[IC] 𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 {A God RP}

[Eidolon]

MARS
MARS

_{𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐀𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 » 𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲}

𝐬𝐢 𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐨𝐬 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐦 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐭,

𝐚 𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐩𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐚

---

Curtains forcing their will
against the wind,

Blue flooded a void room — white walls, wood floors. Polished and severe. And a man towered above to take the brunt of the light splayed against the obsidian of his suit. A deep, deep frown tugged the hairs of his lip down as they poured into the harsh cut of his jaw. His brows forced themselves deeper than the frown, creasing the lines of his forehead. Light barely trickled from the heavy curtains covering the window into Seattle's cityscape.

children sleep,
exchanging dreams with
seraphim. The city

He could hear their voices asking over the crackle of a phone: "Mars, be a dear," a puff of air in laughter, "or rather a goat, in this case."

How he willed contempt to his mind, yet it vanished into mere frustration like the cool mist skimming the waters of the ocean, sucked to the sea. "Why do I do this to myself?" Mars said. His hand dove for the power button until a few seconds turned bright lights to sleep and he pressed the laptop shut with one final click. Decades had past and yet neither sibling dared change their habits and perhaps he fell to that fault, as well. Perhaps he simply wasn't privy to his own change, yet the irony of a certain sibling lacking that kind of growth brought a smirk to Mars' lips and a sharp exhale from his nose.

Maybe he should blame the Morrigan. No, the only ones rightfully deserving of his ire were too busy flopping their cocks around and laughing into wine. His love for them was immeasurable.

So was his irritation.

drags itself awake on
subway straps; and

He'd suffer many things, often willingly, for his brothers and would suffer them again just for good measure. This, however, he'd have rather shoved down Jupiter's arrogant throat.

Mars paused in his musing as he turned to walk. His footstep fell with a light click against hardwood and his hand, coiled in a fist, pressed to his mouth. Well, if they wanted entertainment at his expense, he'd provide them with a show. A dull one. Hopefully, the Morrigan would be pleased at his spiteful compliance.

I, an alarm, awake as a
rumor of war
lie stretching into dawn,
unasked and unheeded.

---

"I don't need you to reschedule me, just push the reservation an hour," Mars spoke, turning into the bend of the road, "I've notified him already just pay the restaurant as much as it takes." Irritation still settled in Mars' brow, only further cemented by the ill timing of the Morrigan's conclave. He'd resigned to absence until his brothers came, once again, calling. If his eyes could hold fire they would, yet it was his own fault for accepting regardless of the circumstance. However, he wouldn't tarnish his reputation for reliability for anything.

Yet, reliable or not, Mars still trudged along at a plodding pace. With the car parked, he leaned back into his seat with his eyes on his mirror. One of his hands tugged at the knot of his tie with the other held the tip. He let his eyes wander to his passenger seat, eyeing the tag along who promptly let her tongue loll out with heavy panting breaths.

"Come now, enough of that, you lecherous beast," Mars said. He let his lips curl into a rare grin as he buried his hand in fur just beneath his partner in crime's collar. She barked in return, mouth splayed open as her head tilted upward to allow Mars access to scratch at her best spots. "Let's not keep them waiting, Virtus. Wouldn't want to disappoint, would we?" he called out to his companion and she barked yet again in reply as they both hopped out of the car.

It took all but a few minutes to find the location. Inconvenience would aptly describe the trek there, yet Mars was not wont to rush an event that would test the limits of his own patience. And once he stopped, shoe thudding against the tile floor, Mars parsed the muffled speak of a woman until her voice roared in desperate anger.

Mars' head turned downward, eyes catching Virtus', his sweet pup, as she tilted her own head at him. "I suppose that's our cue?" he asked, raising a brow to her. Virtus merely let her tongue slip out and her maw open in a pant. Mars gave a hum and pursed his lips before turning toward the door.

And just as he opened it the cacophonous voice of a mother scorned tore through the air. Mars paused, letting the door click shut beside him as Virtus sat at his feet and let her head tilt up toward him in a whine. He pressed a hand to her head and quietly sh'd the canine.

With his brow raised, Mars opened his mouth, intent on giving Hera her dues. Yet, his eyes faltered as they caught the look etched on her face. Pain. Regret. Anguish. Juno's face flashed for but a second and his brows furrowed as his lips curled downward.

Father of Rome. His blood ran through the veins of every Roman and yet he only sired them. Their birth was not his to carry and when they each died of battle, of old age, of disease, his mourning was not that of a mother who had carried and lost. Therefore, he did not know Hera's pain and he could never know. Mars was a man, after all, unknown to virtues and grief that a mother could feel.

Thus, he promptly shut his fucking mouth and let the mother mourn her son. He bowed his head to her, hands clasped and jaw tight.

When the others spoke up, Mars cleared his throat to announce his presence. "I would apologize for being late, but I'm clearly not sorry," he stated, turning his attention toward the Morrigan, "However, if what you say is true, would you care to enlighten us, Morrigan?"

Virtus stood as Mars approached the wise goddess, head tilted as he looked down at her. "That was quite a bombshell you dropped in a room full of divine gunpowder. I can feel the atoms buzzing," his gaze never faltered as he stared her down. He ripped it away for but a second to turn his attention toward Athena, "Tell me, Detective Steele. When one approaches a homicide case they first look for whatever evidence grants them leads, correct?"

He looked down at Virtus, smiling for a split second before looking at Morrigan again, "Don't tell me a goddess of wisdom as yourself would present such news without any kind of string to follow? Or were you just planning on letting Hera wallow in her grief while the rest of the Greeks boil over into a wanton rage? You know how volatile most of them are, do you not?" His eyes roamed their faces, hovering over Poseidon first though he looked to have lost all his bite before finally settling on Ares. Mars' face presented cold steel as he stared, lingering on the man before looking at the professor once again.

Mars, however, continued his gaze, watching the man's head spin and turn the news around every which way. A small smile broke his lips to which Virtus stood alert, her ears shooting up and her lips curling in a snarl. "And the gunpowder ignites," Mars said, just as Ares burst and the Roman turned his gaze toward Morrigan, "Would you like to give our friends any kind of lead to go on before they turn your conference room into a crime scene?"

That's when he turned to look at Ares, letting his eyes hold the man for a moment before turning to the Yoruban who, if Mars could put a bet on it, couldn't care less about the gun pointing at his godly head. "Shoot him. Do it. I'm sure he wouldn't mind," Mars said, hushing Virtus as she barked, "However, many of us do. So if you'd kindly stuff your declaration of war back in your knickers and let our lovely Professor divest some of the details she's been withholding, that would be wonderful." He looked at the Morrigan, "You are more than welcome to diffuse this unfortunate chain of events. I'm not so certain I'd rely on Zeus to withdraw a casus belli from an estranged son."

He let his gaze fall back onto the situation at hand, only taking a moment to watch Virtus lay against his feet. He muttered under his breath, "Hm, a white man bringing a gun to an American university. Can't say I'm shocked."

_{Interactions: @fledermaus, @legion02, @metanoia, @The Ghost Note;
Credit: Awaking in New York by Maya Angelou}

[pandapolio]

---

Dionysus

_{Seattle Univerity, Seattle}

God of Puncuality

---

Dionysus knew he should have skipped his morning class in favor of arriving on time to the conclave. When he left Casa de Acropolis at dawn while everyone else had been passed out drunk he was sure he would make it on time. All he had to do was leave class a few minutes early and cross the campus. No big deal, right? Of course, today just happened to be an exam day that he hadn’t prepared for. After struggling up till the last question, the young god had no time to spare as he walked across campus. He could have run, but of course, he couldn’t show up even more disheveled than he currently was. Half the gods that attend the Conclave believe they are at Paris fashion week sometimes. As he rounded a corner he saw a large and somewhat familiar man walk inside with his dog and felt a sense of relief.

“Okay, I can’t be too late if others are barely beating me here.”

With a weak smile, Dio jogged the last few steps and caught the door handle before it shut fully. He pulled it open about halfway before he froze at the sight inside. Ares had a gun drawn on one of the Yoruban gods that Dio was sure he had met a few times before. Near the center of the room, Hera was accusing Zeus of murdering her child, and the large man Dio had followed was asking about evidence. It took Dio only a few seconds to figure out what was happening and he let the door shut with a thud. Stepping to the side of the entrance he let himself slump onto the wall and slide onto the ground. Dio pulled his schoolbag in front of him and began to search through it halfheartedly. Eventually, he found what he was looking for and pulled a small flask from inside the bag.

For a minute Dio sat there looking off into the distance with a blank stare as he thought. He thought of the happy times he had shared with Hephaestus, as well as the few rough ones. Silently tears began to stream down his face and he could feel a familiar sensation in the back of his head. At first, a dull throbbing began to form before it evolved into something worse. Words began forming in hushed whispers that soon began to rise in volume. Before the voices could get any louder Dio opened up the flask and took a deep drink out of it. After the third or so swig the voices began to quiet down and once again turned into hushed whispers. Closing the flask Dionysus pulled his legs up into his chest and let his head hang. While he sat there if he listened closely he could still hear what those inside were saying. Out here he wouldn’t have to deal with the noise of the other gods and could mourn his cousin the only way he knew how.

[Boreas]

E R O S

_{Swinger's Club ⇀ Seattle University}

Mood: FFS

---

interactions: @smarty0114 @Legion020 mentions: @gothelk

The sun filtering in past the expensive silk drapes stirred the bodies curled up in various positions on the bed. The kiss of warmth along bared skin drew a rumbly half-sleep “mmm” from the turning man. The expensive black silk sheets tangling around his legs, running the length of his body and hardly covering his nakedness as he slowly sat up. The unusually bright rays of the October sun danced along his skin, leaving the reminiscent of teasing kisses along his chest.

Eros slipped along the length of the luxurious circle shaped bed, tripping only slightly from the sheets that fought against his freedom. Neither of the women in his bed stirred awake, the sight brought a small smirk to the god’s face but he was past the point of letting the reality of his existence stroke his ego. There were much higher feats to reach the edges of his ego, and bringing pleasure to mortals was not one of those things.

Eros basked in the sun, standing on his balcony in all of his glorious nakedness, eyes closed and looking ethereal in the golden lightning. The heart he thought he had lost all those years ago thrummed in his ears, and excitement coursed through his veins, today was special. Not because of the conclave, or the bad news sure to be spilled in the university hall, but because of the reunion that was before him. A shimmering, golden memory replayed in his head, a frequent scene of his dreams, but it had not been a creation of his fantasies, though it very much could have been.

