[IC] 𝘿𝙀𝙎𝘾𝙀𝙉𝙎𝙄𝙊𝙉 ⌜ᴀ ɢᴏᴅ ʀᴏʟᴇᴘʟᴀʏ⌟

[fledermaus]

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☀	𝟼𝟽°F|°C	▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ 🇵‌🇷‌🇪‌🇨‌🇮‌🇵‌🇮‌🇹‌🇦‌🇹‌🇮‌🇴‌🇳‌: 𝟶% 🇭‌🇺‌🇲‌🇮‌🇩‌🇮‌🇹‌🇾‌: 𝟶% 🇼‌🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌: 𝟹 mph	Seattle, WA Saturday 𝟷𝟶:𝟶𝟶 AM Sunny

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Two weeks of revelry, of bliss, of absolute debauchery - once upon a time. In this day and age, though, it is all a power play between the fallen gods. The yearly competition of who has the biggest dick, Loki once quipped, tongue purpled with sweet wine as he eyed the gods over the lip of the bottle. Or what was left of the gods. Every year, fewer and fewer of them show up. They’ve given up on godhood, probably found a spouse and a home with a white picket fence and a boring nine-to-five deskjob. Quaint, dull, normal. That’s what time does to the immortal and invulnerable - makes them crave the blunt death of old age, if only to break the monotony of living forever. The rest of the gods, the ones who appear to taste the sweet nectar, fight and scramble for the place of baddest bitch in town. Oh, how far the gods have fallen.

The Festival of Life hasn’t even begun and the gods are posturing in the foyer. Hera had slaved over the details, the perfect coordinator who had to have the perfectly coordinated festival. Except for the yearly gala, that always belonged in the hands of Loki who, in turn, left it in the hands of people much lower than him. The first event of the festival was a luncheon, or perhaps it was a brunch. Hera called it a luncheon, except it started at 10 AM sharp. Most would consider that brunch, but if Hera said it was a luncheon, the gods were going to call it a luncheon.

And so the beginning of the Festival of Life doesn’t start with a bang, but those tiny ham sandwiches and croquet at a country club on the outskirts of Seattle.

[fledermaus]

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	x x 🇴‌🇳‌ 🇹‌🇭‌🇪‌ 🇩‌🇦‌🇾‌ 🇮‌ 🇼‌🇦‌🇸‌ 🇧‌🇴‌🇷‌🇳‌ 🇹‌🇭‌🇪‌ 🇳‌🇺‌🇷‌🇸‌🇪‌🇸‌ 🇦‌🇱‌🇱‌ 🇬‌🇦‌🇹‌🇭‌🇪‌🇷‌🇪‌🇩‌ '🇷‌🇴‌🇺‌🇳‌🇩‌ 🇦‌🇳‌🇩‌ 🇹‌🇭‌🇪‌🇾‌ 🇬‌🇦‌🇿‌🇪‌🇩‌ 🇮‌🇳‌ 🇼‌🇮‌🇩‌🇪‌ 🇼‌🇴‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇦‌🇹‌ 🇹‌🇭‌🇪‌ 🇯‌🇴‌🇾‌ 🇹‌🇭‌🇪‌🇾‌ 🇭‌🇦‌🇩‌ 🇫‌🇴‌🇺‌🇳‌🇩‌ 🇹‌🇭‌🇪‌ 🇭‌🇪‌🇦‌🇩‌ 🇳‌🇺‌🇷‌🇸‌🇪‌ 🇸‌🇵‌🇴‌🇰‌🇪‌ 🇺‌🇵‌ 🇦‌🇳‌🇩‌ 🇸‌🇭‌🇪‌ 🇸‌🇦‌🇮‌🇩‌ "🇱‌🇪‌🇦‌🇻‌🇪‌ 🇹‌🇭‌🇮‌🇸‌ 🇴‌🇳‌🇪‌ 🇦‌🇱‌🇴‌🇳‌🇪‌" 🇸‌🇭‌🇪‌ 🇨‌🇴‌🇺‌🇱‌🇩‌ 🇹‌🇪‌🇱‌🇱‌ 🇷‌🇮‌🇬‌🇭‌🇹‌ 🇦‌🇼‌🇦‌🇾‌ 🇹‌🇭‌🇦‌🇹‌ 🇮‌ 🇼‌🇦‌🇸‌ 🇧‌🇦‌🇩‌ 🇹‌🇴‌ 🇹‌🇭‌🇪‌ 🇧‌🇴‌🇳‌🇪‌ ◉

