“Goooooooooooood morning Seattle, Alex here, Riseing and Whineing, as always. Wonderful, beautiful, people can you guess what I’m here to whine about today? If you guessed, luncheons that start at ten am, then you, my friend, are a winner. I mean, let’s all say be real, that’s a brunch. Anytime before eleven is when you eat cereal, and omlettes, and perhaps, a well made breakfast sandwich, but a ham and cheese at ten in the morning? Now that, good souls, is absurd. Nevertheless, until I get dragged off to eat teeny tiny little sandwiches, I’ll be keeping you all listening to some, dare I say, groovy tunes.”

Apollo’s voice poured out of radios to eager listeners all across the city, but in his studio, only Artemis was listening. She scowled at the sound of him playing the fool. She’d long ago become immune to the charms of his oh so musical voice. When he had finally finished, and stepped out into the room, she’d finished four of the sleaziest magazines she’d ever read, in an effort to empty her mind before the approaching festival.

“Why do you insist on doing all this…nonsense?” Artemis asked, gesturing around the room.

“Same reason you insist on collecting girls like Hera collects enemies,” Apollo said, striding gracefully over to a minifridge, and pulling out a bottle of sparkling water. “It’s fun.” he said, unscrewing the cap and taking a gulp.

Artemis scoffed and began walking towards the exit, unamused. Her arms were crossed in front of her, lest Apollo forget her mood. “You’d think two millenia would’ve been enough time for you to grow up. When are you going to realize there’s more important things than fun?”

“When the sun rises in the west, and sets in the east.” Apollo checked his reflection a final time, more so just to admire himself, before following after his sister. “Certainly couldn’t hurt you to have a little fun though. Y’know how I have so many friends?” A silence filled the air as they stepped out into the cold. “Comeon, ask me!”

Artemis sighed. “Let me guess. Idiots attract?”

Apollo laughed. “Close. It’s my winning smile.” Apollo grinned then, to prove his point, as Artemis rolled her eyes and ducked into the limousine that was waiting to drive them out of the city. Inside, a young woman, hardly older than the co-eds that often populated his and Hercules’ parties, waited in the driver's seat. Apollo flashed said smile in the rearview mirror, summoning a stern look from his sister.

“What did I say about the girls?” Artemis’ cold voice cut through the melody of his laugh.

“Look, but don’t touch?”

“I seem to recall the words I used were, ‘Don’t even think about it.’” Artemis signaled for the driver to begin the journey out to The Meridian, the country club that Hera had secured for this year’s Festival.

Apollo, ever the optimist, kept smiling. “Well, I wouldn’t, if you stopped bringing the pretty ones around.” Artemis shook her head, unsurprised. This was how it always was with them, the sun and the moon. Their bickering sustained them as the limousine wound its way towards the edge of the city, the driver silent in the presence of these two fallen gods.

They arrived with their usual splendor. That is to say, Artemis stepped out, looking the part she meant to play. She would never be accused of being underdressed. Apollo, on the other hand, was another matter. As long as Hera had been arranging these get togethers, he’d been ignoring the dress code. He was more than happy to mar her aesthetic with an old jacket, jeans, and a pair of flip flops, like he meant to flip the Queen of the Gods the bird with his feet. Truly, it wasn’t that far out of the question.

They approached the entrance together. Artemis wore her trademark face of stone, harder than any statue any mortal had carved in her likeness, and Apollo wore his shining smile. Turning heads was never Artemis’ goal, but Apollo didn’t bawk at the attention. He beamed at more than one server, blessing them with just a moment of his gaze.

“I take it you’ll be able to find a ride home?” Artemis asked, scanning the assembled gods for the face of one particular Aesir.

“What, you don’t want to debrief afterwards? Rude.” Apollo was too busy looking for his own mark, but the assembled eyes were too plain. The ones he sought sparkled with madness, but none as exciting as those were waiting here. Yet.

“Your company is exhausting. Are you surprised?”

“Can’t say that I am. The women I meet do seem to sleep well.”

Artemis responded with one last indignant snort and shook her head as she strode into the crowd, leaving Apollo to his own devices. He shrugged, alone at last, and set out for one of the passing waiters. If he was going to enjoy this, he’d need champagne. Or a good lay. Possibly both.

With Hati and his companion gone, Persephone was the last person left in the parlor. She allowed herself a moment to indulge in curiosity; a little nosy habit perhaps, but it was always in good fun. It was the least she could do while Hati would use her café as a base of operations. Persephone had been far too busy to actually listen in on the conversation. The young lady barely gave anything away in her expression, and even Hati seemed to perk up for whatever reason, so it had to be good. Perhaps a jilted lover hunting down the one that made haste with all her valuable treasures?

When the table was cleared and chairs stacked, Persephone disappeared behind the counter to make two drinks. There was no need for her to get dressed again when she’d already done so in the morning, somehow managing not to spill even a single drop of coffee on the white lace covering her body. With nothing to do but to wait for the coffee to be made, she found her thoughts drifting again.

Persephone liked to avoid meeting Hera. The resentment the queen of the underworld held for the queen of the gods still too deep, burning like an open sore rubbed by a foxglove. Despite Persephone’s duties as the servant to the world tree, she often found the yearly pomp organized by Hera to be nothing more than a nuisance. Persephone’s worries ran worse than usual, her fingers tapping nervously against the solid countertop as anxieties started to pile up inside.

As Hades drove he let his thoughts wander to the gathering that was to take place today. Every year they were all forced to attend some family reunion at the request of Hera, who seemed desperate to remain relevant even after all this time. The gatherings usually stayed somewhat peaceful but knowing his family it was always just a matter of time before powder leg exploded in everyone's face. While he despised Hera and was at least apathetic to most of the other gods, It did always give an excuse for his wife and kids to be present together, so there was at least some solace in that.

Hades thoughts however shifted to happier ones as he arrived at his destination as a smile slowly crept in on his face. The small coffee shop his wife owned and ran sat byself tucked into the corner empty of its normal bustle of patrons. Hades smiled again as he saw Persephone standing behind the counter lost in her own thoughts. Hades out of the car in his normal suit attire that he had grown accustomed to wearing as he walked into the coffee shop.

“Excuse me miss, I'm terribly sorry but can I buy a set of flowers? I know you're closed right now but I really need to buy one for my wife.”

Almost immediately Persephone’s face, which had been screwed into a worried frown, relaxed. She couldn’t stop the smile forming on her face as she responded. “How can I say no when you ask like that?” She moved from behind the counter to reveal herself entirely. “She must be a lucky woman to have such a thoughtful husband like yourself.” Persephone said as she walked closer to greet Hades with a kiss.