The Knuckles of his fingers pressed again the skin on his hands as he squeezed them around the stone railing. The taste of the sun lingered on his lips as it slid behind the persistent clouds, he was pulled away from his internal yearning by the precarious stroking lazily along him, “Were you pretending to sleep to get a show of my ass?”

“My favorite part was when you almost fell out of bed.”

“Still have the energy to be a brat? I suppose we should fix that.”

The god of desire was coaxed away from nostalgia through the sounds of giggles and the sensation of euphoria. The showy sun distracting him only momentarily before being swept up in pleasure again.

---

Sometimes the being the god of Desire was more of a pain in the ass than one could imagine. Especially when nerves affected his control over his power. A simple hug goodbye turned into a passionate display of departure in one instance. In an attempt to avoid another time setback he tried the drop-and-run tactic but a brush of a hand against hand turned into a suspension test of his supercar.

Thirty minutes late and counting he was finally on his way to the conclave. The first Conclave he’d shown his face at in hundreds of years, and to face gods and goddesses he hadn’t seen in at least fifty. He’d prefer to stroll in pristine and without a hair out of place, but circumstance dictated his designer suit wrinkled from friction, his hair tousled unmistakably by lithe fingers, and if anyone had any guesses past that point the edge of a hiccup stuck out from under the collar of his shirt.

Thumbs beat against wrapped leather to the tune of Seattle’s up and coming pop Princess. A tale of nervousness for Eros that he couldn’t quite curb, even after centuries of living. Psyche had always tried and failed to silence the drummer’s soul coming out of him, he was “far too pretty” to be on the backline of the band, no his spot was up and front… but he just didn’t have the voice for it.

“You can’t be good at everything.” Eros murmured as he pulled the car into a parking spot. The usual ache in his chest drew a deep exhale out of his lungs. The stinging behind his eyes followed but it was all routine, the tears had long since ceased, he was supposed to be doing better, moving on, turning a new leaf and all that. But times like these when he needed a little more courage than what he owned that ache echoed a bit too loudly.

“And it turns out I am good at nothing, my love. You were the infallible one.” Eros turned his face towards the sky letting his eyes flutter close, just taking a moment for himself in the empty parking lot. The chilly breeze slipped through the sleeve of his expensive suit and when his eyes opened they landed on the fluttering wings of a butterfly moving ahead of him. Eros let out a small chuckle, taking in another deep breath and steeling himself for whatever shit show he was working on and thanking Psyche for always reminding him, “Forward, always.”

The hallway was empty leading to the hall, a foul smell wafting from the room. A man and dog entered before him, the door opening and shutting issues the war cry of a deranged banshee… haha jk it was the theatrics of Hera. The name made him shiver, and almost turn around but he kept going, he had already rescheduled appointments to be here, no turning back now.

Eros exhaled another breath as he opened the door, the scene that unfolded as he did so burned a fire in his eyes. The man that had taken everything from him stood, pointing a gun in the direction of another.

“Ares.” The single name was issued with a flurry of emotions, disappointment, disdain, sadness, and his eyes showed all as he couldn’t look away from his father for a moment. When he did he noticed the full room, a trio of sleeping gods, a small group of pissed off Egyptians, stragglers of small pantheons, and then his “family”. They all shared faces of horror and anger and sadness, Eros had missed the bomb the Morrigan dropped, but he didn't come here really to hear what she had to say. This was an excuse to show his face after a century of being gone.

Eros’ eyes finally locked onto the shining face of the man who would not exit his dreams. Even through the disgust and anger towards some gods in the room he was able to crack a seductive smirk and issued a wink before his face stoned over his thick arms crossing over his chest his gaze returning to his father, “All these years and you haven’t changed? Not even by a small measure? Pathetic.”

[Mixtape Ghost N]

---

G O D O F F I R E & L I G N T N I N G
G O D O F F I R E & L I G N T N I N G

^{Seattle University}

---

The Morrigan was quick to dodge questions and ignore Shango, which he believed was because she was probably hoping that Little Miss Athena handled the situation for her. Unfortunately, he didn't care enough to find his seat among the fellow Yoruban Gods and stood standing just if this was a waste of his time. At least he won't have to take the extra few seconds to get up before he storms out the door. However, the Conclave got very interesting... and worrying. Even the mighty God Shango was thrown off by the news!

“Hephaestus is dead and I don’t know who killed him.”

The Morrigan

"... What?"

Shango raised an eyebrow as he didn't think this was possible. How in the world did a God die? Everyone responded to this news in their ways... with Hera having a full-on meltdown and Athena and various others went to comfort her. Shango couldn't honestly blame them, this was some devastating news for a mother. The kind of news that Shango wouldn't want to hear in their position. Suddenly, his whole attitude towards the Morrigan changed as that cocky, above-it-all, demeanor completely vanished. Shango turned towards her as he had one question. Just one.

"... How?" Shango started as he took one step, "How did he die?"

However, somebody a very special reaction of their own. One that Shango thought was a bit... excessive. A table went flying forward as Shango just had to whip his head around to see Ares brandishing a pistol. A pistol that he turned towards Shango and the God of Fire and Lightning had to raise an eyebrow at the display. The Greek Gods and the Yorubans didn't get along, that much was obvious. However, their little God of War - Shango heard he was a hitman through the grapevine but didn't pay too much attention to it - was aiming a gun at him.

A gun.

Shango just had to roll his eyes.

"... You know that's not going to do anything," Shango just flatly said as he looked at the pistol. He turned around as he looked around at all thirty-plus Gods in this room and realized that they weren't doing anything. Well, Eros was at least trying to talk Ares down so that counted for something. He looked at the Greek Gods as he said,

"One of you," Shango commanded the Greeks with another roll of his eyes, "Please get your boy before I do something to him."

[smarty0114]

---

APOLLO

_{SEATTLE UNIVERSITY}

freaked out, kinda turned on and trying not get shot

---

The Conclave devolved into chaos faster than a frat party with a severely fucked girls to guys ratio. He had a moment, the briefest of silences, to mull over what this meant. One of their own was dead, murdered if this meeting was anything to go off. The Morrigan wouldn’t call this meeting if she suspected that his fellow Olympian had committed suicide by Colossus. The realization left a pit in his stomach, a fear that had been put to rest by numerous run-ins with death, awoken once again.

Quickly, he turned his head and met Artemis’ gaze. For once, she looked as surprised as him, and the meeting of their eyes was a conversation of its own, a communion between two beings that had always been intertwined. For all her secrets and plans, Artemis was scared, and Apollo recognized the look in her.

Per usual, Hera quickly found a way to make it all about her. He was rolling his eyes at her performance when she launched into her accusations, catching him off guard. He raised his hands in a show of innocence, but before he could open his mouth to defend himself, she’d moved on to Herc, and then to Zeus. A sigh of relief rushed past his lips as Athena stepped in, always the voice of reason. He was pretty sure this couldn’t have gone any worse.

And then Ares pulled out a gun.

“Tartarus’ balls, dude!” Apollo stepped back, graceful even when caught off guard. He looked up and saw Mars, and if he hadn’t been having the most chaotic morning of the last thirty years, he might have been surprised. Between Poseidon’s return however, and Hephaestus’ death, Apollo had started to roll with the punches. Honestly, at this point, how could anything get more confusing?

The Fates saw this challenge, and laughed.

The conference room door opened, and time slowed as Eros walked in. Confusion and desire came to blows inside his head and his breath hitched, trapped inside his chest. Memories flashed before his eyes, lust filled nights and twisted sheets, and as they did, he grinned, granting his face it’s famous radiance. Hephaestus was dead, but Eros was alive and well and winking at him.

He had half a mind to bolt, dragging Eros behind him. They had a century of lost time to make up, a century to catch up on, and if that wink meant anything, Apollo hadn’t been the only one thinking about their nights together. As sweet as that sounded though, he was here now, and he couldn’t exactly run out while his family was on the verge of civil war. Sure, that was just another Tuesday, but still. Responsibilities, and all that jazz Artemis liked to drone on about. He’d waited a hundred years, and as much as it pained him, he could wait just a little more.

Pushing visions of tangled forms and passionate whispers from his thoughts, Apollo met Eros’ wink with a smirk and a slight nod, before joining him in his attempt to defuse Ares. “Ares, come on. All that gun is gonna do is put us all in an uncomfortable position. You wanna kill Shango, the alleys he sleeps in are usually empty,” Apollo said. His words possessed a certain calmness, a lullaby almost. He glanced back at Artemis, silently requesting her assistance, but she remained seated, offering him only an uncaring shrug. Typical.

---

_{Mentions: @Legion02 @Icy Hot}

[smarty0114]

---

PAN

_{SYRINX HQ → PAN’S MANSION}

casually hating mortals, casually hating gods, dancing like a weirdo, intrigued

---

Pan looked down at the city of Seattle from his vantage point on the 60th floor of the Syrinx offices and shook his head. Once, this had been a forest, bountiful and overflowing with life. Now, it was a concrete abomination, granted, still overflowing with life, though it was the lowest form. Mortals, running amok, going about their days with a destructive sense of entitlement. They took and took and took, never thinking past the instant gratification of their basest desires.

“Mr. Oakley?,”

Perfect. There was one now.

“Mr… Salvius’ called and asked to reschedule your meeting for one thirty, at Altura. You didn’t have anything on your schedule, so I penciled him in.” The words belonged to Kelly Jackson, the new secretary. She was an unimpressive creature, petit and plain, another face that would wither away in the blink of an eye.

Peter Oakley spun around, a grin on his face. “Thank you, Kelly, that sounds wonderful. Are you having a good morning?” Kelly grinned, and then nodded. “That’s fucking perfect, Kelly!” Peter was effortlessly cool, comfortable in any situation. Eccentric, in a way that was entrancing. He had none of Pan’s misanthropy, and all of his confidence, a walk that said he was the most important person in any room. It was obvious from the way Kelly stood that she was unnerved by his duality, the way he could go from a tranquil river to a rushing rapid in no time at all. “Do me a favor and call downstairs, let Billy know to pull the car around.” Kelly nodded and slipped out of the office.

There was nothing particularly wrong with the girl, in fact, she was really quite sweet. They all were quite sweet, for a time. Some lasted longer than others, but at their core, humans did not create; they manipulated things, changed them, but true creation was beyond their inferior souls. They weaponized everything they’d been granted and that included their very beings. Could they be blamed though? Their role models hadn’t exactly been perfect.