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🇪‌🇦‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇪‌🇷‌, 🇺‌🇳‌🇩‌🇮‌🇸‌🇨‌🇱‌🇴‌🇸‌🇪‌🇩‌ 🇱‌🇴‌🇨‌🇦‌🇹‌🇮‌🇴‌🇳‌
  🇪‌🇦‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇪‌🇷‌, 🇺‌🇳‌🇩‌🇮‌🇸‌🇨‌🇱‌🇴‌🇸‌🇪‌🇩‌ 🇱‌🇴‌🇨‌🇦‌🇹‌🇮‌🇴‌🇳‌

The man before him was nervous, knuckles white from gripping the briefcase and mouth pursed into a thin line. It was thrilling, really, how much he could make a mortal squirm. Loki breathed out a plume of smoke, flicking the ashes from his Gurkha Black Dragon cigar. He wasn't much of a smoker, only really lighting one of his expensive cigars for dramatic effect in illicit meetings. Loki liked the dramatics of crime; he invested more time than he would like to admit into perfecting his intimidation.

Throughout his years as a crime lord, Loki knew that placement was the ultimate deciding factor between ridiculous and scary. Burgundy chair pushed into his mahogany desk? Ridiculous. Burgundy chair tilted just enough to be perpendicular with the mahogany desk? Scary, relaxed, shows that Loki could end a man all while reclining in a comfy chair. Three bodyguards placed sporadically around the room? Ridiculous, disorganized, clumsy. Two of his henchmen perched behind him while a third guards the double doors? Scary, organized, cuts off all escape routes. Loki smiles, folding his hands across his chest.

"Harry…" Loki unhooks his hands and spreads them, encompassing the room. "has come to die."

The man in front of him shuffles unsurely, and scratches at the brown wispy hairs on the back of his head. "Um, sir, my name is John."

Loki's smile vanishes and he scowls, "I was doing a bit! You could tell right, Mark. I was doing a bit!"

Mark, the henchman on his right, stutters before nodding, "Of course, sir, you were doing the Harry Potter thing, right?"

Loki nods, because of course Mark gets it. Mark is his favorite.

"My name is Liam, though, sir." Mark mutters awkwardly.

Loki holds up a hand to shut Mark up. "I didn't ask, Mark. Did you bring the money or not, Tom?"

"John."

"Whatever."

So maybe Loki hasn't perfected the balance between scary and ridiculous, but he was a god and if anyone were to speak of this incident, he'd just have them killed. Unless they were praising his Voldemort impression, then they may speak of it.

"Sit the money on the table and get out of my sight. I have brunch I need to get to."

"A luncheon, sir." The henchman on Loki's left says.

Loki leans backwards and looks at the henchman in disbelief. "Who even are you."

The henchman looks sheepish, rubbing his hands together. "I'm Lawrence, sir. I've been working for you for five years."

"No you haven't. I would've remembered you if that were the case. I remember Mark over here, and he's been working here only 3 months."

"Two months, sir." Mark pipes up.

"See? Two months. I am an attentive and friendly boss."

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Loki whistled a tune of his own making when he skipped and hopped into the country club. He wasn't surprised by the choice of location by Hera, it was a rather prolific place where rich, old white people gathered for business meetings and that one horrendous sport. Croquet can barely be called a sport, truthfully. Now, illegal gambling — that was a sport.

The country club was empty besides himself and the staff. Hera rented the entire country club for the occasion. Loki wandered through the marbled halls into the dining hall. The dining hall had ceiling to floor windows that overlooked the garden where you could play croquet among the pansies. Pansies playing croquet with the pansies, ha! Loki chuckled to himself.

He wandered to the buffet table, filled with tiny snacks to hold people over. No doubt waiters would later take individual orders — it was that kind of rich establishment where they didn't lay the food out for hours and call it a day.

