustered.”

His hands came up to freely roam over Jorms chest, tracing over the fabric and taking note of the feel. The sight of his lover sent a new, entirely different thrum of energy speeding through his body and he had no qualms in openly admiring how damn perfect he looked in his attire. Of course, seeing him wrapped in naught but a bedsheet was what he would normally say he preferred, but this was equally, if not more, pleasurable.

“Maybe we should have a little bit of fun before the ball.” He muttered, lips moving to press against Jorms whilst his hands reached up to deftly undo the first two buttons of his shirt. Hermes was excited for the ball but he would gladly be unfashionably late, or even miss it completely, for the chance to spend another moment alone with him.

A hand reached to grasp at Hermes’ and Jormungandr used that moment to lace their fingers together. A chuckle rumbled his chest, reminiscent of the rolling waves of the oceans he toiled through or the muffled thunder of a storm broken by the surface of the water. ”None of that now,” Jormungandr spoke, pulling Hermes close again to let his lips slide soft against the Grecian’s, ”We’ve done enough of the sexy bit; it’s time I show you what I know of romance, now. I wanna make sure you end this night knowing full well how much I adore you, Hermy.”

His hands break a part to glide against the smooth fabric of Hermes’ suit until one reaches up to grasp at Hermes’ chin. Jormungandr tilts Hermes’ head up and allows himself to stare with the moon so clear in his own eyes, beheld by the man of his goddamned dreams. A sigh left him in a flitting breeze before he dipped low to capture Hermes’ lips in such soft, satin touches. ”I know you don’t mind being late, but I kinda wanna have fun at the ball tonight,” Jormungandr grinned, tilting his head to the side slightly as he once again pulled Hermes close to him. The title Hermes wore as conman and troublemaker excited Jormungandr and damned if he didn’t want a taste of what Hermes’ loved to do. It pumped an adrenaline into him that settled in his chest, bumping to the mixture of feelings the god in his arms drew out of him. ”Whaddya say? Wanna get into a little trouble, Herm?”

Any protests that Hermes may have had were swallowed down at the mention of mischief, eyebrows raising at this alluring prospect. “Always.” He grinned back, leaning in so that he could place a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth. “Are you sure you’re ready though? Sometimes people don’t like my games.” A hand reached up to idly play with the edge of the gods bowtie as he spoke, a glint of something unreadable playing in his eyes. It was true that tricksters weren’t always well received by both gods & mortals alike, and although this usually wouldn’t bother him, something deep down in his chest spoke up about fears of scaring Jorm off. The man was so honest, so good, and Hermes couldn’t see how he would enjoy such trickery.

A subtle shake of his head warded off these concerns though and he was back to donning his usual lopsided smile, making up his own mind before Jorm had a chance to respond. “Okay, we can play. But only if I get you to myself later...” He murmured pointedly, “And only if you tell me again about how much you adore me.” Hermes teased, bright blue pools locking onto Jorms own darker eyes, fingers moving to grasp the serpents in his own once more.

A soft expression played at the hard features that sculpted Jorm’s face at the sight of his trickster god’s own doubt. He felt Hermes reel away inside himself just slightly, at least from the odd look that swept the deity’s features. It tugged at something inside Jormungandr that growled below the sinew and bone of his chest. The grip he had against Hermes’ sides tightened and when he grasped at Jorm’s hands to twine their fingers like they were the very fabric of the space between them come together Jorm tugged him forward.

”Everything you do, everything you say, everything you are, Hermes, I adore,” Jormungandr leaned forward, forehead pressed to Hermes’ and their noses brushed together as the air swirled in the space between their lips, ”There’s nothing that could make me think otherwise. I want to be a part of your life and that includes the things you allow me to do with you. Your games, your job, your family. Whatever you desire me to take part in, I will. Likewise for you.”

Their hands fell apart so that Jorm could once again wrap his arms tight around Hermes’ waist and bring him in close. His grip felt tight, an assurance that Hermes would not fall from them, and Jormungandr let his breath mingle with Hermes’ as he pressed soft kiss after soft kiss to his lover’s lips. ”We’ll have the rest of the night, I promise.” He grinned, bringing a finger up to grasp at Hermes’ chin, though the smile dropped away to a hardened seriousness, ”I love every part of you, Hermes. I love the games you play and the trouble you make.”

The heralds chest moved in and out as he silently listened, basking in the light breaths and gentle kisses that were shared between words. Mentions of love and life stole the very air from within his lungs, in a way that only Jorm could. It gnawed at something inside, speaking to something that he thought was only possible for others but not him. His tongue was normally able to twist words to his desire, his command over language something he had always prized. To make someone hear what they wanted to hear, or think what he wanted them to think. But now he daren’t speak, for fear that his words would fall short compared to Jorms own sweet ones.

