“You are the God of the Underworld, not depression, try to look a little more imperious and a little less sullen.” The almost monotone drawl that briefly followed the tap-tap of heels on stone was as much of a greeting as Hades had come to expect from the woman who could largely be recognised as his second. “Is all that black really necessary?”

The Lord of the Dead turned from his own reflection, a mirror cast of black marble polished well beyond the means of mortal hands bearing his visage back at him. Hades was dressed in a manner which combined the styles of old and new. A finely tailored suit of black, with a shirt of a light blue left largely open beneath. Atop this a cloak set about his shoulders with a sash across the front, the great dark cloth lined with thread of the same blue as the shirt bore remarkable similarity to a funeral shroud of the past. As he finished his turn and his eyes set on Hecate he gave a snort of almost contemptible nature.

“You are one to talk, in that.”

The dramatic shirt, with puffed sleeves and popped collar, was the only hint of something not dark on the goddess. Over said shirt was a modified waistcoat, more of a belt given the yawning span of skin between either halves of both shirt and waistcoat. The outfit trailed into equally dark shorts, criss crossed in chains of silver bearing gemstones which hummed with faint power. A thin striped of laced tights covered the hint of upper thigh before the top of her outlandishly long and heeled boots began. Also black. “I believe the mortals called this ‘goth,’ besides, its cute when I do it, you're just being sad.” Hecate drew close with a further click of her heels, the goddess of magic stopping to make minor adjustments to the fall of Hades cloak, as if he couldn't do so himself, humming in thought before shrugging. “I suppose it will do.” She stepped away from him, before asking “Is [i]she[/i] coming?”

“No.” Hades couldn't entirely hide the sharpness from his tone, another abandoned promise from a soul he had once felt a connection, however trivial, with.

“You should not accept this of others, Hades. You are a God, one of ‘the’ gods, and occasionally i even think you might be a good man aside all that, and that is even rarer.”

The Lord of the Dead let out another, now openly contemptful, noise, before replying. “I am hard to be around, there are few who can tolerate the chill.”

“Perhaps not, but more importantly, you should not allow it.” Hecate stepped away, seemingly content with her work. The gemstones nestled among her chains began to glow, along with the eyes of the dark haired goddess, for a brief moment Hades’ vision blurred, and where once there was one face of the goddess there were now three, each speaking slightly out of time with the other, even if the words were the same. “Now let us be off, we are appropriately late already.”

“You enjoy yourself too much with these family reunions.”

“Your family, not mine.” The goddess of magic spoke with a wink, three of them to be precise, and then both divine begins vanished in a flash of pale corpselight.

[hr]

Even if that had not been the formal design, and few expected this was anything but, the manner of arrival to the celebrations required a certain amount of procession, a trail of gods and goddesses of varying power and influence, alongside their courts and encourages, proceeding into the celebration at a sedate pace. Some processions were more showy than others, some gods arrived with little more than those they intended to bring within the celebrations, others accompanied by whole retinues. The climb to the Palace was lined with mortals clamoring for a sight of the gods and their closest chosen, some with true reverence, others with simple curiosity.

Much of the jubilation and cheers seemed to quieten as the gods of the Underworld began to make their ascent. They did not travel with the pomp and circumstance of the other great divine factions, nor did they fully abandone the spectacle expected of them. The gods of Cythonia moved in step with each other, many grim in aspect if not in mood. Their lord, the Master of the Dead, lead the way, the outfit he had assembled accessorized with the pulsing aura of his power, and a pair of antlers raising from his divine brow, as dark in nature as the cut of his suit. Hecate beside him had returned to her more mortal tolerable number of faces, although he skin itself was a marble black, so deep as to draw the light in itself.

Eventually they sweapt into the party as a collective, before dispersing throughout the palatial gardens which houses the grand affair, motes of darkness among the bright clash of their divine colleagues.

“Say hello to Hera.” Hecate whispered sharply as she moved from his side, the goddess of magic no doubt having more entertaining souls to torment and chide this evening. In truth he was already moving that way, seeking out the hostess of the evening. They had a complicated bond, far more so than he had with his brothers even if not always so volatile. The reminded he would inevitably have to deal with Poseidon as well have him brief pause, before he laid eyes on the hostess and her treasured daughter.

“My Queen,” Hades dipped his head in a manner that was *almost* reverent. It may have sounded like the King of the Dead admiring some greater hierarchy, but in truth, she had never stopped being the Queen of the Gods. The divine did not separate from something as pedestrian as death, the issue was if that title meant anything beyond platitude. “And my darling niece, you take after their better halves.” Hades spoke with a rare, truthful, smile.