"Darling," Loki called to a nearby waitress, as he plucked a tiny sandwich up and ate it in two bites. Through a mouthful of food, he asked, "do you know where that lovely Hera is?"

The waitress looked thrown off, eyes wide and she stuttered when she replied, "Um, I'm not sure who Hera is, sir."

Loki wrinkled his nose, "Damn, I forgot what her mortal name is. Something dull and boring, I'm sure. Don't you agree, Miss…Heather?"

Heather looked shocked that he knew her name, momentarily forgetting the name tag beneath the lapel of her button up. "Of course, sir. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

Loki flicked his fingers free of bread crumbs and waved her away. He wandered back to the round tables to find name plates listing where each god should sit. That won't do at all, Loki thought to himself.

He made himself busy with throwing the name plates into the trash can, and none of the staff were paid enough to stop him. Once all the name plates were discarded, he sat down at a table by the windows where he could see all the other tables. Ah, Hera might have tried to stop the bickering that would inevitably come, but chaos always reigns.

And, well, maybe chaos needs a little help from little ole' Loki every now and then.

[smarty0114]

As The Sun Rises, The Moon Sets.

_{| Location: Apollo’s Studio -> The Festival |}

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Look, but don’t touch?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your company is exhausting. Are you surprised?”

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

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

[KZOMBI3]

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𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞

_{Ａ Ｎｅｗ Ｌｅａｆ Ｃａｆé}

𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⊳ isabel @Legion02 | persephone @Aewin

---

Isabel wasn’t nervous. Nervousness was something doubters felt and she wasn’t a doubter. With absolute resolve she strode out into Seattle, fresh off a nighttime flight from DC. She still had her luggage in tow. Lesser people would feel exhausted. They would be searching for their hotel room to stash their things. Not Isabel. She had vastly more important things to do and nothing – especially not petty things like sleep or discomfort – would hold her back right now.

With high heels clicking off the pavement she eventually made her way to A New Leaf. A quaint little café. One too quant for Isabel. It all looked too flowery, too nice. A friend – a very resourceful one – had suggested the location. It was far enough out of town that she didn’t risk bumping into her father accidentally. “It will do I suppose.” Isabel sighed to herself as she stepped in, luggage still in tow.

She took a seat and ordered a coffee. Black, with one sugar. Isabel wasn’t about to entertain the hipster ridiculousness of the locale. From her luggage, she pulled a manila envelope and put it on the table. Ready to be passed on to Mr. Wolff – had to be an alias, the accomplished P.I. a mutual friend highly recommended. She only ever gave him an address and her name. If he was as good as people claimed he’d have no issue finding her amongst the people at the café.

Hati had been waiting at this dinky coffee shop for what felt like hours. Rising with the sun wasn't something he was particularly used to, before the fall, but after? It was the best time to people watch. Scope out their mannerisms. Find weaknesses. It became a new sort of normal for the moon hater. Though he still absolutely enjoyed being surrounded by the cover of night and the light of the moon, he found a sense of... peace in these early hours to himself.

Today was no different. Well, it was, but it wasn't. A luncheon had been set for the start of the Festival and he was expected to make an appearance. However, this new life of his demanded his attention for a new case. Something about it stuck out to him and piqued his interest more so than he cared to admit. But money was money, and if he wanted to be able to blow it at Tlazōlteōtl's club, he was gonna have to piss off a queen or two.

As he sat there, drinking his black coffee, he took notice of those that milled about the place. It was out of the way enough for him to be cautious yet casual. The owners and management had a working agreement with the bounty hunter. He can conduct meetings here, complete with free coffee and a fresh Danish or two, so long as every month he checks their security systems to make sure they're up to date and protected. A win-win in the wolf's book.

So far, in the three hours he'd been there since opening, Hati clocked a total of eight new faces waltzing in and out of the doors. It was the ninth body to walk through that his senses were heightened. Just her aura alone was enough to get the wisp of hairs on the back of his neck to stand at attention. Hati's sharp gaze never left them, even as two more people followed in behind her.