Instead, his hands came up to cup the gods face, pulling him down so that he could deliver a deep kiss. Lips pressed hard and desperately against his, and the god did not pull away until he was ready. “You are too good Jormungandr.” His words were breathy when he finally spoke. “Too good for someone like me.” A thumb rubbed against his cheek as he took another moment to relish in their closeness. He wanted all of what Jorm had said. Everything.

“Though if after tonight you still want me, you can have it all.” He said, smiling gently. Hermes had long kept parts of himself from the other gods but he wanted Jorm to know and see it all.

”I’m not too good for anyone, Hermes,” Jormungandr pressed another kiss to Hermes’, this time upon his forehead, ”We all deserve a little more than we allow ourselves to, I think. And, I dunno, but from my perspective up here, I think you deserve the world, Herm.” But with that, he allowed Hermes to guide him out without any fuss or protest.

If Hermes truly thought lesser of himself, then Jormungandr had a lot of work showing him otherwise. The world, Odin, the entire Norse pantheon, all told him what he couldn’t have with little words and lofty actions from the thrones they sat upon. Too long upon the earth had he spent thinking all he deserved were the depths of the ocean; not a soul he would let think of themselves in such a manner if Jormungandr could help it. That rang especially true for those closest to him: his brother, his nephews, his sister, his father, and since the day he and Hermes became friends and more than friends, him too.

Jormungandr wrapped a tight hand around Hermes’ own and led him down to the slightly beat up car he’d gotten. If Hermes’ had another idea, then he was very much welcome to speak up because it wouldn’t do well to roll up to a venue in such nice suits only to step out of a 2005 Honda Civic that could either be a dirty black or a dirty dark blue depending on the lighting. ”Please feel free to reveal that you brought a rented Rolls Royce just around the corner,” Jormungandr flashed a smirk down at Hermes, ”Though, anywhere I go with this noodle in my arms, I’m sure would make even the most run down car fancy.”

A cocky smile passed over the messenger gods face as he glanced at the Honda, eyes twinkling mischievously. “Well...” He started, pulling on Jorms hand to lead them a short ways down the street. “Rented is one way of putting it.” Letting their fingers untwine, the herald reached into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys and pointing them at a car that looked assuredly out of place amongst the dreary normality of the Seattle street. Borrowed was probably a more accurate way to describe how he had acquired this particular Aston Martin but even that was pushing at the limits of the truth.

Grinning excitedly at Jorm, any previous doubts that had marred his usually confident guise were swept away, now left by only an eagerness akin to a child who had just received a new toy. “She’s a beauty right? Purrs real deep too.” His voice was as smooth as the engine he described and the god gave Jorm a small wink before darting over to the drivers side. “Hop in.” He offered as he slid into his seat, nodding to the free space beside him.

Hermes really had little practical use for a car, having retained enough of his light and sure footedness to be able to get around quickly under his own steam. But he was unable to deny the thrill that came with driving something so powerful. It put his mind back to those cherished moments he had spent in the sky, darting from realm to realm with nothing but his own will to stop him. And when he’d seen this pretty gal, well...the temptation to take her for himself had been just too irresistible.

This had been quite a better surprise than the chariot that would slowly and unreliably tug them along. Jorm grinned, wondering at the exact measure to which Hermes’ took to get something of this magnitude into his own hands. Honestly, Jormungandr didn’t quite want to know or rather didn’t let himself ask despite the curiosity that tugged and pulled at him. It fascinated him to the lengths Hermes could soar to achieve these things that seemed so far from Jormungandr’s grasp—whether by legal means or no. As long as no one came away mortally injured, especially Hermes.

Jorm slid into the seat, leaning over immediately to press a kiss to Hermes’ lips barely able to contain the smile that stretched his own. ”You’re irresistible when you’re all giddy and excited, Herm,” he whispered, pressing another peck before leaning back into the plush seats of this rather fancy car. This didn’t quite suit him in the way that it did Hermes. He appreciated nice cars, but didn’t quite fancy one himself as they didn’t compare to what he already had around him. However, Jormungandr wouldn’t turn his nose at the offer to ride in one.

”What’re you waiting for? I’m surprised you’re able to resist slamming the pedal down and rushing to the ball,” Jormungandr laughed, quickly pushing the seatbelt into place. Though they couldn’t die, getting injured and the pain that followed really wasn’t something Jormungandr wanted to test at the moment. ”Go wild, Herm… just be careful of others,” Jorm made a gesture toward the road, smiling softly at the man next to him.

His hand had moved over to rest on Jorms thigh, which he gave a playful squeeze, fingers lingering a satisfactory moment too long. Even the simplest of touches were enough to send a burning heat rolling over his skin and the god forever had to pull himself back from moving into deeper territory. “Just making sure you’re tucked in tightly first.” He grinned, his smile giving a hint of the devilry that he always kept neatly simmering under the surface. Hermes had enough self-awareness to know how downright reckless he could be, particularly after a drink or two, but he had no plans on letting this particular god get hurt in any way.