“I am quite the catch, But I think I was the lucky one.” Hades said with a smirk as he bent down to kiss his wife. “Everything ok, love? You seemed a bit worried before I walked in.”

Persephone chuckled in agreement before letting out a sigh. “It’s Zagreus. I’m worried for him.” Persephone looked unsure of herself as she doubled back to retrieve the two to-go cups of coffee she’d made before. “It’s going to be his first time returning to god society and… I don’t know what to think- what he’ll think.”

Hades brought Persephone into a tight embrace trying his best to comfort her. “Everything will be ok. We’ll both be there to keep an eye on him if need be, but not even Hera is bold enough to try something with us all there.” Hades stepped back looking at Persephone's face giving her a reassuring smile. “Let’s just enjoy this lunch as best we can even if the old hag is there.” Hades finished as he laid out his hand offering to guide her to the car.

Persephone laughed, very pleased with the nickname he bestowed upon Hera. “Hag is one way to put it, but I’m certain Melinoë has other colourful nicknames for her.” Persephone took Hades’ offered hand, allowing him to guide her to his car and settling in for the ride. Truthfully, despite Hades' attempt at appeasing her, Persephone still felt the pang of worry for her children. The Festival of Life was always an event that troubled her each year, and it never seemed to grow less. She always wondered who wouldn't show up this time around as their group of divines grow thinner over time.

As they drove off toward the meeting place for their meeting Hades looked over to Persephone in the passenger seat. “So how was the store today? Any customers unhappy about you closing early?”

“Surprisingly, no. The regulars already know the drill by now. But Hati did turn up today with a client.” Persephone offered before humming in thought. “A new one this time, I’ve never seen the mortal before. I’m hedging my bets that it’s a jilted lover again. That was fun last time.”

“Well at least it should be entertaining for you to watch.” Hades turned his attention back to the road as he continued to drive farther from the large city towards the extravagant country club that was meant to host this large gathering. In truth Hades hated these sorts of gatherings. They reminded him far too much of the meetings of Mt. Olympus, which he hardly ever attended. Hades was a man who liked to be in control of a situation and hated being surprised by anything, especially his family.

Persephone hummed in agreement. The momentary distraction from her worries was welcomed, her mind drifting to the possible scandalous reasons the poor mortal could have to seek out a bounty hunter.

Luckily the Olympic Club was not a far journey from A New Leaf. When the car came to a halt, Persephone stepped out, ready to take her husband’s hand in hers again. She gave the valet a warm, charming smile as the young lad took Hades' car to the parking lot. She squeezed Hades' hand in hers, a pacifying gesture that Persephone had come to use to comfort herself in moments before the Festival. Even for a divine couple their relationship had been good, the support and love the two gods held for each other unusual for the Greek pantheon. That unity was their power, and Persephone was more than happy to show it off to the world. “Are you ready, my love?”

“Oh course my dear, let's give them a show shall we.” As they exited the car Hades took Persephone's hand bringing her close as he walked with her towards the main building, daring any soul to come close to them.

A cloud of grey, acrid smoke spooled out from the soft lips of the second Erote, the loneliest of them all. Anteros had quit smoking forty years ago, and yet, his habit returned for one day every year. He adored many things in this world: his grandmother, champagne, and the pleasant little stories mortals acted out before his eyes. He did not, however, adore the egos in the room below him.

This would be a day of sharp words, and the truth was, Anteros was tired. As he leaned over the second floor balcony, his shoulders sagged, heavy with what seemed to be the weight of the world. It was easy, in these times of gathered gods, to recognize his own loneliness. Loneliness, he supposed, was his curse. He was, after all, little more than a child’s teddy bear, only with thoughts and feelings and hopes and dreams.

“Anteros!” his grandmother’s scolding straightened his back, a smoking stick frozen on its journey back to his mouth. “You know my thoughts on smoking,” Hera said as she stepped onto the balcony.

Anteros smirked as he turned around to face her. “Always offer one to the hostess?” he said, fishing out a fresh cigarette and a light from his jacket pocket. She was much too regal to carry her own, it seemed.

The pair took simultaneous drags, and sat quietly for a moment as their smoke mingled together in the air above them. Hera broke it first.

“No sign of your father?” The question hung around for a moment, like the smoke that would no doubt hang off his suit.

Anteros sighed, diverting his attention to the sky and its myriad of blues and greys. “Not yet. Don’t know if he’ll have much to say anyways.” If this bothered the seemingly young man, it did not show. He had inherited his mother’s poker face.

“My son is many things, but a great speaker? Unfortunately, that has never been his strong suit. It is hereditary, I suppose.” Hera and Anteros shared a smile. “He never had my taste though, and we both know that, unlike your mother, I’ve never supported a losing side.”

Hera’s words eased the burden of his existence, at least for a moment. He understood all too well how the other Olympians felt about their queen, but to him, she had always been this way. Strong, scary even, but supportive, even at the worst of times. At this point, she felt more like family than his parents did.

“I should go make my appearance. Wouldn’t want the children left unsupervised,” Anteros said, crushing the butt of his cigarette against the stone railing he leaned against.

“If you see your sister, tell her I’d like to speak with her as well,” Hera said, waving lazily as Anteros stepped inside. He nodded, before shutting the balcony door, and stepping out of Hera’s private suite. He swapped his cigarettes for a phone. Once he had been a squire for his brother, then his mother, and now, his grandmother. Anteros was ever the dutiful servant.

To: Pot Head
Are you here yet? Grandma wants you and she still hates using a phone

Down the stairs, the growing chatter of the Festival grew louder, and it wasn’t long before his legs had carried him into the crowd, swimming amidst faces, some of which he hadn’t seen since the last gathering. Love both faint and intoxicating swirled around him, disorienting him for a moment. The feelings of gods and the mortals who served them were waves threatening to drag him under, but he had long ago perfected his backstroke. Breathing deeply, he maneuvered his way through the divine bodies. With no sign of his sister yet, he was looking for one deity in particular.

He found him watching, like he always was. Hati was observant, and he should be; he made a living off of it. Anteros sidled up to him, that man who seemed to watch everyone but him. He wore a smirk, despite the feelings inside him that threatened to go to war over the slightest provocation. “So, are you as excited for finger sandwiches as I am?”

For hours, under the veil of darkness and the half moon that was out with the other half hidden by clouds, the streets of the Belltown neighborhood of Seattle were filled with filth, the scum that attacked innocents. They attacked and robbed and assaulted anyone who came down the wrong corner. An old man on his way home from the late shift he was pulling at a mini-mart, a woman who was out for a walk after seemingly having a fight with her husband, and the boy who was no older than fifteen staying out late because there was a party by the pier.