He gazed at her, over the top of his cup, as she ordered and then sat down, three tables from him, a manila folder presented professionally before her. Grabbing his drink, he stood slowly, so as to not scare a deer while on the hunt, stretching slightly from being stuck in a position for too long. _{'No time like the present,'} and with that he strolled casually on by the beauty, placing a large hand atop the file and sliding it to the seat opposite her; plopping himself right back down in the process.

"Mornin' doll. You my," he checked his watch nonchalantly, "8 o'clock?" Of course she was. He wouldn't be this alert if she wasn't. Something was clearly different about her scent. Something... immortal and godly about her. Though he would have recognized her had Hati seen her traipsing around the Acropolis or among the friends of Zagreus and Pothos. He would get to the bottom of it sooner or later. This meeting should be testament to that.

“My name is Miss Markov. Not. Doll.” Isabel said without skipping a beat. Her eyes were transfixed o on his. She was used to cocky people like most P.I.’s were. As the envelope moved she kept her own hand on it. Her other hand was still around the cup of hot coffee. Then she let her gaze go over him quite openly. He was young. Way too young. There was no way that he was former police like most P.I.’s were. Nor could he have any meaningful military career. Maybe a tour or two at the most. Already she began to doubt his capabilities. If he didn’t come so highly accredited by their mutual friend she would’ve up and left after his first few spoken words already.

“And I hope you can be more professional than you appear right now, Mr. Wolff.” She added, throwing him the fakest, most forced smile she could summon on her lips. “Or should I start taking off zeroes from the cheques I’ll write?” So far she wasn’t impressed and she didn’t hide it.

She was a pistol. All business, no fun. This was going to be thrilling. But Hati resigned himself to a calmer approach, instead the snapping bark he could feel making it's way from the back of his throat. He forgets how easily mortals and gods alike get offended. Straightened his posture and released his hand from the folder, raising them in a non threatening, defensive way. "Forgive me, Miss Markov. It's been a long 72 hours," his tone smoother, yet more approachable, and as if to punctuate the validity of the statement he ran his fingers through his hair; a habit he picked up from watching mortals interact with one another. Supposedly it helps put others at ease in times of mistrust and anxiety.

"Before we discuss payment methods and costs, how 'bout you tell me a little bit more 'bout this folder of yours?" Hati tapped the object between them before sipping his drink.

Isabel couldn’t care if it’s been a long life, she wanted results. Professionals got them and his attitude hadn’t convinced her yet. Her eyes narrowed as he moved his hands through his hair. Normal people would start feeling at ease as he straightened his act. However, if you were conscious of such facts then you could use it to manipulate the other side. Isabel knew this because she did it herself. So her guard didn’t drop.

She didn’t forgive him. Isabel – nor the people she worked with and for – never had time for forgiveness. If you screwed it was all on you. You fixed it and moved on. If you screwed up too often then you were moved on. “The trunk of the tree whose roots and branches I want you to find.” She answered curtly, before taking a drink of her own coffee. Letting him wait on an explanation. When she put the cup back down most of the coffee was still in the cup.

“In the envelope you’ll find information on a man. I want you to find his family. Siblings, parents, grandparents,-“ She stopped for a moment. Then finally said the word “-children.” During the whole flight it was a thing she knew she’d hate: to entertain the thought that he had more children than just her. “Their name, and address if they’re alive. Their grave if they’re not. For each name you bring me I’ll pay.” And with that she released her hold over the envelope to let Mr. Wolff take it.

Hati let loose a long, low whistle at the job she had broached. It was a lot. He'd done more in a shorter time frame. He's also done less in more. Cryptic messages and the like was something he'd expect from his aunt Hel, or any other immortal with divinity ties. This chick was another one of those. Hati didn't even hide his eye roll at her mysterious message. What he didn't care for is to be ordered around by someone so… inferior to him. Well, being ordered around in general rubbed him wrong. As soon as she opened her mouth to bark out orders, that facade he put up fell completely and Hati felt the need to bite back.

"Ah yes," his tone shifted, as did his body language. A quick revert back to its original state. Laid back yet ready to rip throats should he need to. "Well, looks like loverboy left a good one. Look, I'm not entirely sure what our mutual friend has told you, but I hunt for people and sweetheart, this doesn't seem challenging enough for me… find out a mark's familial relations? Seriously?" Hati eyed the folder beneath his fingertips. He couldn't shake that feeling from her. Other than she reminded him of Sekhmet, and not in a good way, he felt compelled to at least view the file.