Maybe that's why he’d skipped the Conclave. Of course, Peter Oakley had actual business to attend to, but that could always be moved around. Pan had made a very conscious choice to be absent today. A part of him blamed the others for their current predicament. If Zeus and Poseidon and Hera had kept their pride in check and their anger manageable, they might still be sipping nectar on Mount Olympus, and his forests might never have felt the anguish that now engulfs them.

If Pan had learned anything though, it was that blame could be passed along endlessly, never moving anything forward. Action is what drove the world forward, and years of inaction had led him to this precarious position. His meeting with Marcus Salvius was born from that desire for progress and change. If he kept going at it like a Greek, then he would be no better off than they were now.

---

Pan’s home was an impressive combination of the natural and industrial worlds. Most of the concrete exterior was covered by ivy and shrubbery, towering redwoods lined the edge of the land, and loomed over the home. Fine, sanded wood accented the mansion, little insertions of life to break up the rigidness of the concrete. The god of nature basked in the cold, Seattle air for a moment, inhaling the scent of the forest that surrounded his home, before stepping through the front door.

The interior was as eclectic as it’s owner, filled with art of various styles and cultures, a variety of small trees and plants lining the halls. The outside world had flooded in, nature’s energy pulsing throughout the house. Windows sat open, and the occasional bird flew in and out, sometimes perching on the sill and chirping a tune. The home was welcoming, but orderly and clean, almost like it was ready for an open house. In truth, Pan rarely lounged around his house. He came here to sleep, and shower, to eat. He didn’t allot time for leisure anymore, but if he did, he would have spent it outside, roaming.

Pan’s bedroom was the only spot in the house that showed signs of a resident. The bed was a mess of dark sheets, and the closet was slightly ajar, granting a peek at the many outfits that hung within. The far wall was filled with photos and sketches of his fellow gods, those he’d been able to find at least. Some of the photos were clearly older, developed in the time of dark rooms, and a few of the sketches had yellowed and torn with age. His fellow Greeks were all portrayed, in some form or another, as were a few deities from their rival pantheons.

The wall of faces served little purpose, other than to keep the faces of the gods fresh in his memory. Even in the days when he’d lacked his newfound focus, he’d found it prudent to stay aware of the gods and their whereabouts. You never know when one could be used for a helping hand, after all.

Smooth as still water, Pan clapped his hands together, and music began to pour out through the walls. Alone in his room, Pan began to change out of his suit, dancing while he did so. Music was still a luxury that he treasured, and dancing would always be the purest way to experience it. His movements weren’t especially flashy, but there was an energy of freedom that he exuded, a sense that this was his truest self.

By the time the song had finished, Pan was wearing a new outfit, one he felt was more fitting for a lunchtime meeting. The suits were more for Peter Oakley’s benefit than Pan’s. They lended him an air of formality that came in handy when dealing with arrogant men. He knew enough about Mars to understand that he was not prone to undue arrogance. His reaching out was proof enough that Pan had something that he wanted, and thus he had the upper hand. The real question was, what exactly did Mars want?

[Akayaofthemoon]

---

YASMIN

_{THE UNIVERSITY, SEATTLE}

_{Mood: Just the cherry bomb on top}

---

Hathor sat there, stunned on how this had all spiraled downhill so rapidly by just a few simple words but in all honesty, hadn’t she been expecting something to happen? This was still far from what she had pictured but this was just the cherry on the top of her day, the straw that broke the camel's back. Earlier, the puking incident had taken any desire to eat and flushed it down the toilet as she tried not to gag herself, feeling some pride that she had been able to accomplish not gagging or even appearing phased. The sounds alone were extremely unpleasant though. At least the few from her pantheon joining her had given her the boost of happiness she needed, glad to see them all and welcome them with the brightest of smiles as they sat with her and she returned their good mornings.

Flirting a bit had been a fun addition, though a bit unfortunate that The Morrigan has started the Conclave so suddenly and with absolutely no ease into the subject. She didn’t blame her for wanting to just get it over with but not knowing how the God actually died was upsetting. It meant that they also were no longer safe. It felt as though that fact had been thrown out the window though as blame and chaos decided to take its place, which is where they were at now. Words were being thrown about to think logically, to get more information but this wasn’t at a point where talking alone would be welcome as it was over emotional. Hathor took a deep breath, pulling herself from her stunned state while ignoring the yelling and flipped over tables.

She slowly and calmly stood from her seat, gracefully moving herself so that she stood before Ares and slid herself to be a shield in front of the other God that was being threatened. She grabbed Ares wrist to make sure it stayed pointed at her for the moment, not letting it stray in her firm grip. If anyone was to be shot here today then she was fine with it being her. ”I understand you are upset but shooting Gods who in fact could be innocent isn’t going to do any good. Right now, someone needs you a bit more don’t you think?”, she asked, her eyes drifting to Hera and her heart ached for the woman before her. She had never been able to stand seeing a mother upset or cry.

Hathor eyed Ares warily as she let him go, hoping he would choose not to shoot anyone as she assisted his mother. She took a few paces from him, letting the tingle of power through veins as she reached out to place a hand on Hera's shoulder. In an instant, she felt a flood of emotions fill her as she worked to numb and dull the pain Hera was currently feeling. All the rage, anguish, guilt, grief, and loss almost made her want to choke and easily had tears pouring down her face. She kept her hand firmly in place as she worked to pull the chair that had been flung with her foot, setting it back into place before gently guiding the woman to have a seat. If she had any doubts of Hera caring about her children before, it was pretty much gone now. She didn’t agree with how the woman handled things but feeling what she was going through now, taking it from her to she could be shielded from it made that clear as day she loved her children or at least the one that had passed.

Hathor gently rubbed Hera’s back in a soothing manner, taking as much negative emotions and pain as she could. It made her want to lash out at everyone and dug a drive to do anything to find this killer since she was feeling like she had lost her own child but she reigned herself in to focus on helping the woman who had originally housed these emotions. She knew the feelings would fade but it was still hard to grasp currently. She leaned down and hugged the other woman gently before whispering softly,_{”I am truly sorry for your loss. I promise whoever did this will not go unpunished but we cannot place blame and damage more relationships while we search. The feelings I have taken from you will return eventually, please be prepared for that.”}

With that being said, she pulled away and took a few steps back before giving Ares a strong look of disapproval before turning her attention to the group speaking clearly,”Now, why don’t we put the guns away, literally and metaphorically for five minutes and actually let The Morrigan speak. Just because she doesn’t know how doesn’t mean there isn’t clear information that could lead to answers, even pieces of the puzzle that one of us may have insights or thoughts on. It is not fair to place blame and nothing that happens here will change the fact that the unfortunate circumstance has occurred. There is no undoing what has been done but is this really how you wish to honor the dead’s memory. Would he wish to see this? Have some respect.”Hathor scolded, her fingers digging slightly into her palms as her hands held into tight fists. She could still feel tears flowing down her cheeks and each moment she was fighting not to yell, scream, cry out, and just break everything in sight. It felt much worse than miserable and all she wanted to do was have a seat again so that is exactly what she did. She moved back to her seat, shakily dropping into it and putting her head in her hands, trying to get a hold of herself. This was one of the more overwhelming feelings she had ever taken from another.

---

---

Speaks With: (Ares)@Legion02, (Hera) @smarty0114
Mentioned: N/A

[Danvers]

---

HEBE

_{SEATTLE UNIVERSITY - SOMEWHERE ON CAMPUS}

MOOD: DEEP BREATHS, DON'T CRY

---

The water cascaded over her back, warm and powerful. Normally the heat would be soothing and her muscles would rejoice in the feel as it washed her body clean of any impurities. Today though...today it was anything but calming. The torrent of water droplets sounded like thunder in her ears and the feel of it made her skin crawl. Unable to tolerate it any longer, she stepped out of its reach, hands running languidly across her face. After taking a deep breath, she rung her hair out absentmindedly before reaching to wrap a university branded towel around her body.

It hadn’t happened for a quite a while but Hebe sometimes still woke in a flurry of terror. Her fight or flight response activated, she would dart up from her bed, heart pounding almost painfully, a sheen of perspiration covering her body. Often it was too overwhelming and she wouldn’t be able to stop the flow of tears that cascaded down her cheeks. This time had been one of them and it had been bad. None of her usual tactics had worked...watching something funny, counting the different colours in her room, taking a hot shower. Nothing was helping today, and although she had stopped crying, she still felt that horrible panic deep in the middle of her chest.

Tears, now of frustration, pricked at the edges of her eyes. All she wanted to do was go back to sleep but she knew that wasn’t going to happen. Instead she padded over to her bed, clambering on top of the flower patterned duvet and moving a few of her mismatched cushions aside. Crossing her legs, she pulled a very adorable toy elephant towards herself. “You understand don’t you Stampy?” Hugging the well worn stuffed animal to her chest, she closed her eyes. It was going to be okay. It was. It was.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

She couldn't tell how much time had passed. That sometimes happened; she got lost in her thoughts, her mind instead finding solace in fond memories and eager dreams. Her hair felt semi dry though so she figured it must have been at least an hour. Blinking, and in a slight state of disorientation, Hebe looked around her room. The sun was peeping through her white curtains and through the slightly ajar window, she could hear the sounds of the now awakened campus. Everything was so calm & peaceful, a stark contrast to her own tumultuous state. Distractedly, she pulled at the fabric of the stuffed elephant she still had clutched in her hands, her deep brown eyes easily betraying the emotions that were going on behind them. God she was being stupid. A right stupid stupidhead. She also really needed to work on her insults.

“Stop being so silly Hebe. I mean Hailey...” She whispered the last part to herself, although her room mate was still fast asleep and would’ve heard none of her ramblings. Hebe figured it was lucky that she didn’t talk in her sleep or she probably would’ve spilled the beans to every person she’d ever bunked with. Not that the thought of telling them hadn't crossed her mind before. She genuinely loved mortals, especially those that she called friends, and having to keep such a big secret from them had always been difficult for her. Even him...she had especially wanted to tell him...

She was glad she hadn't.

Standing up, Hebe wandered over to her mirror. It was peppered with a mixture of stickers, photos and university memorabilia, but she was still able to see herself well enough in it. Frowning at her complexion, she gently padded at the blotchiness that was beginning to subside, a tell tale sign of her earlier distress. In the past she would’ve tried to cover it up but instead she smiled gently at a picture of her and a couple of close friends. Well as close as you really could get to a mortal. They’d just been to the beach and spent most of the day in fits of laughter. It had been great. And so would today! Yep, she refused to have her day ruined by a stupid panic attack.