“But if you really must insist…” Raising an eyebrow at Jorm, his hands moved to place the key in the ignition, the Aston emitting a satisfying purr as he turned it clockwise. He felt his heart quicken in excitement as if to match the beat of the engine before him. Little could compare to how fast he had once been but any speed, even that made by mortals, still sent a thrill rushing to his core.

In a flash, he had put the car in gear, purr turning into a biting growl, nimble tires spinning as the car shot down the street like a hunter after its prey. The twilight offered quieter roads and she flew round the corners, Hermes giving her no moment in which to slow her pursuit. When an open road laid itself out in front of them, he pushed her further, eyes moving over to Jorm playfully for the briefest of moments before flitting back to the whirr of lights and lines ahead. Cars were left behind in her wake, though none offered any protests, the sleek form of the Aston weaving in and out as seamlessly as a thread through the eye of a needle. There was no hesitation, no pause. Only an endlessly satisfying forward momentum which spoke to a part of him that few others understood.

The greek gods eyes were alight, excitement coursing through him, reviving that addictively intoxicating high. He could’ve continued on like this for hours but as quickly as they had set off...they had arrived. A feverish atmosphere of flashing cameras and eager shouts greeted them when Hermes pulled to a halt outside of the venue, fingers reaching over to reluctantly switch off the engine. Leaning closer to Jorm, a self-satisfied smile played at the edges of his lips as he gazed at his lover. “That was fun right?”

Speed had never fallen into Jormungandr’s jurisdiction; a being of grand size as he could span the entirety of the earth in but a few deep waves of his serpentine form. Therefore speed didn’t equate much to Jormungandr as it did to others, rather size and form influenced him. Which made the change from ringing the earth in his scales to a small speck of dust that is the human form all that disorienting. With that came the sudden shock of speed that sometimes hit him through a number of transportation, especially subways.

Yet, seeing the joy creep along Hermes’ face wiped away the dizzy spell that hit him, erupting into a deep yearning to see that look cross Hermes’ features an indefinite amount of times. He’d suddenly hoped that he himself would be the cause for such a look and in this case he felt he’d at least aided in it. What mattered was the fact that Jormungandr got to see it and cherish it close to his chest, filed away deep in precious memory banks.

His hand wisped over toward Hermes’ as they came to a stop. The quickness to which they’d arrived meant nothing compared to the steady slowing of time in his little moments watching Hermes envelope himself in joy and adrenaline. Jormungandr gripped the deity’s hand in his and squeezed hard and tight. ”That was exceptionally fun, Herm,” Jorm grinned, bringing the man’s hand to his lips as he kissed Hermes’ fingers, ”I could think of no better place than here with you.” Jormungandr tugged at him then, tilting his head toward the event with the round of flashing lights turning the night sky a stark white blaze.

For a moment Hermes didn’t want to go inside. Entering the ball would mean sharing Jorm with others and he selfishly felt a desire to keep him to himself. The buzz of life, the throng of people. All of it would normally draw him in like a moth to a flame. But he had recently found that such temptations mattered little when he was around Jorm, fading instead to the background of his desires. “Me neither.” He admitted as his gaze latched onto the serpents own soft brown eyes, hand moving to rub a thumb over his lips. The herald would have stayed like that for longer too...if not for the sudden sensation of being watched.

Turning his head, Hermes couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle as he became aware of the valet hovering awkwardly outside the Aston. The man was clearly trying, and failing, to avoid staring at the couple as they lingered for several moments too long. “Come on then.” He smiled, reluctantly shifting his body away from Jorms. “Let’s go show you off.” The messenger of the gods offered him a small wink as he opened the drivers side door, sliding out before handing the keys deftly to the valet.

Enraptured by a messenger god from an entirely different pantheon didn’t slot into a neat plan that Jorm would have imagined someone more organized would have. Yet, Jorm relished in the chaos of the life that surrounded him primarily because it had brought Hermes into his life among giving him a chance at freedom.

The irony in that statement alone should have made Jorm chuckle if he didn’t wholly believe it. He’d been tossed to the sea and left to wallow away in loneliness until the very end of time. He’d been destined to bring those end times, at least for his people he did. Knowing the inner workings of pantheon specific end-time prophecies and how they intersected with the world at large didn’t fall into Jorm’s varying talents. However, he supposed that didn’t matter when looking around him now his hand in Hermes’ walking through a throng of bustling reporters.

Now all that mattered was the man at his side and keeping them both free to do as they pleased. It filled Jorm with a welling, bubbling happiness that could only find a place in the bright smile he wore. He tightened his hand around Hermes’ own, smiled down at them as they entered into a den of possibilities.