He’s a bounty hunter, not a private investigator. Hati hunts people. Tracks them down and arrests them, collecting on a sum of money that was placed there on the board for him to see. He doesn’t look up genealogy on targets and pass information from one person to another. That was out of his wheelhouse. Hati would much rather prefer the actual chasing of a victim prey culprit.

Though as he sat there, halfheartedly listening to the annoying, albeit beautiful, woman in front of him he couldn’t help but consider his options. On the one hand, did he need the money? No, not really. His funds were well stocked and easily accessible to him at a moment's notice. So, to not take this particular job wouldn’t hurt him in the slightest. However, her reaching out to him first due to some mysterious “friend” piqued his interest in the most paranoid of ways and if they were to suggest him it must mean something… more. Not to mention, Miss Markov seemed to be extremely adamant and passionate about this case in particular. She didn’t emulate a weak-willed mortal. It would be a shame to see such a pretty face sob uncontrollably at his pant leg and get him covered in snot. Hati shuddered at the mental image.

Before she had a chance to take back the folder, he quickly swiped it up and flipped through it with a glance. It was all he needed, seeing as the only information provided was a name, basic facts - _{estimated height, hair color etc.} - and a charming photograph of the woman before him and a very, very familiar face. _{‘Oh~? This is shaping up to be an intriguing case.’} Closing the dossier immediately, a wolfish grin spread across his face.

"On second thought. This case, based purely on the limited information you've provided, will provide the perfect challenge, Miss Markov."

Well, at the very least he learned a little respect. That had to count for something. She did suppress rolling her eyes when he called her father ‘loverboy’. I just felt wrong. Though she kept it to herself. This wasn’t the first time she was being underestimated. That would allow her to come out hard when she needed to. Though the way people talked down to her – much how Mr. Wolff here did right now – never sat comfortably with her. A frown formed on her face. She was ready to just grab the envelope and head for another contact she had. Someone older, with some police experience and manners. Her feet already moved under her chair, ready to get up and leave when he suddenly took the envelope. It didn’t contain anything a half-decent investigator couldn’t find on his own. Still, the way he so quickly took it put Isabel even more on edge.

Him suddenly changing his mind didn’t help with that. It did confirm her suspicion: her father was a known figure in some circles. Perhaps his family was involved in some less than savory business? It wouldn’t surprise her. Either way, she got what she wanted. Now it was time to bind him to her. From her luggage, she pulled another envelope and put it on the table. It was small but thick. “That’s 5K as an advance.” She said. Then she conjured up another envelope. This one was literally double the thickness. That one she kept in her hand though. “This is 10K. You’ll get it if you drop any other cases you’re working on. I want your full attention for this, Mr. Wolff. Can you give me that?”

Ten thousand? Just for information on someone among them. Not just someone. A war god. A harbinger of destruction and loss. Hati would be lying if he said he didn't admire the being; from a distance of course. However, the consequences of investigating Ares would have to be dealt with when he gets to them. At the moment he could think of, at a bare minimum, five thousand reasons he should delve deeper into the man.

"I can assure you, Miss Markov, nothing else will take precedence over this case here. I guarantee you that much at the least." Hati was most likely in over his head. Granted there weren't many other cases for him to chase at the moment. Specifically because he carved out time for the Festival, spending time with those he hasn't seen in a year. It's not like she would know whether he was working every minute of every day.

She was underestimating him and that would be her biggest mistake. Dabbling in things she didn't know, shouldn't know. But hey, it wasn't his business to warn the mortals of their impending doom. Just sit back and watch it happen.

Hati leaned forward, shifting in his seat to make himself more comfortable, his coffee sat there long forgotten. "How would you like to receive the information I collect? An all at once type of situation or would you like me to update you with every little thing?" Eyes like fire trapped under ice shine with the morning Ray's filtering in through the windows as he scanned her appearance one more time, along with the bags she carried with her. "Is it safe to assume you'll be in town a while? Or…?" He gestured for a response.