“You can do it! You're a goddess of eternal youth, and er...some other stuff as well I guess.” After forcing herself to smile back at her reflection, she rushed over to her closet, haphazardly pulling out the desired pieces of clothing before she could change her mind. Dropping her towel messily to the floor, she promptly got changed before tying her long brunette locks into a high ponytail. Hebe felt her skin prick against the cold that forever permeated their room but she knew once she started running, she would be more than warm enough.

Grabbing her phone and ear buds, she darted into the hallway, making sure not to slam the door as she went. It was late morning so she passed a couple of familiar faces as she hopped down the stairs, offering them the best greeting she could muster. It was just a quick 'hi' or a wave of her hand but it was enough to placate them. Hebe hated having to pretend...it reminded her of the other gods, who were all so wrapped up in their twisty turvy games. Her nose scrunched at the sudden thought of them, her mind almost lingering across to dangerously pleasant memories, before she yanked herself back to reality.

No. She wouldn't think of them. And she wouldn't chastise herself. It was fine to act the part...if only until she felt herself once more. So instead of plunging into her mind, she closed the gap between herself and the heavy oak doors that blocked the way out, using the weight of her body to push one of them partly open.

The wind was brisk as Hebe stepped outside and she found herself hopping in place for a few seconds, trying to generate even a modicum of heat. “Sooooo cold...” She whined to herself, for a brief moment missing the coziness of her bed. Remembering that she should probably warm up, Hebe pulled her left leg into a quad stretch. She wobbled precariously for a few moments, somehow managing to keep her balance and not fall face first onto the ground. It was kind of ridiculous how many times that had actually happened to her...

Finished with her stretches, she pressed the randomise button on her favourite playlist, knowing she would love any of the songs that played. Tucking her phone into her sports bra (there was like a fifty percent chance it wouldn’t fall out), she took off running. Instantly her body and mind felt lighter, and she was glad that she’d forced herself outside.

Yep, today was going to be a good day.

[Legion02]

---

ARES

_{SEATTLE UNIVERSITY}

GOD OF WAR

---

As satisfying as shooting Shango would be, he knew it wouldn’t kill the god. Not that it would. A bullet to the brain would just be a way to incapacitate him. To buy some valuable time. It was all planned for. The hidden bureaucracy of murder – which Ares himself had created in Seattle – had already been filed, cleared and approved. Shango, or whatever his mortal identity was now, would vanish from the earth.

Ares remained mostly deaf to the supposed social commentary of his Roman counterpart. Mars was a failure, really. What was a god of war without weapons, without a fight? He was wrong on all points as well. It didn’t matter what The Morrigan knew or kept for herself. Before the day was done, Ares would know a lot more. There was nothing she could say that he wouldn’t know already by the end of the day. In truth, Ares thought Mars just talked too much. So Ares never answered Mars’ question either. This wasn’t a courtroom. The Yorubans had always hated the Greeks, as they had hated them. Though something deep inside Ares gnawed at him. Mars’ sudden appearance couldn’t have been coincidence. The impulsive side of Ares just wanted to point the gun at the CEO’s head and pull the trigger. Just to shut him up.

Words that did matter came from Eros. Eros… his son. Ice cold fingers gripped his heart. Why did he appear now? In all these years, why now!? The disappointment cut into him. Eros wasn’t wrong. Ares hadn’t changed half as much as he wanted to. But at the same time, he had changed more in those last five years than he had in the five centuries before those. Sadly, this wasn’t a situation he could just drop everything. Ares knew he was right in at least a small regard, even if Eros would never understand that.

Something Hathor wouldn’t understand as well as she grabbed Ares’ wrists suddenly. He wasn’t deaf to her words either. Slowly, steadily, he lowered the gun. Putting it back into the specially designed pocket of his winter coat. He quickly send a message on his phone. Grinding the gears moving outside to a halt again. He hated the fact that she was right. His mother needed him more now. Retribution could wait. Calmly, but with his back at The Morrigan, he walked up to his seated mother and put a firm hand on her shoulder. He was bad with words at times like these. He knew that, and he knew she did too. But that hand on her shoulder was more than a comforting gesture. It was a silent oath. He would find whoever killed his brother. There would be no trials. No jury. Not even a swift death. And as he held his hand on his mother, he looked Zeus straight in the eyes. Gauging his father. Would he be up for the task ahead of them? Had Zeus changed too much already that he would no longer want to enact vengeance? Or was Ares right for all those centuries now, and there was still a glimmer of the old Zeus below the façade?

_{Interacting with: Hera(@smarty0114) & Zeus(@beetlemoth)}

---

---

HEL

_{SEATTLE UNIVERSITY}

GODDESS OF HELHEIM

---

“Father.” Hel received Loki with a coldness she reserved only for him. Even as they hugged, she kept her distance in all ways. Counting down exactly three seconds before she broke the hug. Caring little if it felt literally frigid. If life hadn’t been cruel, she thought she would be able to love her father. But as it stood, his actions would bring about the end of the world. The end of her brothers… Maybe even the end of her. Even his mere presence was a threat. But that was not something Hel could show. So she had to resign to eternally measured politeness. The rest of the room was quickly devolving in a mess as the Greeks seemed to find a need to puke and curse at each other. Say what you will, but at least the Loki family was able to maintain its civil demeanor. Unlike many of Mount Olympus. Alas, when Hel broke the hug she turned around again to sit down. Not giving Loki a chance to string her along for a conversation. Not that she wanted to talk about her job, or the body she had found a few days ago, or the strange grave she only recently discovered, or the ghost she talked to in the hospital’s cellars, or the beautiful flower she had seen growing at night, or how she deeply missed Fenrir and wished she hadn’t been such a coward all those centuries ago, or how she could barely sleep… and when she slept she only had nightmares. No… she had nothing to talk about… nothing at all.

“Hephaestus is dead and I don’t know who killed him.”
  “Hephaestus is dead and I don’t know who killed him.”

That bombshell alone was enough to pull Hel from her own mind. A god… dead. It had been.. a century since that last happened. The disruption amongst the undead… of course. Puzzles fell in place within Hel’s mind. How could she not have recognized the pattern!? Another god… dead. Hel looked outside. Winter was coming. Would it be the winter? A shiver went through the goddess’ spine. Fear gripped her heart. She needed answers… ones she couldn’t get through traditional means. She would need to find other ways. New insights. For now though, she remained seated. Patiently waiting for The Morrigan to explain herself further. Ignoring the Greek commotion entirely. They weren’t important, nor were any of the new arrivals.

Though from the corner of her eyes she kept an eye on Loki. Making sure she’d see every grin, every smirk, ever move at the corner of his mouth. Any indication that he knew something more than everyone else. Hel knew her father well enough. He could be involved just for the fun of it. Or to see the Greeks and Romans finally clash.

_{Interacting with: Loki(@fledermaus)}

[KZOMBI3]

---

ℂ 𝕆 𝕄 𝕌 𝕊

_{sᴇᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀsɪᴛʏ​}

sᴛᴏᴄᴋ sᴛɪʟʟ, ᴡɪʟᴅ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛs

---

“Hephaestus is dead and I don’t know who killed him.”
  “Hephaestus is dead and I don’t know who killed him.”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The words were not lost on her as she sat in the back, amidst the acrid smells and seething remarks. Before the Morrigan had snapped the string of sanity within her, Comus was about to be on her merry way to mingle with great uncle Zeus and the rest of the party squad. Dare she say she was even a little envious of the attention Ben was showering her professor in. _{'She's not even her professor!'} she wanted to scream it aloud for all the room to hear and be just as annoyed with her as she was with witnessing the blatant flirting. _'However,' the though crosses between her ears as she thought back to last nights endeavors between the sheets at Casa de Acropolis and a wicked smirk pulled at her full lips.

That is, until those ten little words were spoken into existence and then played on repeat. Hephaestus was dead. Gone. One of them, one of the GODS. Dead. How? Who? When? The voices within her ranted and raged. Even with the howling whispers filling the space within her, time seemed to slow as Comus caught sight of her father slipping through the door. Out of breath and ragged, most likely from a run across campus - he did have a test today - tousled hair and wrinkled clothes, Dionysus had finally decided to grace the rest of them with his presence even if no one else seemed to notice.

Ares had already flipped a table and held a drawn gun towards Shango's face, something that she would have found a lot of glee in bearing witness to _{'Another time'} a small voice chimes in somewhere under all the screams within her head. While the rest of her family was either throwing out accusations, taking a nap, or just standing there looking like idiots they all failed to notice the young woman nothing new slip out of her seat; albeit not gracefully, but she never claimed to be, and slide into the space next to the god of parties slumped against the wall.

There wasn't anything within her arsenal of talents that could prepare her for comforting her father of all people. The person in her life that is supposed to be the one she goes to when shit like this happens. Instead she just sat there next to him. Eyes staring straight ahead, field of vision consisting of a lot of legs - both of the godly and chair variety. A few beats passed, and it looked like he was about to put away his flask of liqueur, letting his head hang. Comus quickly released him of the burden of his drink, taking a large, long swig - pleasantly surprised to find that he had indeed switched it up and replaced the whiskey for some Ouzo - and let out a long sigh. Tears of her own threatening to break her lash line.

This was so out of her wheelhouse, but she managed to push the tears back, the voices were clamped down on and she muscled through it, a small smile on her face that she hoped translated into her words as well, "You're supposed to be merry and jolly," her voice was on the edge of cracking, even with the low pitch she produced. "Ya know? Partying it up with the co-eds, snorting cocaine off of Diamond's tits in the VIP rooms at Tlaz's place? Skatá... going to fuckin' class? You fuckin' nerd," her chuckle was shallow, like it was caught in her throat, and although she meant the words she still nudged his shoulder a tad, just to jostle him from his pity party of one. With her free hand she ran her lithe fingers through her tresses, coming in contact with more than a few tangles and knots in the process.

A curse or two passed under her breath as time seemed to pass around them. She can't even be sure as to what was going on in the room anymore, just that there were still beings present, their proximity hadn't changed all that much. But the voices, the noises internally... they were starting to settle. Comus liked to think it was because of the booze, but that would be foolish... She turned back to the male besides her, "I know. Me too..." she tapped the flask to her temple, reassuring him that he wasn't the only one suffering, that she was there too, before releasing another sigh and taking another long sip and holding it out for him to take.