They all were attacked by the same bunch of thugs. The same thugs that were causing havoc within Belltown. The same group of five that tried to shake down Johan Merkal for money under the guise of protection.For weeks they operated in this section of Seattle But tonight would be when they came face to face with the only justice that ever got things done in Belltown. Tonight they come face to face with the Blue Crusader.

“Johnny, this isn’t the shipment we talked about. It was supposed to be 90% pure, this is only 87% purity.”

A group of five men, all wearing variations of jeans, dark shirt, and leather jackets that were varying shades of browns and blacks, stood in front of three crates, the contents of which were unknown, but it was clear it was something illegal. They were all of Italian or Greek ethnicity, each having their own distinctive hairstyle. One had spiked hair, one with oiled hair and pulled black, another had a ponytail, while another had long hair but left it down. The last one, which the Crusader assumed was the leader, had short hair. It was a buzzcut and a scar on his left cheek that ran from the middle of the nose to the ear.

“What do you want me to do, Sal? Our guy got it wrong.”

“Our guy got it wrong? Sal looked at Johnny and slapped him with a crisp backhand. In the cold that would sting more and Johnny was sent to the ground. The force of that slap was enough to floor him.

“Sal what the hell!?” One of the goons said out of the sudden shock.

“We have enough problems. We need to make more money. That idiot from the dojo or whatever the hell it was, that money was going to help us. I don’t care how much he claimed he didn’t have. You don’t have a place named ‘Become Mighty’ if you weren’t loaded.”

The Crusader felt his temper boil. A storm brewing inside his blue eyes as he watched them from the top of a building, crouched and looking at all five of them. He observed them. The Crusader wore dark colored pants that appeared black but was a shade of blue that blended into the darkness. Over his dark-colored shirt was a blue cloak with a hood that hid his face from view. It was the perfect cover.

As he watched them go back and forth about whatever was in the crate, deep inside The Crusader, that storm started to explode out. Patience was never a skill that he mastered and he punched the roof of the building he was on with his steel gauntlets. The sound echoed through the empty, quiet pier and the five men, startled by the sudden noise, jumped and all went into panic mode.

“What was that?” Johnny asked, looking around.

“Probably just some kid being stupid,” one of the men asnwered. The one with the ponytail. He was lax. He would be first.

“Tito, you’re stupid. That wasn’t some kid. Look at what time it is. That was something else. That was--”

“Boo.” The Crusader was behind Johnny and before he had time to react, he grabbed Johnny’s jacket, yanking it to him and with his free hand, which on both hands he wore steel gauntlets, he punched Johnny int he back of the head, sending him forward. The other four scattered, leaving the unconscious body of that worried Johnny to crash into the crate.

In his hooded outfit, he glared at all four men…well, three. Sal wasn’t phased in the slightest, but the other three stood, their legs shaking. ALmost like how all of those they attacked trembled whenever this gang of thugs terrorized Belltown.

“What’s wrong? Ever seen a hooded figure before?” He laughed as he lunged for Ponytail Goon. He was frozen but that didn’t mean the Crusader was. A hard knee made contact with the goon’s stomach and he grabbed his wrist, flipping him over his bod, slamming him hard into the ground back first.

“What are you standing for? Get him!” Sal ordered the other two as he grabbed a piece of the broken wooden crate. The other two did the same thign.

With a smirk, Thor raised up his fists. As a brawl kicked off, Thor held his own. Dodging swing after swing, blocking when he could, and hitting one and two of the goons with solid left and right hooks, but eventually their number advantage showed. Sal had gotten a cheapshot into Thor as part of the makeshift weapon had found its way into his right shoulder, Thor had to react accordingly, but more importantly, he had to end it quickly.

And then he was on the ground and they were kicking him and swinging those wooden 2x4’s over and over and over across Thor’s back. All the while he was channeling lightning into his left fist. In time’s past, as in before the fall, whenever he was in Midgard, there were limiters put on his powers, but it never had taken him this long. Thirty seconds was all he needed to charge it fully, but thirty seconds was too long. He had to make due with the ten seconds.

A third of the power but it’ll have to be enough, he thought, hoping for the best as he exploded up into a vertical base.

His glowing fist raised high as the electrically-charged hand of his not only broke through the broken pieces of wooden crate that Sal and his two goons were holding and using to hit Thor repeatedly, but there was a shockwave from the connection and it sent all three of them flying in the opposite direction. Sal and one of his goons crashed into a building nearby and the other found himself slamming back first into a metal guard rail.

The God of Thunder let out a victorious yell, looking around him. All five of those thugs were down for the count. They probably had several broken or bruised bones and maybe had double the amount of minor injuries, but what was most important, what Thor had accomplished, they would no longer be a problem in his neighborhood.

“Job is almost done, but one more thing.” Thor endured the pain in his shoulder and walked to Sal, who was struggling to stand up. Kneeling down, he yanked at Sal’s shirt. Sal had a bunch of cuts along his face and was only able to look out of one eye. “I will only tell you this one time: stay out of Belltown. If I ever see you here or hear of you harassing anyone, asking for protection fees, or anything like that, what happened tonight is only a small taste of what’s to come.”

“Who the hell are you?”

Thor smiled, though didn’t allow the thug named Sal see his face. “Your worst nightmare.” As he said that, Thor punched Sal unconscious.




It wasn’t often that Thor felt sore all over his body. Typically, when he pulled the night shift as The Blue Crusader (the trendy nickname the media gave him), he was careful enough to where he didn’t injure himself too badly. As a weakened god, he could heal faster and endure immense amounts of physical pain, but taking a sharp piece of wood directly into the shoulder, no matter how much divine essence one had left in him since the fall, it was still going to hurt.

And boy did it ever. He didn’t see a doctor or go to an under-the-radar night nurse-type because he didn’t need to. The wound itself wasn’t deep, but to be safe, Thor cleaned it amd wrapped it up enough with some goss. It was sore and it hurt to move it too much, but it was the best he could do under such a short time. He had some painkillers left over from his last visit with a certain doctor. They might have been somewhat expired, but they were all he had.

And then when the time came to go to that luncheon that the Queen of the Greek Pantheon arranged came, though he was reluctant, Thor manned up. He showered, got dressed, and hopped into his pickup. The drive to the Olympic Club wasn’t a long distance, but when Thor made it to the club, he found himself an isolated seat. He was sore and didn’t feel like socializing if he could help it. He recognized a lot of the deities around and knew a few of them on a friendly basis and some not so much.

So his preferred spot was a table in the back. That’s where he planned on staying until it was physically required that he be someplace else.