“I’ll be around.” She gave him a small, disingenuous smile as she put down the second envelope for Mr. Wolff to take. In the end they were all same. She kept eye contact for a second and played a game she liked: imagine the bill. What would he be spending 15.000 dollars on? He definitely wasn’t going to invest it. If he was bad at his job he’d waste it all partying. That would have to be verified, so she’d have to find the biggest party place in this god-forsaken city. If he was better than average he’d use it to get the info quickly and secretly. That money should be used for bribes.

With a deft hand she conjured up a card from her wallet and put it on the table. On it was a number and an e-mail address looking like that of a bot. But before she continued she took another long, drawn-out sip of her coffee. Just to establish – again – that he was waiting on her. That he couldn’t leave here until she let him. She cherished these little moments. But she wasn’t about to push it. “Keep me updated.” She said after the sip. “Send the info – any info – you find to the e-mail address. If it’s satisfactory you’ll get your 10K wired. And don’t worry, I have your bank number already.” Courtesy of their mutual friend.

Hati had to bite his tongue. He should be used to being treated as a dog, didn't hurt any less. More so even because here was this human dangling treats before him expecting him to do tricks. And it irked him. But it was held back, especially as their table was approached by a familiar face.

"Ah-hem," A woman stepped beside the table, a soft smile on her features as Persephone got the attention of the two at the table. One she recognized as Hati of the Norse pantheon, someone she'd only seen in passing, but the dark haired woman was unrecognizable. Date? No, seemed too cold. Business? Perhaps, it was Hati after all. "I'm sorry to intrude but there's an event I need to get to." She looked at Hati, knowing that the god would understand. "I hope if you do come next time that you will be able to enjoy yourself for longer." She subtly took a step to the side, showing the now empty parlor around them. Chairs had been stacked on tables and counters wiped down, all ready for closing.

He quickly snatched the card up from the table, along with the envelope of money and tucked them away into his back pocket. Since there was no more reason for him to stay he patted the tabletop in a mismatched rhythm, "Welp. It's been real. You'll hear from me," and with that he stood, stretched and half assed saluted her as he made his way out the shop and into the morning light of Seattle. Planning to show up to the luncheon wasn't on his list for the day but after his morning, someone else's chaos would do wonders to lift his spirit.

Isabel just took a deep sigh. She looked at her coffee cup. It was still half full and steaming. Well, she did just fly through the night. With one gulp she downed the coffee, dropped 20 dollars on the table, and got up. Not once did she smile at the person asking her to leave so she could close up. While walking out of the café she pulled out her phone and dialed a number. It went straight to voicemail.

“I better not have wasted my money on him. You know how much finding my family means.”

[Aewin]

𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝

𝙰 𝙽𝚎𝚠 𝙻𝚎𝚊𝚏 → 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙾𝚕𝚢𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚌 𝙲𝚕𝚞𝚋

𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬: Hades @sly13 & Persephone @Aewin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[pandapolio]

Dionysus, God of Festivities

Heavy drops of rain slammed against window panes behind Dio as he stared into the eyes of the man in front of him. The massive bear of a human was obviously in pain due to bullet holes that riddled its frame, and could barely stay standing. Dio looked down at the sight of his smoking gun before tossing it aside and spreading his arms in triumph.

“I’m sorry Mr. Thomas, but today just isn’t your day.”

The large figure tried to speak but couldn’t even get more than a mumble out before falling to his knees in defeat. The victorious god confidently strode over to his defeated foe and bent down to taunt his enemy.

“Can you repeat that, the sound of winning made it too hard to hear your pathetic last words?”

“I said, it isn’t your day either.”

With a scream, the injured man thrust his hidden dagger into the stomach of Dionysus and finally collapsed to the floor dead. The wounded god now stood there staring down at the blade handle sticking out of him and seemed to show no expression. Opening his mouth, he hesitated, unable to even get a single word out before falling backward like a stiff plank.

Nothing but the sound of the raindrops could be heard in the now lifeless room before a single voice cut through the silence.

“And that’s a wrap! Everyone give Dio a hand for finishing his scenes.”

The crew cheered as the two actors stood up from the ground and waved back toward the crew. Dio’s co-star turned towards the young god and also began to clap as well. Laughing Dionysus gave a few bows before everyone quieted down in anticipation. Clearing his throat Dio rubbed his cold hands together and smiled at all the faces staring back at him.