Movement and shuffling caught the goddess' eye as a pair of legs, swathed in charcoal grey threaded with deep eggplant sauntered up to the two of them. Comus, who had been sitting with her legs pulled up to her chest, one hand tangled in her hair, the other arm lounging atop her knee, peered up into the face of the man that decided to check up on the two of them. The light behind his head of dark hair made it seem as if he obtained a halo of sorts. An internal snort sounded through her mind at the thought. Hades stood there above the both of them, gazing down at the both of them... no correction, towards Dionysus with such sympathy and concern. The look a father should have when coming to console his child. With warm words and an even warmer embrace. Calming auras and helpful hands. A telltale sign that she had no idea how to be there for someone in a dark time. But, she was affected too... _{'the cost of having to grow up too soon?'}

^{And in that moment, Coco felt very much an outsider.}

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
_{interactions: @pandapolio, @sly13 if you squint really hard}

[Rockette]

B A S T E T , G O D D E S S O F P R O T E C T I O N.
𝒂 𝒎 𝒎 𝒂 𝒖 𝒃 𝒂 𝒔 𝒕 𝒆 .
𝒂 𝒎 𝒎 𝒂 𝒖 𝒃 𝒂 𝒔 𝒕 𝒆 .

.......................... _{[ 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚢, 𝚂𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 ]}

^{He's here.}

It's a subtle twinge upon her nape that suffers under a tremor: that small quake of desire that coils upon her throat, burns it to ash, surrenders her tongue to a tool and means of fire that snakes against the bone of her teeth gnashed against a bubbling mewl. He's always so close, and yet always so far; just out of reach from her quivering nails that know the lines of every muscle they have sunk against. Just yonder those doors where many Gods and Goddesses have come upon their summons, she has counted them all amidst the conversation she holds with Hathor muttering that she's okay, just fine, always my dear sister -- and not pining for a certain God of Death just outside those fucking doors. She knows she is inquired to about her familiars, but the rejoinder is snuffed out upon her lips and even with the Grecian poised and standing just right there as a visual token laced with mirth and charm, her piercing gaze has fled to the entry way. There it remains.

Waiting, wanting, yet hating that need that simmers beneath the lace of her soul, Bastet is helpless against the memories that surface upon the turmoil that is her heart clenched in a vice with his signature scrawled in a vicious burn. Uncaring she is of the proffered conversations abound and commotions stirred from loosened stomachs and ruined shoes, the room is a mixture of spiced day-old-sex and rancid remains, and still, her gaze never leaves those doors. When Anubis enters, it's all she sees then and her lungs deflate at the breath she has been holding. He never changes -- neither of them do -- and his mere presence is a faceted jewel of yearning and desire that casts them in both black and gold. Golden eyes beyond gilded lashes brighten, gleaming with a certain knowing that flee away from the broad line of his shoulders and tick down the lines of his profile, raking through layers of clothing and flash back the way they came, sparkling in appetency.

Anubis is like the moon, bright against a backdrop of night, and she is like the waves of the ocean enslaved to his magnetism and though she may flee and crash against banks of sand, he brings her back, stronger and hungrier and needier than before.

Bastet angles her body almost immediately when he comes to her side and there her cheeks color, just so, and lift upon the gentle smile that curls upon her lips. Perhaps the edges droop, softly, in the lingering feelings of sadness at their wayward hearts, but even so, Bastet is happy to see him, it has, indeed, been quite some time.

"I --"

^{miss you.}

Everything is happening in waves and Bastet can barely think betwixt the chaos of emotions plaguing the walls of the room. It's much like a cage that becomes smaller by the trickling seconds that sluggishly crawl by. She almost feels the wills of time inch across her skin like a poisonous worm, unleashed by the Morrigan in such a way that bathed the room in leagues of dread and disbelief. Death is not of her domain, but her golden eyes find obsidian and she allows her stare to linger in mute inquiry -- did he know already? -- and once more, time is a dreaded thing. Her spine coils tight beneath her skin, her instincts birthed upon the wild accusations flung far and wide and the table flipped over in a muted threat. The air is awash in hate and sorrow and pain, and it bathes Bastet's heart in knowing. Memories bloom forth and she recalls wailing mothers and her attempts to subdue them, nails on her shoulders and faces plunged against her chest as they screamed. That accented tragedy colored their voices something reminiscent of desperation and seething rage and it's a sound she could never forget.

Bastet is many steps behind in attempting to calm the situation, but she is no less involved. Each of those that speak and attempt to beseech to Hera's sanity have their faces committed to her piercing stare, especially to one man in particular who speaks eloquently and attempts to bring about reason to not just Queen of the Gods, but to her son and the Morrigan as well. He's nearly accusatory in his deduction and she can only silently agree. Her thoughts are alive in too many questions and she knows there's not enough answers for even one of them. She has come to know the ways of death, but how does a God meet the fate of the reaper. It requires all of her strength to quietly allow Hathor to merge herself into the confrontation, that will to protect her was fierce and vengeful and though Ares pockets his weapon, Bastet can taste his loathing and a yowl kindles away in her chest that boils to a muted growl. Her fingers arch, palms heated and quickly she clasps her gesture onto Anubis, pleading silently that he anchor her spirit as Hathor worked to siphon all of the emotions away from Hera.

She knows the Goddess from her time spent at the office, they work in the same field, and her name is one uttered of respect and admiration -- if only they knew of her deeds -- but she is a mother, and even all the Gods and Goddesses in the room could not take that away from her.

Bastet knows it's too much for her sister to take, her own soul wails at the blistering pool now pillaging Hathor's own heart, and she sees that much when she nearly collapses into her seat. Slowly, achingly slow as Anubis' warmth pools through her fingers and gives her sanity, Bastet comes to kneel before Hathor, her golden eyes flickering in worry and her brows arching at the tears still lingering upon her face.

"You should have allowed me to share some of that burden, sister."

Gentle, as the protector she is, Baset loops both her arms around her shoulders and merely holds her there, steadfast and a pillar of comfort, and though she attempts to pacify her sister, never does her gaze leave the God of Death - not even once.

mentions & interactions:@Icy Hot, @Akayaofthemoon, @smarty0114, @fledermaus.

[KZOMBI3]

𝐓 𝐋 𝐀 𝐙 𝐎 𝐋 𝐓 𝐄 𝐎 𝐓 𝐋

_{ꜱᴇᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀꜱɪᴛʏ}

ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴜᴄᴋ ᴀʀᴇ ғᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ ғᴇᴇʟɪɴɢs ʏᴏ

---

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Upon witnessing her eldest brother stroll in and dodge the putrid fish guts literally painting the floor - _{an upgrade, dare she say it?} - Tlazōlteōtl let out a small squeal of excitement. Completely disregarding her current company for the sake of more pleasing, familial vibes, Tlazōlteōtl popped up from her seat and began making strides towards her dear brothers. Besides, she hardly gets to visit the both of them like this and gods she was going to utilize the opportunity. Xōchipilli had been off to himself, nose buried in his phone; it's no wonder he didn't look up when either his siblings waltzed in, not to her knowledge at least. To be fair, she was a little more preoccupied with trying to catch the attention of a, now, sleeping Greek god... Regardless, she was going to pester him in the meantime.

Tlazōlteōtl plops herself down behind her younger brother, "What's with the face..." though her words seemed to fall on deaf ears as their older brother settles into his own uncomfrtable chair. He acknowledged the both of them in greeting, "Always so formal, achtli," she teased lightly, her own Nahuatl slipping easily from her mouth like water in a free flowing stream. Xolotl questioned them on what the situation had been like up until his arrival, to be honest, she tuned him out for just a brief moment as she allowed her gaze to drift across the room towards the triplets that had fallen asleep atop the tables. If they were any closer they'd be entangled with the other's limbs. Tlazōlteōtl couldn't help but scoff and turn back to face her siblings.

Upon hearing Xōchipilli question her about her pride and joy, the elation that had been slowly dying out _{'Stupid Heremes... stupid Kore... fucking ridiculous ughhh!'} was now completely snuffed and now suspicion and annoyance danced beneath her skin as she narrowed her eyes in his direction. There were many reasons why Xōchipilli would throw out questions about her business, and none of them involved genuine concern "Business has never been better. I should really thank you for your patrons' for their attendance," she felt as if the two of them were in some kind of cheesy scene in a movie; slitted eyes glaring across the empty space to one another, her arms resting atop her bare knees, body leaning forward into Xōchipilli's personal space. Well, as much as she could regarding these atrocious seats. A look etched across her face that dared him to speak out against her, though she doubted he would. Xōchipilli had always succumbed to his siblings and their whims more times than she could count.

Nothing was able to take place, for the Morrigan, now fed up with the lot of them all, screeched out into the vastness of the room the true reason they were all summoned...

“Hephaestus is dead and I don’t know who killed him.”
  “Hephaestus is dead and I don’t know who killed him.”

To say that Tlazōlteōtl was taken aback would be an understatement and not entirely accurate. Sure, she was a little shaken by the idea that one of them was dead, murdered no less. However, she was more indifferent and curious than anything else. It wasn't her pantheon, her family. Why does this concern them? Why does it concern her? If the Morrigan had no idea who committed the crime than she had no way of offering protection to the lot of them, so what was the point?

It seemed that similar thoughts were running through Xōchipilli's mind for he seemed to want to remove himself from ground zero entirely. Get up and walk out of there. Xōchipilli turned to whisper to them in their native tongue, "I'm going now before the Greek gets us in trouble. Come if you want to," before standing to leave and heading back towards the door. She wasn't going to stop him. In fact it seemed like a good idea, wouldn't want to be caught in the cross-hairs, metaphorical or otherwise. Though, just the mere thought of all the delicious scandals and sin and secrets that were bound to come tumbling out of the wrong person's mouth enticed her to keep her position. And between the banshee wailing from Hera, Ares pulling a weapon _{- and putting it away -} and the Romans making an appearance, it was beginning to look like a very interesting and eventful day indeed.

Tlazōlteōtl looked back towards the three mortal immortals still slumbering away. _{'With Hypnos at the controls, nothing is going to rouse them...'} though she would have just let them miss everything completely if she were back to her usual self. However, she hadn't been her usual self in a very long time. She pointedly glared at Hermes as if he was going to understand that it was his fault. The male was oblivious... she really shouldn't fault him for that. But she was still going to. It was her right. Nothing he does will effect her the way it did back in the 20s... never again. That's what she tells herself at least. A heavy lie, with an even heavier set of consequences.