_{21:37
Emergency Room}

"You're drilling a burr hole in the ER? Don't you need a neurosurgeon for that?"

Sekhmet watched the nurse toss the used syringe filled with numbing fluid to the ground, clattering against the messy tiles. Her hands were steady, eyes scanning between the kid's head and his vitals. The kid had been in an accident, fresh out of high school and straight into the gurney. Sekhmet could never understand the fascination with drunk driving, surely schools had programs cautioning against such stupid behaviour?

Evidently, Mr Everett missed that particular assembly. "It's an epidural bleed. The neuro department is ten minutes away and the patient has five if he's lucky. We gotta drain the bleed, now." Sekhmet took the drill in her hands. She gave a cursory glance around her, taking in the faces of the staff around her. With only two first-year residents and some nurses around her, Sekhmet was the only physician amongst them prepared to lead the surgery. As if to remind them of the lack of time they had to spare, the vitals machine started to scream.

"BP dropping! I need a nurse, damn it! Drilling now!" Sekhmet lined up the drill against the incision and began drilling. "Someone keep an eye on vitals!" The nurse whipped her head, watching the machine like a hawk. Exposing the dura mater was an easy task... on paper. In reality, it meant cautiously drilling through near 7mm of the skull to expose the line of flesh underneath that protected the precious brain. There was no chance to make a mistake here.

"He's herniating!"

"C'mon, almost there kid," Sekhmet muttered under her breath. She uttered promises of cursing the kid if he dared die on her tonight. Luckily for Mr Everett, it didn't have to come down to it.

"Got it!" Sekhmet pushed the drill towards the nearest body standing beside her as another physician took over the incision process. Within moments, fluid poured from the wound like a hole in a dam. The people around the patient sighed in relief, Sekhmet included, before stepping away to allow the neurosurgeon to come running and take her place.

Sekhmet took only a single breath before the ambulance crew called to say they were bringing an unwell eighty-year old from the local nursing home struggling to breathe. She rushed to meet the crew at the doors, white shoes squeaking against the ground in her haste.


_{08:22
Break Room}

It wasn't so surprising when Sekhmet found herself summoned into the director of the ER's office after performing surgery on the Everett kid. She anticipated it the moment one of the residents questioned her, a physician that appeared only a few years older than them. Dr Rory was equally impressed and mortified by such rash action. By the time Dr Rory finished admonishing her for being so rash, Sekhmet had a bigger headache leaving the meeting than the one she nursed going into it.

Perhaps it was a bad idea to accept a twelve-hour graveyard shift the night before an important gathering. She was certain that Shai was laughing from wherever the fuck he was hiding from the rest of her pantheon after the night she'd had. Suddenly having to deal with a wave of patients from a three-car pile-up on the I-5 just as she was able to sit down with the old eighty-year-old in the recovery room. Sekhmet had to hastily finish her handover to the nurse in the recovery ward before meeting with the emergency crew for the second time that night. With the ER understaffed as is, a wave as big as the crash was nearly enough to send the hospital into code green three hours into her shift.

With two hours to go before the luncheon, Sekhmet's shift at the hospital ended. Despite that, Sekhmet found herself drawn to the recovery ward on her way out. She checked on the kid, whose parents and boyfriend had come to be by his side. He was still yet to wake up, too sedated, but a glance at the nurse's notes revealed nothing troubling. The next room she checked on was the old nursing patient with UTI but instead met with the custodian preparing for the next patient to roll through.

She left the hospital, dumping her overnight bag into the backseat of her 1965 Ford Mustang before making the short journey home. There, she got herself ready for the luncheon with a nice steaming shower, the largest mug of coffee she could find and some left over lamb curry she found in the back of her fridge for breakfast. She made an attempt to dress well, even if her dress was more suitable for a night out clubbing than attending a fancy brunch. Was she trying to look good? Maybe. This was her first attendance after a near century of self enforced exile, the least she could do was attempt to make an effort.

By the time Sekhmet arrived at the country club, it was well past the time on the invites. The smell of her perfume had been replaced with the smell of cigarette, and as Sekhmet climbed out of her car she made sure to dust the ashes off. Inside was a group of gods and goddesses that Sekhmet wasn't the closest with, though her relationship with the goddess of madness was complicated at best. But then her eyes landed on a familiar blond and she decided his company would make do for now. Bringing two flutes of champagne balanced on top of a plate of stupidly tiny sandwiches with her, she placed one flute in front of the brooding Norse god. "I'm not sure who wants to be here less, you or Melinoë." When she got Thor's attention, she offered her plate of sandwiches, "Snack?"

Thor tried his best to not let the injuries he was currently experiencing thanks to a miscalculation earlier in the morning (way early) with one of those thugs. The wound was mostly healed, of course, but it still hurt to move too much. It's why he chose to isolate himself (for the most part) away from the other deities. It wasn't that he disliked any of them. There were definitely a few he had positive encounters with. Some were fun to be around, others only made him regret coming to the country club. He was just grateful that he didn't see his father anywhere. It wasn't that he would run away or find the closest exist if Odin was here, but it would make him feel even more uncomfortable and full of regrets than he already was going through at the moment.

In truth, he was here out of necessity and even he wouldn't try and bring down the wrath of the Queen of the Greek Pantheon. For all intents, Thor was respectful (or maybe it was just that he had heard the stories of her wrath and refused to let that happen to him).

As he found a comfortable position in the chair he had chosen to sit, which had given him a view of most of everyone that was enjoying the gathering, he just kept as still as he could. His right shoulder was loosely pressed against the cushion of the chair. Soreness and tenderness were on high alert and the painkillers weren't doing the job they were supposed to. Then again, Thor should have figured that. They were expired. One of these days he would need to get a new one...if he could. Maybe some drug dealer could get him a discount if the Crusader asked him politely.

The thought of that made Thor chuckle and the vibration of it made his shoulder sear with an uncomfortable pain. He grimaced, closing his eyes and when they opened, he saw a familiar face make her way to him.

"Is that--" Thor blinked a few times to make sure he wasn't seeing things, but his eyes weren't deceiving him. No lack of sleep or throbbing pain in his shoulder could deceive him.

As she made his way over to him, Thor was suddenly feeling better. The pain was still there, but the memories of the times that he and Sekhmet spent together (albeit a long time ago) brought a smile to his face that soon settled into a smaller version of itself, almost a half-smirk. Or maybe the smirk was because of how good she looked in that blue dress. She always did know how to make an entrance.

He noticed two things (aside from the Egyptian Goddess rocking the dress she wore): the plate of tiny ass sandwiches and a glass of champagne. Exactly what Thor needed. Alcohol to help numb the discomfort.