So, in true Tlazōlteōtl guilted fashion - _{'guilted by a silent persona, no less'} - gracefully excused herself from her remaining brother and sauntered towards the group of dozing individuals. Their soft breathes intermixing with one another, the soft puffs of air only slightly disturbing the little hairs that dangled precariously in front of them. If she were he usual self the sight of them all snuggled together in such a way would incite a fury that would burn for centuries, she would demand a sacrifice in order to appease her. And even that wasn't a guarantee. She felt it, of course she did, decades of hurt and pining and unrequited love sat upon her chest like rocks determined to crush the remaining breath from her chest. With one glance down onto his sleeping face, however, rendered her disdain a little watered down. Instead of kicking out the chair beneath the stacked sleeping gods, she opted to just smacking the back of Hermes golden locks instead.

A well placed smirk curls her lips as she stares at the scene before her, a taunting lit to her voice as she informs them to, "You're going to want to pay attention." There is still enough of her usual self clawing to the surface.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
_{interactions: @Mao Mao @beetlemoth @Danvers | mentions @Icy Hot @Gothelk if you squint really hard}

[baraquiel]

---

APHRODITE

_{SEATTLE UNIVERSITY}

mood: scared and unsure, but still prettier than everyone

---

Well... That was rather unfortunate, to say the least.

Don't get her wrong; even though Hele- Aphrodite kept on cheating on Hephaestus hundreds of thousands of times, she still genuinely loved the big guy. She may not be able to love him as a true wife would but she still respected him to always come to his aid whenever he felt sad or unappreciated. She would remember all the times she spent with him in their chambers and gave him the best sex he will ever get in his entire godly life; though in all honesty, she did make herself get so drunk just so she wouldn't realize she was making love to him and he could do whatever he wanted to do on her. She could go on and on about the details but that would be inappropriate for the time being. Bottom line was that even though she may not be the perfect wife to him, she still loved him as a caring and kind husband.

Now that he's truly gone, Aphrodite felt like her chest was going to explode. She felt so guilty that she didn't come and find him when they were cursed by the Colossus. She has learned to be more mature in her time in the mortal world but she guessed it was too late for that now. The question was, why Hephaestus? Why kill the harmless god of smithing and volcanoes? She braced herself for Hera's screams for berating her as a bad and irresponsible wife, but she let out a sigh of relief when she poured all her anger at Zeus and Apollo. Even though they were trapped in their mortal forms, the gods were still practically immortal and the only way for them to truly die was to get away as far as possible from the Colossus which was considered suicide. That may not be the case on Hephaestus as the Morrigan seemed sure that someone killed him.

There's just so much stuff that's happening all at once that it's too much for Aphrodite's pretty little brain to take in. First was the man who was the one who puked on Zeus's shoes turned out to be Poseidon who they all believed to be dead. He still looked very hot indeed, she wouldn't sleep with him back then without a reason, though he looked like he's been through hell and back. The Poseidon she was looking at now was very far from the Poseidon she knew back then. He was just like the other gods Aphrodite had seen: wallowing in their self-pity and drinking all their sorrows away while in the mortal world. Seriously, what's with all these strong and powerful gods turning into spineless crybabies?

Next was the arrival of Eros. Aphrodite won't lie, she shed a tear once she finally saw her beloved son again. This might be the first time she had seen him in the flesh for a long time and he still looked just as handsome as the last day she saw her. She wanted to speak to him so badly and she kept on looking at him with hope in her eyes that he could notice her yet much to her dismay, he didn't even look at her direction one bit. It's as if Eros didn't even know Aphrodite was there. She sat in silence as she watched her son put on that charming, dazzling face again while he flirted with the other gods and looked at Ares with baneful eyes. Once again, Aphrodite felt like a knife was jabbed on her heart. Did he really hate her that badly? It's so ironic that Eros chose to speak to Ares with anger dripping from his words; at least he confirmed Ares' presence, but not hers.

Even when the other gods felt fear and unease when Ares flipped the table and pointed the gun at Shango, Aphrodite still looked at Eros with sad eyes. If he really hated her that badly, then Aphrodite couldn't do anything but to give him the distance that he needed. She was glad that her son was still healthy and doing well but she won't bother him anymore unless it's important. A mother could only do so much for their children and even though Aphrodite wasn't the most perfect mother, she was willing to do everything for all her children.

The time it took Hathor to coax Ares out of shooting Shango was the time it took for Aphrodite to regain her composure. She looked at the gods present within the room. Some were still freaked out from what Ares did while others were either sleeping or didn't care at all. She just sighed and activated her powers, releasing a bit of pink aromatic mist that wafted throughout the room. It was only a small amount of mist that would faintly remind the gods of their true love when they smelled it which she hoped was enough to calm them down.

"Can't we all just talk to each other like the mature civilized gods that we're supposed to be without shouting and pointing a gun at each other?". Aphrodite said to all the gods present, willing her power off to wipe out the mist once she thought everyone was okay before turning to the Morrigan. "How certain are you that he's dead and that he was killed? Are... Are you implying that there is someone or a group of someones out there running around and killing us off one by one?".

---

tag: everyone, especially @Icy Hot, @fledermaus, @Legion02

[sly13]

---

Hades

_{Seattle University, SEATTLE}

GOD OF The Dead

---

Hades sat quietly seemingly unfazed by the news of his nephew's death. He showed no signs of remorse or even sadness, simply an indifferent stare as cold as death. Truth be told however Hades did feel something for the death of one of his fellow greeks. He felt a mix of sadness and anger but never showed it. If the Morrigan didn't know the cause of death then that meant the Colossus wasn't responsible and more than likely his blood one was on that of another god's hands. Of course, he had his suspicions of who was to blame but this was neither the time nor the place for that conversation, especially with tensions running as high as they were. The acts of Ares and Hera only served to prove his point. The latter of which irritated him the most of the two. “Some nerve to act as though you care about a child you abandoned.” he thought to himself as he glanced in the direction of the screaming banshee herself. Unlike some gods present room, Hades could see through the lie that was Hera. She had never carried about Hephestus when they were gods and strongly doubted that changed when they lost that. Additionally, not that he thought she was responsible this time, Hades found it ironic that of all people to be the accuser of murdering another god it would be Hera. The very women that threw Hephestus off Olympus simply based on looks, attempted multiple times to kill Hercules to get back at his brother, and even tried and partially succeeded in murdering his son based on a fortune. This also wasn't even including the countless mortal lives Hera had ruined.

From his position looking towards Hera, as if on cue, Hades could see Dio and Comus sitting next to each other on the verge of tears from the news. Almost immediately Hades felt a pain in his chest that replaced his anger for Hera with sadness for his two precious children. He knew how close Dio and the now-deceased god were back in the old times. Surprising the god of parties made for the best peacemaker whenever Hepestus became angry. Cursing under his breath Hades Ignored everything else happening in the room for the time being, as he made his way over to the two looking down at them with as warm a face he could muster. Seeing tears either slowly falling or threatening to break loose, Hades let out a sigh as he slowly slid down next to his beloved Granddaughter. Placing his arm around the curled up form of Comus Hades did his best to comfort her. “You were always better at this than I was.” he thought to himself as he continued to look at the gods slowly being calmed down. “Shhh shhh. It's ok,” he said in whispers as to not interrupt the other squabbling gods. “I know it hurts. But don't worry I will find out who or what did this.”

Hades paused for a moment looking between the two of them. There was never a time where Hades wouldn't have done anything for his children. As far as he was concerned he would face down the entire pantheon without fear if it meant keeping them safe. But things like this were never truly his strong suit if he was being honest. At least the verbal part never was. All he could hope was that they understood that he genuinely did feel their pain and wanted to help. Holding on a little tighter to Comus' shoulder and looking towards Dio Hades held a face that was both deathly serious and full of love “And I promise I will never let this happen to either of you.”

---

Interactions: @KZOMBI3, @pandapolio

[smarty0114]

---

ARTEMIS

_{THE CONCLAVE}

confused, surprised, tired of fucking surprises, longing of the highest degree, annoyed

---

“Hephaestus is dead and I don’t know who killed him.”
  “Hephaestus is dead and I don’t know who killed him.”

Well. That was unfortunate.

Many of them, herself included, took comfort in the knowledge that even if they were powerless, they were still unkillable. This changed everything. Questions raced through her mind, but answers eluded her, the one game she was never assured to catch. With unanswered questions came gnawing worry, but Artemis hid her fears behind a stoney mask, as pale and unwavering as the full moon. She would not show weakness here, not now.

Quietly, she watched from her seat as her family did the exact opposite. The Morrigan’s words threw the assembled gods into disarray, big shock. She was reminded of Discordia’s golden apple, the fight that had erupted afterwards, and the war that stemmed from it’s rotten seeds. Would this be the same? If it was, she knew who’s side she would have to fall on. Her own.

Amidst Hera’s shrill cries, Artemis diverted her attention to the first, and clearly forgotten, announcement. Poseidon had returned. His entrance spoke to his current state, a disheveled looking man amongst those still clinging to what remained of their former glory. She watched him as he sat by her father, both men clearly seeking penance, in their own ways. Poseidon had once represented everything she’d come to hate about her family. The lechery and the vengeance, the unyielding rage. Now, all she could see was a shell of the once mighty Earthshaker. Perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing.

The eyes of the moon were torn away from the troubled ocean by the arrival of another surprise appearance. The Romans had long been thought dead by most of the Greeks, though Artemis had always warned Apollo that this was wishful thinking. If anyone were going to thrive as mortals, it would be the Romans. If Mars’ suit was any indication, she’d been right in that assumption.

Eros made his surprise appearance next, though at that point, Artemis hardly had the energy to be amazed. She half expected Cronus to come waltzing through next, with the rest of the Titans in tow. Her brother however, clearly disagreed. To the others, it may have been nothing, but Artemis saw the how Apollo’s gaze held on Eros, and she recognized the tell tale sign of her the sun falling hopelessly in love.

Apollo’s eyes met hers, but his concern was not with Eros anymore. It was obvious he wanted her to help them soothe the raging bull that was Ares, but she had no desire to step into that mess. Luckily for him, Hathor stepped in, calming Ares before moving on to Hera. She watched, impressed as the rage left Hera’s face, replaced by a numbness, as if she had shut off. Her lips moved slowly, mumbling something that Artemis couldn’t make out.

It was the scent of pine that hit her first, pine followed by smoldering wood and the musk of wild animals. She closed her eyes, and he was there, smiling at her, bow in hand, as beautiful as the day she’d sent him into the heavens. He’s gone. This is just Aphrodite’s trick.

She knew it to be true, but still, she kept her eyes closed for a moment longer, inhaling deeply, as if she could somehow keep his scent somewhere deep inside. He hadn’t been her only love, but the first, and the truest. The only one who’d been able to match her, the only one who’d been her equal. All of it, I do with you in mind.

When Artemis opened her eyes, the scent was fading, and her heart had begun to ache with a longing she’d thought was buried centuries ago. Sick of this Conclave, sick of her family’s short sighted quarrelling, she might’ve left if Aphrodite’s words hadn’t stirred a memory.

A few months ago, Zoe had brought her an article detailing the Colossus’ purchase by a historical society. The article had been taken down quickly, but the printout remained in a desk in Artemis’ room, a piece of the puzzle she was putting together. Could a group of historians be responsible for the murder of a god? She found it unlikely, but regardless, it was worth looking into.

Determined, she added her voice to the chorus demanding the only thing that mattered. Answers.

“I’m sure she’s fairly certain, or she wouldn’t have called us all here,” she said, fixing The Morrigan with a look like she was daring her to announce that this was all a big misunderstanding. Artemis was sick of these constant surprises and interruptions. A piece had been taken off the chessboard, and she couldn’t leave without knowing everything. “Hathor’s right, Hephaestus wouldn’t want any of this. Say what you have to say, Morrigan, so we can put an end to the free entertainment.”

---

_{Mentions: @gothelk @Icy Hot @fledermaus @baraquiel}

[Danvers]

---

HERMES

_{SEATTLE UNIVERSITY}

MOOD: HUH?

---

Hermes had barely moved since he had fallen asleep, tangled up with two of his closest friends in a comfortable mess of arms and legs. His chest moved gently as he breathed in and out, head still resting somewhere between Hypnos' shoulder and collar bone. Buried in sleep, none of the trio had stirred throughout the chaos that ensued. The anguished wails of Hera, the wrathful fury of Ares, the calm & composed kindness of Hathor. Hermes might as well have been in the deepest depths of the Tartarus, for how little of the painful events reached his ears. It was an homage to Hypnos' power really, that he could send someone as restless as Hermes into such a calm and deep slumber.

Yet this was all broken when he was suddenly jolted awake, pain shocking him into consciousness. With a loud yelp, Hermes tumbled off the sleeping god's lap, landing hard on the carpeted floor. His deep blue eyes looked around in confusion, a small frown darting across his bemused face. At first he was surprised he hadn't woken up in a bathtub again, his muscles still aching from that very uncomfortable choice.

"Fuck, that hurt..." Rubbing his sore head, Hermes looked up at the perpetrator, the corners of his lips instantly pulling up into a small smile. "Oh hey Lallipad! What's up?" Cupping a hand to his mouth to stifle a yawn, his grin widened as he looked her up and down, emphasising the dimples in his cheeks. He recalled that he had been attempting to tease her when he had been rudely interrupted by the sudden pull of sleep. Damn Hypnos. It had been a great nap as well so he couldn't reasonably even stay mad at the guy. Plus him and Kore still looked so adorable laid there, and he had to resist the urge to reach up and smooth down a stray bit of hair he could see peaking up from the goddess's head.

"Someone looks like they had fun last night!" Still rubbing at where she had whacked him across the head, Hermes raised his eyebrows at Tlaz suggestively, although the tone of his words were dripping heavily with suggestion and he needn't have added the extra gesture. "You should've joined us for a nap...bet you need it." Sat on the floor like an overgrown four year old, he shot a cheeky smile at the aztec woman, his expression a perfect picture of impishness. Although he teased and joked, Hermes genuinely wanted what was best for the goddess. They shared memories together that he only remembered with fondness but unfortunately he was more prone to childish tomfoolery, rather than just tell her this upfront.

"So...who's the lucky guy?" Plopping himself down onto an unoccupied seat, Hermes grabbed his half-empty packet of gummy worms before popping one into his mouth. This time he was expecting the sourness and was able to enjoy it without pulling a ridiculous face. Chewing on the candy absentmindedly, his gaze finally passed over the rest of the conclave. There was a palpable tension, a feeling of all the air being sucked out of the room, which he only just noticed. It paralleled almost exactly to the last gathering, when wild accusations had been thrown around about who had started the war. Hermes had jokingly tossed a few names into the ring, which had only resulted in more furious back and forth. That had been a long ass conclave.

"Woah, why's everyone so serious? Did someone die or something?" Oblivious to the irony of his statement, his words were blurted out loudly, cutting through the tension in the room like a knife through butter. "Oh, wait! Did Zaddy—" Tongue between his teeth, Hermes did a rather explicit gesture to emphasis his point, unable to hold back the playful giggle that escaped from his lips. "—play Tetris with a horse again?" It might seem that he was being completely oblivious to the tense atmosphere around him, and maybe he was, but the other gods often got their panties in a bunch over the most trivial issues, and the herald felt that it was his duty to try and lighten things up a little. Or at the very least to make a joke at his fathers expense.

"...No? A cow maybe? Or a goat?" Still laughing, his gaze glanced over to his father, before passing to the other frat boys that were presently dotted around the room. They all seemed so serious...even Herc. Something was up. Leaning over towards Tlaz, he attempted to silently gesture for her to come closer, before whispering in her ear. "Er, so what happened? And why did someone bring a homeless man to the Conclave?"

_{Interactions: @KZOMBI3}

_{Mentions: @Gothelk @Icy Hot @beetlemoth}

[fledermaus]

𝕃 𝕆 𝕂 𝕀

_{LOCATION: ꜱᴇᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀꜱɪᴛy}

MOOD: ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴛɪᴍᴇ.

---

interactions:@Danvers

"Oh, wait! Did Zaddy play Tetris with a horse again? ...No? A cow maybe? Or a goat?"

Loki shot up from his seat with indignation, a seat which he had been sulking in for the past five minutes after the frostiest hug from his own daughter. Onto his feet, and showing a vigor he hadn’t shown towards any other mishap that happened in that damnable room, Loki shouted for everyone to hear, “How dare you! I haven’t done that in age—”

Well, it was rather odd that Hermes of all people would call him ‘zaddy’. They had a partnership of sorts at his casino, occasionally doubling together for the odd con, but never has Hermes shown an inkling of sexual attraction or familial connection to Loki. It dawned on him, “—oh wait, you mean Zeus. Sorry.”

Loki retook his seat, crossing one leg over the other and assuming the Thinker pose. While the whole debacle this Conclave has turned into is, frankly, hilarious, it does bring up a lot of questions. Yes, of course, there’s the ‘whodunnit’ – but, more importantly, how? If he learned how, then Loki might be able to finish off his enemies more effectively (more effectively translating to not spending hours creating spa invites outside of the Colossus bounds only for the god to decline his invitation). It would certainly solve a lot of problems for him.

“I, also, would like to ask,” Loki began, puffing out his chest and donning a faux curious look, “why does the Wicked Witch of the West care about a son that she threw off a mountain? I don’t know, I’m just spitballing here, but I think Hera is the killer.”

With a devious smirk, Loki leaned back in his chair and spread his arms wide as if to say ‘I’m an open book here’. No doubt some of them might accuse him of murder, but there really is no foreseeable reason for him to kill Hephaestus. Well, unless he decided murder is a justifiable punishment for being ugly, which is apparently what Hera thought some thousand odd years ago.

As is, once Loki discovers how Hephaestus was killed, Odin is about to be in a world of hurt.

---

---

𝔗 𝔥 𝔢 𝔐 𝔬 𝔯 𝔯 𝔦 𝔤 𝔞 𝔫

_{LOCATION: ꜱᴇᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀꜱɪᴛy}

MOOD: ʜᴀꜱ ʜᴀᴅ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ.

---

interactions:@gothelk & everyone at the Conclave

The smell of a hospital. A firm chest behind her back, arms encasing her. The war is so far away from them… The Morrigan’s nails scratched five perfect deep grooves into the podium. A lot of things annoyed the Morrigan, but dealing with the Greeks topped the list – especially when one of them decided to use their powers on her without permission. Aphrodite’s intention may have been to calm the room, but remembering the world wars only caused her ire to grow. The Morrigan has never loved and will never love.

“Are all of you done yet?” The Morrigan calls out, her voice commanding as she stares the only Roman god down.

Like a soldier marching to face combat, the Morrigan steps away from the podium and advances towards Mars. His words ring in her head with each footstep and all she can hear are the gods constantly asking for her to – what? Magically have all the answers?

“Let me make this perfectly clear, to all of you.” The Morrigan begins, voice assertive and unwavering, “I am not your keeper. I am not your mother. I am not in charge of a bunch of sniveling, poor excuses for deities. You want your answers? Then stop with the theatrics and 𝔰𝔦𝔱 𝔡𝔬𝔴𝔫.”

The Morrigan turned on her heel and returned to the podium. Her phone flashed with an incoming phone call and she scowled at it before rejecting the call. There’s no time for that right now, she has a group of unruly gods to babysit, apparently.

The state of the Greek pantheon is devastatingly sad and despondently useless. It was one of their own who died, though, and part of the Morrigan wanted to let them mourn. She wanted to sympathize with them, see their hurt and soothe it. The Morrigan wanted to feel bad for them – they just made it so damn hard to. They find out Hephaestus died, and this is the reaction from them all? To fall so easily to their emotions like hapless mortals? There is a time for mourning, but the Morrigan has the room until 1:00 PM and throwing tantrums isn’t in her itinerary.

“Now, if you have all calmed down, I’ll tell you what I know.” The Morrigan inhales and exhales, “Which is absolutely nothing.” Before anyone could interrupt, the Morrigan holds up her hand to command silence, “Hephaestus’ thread of fate has been snipped which means he has died, and not in a way fate had intended. Someone manipulated his fate and murdered him somehow. How? I don’t know, I have my crows searching for his body currently, but we don’t know where he is.”

The Morrigan made the executive decision to keep from them that she’s never seen fate manipulated so. Never has the Morrigan found a thread of fate cleanly snipped like she did at Hephaestus’ home, unlike the fray of life that she always discovers.

[Boreas]

A N U B I S

_{Courthouse ⇀ Seattle University}

Mood: let's be smart about this... please?

---

interactions: @fledermaus and the room mentions: @Akayaofthemoon@Rockette

The whirlwind of elapsed time is stunning even a seasoned courtroom veteran like Anubis. Many times had he been a witness to a derailed case, a cross-examination that hit too close to the heart. Wild accusations of an offender caught by their own words, the feeling of dread that swept over a representative, over a jury that could not vote to their evil heart’s content lest they become targets of “woke” society... in these spaces the dread and hopelessness of others felt like a victory to Anubis.