Shrugging his non-injured shoulder, Thor accepted the offer of the so-called snack. "Snack, huh?" He reached for one of the sandwiches that was barely able to fit between his large fingers. "I guess this counts on a technical level. Although, you look more like a smack in comparison." Thor just couldn't help himself. He kept a casual gaze on her as he ate one of the mini-wiches.

"I guess this counts on a technical level. Although, you look more like a snack in comparison."

Sekhmet's lips turned up, and her face lit up with amusement. Truth be told, even the Egyptian Goddess had been caught off guard with their 'situationship'. Sekhmet scarcely remained in contact with anyone she formerly considered her closest allies during her self-exile - with the exception of Macaria, her platonic other half. After the Vietnam War ended, Sekhmet began roaming the Earth once more, the pull of war only somewhat lessening.

’Only the dead have seen the end of war.’

During her restless travels, she had crossed paths with Thor. Sekhmet quickly warmed up to his stories, developing a fondness and respect for the Norse God. There was someone who could seek the glory of combat without the insatiable desire for blood, something Sekhmet had previously thought impossible. Perhaps she missed companionship, she had forced herself not to think about the mortal whose heart she broke (along with her own in the process) now long ago. Now finding a tentative friend in Thor, that boundary was blurred the moment Sekhmet pulled Thor into the threshold of her hotel room that one night long ago. In bed and as company, they found solace in one another.

“I agree, though I suppose it's too bad I'm not on the menu.” Their friendship had been based on witty banter, and the familiar comfort it brought Sekhmet was welcome.

”Yeah too bad,” The God of Thunder snickered, reaching for the glass of champagne closest to him, only wincing when he went too far but controlled most of his facial expression. As he took a small sip and lowered it from his lips, he said, “or maybe it’s a good thing. I doubt anyone here — present company excluded — would know what to do if you were on the menu.”

Sekhmet's smirk faltered as she noticed the wince. Sekhmet was a qualified doctor on top of being the Goddess of healing, which most people seemed to forget quickly (not really something she blamed people for). So who would notice someone in pain if she didn't? “Are you still doing the 'fighting the good fight' thing?" Sekhmet asked, trying to keep the conversation casual as she sipped champagne from her own glass. Sekhmet had learned of his nighttime pursuits as the Blue Crusader at some point during their nights together. In exchange for his efforts, Sekhmet volunteered her skills to heal Thor should he need it after a particularly trying night. They might have been a God, but neither of them were invincible.

Damn, Thor thought he was doing a better job at hiding it. He should’ve figured that someone who knew him and when he was trying to hide certain injuries so nobody around him gave him a second thought would catch onto it. “What gave it away?” He laughed, taking another sip of his champagne, silently admitting that he knew the answer to his own question. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You always did know how to spot my tells.”

And that was the truth. Very few people even knew when he was covering for his weakness and even fewer people knew certain mannerisms he had that was a dead giveaway. Only two people (not counting those in the Norse Pantheon) knew and one of them was sitting across from him. “But to answer your question, yes I’m still at it. Of course, I didn’t think I’d actually get hit hard enough for it to still hurt.” The shame he felt for allowing that thug to pierce his skin with that broken piece of a wooden crate still burned hot like the touch of a lightning bolt with the ground.

"I've had enough patients pretend to be well in order to get out of my care faster." Sekhmet remarked, not entirely a lie. Sekhmet was a fantastic doctor (not to toot her own horn), but her bedside manners could use some polishing.

Her gaze scoured his body for any signs of trauma. While Thor's face, and what she could see of his body, did not appear to be obviously bruised, his gesture before the wince indicated that his shoulder was the source of his pain. She couldn't very well ask Thor to strip in front of her, though the temptation to watch the reactions on people's faces was overwhelming.

’Something to spice up the festival.’

"You know you can always come to me, right?" She reminded him with a raised eyebrow. She would have made time for him; she always would for her friends. In an instant she stood up, leaving their tray of small sandwiches on the table. "Let's get some fresh air; you look like you need it."

“Yeah, I know.” In truth, Thor didn’t want to bother her or put her out. He had resigned to the fact that his injury wasn’t severe enough to visit his favorite night nurse, but it was really about not wanting to bother her because of an error of judgment on his part. Now he was suffering because of that. At her offer to step outside, Thor mentally shrugged (he wasn’t dumb enough to do that a second time, physically). He stood up, downing the rest of his champagne, which really he only had half the glass left, so it was an easy two-gulp action.

As they walked away from the table, Thor leaned close to her ear and whispered, “you know if you wanted me alone, you could have just said so.”

Sekhmet flashed him a cheeky smile. "And miss my chance to play doctor? Never." She returned the teasing by dragging him outside, where she hoped they would have some privacy. Sekhmet sighed in disappointment as the garden appeared to be set up for croquet, a game she found a little too boring. At least he would have a good view. There was a bench overlooking the garden, just far enough away from prying eyes but not so distant as to miss anything going on inside the Festival.

She gave him an expectant look as she led him to the bench, still smiling playfully. "You know the drill if you want my special."

“Right, the drill.”

Thor, of course, knew exactly what she meant. To follow “the drill”, as she so politely phrased it, Thor started to remove his jacket which was proving to be a lot more difficult than he would have liked. All of the slow motions he made with his good arm were sending surges of pain through his bad one, but he stomached it. Eventually, he got one sleeve out and could assist himself with the other. Small, slow, gentle jerks was what was needed to get the other sleeve off. Halfway through, he could tug at the bottom of the sleeve even faster. When the jacket was off, he pushed it off to the side and did the same with his shirt, but it wasn’t as difficult.

Looking at the good doctor, Thor smiled. “Maybe you should take a picture so you can stare longer…doctor.” He only teased of course. There were cuts and scrapes through his torso. Old bruises from a week ago that didn’t really hurt. The most damning thing was his right shoulder. He had patched it up the best he could with a clean cloth and some ointment he bought a couple days ago. “By the way, those pills you gave me last time aren’t doing their job. It still hurts like a bitch.”

Sekhmet stood there watching - not as if the sight was anything she hadn't seen before, but her concern was apparent in her face. Has it really been so long since they'd seen each other last? What more was he hiding? She clicked her tongue in displeasure, "Well since you’re taking your sweet time, I thought I’d might as well enjoy the view."

When he was ready, she approached him, lightly touching his shoulder at first. Her hand began to glow the moment she touched his skin. As Sekhmet got to work, there was a gentle hum and a pleasant warmth emitting from her palms. She had been so distracted by her healing that it took her a moment to realise what Thor said at the end, causing her mind to come to a screeching halt, "I gave you the medicines a long time ago! It's no surprise that shit doesn't work!"