But in the confined space of the stuffy college meeting room, with tables flipped, mothers and friends wailing and crying in their painful loneliness, it felt suffocating. The weigher of hearts was often a comforter of the dead, a listener to their tales of regrets, how they wished they could have done something, accomplished more, or just simply lived an easier life. These were comfortable conversations for him, a time where he spoke less and heard more. But in the tense silence of Hathir standing at the end of a pistol, he heard nothing and felt the pressure of words clawing up his throat. The wild beat of his heart deafened his ears, his jaw was clenched so tight his teeth could have cracked and he was made a spectator to the unraveling of the gods.

Anubis was a Guide of The Dead, and seer of hearts, he could not predict death reliably, but perhaps the ache in his bones earlier in the day had been an indication of what was to come. Something more specific would have been more appreciated. When his hammering heart finds a peaceful rhythm he regains his confidence, his ears hear everything as if catching up what he missed. The wheels in his mind turn, an automatic reaction to any sort of evidence. Before he can speak the familiar scent of clove and cinnamon are swirling around him, there’s a faint sound of laughter, the feeling of silk slipping along the tips of his finger, and when he closes his eyes her golden irises twinkle like stars in the sky. The memory makes his heartache, she always felt so close yet so far away from him. The palm of his hand tingles as he folds it into itself, forming a fist and casts his hardened eyes on The Morrigan.

Anubis can feel the weight of Bastet’s gaze and his heart yearns to get lost in her gaze but he’s focused again on the issue at hand. Choosing his duty over his heart again, he knows it’s cold but he’s embraced it. The Morrigan earns his respect as she commands the room to attention with ease, a Goddess of War she certainly was. Unfortunately, even a seer of fate could not provide all the answers, and without a body to examine they were stuck in their current spot without a way out.

“I am deeply sorry for your loss.” Anubis addresses the Greeks first. There had been tension between the two groups in the past but this issue would require cooperation on everyone’s behalf, “I’m not sure any of the words I can offer will ease any of your hearts. I cannot bring your family back but I would like to suggest we all cooperate. Cut the unnecessary accusations-“ Anubis’ hard eyes fell on Loki who was far too relaxed when the news of a dead god had just been brought to their attention,” and treat each other like allies for the time being. As it stands the only evidence we have to go off of is The Morrigan’s sight, without a body to examine we do not have the cause of death nor the grounds to point fingers and place blame. We should consider having these conclaves on a regular schedule so we can get to the bottom of this and protect each other. I have a very strong feeling the death will not stop at Hephaestus.”

[Eidolon]

POSEIDON
POSEIDON

_{ꜱᴇᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀꜱɪᴛʏ}

ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ, ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ɢʀᴇᴀꜱʏ, ꜱᴛɪʟʟ Qᴜᴇᴀꜱʏ

---

^{𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒔 𝒑𝒊𝒙𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒔
𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒃𝒐𝒘𝒔 𝒔𝒑𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒆𝒘
𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒅𝒂𝒘𝒏 𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒉𝒊𝒎—
𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝒘𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒑𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔
———————}

^{———————}
Oh, his ears pounded.

Was that fish sandwich bad? No, that's just the denial speaking. Just like he denied the Morrigan having outed him entirely in front of everyone else. That aching gnaw like he'd just failed again croaked at the back of his head as Zeus ushered him aside. Poseidon supposed that all his questions had been answered and rather promptly, actually. That favor definitely didn't go unnoticed, even if the sting of cowardice shook him.

Then, like a Rube Goldberg contraption from Hell, everything ticked right into place. From the atom bomb delivered straight from The Morrigan's mouth to his sister wailing, to the Roman with his dog at his heels, to Ares doing the only thing he's ever been capable of doing, to this very moment in time.

Poseidon sat up straight, the color already drained from his face returning just slightly. His cheeks rose in temperature and his brows knotted together.

—

"I know you're still mad at me," Poseidon peered over the top of his newspaper to stare at the man pressed against the train's window, "You can act it all you want, but those eyes love to betray you." A smirk played along Poseidon's lips as he folded the paper back up and slid against the leather seats. It'd only been a day and some change, so the effects hadn't yet gripped him fully; they were returning home, after all, from Edinburgh, two hours into their journey.

The man turned to look at him, lips pursed in a slight pout. His hair was smoothed perfectly against his head, though one stray slid down to poke against the bush of his eyebrow. The forest called to him in those eyes, soft greens peaking out against the bark like a meadowlark's song. Poseidon's breath hitched as he stopped against the wall of their cabin and the smirk fell slightly agape at the indignation etched in his lover's face.

He smelled of honeysuckle and oats, dried in the soft rays of an autumn sun. He could feel the wood burning against his cheek, could smell the orchids that bloomed in rebellion against the biting air.

"I'm not pouting," The man said through bitten teeth.

"Roger," Poseidon slipped forward, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. A canine pressed against the flesh, eyes glinting with mischief.

"Peter. I'm not pouting," Roger replied as indignant as before but fighting the fire of a grin and the hint of a giggle that bobbed in his throat.

Poseidon slid between his legs, hands against the tops of Roger's thighs as the sea god's chin poked against the man's folded arms. The smell wafted off of Roger. It flowed through him like a breeze, wiped the sweat of condensation from his brow with a kiss. Poseidon breathed deep lungfuls of it. Committed it to memory. Burned and seared it into his mind for when the inevitable would take him. For when the tide rolled back out, sucked it all into a wave that would slam him against the wall of a cliff.

"Peter, why're you crying?"

—

"I'm just..." Poseidon opened his eyes to the staring face of his brother and he gasped in a breath, paused in his moment, "I'm just... I need some air." At that moment, Poseidon stood and looked around at the mess that had become of this meeting. Maybe this was a bad idea. He wanted so desperately to cling to his family, but the urge to run away again, hide in the shadows came suddenly and strong against his chest.

Damnable love deities and their penchant for bringing up those desires stuffed so deep down until bitter acceptance rendered them toothless. They would shove their hands down his throat to yank it right back up and shove it in his face in full — assortment of brown vests and loose strands of hair and honeysuckle on his lips. Orchids at the tip of his nose. All of it, right within his grasp only for time to reel it all back.

He wanted to hate mortals for daring to make the king of the sea question his every misstep, every sin, every malicious action taken. Therapists were especially to blame, specifically his current one urging to 'rekindle the ties of familial bonds; unburn those bridges, Peter' as if she could suddenly make him erect millennia old architecture at the drop of a hat. Here he came offering that first step and after all of this he just wanted to leave again. He wanted to leave and never, ever come back. And his feet nearly took him past that threshold.

Yet, Poseidon stopped himself, turned to look at his brother and then his sister. That he'd run away when either one of them needed him the most, even if for just a moment. A sigh took him and shook his shoulders. He ran fingers through his hair and let his feet take him to Hera. No words would be able to come to him and perhaps he smelled of vomit and fish and grease, but he still went to her nonetheless.

With all the power he could muster, Poseidon knelt at her side and took one of her hands in his. He intertwined their fingers together and stared up at her. He offered no platitudes, no excuses, no apologies, just his presence. What could one say that wouldn't ring hollow to a mother who lost her child? And like a statue he sat beside her, hand in hand, with the resolve of the earth beneath the sea.

And the smell of greasy fish bits digging their barbs into cotton.

---

Interaction: @beetlemoth & @smarty0114

[smarty0114]

---

HERA

_{SEATTLE UNIVERSITY}

benefitting from an unusual moment of clarity

---

Hathor’s touch brought a numbness with it, smothering the flames that had wreathed her senses just moments ago. A heavy blanket wrapped around her soul, and shielded it from pain, and Hera was vaguely aware of being led to her seat. So much of her was pain, so many parts had been broken, but for once she could see past all of the suffering. Her family were all as shocked as she was, grieving in their own ways.

Truthfully, none of them had good reason for wanting Hephaestus dead. He had been kind to them, forged their weapons and armor. The blame almost certainly lay with one of the other pantheons, seeking to usurp the Grecians’ glory, or plunge them into a civil war. Her family did not deserve her wrath. Hephaestus wouldn’t have wanted that, especially not from her. He’d always been able to forgive her, see a good that no one else saw.

The blanket was loosening its grip with every passing moment, returning Hera’s senses as she adapted to this state of being. Her thoughts became clearer, and as her face dried, her posture straightened, her breathing slowed, and her regal poise returned, albeit, with a certain lack of any earlier levity. Hathor’s words of reassurance were met with a mumbled thank you. The Queen of the Gods was not known for her gratitude, but Hera made a note to repay the Egyptian at some point. She had saved her from further embarrassment, and that deserved a proper thanks. Just not here.

Silently, she watched Ares approach, and stand behind her. His hand on her shoulder brought a certain comfort, and she placed her own hand over his, squeezing tightly. She made a vow that she would not lose this son. Her first born, her most loyal child. If no one else would stand with them, then they alone would hunt down Hephaestus’ killer, and serve them the punishment they deserved.

Suddenly, her nose was filled with the scent of the raging sky, fresh rain, an oak forest after a storm, dripping with fresh water and new life. She was reminded of stolen kisses and promises of ‘forever’ and ‘always’. For a moment she smiled, until she remembered what came after. Aphrodite couldn’t wipe memories after all.

Of course, they always sought to test her patience. First Aphrodite with her cursed mist, and then Hermes, starting awake from his nap, and shouting profane statements, soiling the air with his poorly timed jests. Anger brewed inside her, but it did not drive her to action. Hathor’s influence still kept her numb to any hurt, and Hermes’ insults did not pierce her skin.

Loki’s accusation was harsher however, and not even Hathor’s power could stop Hera from staring daggers at the trickster, an icy glare that had once been infamous throughout the Mediterranean. Before she could speak however, and silence Loki’s incessant prattle, The Morrigan saw fit to call them all to order, once more. Her words did not help Hera’s mood.

The thought of her son's body, lost and alone in the dark. Would she ever stop failing him? Grief welled up inside her, a grief she would surely be forced to submit to later, when she had emerged from this shell of protection, but now it only made her determined. She turned to Ares, beckoning for him to lean forward so that she could whisper in his ear. _{“Find your brother’s body before these outsiders. I don’t want them anywhere near him.”}

As she finished speaking and turned around, she was greeted by her brother, somber and still reeking. He took her hand, and she made no move to shake him off. Some might attribute it to Hathor, but the truth was, Poseidon's presence was a welcome one. He understood her, in a way, and they'd already lost one today; it was reassuring to see another alive. Or at least, clinging to it. She squeezed his hand, her lips pulled into a tight line. Emotions welled up inside, but she kept them down. Words weren't needed now.

---

Mentions: Mainly @Akayaofthemoon @Legion02 @fledermaus & @beetlemoth AND @gothelk