When Sekhmet placed her palms on his shoulder, there was a sensation that felt so familiar. It was that kind of burning sensation when he cleaned the wound with alcohol to disinfect it. Then it subsided and the warmth that came after was a welcomed feeling. It was…cool and comforting, like Thor was surrounded in an aura of compassion and all he felt around his wound was..nothing. It had numbed or maybe the pain was already or on its way to being gone.

“It was all I had that might do the trick in the pinch I needed it for,” he retorted back with a stubborn huff that has become his trademark. “Not unless you can give me a refill?” He asked, half-smirking. He looked at her, feeling more warmth that extended far past her ability to heal. “Maybe I can make it worth your while…past whatever doctor obligations, I mean.” He let his hand slide to her leg, finger trickling along the bare thigh.

Sekhmet’s eyebrow quirked up in amusement, “Are you sure you can keep up with me for your refills? You remember what happened last time.” She challenged him playfully. When she felt that his wounds were closed and not as tender looking, she started to press down against his skin. Sekhmet masterfully pressed against his muscles, massaging some of the tension away.

“I wasn’t sure earlier, but…” His voice trailed off, his smirk widening, and the tension in his shoulder fading as Sekhmet pressed into it. He had firm muscles. That was something the God of Thunder prided himself in, but she had firm hands. They could be gentle and attentive, but Sekh was able to be the beast that could sometimes tame the wild storm. As he let out a groan, one that was approving of her touch, he locked eyes with her. “But I seem to be feeling better. Imagine that.” He would say as he would mirror her touching his muscles by massaging her thigh.

Sekhmet laughed heartily at the groan Thor let out, trying to mask the goosebumps that erupted along her skin in response to his touch by kneading Thor’s skin some more. “That didn’t take me long to get you to sing for me. You’ve still got so much tension left.”

“And so little time to do something about it.” It was disappointing. Thor, who justifiably was tense, also had missed this back and forth between he and his favorite of the Egyptian Pantheon. She brought out something in him that so few could and in a way that, if he was being completely honest with himself, made him enjoy life a little more.

Thor made it a habit of being something of a ladies man. He was charming and clearly Sehkmet was very receptive of his advances so much he could feel the slightest vibration in his hand that was caressing her bare thigh. Leaning forward some, he almost whispered in her ear, “Come by tonight. We can…release some of my tension.”

After a final experimental squeeze of her hands, Sekhmet began to slowly move away. Fortunately, the damage to Thor was minor, and healing some of his remaining scratches and bruises took little time or effort. She released a breathy laugh in response to his offer, “You’re so greedy,” She sighed exaggeratedly before continuing. “I suppose I could, it’s time you return the favour.” She teased him.

Sekhmet helped Thor dress up soon after - not that he needed the help, but she flashed a knowing smirk in his direction as she did so anyway. They made their return back inside, the festival having grown a little more lively since they left. Sekhmet took a cursory glance around the room, checking for Macaria when she found the familiar smug aura from across the room. Her hands clenched and she bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste iron on her tongue.

Sekhmet was certain that, by the end of the day, not even Thor could match her tension.

The goddess of youth rounded the corner onto the quiet main street, chest moving in labored breaths as she ground to a halt, and watched as her mode of transport swerved off into the distance. She’d missed the bus. The bus that only came twice a day. The bus that she’d checked the time for about a bajillion times. “Fuck…” She whispered before clamping a hand over her mouth as if to try stuff the word back in. Tossing a glance over her shoulder, Hebe's hand slipped away when she realized there was no-one around to hear her. She still couldn’t swear without feeling bad about it.

Her mother was going to murder her, or worse, decide she was completely incapable of even the most simple of tasks. Dissolving into her sorrow at being on the wrong side of Hera, Hebe strode the few short steps to the bus stop before sitting anxiously down on the not so comfortable wooden bench. Her hands moved to absentmindedly straighten out her dress, moving automatically as she had been trained to centuries ago atop Mount Olympus. It would never have done for her to look a mess afterall; though the goddess had always secretly thought that sounded like the exact definition of fun.

For a few minutes she sat, chewing down on her bottom lip, before a metaphorical light bulb popped up above her. “Maybe I can walk there!” She perked up, pulling her phone out of the small bag slung across her shoulder. “Hm, if I set off now, then I’ll get there at…3pm.” Only a few hours late. Probably a more appropriate time for a luncheon but a far cry from being on time. But she was a goddess, an immortal goddess…whose powers were entirely unhelpful. Giving an 80 year old a spring in his step seemed very useless now.

"No, stop being silly Hebe…” The greek deity mumbled, shaking off the anticipation that was rising up inside her. She just needed to channel Hermes or, or…one of Apollos cows? Maybe? “Though not with these…” She mumbled to herself, glancing down at the heels that were sitting rather uncomfortably beneath her feet. Slinging them off, Hebe held them in one hand as she began to walk, ignoring how dirty her soles were going to be by the end of this.

“Hebe, that you?” A voice came from across the bench, parked about three feet, the engine of a red 2018 Ford Mustang lightly purring.

Hercules wasn’t late by any means, so that’s why he took the long, scenic route to the Olympic Club but he was in no means in the best shape of his life. As per usual, especially on a weekend, Acropolis had yet another legendary rager that lasted well into the night. The Divine Protector didn’t remember everything, but he remembered there was a lot of alcohol, some unsavory party guests that may have challenged him to a fight, and some colorful pills or capsules. Last thing he remembered was trying to out-drink some mortals and he woke up in nothing but a pink g-string in the bathtub.

Again.

That will make the tenth time this month that he blacked out and woke up in a place that wasn’t his room or bed. No wonder he has an insane neck cramp that won’t budge. But the plus side of all of this? Taking the long way to relax as much as he can, especially since this luncheon that the worst God in all of the pantheons was hosting had the vibe of mandatory attendance, allowed him the unexpected reunion with one of his favorite people who wasn’t Dio, Apollo, or his ten-million followers.

Hebe, the one who always seemed to come back into his life when it was just right. “Oh it is you, isn’t it? What are you doing here?” He asked the Goddess of Youth.

"Me?" Hebe uttered in surprise as she spun around at the sudden mention of her name. A wave of relief washed over her at the dulcet tones of the oh so familiar voice and she tried to push down the smile that tugged at her lips. The rough gravel pavement was uncomfortable against her exposed soles but she barely noticed it, steps unconsciously treading lightly as she gradually made her closer to him. "Oh…I'm sorry, I was always told never to talk to strangers," She grinned as she approached the car, aware that Herc was one of the only people she felt confident enough to tease in such a way. "Even instagram famous ones."

Her eyes flitted to the back of the expensive looking Mustang, noting that he was alone. It would be too presumptuous just to ask for a lift though, what if he was picking someone else up? Plus it was kinda embarrassing. She was certain that most of the other gods would be making their entries in the most glamorous and elegant of fashions. Hebe had watched the Oscars before and she was certain this annual collection of deities was even more excessive than that.

"I...missed the bus." She eventually conceded, her happy expression faltering.

“Damn, that’s rough, buddy,” Hercules teased, letting a low chuckle out of his mouth. Their playful banter, no matter how childish it may have been at times, has always withstood the test of Father Time. “And still so long to the club.” He looked at his old friend, his blue eyes keeping a casual but still fixated glance on her. “If only you knew somebody with a fast car, who you know is good company, and generally can make you smile on a moment’s notice.” He made a thoughtful humming sound. “Maybe someone who is also pretty rich. Like a famous influencer. Know anyone like that, Hebe?”

The young goddess parodied a look of concentration, finger tapping softly against her lips. "That's a tough one but...nope! Never met Cameron Dallas." Bending down to slide her heels back onto her feet, Hebe laughed lightly at her friend. "Though you aren't half bad yourself...and I do have a bit of a soft spot for Mustangs."

Oh how he had missed her wit. Nobody was able to make Hercules laugh in the most genuine, authentic way like the Goddess of Youth. Maybe it was just her personality. In all the centuries that went by, nothing seemed as effortless than when he had a conversation with Hebe. Decades could go between ever being in the same area of each other and when they’d speak again or hang wherever they would, they’d pick up where they left off. That kind of connection with someone, with benefits or not, that couldn’t be faked.

She always brightened his day and as he laughed at her comments, he couldn’t help but think about the last time they were this close to each other when it was just them. “Is that so?” Hercules half-smirked as he reached over to the passenger side, opening the door. “Hop on your horse, m’lady!” In an effort to keep up the cheese that he was no doubt known for, Hercules tipped the nonexistent hat that would follow what he just said.

Hopping into the car, Hebe grinned at her fellow god. "Such a gentleman. What would I ever do without you?" She couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief before pausing to look out the window, watching as the city sped by in a blur of dappled lights and hazy faces. Eventually her gaze moved back over to him, eyes flitting to meet his.

“Probably still be stranded at the bus stop,” he teased as the engine of his mighty steed revved back to the road.

"Late night?" She chided gently, knowing him well enough to recognise the tell tale signs of the heros revelry. It wasn't immediately obvious, just a few subtleties that she could read from his face and body. "Not that I'm saying you look bad or anything! You definitely don't!" The greek quickly added, hands moving to uneasily play with the trim of her dress. "You look like...the opposite. The antithesis. The...the...you look good." She finally yielded, stopping her flustered stream before she dug herself an even deeper hole.

When Hebe pointed out the not-so-subtle lack of his usual youthful, glossy skin, at first he laughed it off with a shrug. “No more than usual. Weekends mean big parties at the crib,” he admitted.

That was the God’s-honest-truth. Weekend meant college kids and those who still had that youthful energy like the majority of the deities that inhabited Acropolis on a regular basis needed to let off a little steam. Hercules was in a constant state of hype. It took his toll on him the next morning and he always says he might regret it, but he always rose to the challenge the very next day. It wasn’t just the Divine Protector in him, but as Zeno Megalos, who livestreams just about every party at some point, he had a brand and image to uphold. He wasn’t like most phony influencers who posted themselves near expensive shit or rented them out or just…used fake backgrounds. The life his millions of followers see in his photos and his videos and reels and even some Tik Toks he makes, that’s his actual life.

“Why thank you, Hebs,” Herc said as they came to a stop at a red light. He could see the Olympic Club in the distance, but they were still about five or so driving minutes away. “Ya know, you don’t look that bad yourself, either. Ya always look good, but this dress is doing wonders for ya!” He grinned and felt his phone vibrate against the dash. Taking a moment to look at it real quick, feeling no guilt whatsoever since it was a red light.

From: Ghost Girl
interested for damn sure. I’ll meet you at the festival, yeh?

Oh, this was the best news ever! Or was it? Melinoe was Apollo’s ex, so that was a major complication. Bros before hoes, right? But they desperately needed an actual paying housemate. Nothing against Dio. Herc loved that guy to death and beyond. Whenever he was in town, they had the sickest parties, but he didn’t pay rent because he wasn’t in town long enough for it to be fair on the God of Wine.

To: Ghost Girl
Hellz-to-the-yeah! We’ll catch up and talk!

Herc set his phone down back on the dashboard and heard honks from behind him and saw that the light was green. “Oopsies!” He chuckled, looking at Hebe with a smile as he put the pedal to the metal. He wasn’t looking at the road as he glanced at her beautiful face and that beautiful golden hair that she was so famous for. It was a gaze that was impossible to miss and it prompted a small frown of confusion from its target, the ever naive Greek wondering, with a bit of mild alarm, what he was looking at.

"Oh! Do I have something on me?" Hebe began rubbing at her face indiscriminately, trying not to focus on the fact that he was still looking at her. It thankfully did nothing more than to enhance the flush that had already spread across her cheeks, though she carried on not knowing this. "Did i get it o-...watch out Herc!" She suddenly yelped in surprise as the car began to veer erratically to the right, a hand moving to tug on his shirt as the tyres drifted over to the curb at an increasingly fast rate.

bump-de-bump

Despite Hebe’s efforts and Herc’s acknowledgement that he definitely wasn’t paying attention to the road, which at this point in his life and how long he has been driving modern cars, he should know better. But it wasn’t every day that he had a smoking hot passenger riding with him. So how could he not be distracted? Still, this was completely on him As a result, the mustang crashed into the curb. A good thing, though, there weren’t any cars hit nor anyone on the sidewalk when his mustang went partially forward on it. There were honks to be sure and alarmed drivers who got startled by the sudden swerving, but nobody was hurt.

“Well that could have ended badly.” For all intents, Hercules remained an absolute GOAT in how he reacted to the almost accident he caused. “You okay, Hebs?”

"Yep." Hebe chirped as she peered out from between her fingers. "I think so...are you?" Yet as she turned to check over her friend, her eyes widened in a mix of surprise and horror. There was a not so insignificant tear at the bottom of his shirt where she'd grabbed on and apparently failed to let go. A shirt he'd probably picked out precisely for this event too.

"Oh no! oh no...I'm soooo sorry Herc. I can buy you a new one maybe or...well we can't really trade clothes. Though do you remember that time you wore that dress..?" She let out a small unwanted giggle at this memory, before shaking her head. "Sorry...sorry, ah I bet you wish you hadn't given me a lift now," She forced a small laugh, cursing her own silliness. Maybe one day she'd actually manage to not mess up in front of him. It had only been a couple of millenia without success afterall.

Oh, well that was indeed unfortunate. Hercules glanced at his shirt. There was a big rip at the bottom. It was very noticeable, but at the same time, he kind of liked the look. Hercules typically liked to look his best at events. Yes, typically he was one to make a big fuss about minor things about his fit, yet as he looked at how distraught Hebe was about the rip and knowing full well she was blaming herself for it, he decided to take the high road. “Don’t even sweat. I think it adds some character to the fit!” He grinned, giving her a reassuring couple of taps on the shoulders. Hercules didn’t know his own strength sometimes, so it was probably a tad harsher than it should have been. “Seriously don’t worry! Hakuna Matata and all that."

When he saw there was no more as much of a worry on her face, Hercules turned his attention back to the task at hand. His front bumper was slightly damaged. He could always go his car guy later for it. A few scratches or scrapes endured during a trying battle wasn’t going to stop his mighty steed. “Now let’s hurry. We have people to see!”

As they got back on the road and they came closer and closer to the Olympic Club, Hercules felt that familiar feeling of dread build up in his stomach. It twisted like the worst aching pain in that region he always got when the thought of being near Hera entered his mind. This was her Luncheon. It was her event and maybe part of the Divine Protector was dreading it because she never fucking liked him. Hell, him showing up with her daughter, yeah that was bound to ruffle her feathers.

And yet he smiled. Hercules smiled at that thought. Was that his inner-Zeus coming out? Did making Hera miserable or hate him even more give him some twisted form of delight. Yeah that’s not a good sign.

Taking all but a few moments to find a parking space that was near the entrance, Hercules shut off the car. He took in a deep breath, put on that brave face and turned to Hebe. “And we are finally here!”

---

As the pair entered the club, Hebe tried not to focus on anything aside from the sound of her friend's footsteps beside her. The noise of tinkling glasses and murmured chatter was becoming ever louder as they approached the main room, bringing with it a sense of unease. Lavish events were something she'd never felt entirely comfortable with but this one was even more trying for the young goddess. The festival of life was, well, sad for her, reminding the young goddess of a role she once had and that now was lost to her forever.

She let out a small sigh as she looked over towards Herc, amazed at his ability to still look entirely god-like, ripped shirt and all. And he didn't seem that fazed by any of this either…maybe she should try to take a leaf out of his book. No point in spending the whole time moping.

Conveniently, she spotted the form of one blonde norse god ahead of them, and an entirely more amusing thought entered her head. "Bets on who will start the first fight?"

“That’s a good question.” Looking around the room, Hercules wanted to see who all was here. He didn’t see certain people that he knew were firestarters (of sorts). Ares and his father, to be specific, weren’t around. Of course, Norse God of Thunder had a temper but, judging from how he chose the most isolated part of the club, Hercules had it in his mind that maybe he wouldn’t. Something about that golden thunder god seemed off. But Hercules wasn’t that reliable about his observations being accurate, so what did he know? “Honestly, I have no clue. None of the usual players who would throw the first punch were anywhere in sight or in a state where they might.” Like your mother. Truly, Hercules was just grateful that she was nowhere in sight. Maybe the crisis would be averted after all.

Crisis averted? That was simply wishful thinking.

Hera’s eyes found her daughter from across the room. If she had been a lesser woman, she might have let out a shout of rage, or smashed her glass against a table. Instead, she pursed her lips and abandoned her half empty champagne flute on a nearby table. She strode through the crowd with all the grace and authority she was known for, coming to a halt in front of the couple.

“Hercules,” Hera said, letting the name fall from her lips in poisonous droplets. Her eyes scanned him, focusing on the torn shirt. Of course he would show up looking a mess, what else could she expect? “How nice of you to arrive, with my daughter too.” Hera’s icy tone made it very clear that it was not nice at all. “Why don’t you run along now? Hebe is important to the day’s festivities, and she doesn’t need you distracting her.”

Annnnd there she went. Typical Hera the Bitch in full working form. Not even the years of mortality (or semi-mortality in their case) softened her sharp words. “I know, right? Ran into her on my way here. Guess I’m just lucky like that,” he remarked, choosing to ignore the blatant judgy expression on Hera’s face when he caught her eyes going up and down at his outfit. “I’m actually exhausted. So I’m not in the mood to run right now. And I’m honestly pretty comfy where I’m at.” With the sole intent to anger Hera even further, because yes he knew full well she wasn’t happy that her daughter showed up with him, he grabbed her hand, squeezing it tight enough to make it noticeable. He played it off as an ‘accident’, trying to be subtle about it.

Steam was practically rising off the elder goddess’ head, as her nails dug crescent shaped indents into her hand. Her smile twitched, but did not fall. “Darling, why don’t you show your friend how we handle responsibility in this family?” Hera trained her eyes on her daughter, coming down with the full weight of maternal expectation.

"Mother, I..." A mortifying blush had bloomed on the cupbearer's cheeks and despite her best efforts, it remained stubbornly in place. "He...it was just a lift...i missed the bus and y'know...the polar bears..." She rambled on, looking increasingly on the verge of tears. Why couldn't they get along? And why was he holding her hand? She knew he just wanted to be friends. Pulling her smaller hand from his, Hebe couldn't bring herself to look at him as she spoke. "Herc, I'm sorry. I should probably go..."

As her hand retracted from his and there was no resistance, Hercules found himself having a mixed reaction to it. It wasn’t that he blamed her or anything like that nor was he mad…Well, he was mad, but not at Hebe. He could never be mad at Hebe. He had disappointment on his face from Hebe listening to Hera and then when his eyes met Hera’s, it switched into that familiar hate he always felt for her. It stemmed from how since his birth she has always hated him and it was never his fault. She just never liked the fact that his father gave her name to his son. But that didn’t give her the right to be a bitch to him for no reason, let alone dictate what her daughter did (or on occasion who).

Looking at Hebe and ignoring Hera, Hercules shook his head. “No need to be. I’ll see you later. Gotta go find Apollo and maybe if he’s here, my father--” He made sure his eyes were looking Hera’s way when he mentioned his father. Did he know that would intentionally get under his skin? Maybe. “--it might be fun to catch up with him.” He said, giving Hebe a wave. He was, of course, lying, but Hera didn’t know that.

The Queen of the Gods flinched at the mention of her husband, narrowing her eyes as Hercules turned and walked away. “You should think harder about the company you keep,” Hera said, as she turned to face her daughter, and gently smoothed imaginary wrinkles from the shoulders of her dress.