“I don’t have much time, so I just want to thank everyone here for being great to me. I know I am not the easiest to deal with, but you are all family to me now. I mean it, if any of you ever have a problem you can come to me. Except you Jessica, we all know you stole the last sandwich from the craft table yesterday.”

Dio wrapped his arm around his fellow actor's shoulders and shook him.

“Make sure you all take care of Jordan here, we all know how much he likes to do his stunts.”

There was a light chuckle while Dio began to walk off the set and towards the exit of the studio. Stepping out into the LA moonlight Dio hopped into a waiting SUV and pulled his phone out of the central cupholder. He scrolled through Instagram for a moment before leaning back and closing his eyes. Thinking of the celebration tomorrow the god could almost feel his stomach turn at the thought of it. He loved his family of course, but Hera hosting ruined most of the event for him. It wasn’t even the fact that she had incinerated Dio’s mother, it was that she is just such a boring choice to host a party. Like, how had he not gotten this job, he is literally the god of festivities? Getting furious just thinking about it Dionysus reached forward and pulled a cigarette out from the other cup holder and lit it.

As the car sped down the highway Dionysus had a brilliant idea and posted a random picture of himself with the caption, Meeting some family in Seattle this weekend, will prob do a fan meet up. Grinning to himself Dio slumped back in his seat and spent the rest of the ride scrolling through funny cat videos.

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Dio had been accosted by fans waiting in the airport thanks to his post the previous night and had been laughing the entire time he was signing autographs. Grinning wildly Dio hopped into the back of a new SUV that had been waiting for him and blew a kiss goodbye to his new mob. As the airport disappeared behind him Dio couldn’t help but think he could have some good fun with this. A leaked location here or there and he could swarm anyone he wanted at any time. He really was the smartest Olympian, wasn’t he? Dio was so distracted with congratulating himself that he hadn’t noticed his bodyguard telling him that they had arrived.

With an energetic hop, Dio jumped out of the car and surveyed the chosen site of festivity that the queen had chosen. Disappointment broke Dio’s mood almost immediately upon realizing it was another country club. It had been a country club for the last half a century. Well if you had to credit Hera with one thing, it was consistency.

“By Zeus I hate consistency.”

Dio only made it a few steps before seeing something extremely strange through a window. The person in the window looked somewhat like him but was in the weirdest outfit. The outfit looked like some weird victorian cosplay that someone put a bit too much money into. Dio almost laughed at the person before coming to the harshest of realizations. He was the idiot who looked like his mother named him after her favorite local oil baron. Looking down Dio recognized his costume from the shoot he had been at the night before flying up. He had never changed his clothes and had been too focused on daydreaming about his brilliant plan to notice this. After a period of going through the five stages of grief, Dio shrugged and accepted his fate. Pressing onwards the Olympian ignored the strange stares from the staff and strode as confidently as he could manage into the conference room. Looking around the ballroom Dio saw some friendly faces and one very confusing sight.

“Why are we eating tiny sandwiches for breakfast?”

[Legion02]

H E L

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Mentions of | Odin @KZOMBI3
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“Irina…Meyer.” Hel slowly said out loud. Her tool was carving out the name in the gravestone. Two big lamps around Hel – who was laying down in front of the grave on her stomach – made sure she could see exactly what she was doing while filing the name into the grave again. Time was such a horrible thing. It weathered everything, even the marks of the dead. Two hundred years ago Hel took it upon herself to restore graves. Back then it was harder. She only had a chisel and a hammer then. Now, with power tools, she could do ten to twenty graves a night.

A rooster cawed. Hel immediately looked up. The sun was coming up again. She breathed a sigh of relief. Another day she evaded the end of the world. By now she thought she’d be used to the sound of roosters every morning. But almost two millennia later and she still dreads the sound. But dawn was rising. She finished the grave first, then turned the lamps off and put them away. “Irina Meyer. Died in 1982.” The grave hadn’t been visited for nearly a decade. Hel took out a small stone from her bag. She didn’t know where this specific one came from. All the stones came from far-off places. She put it on the grave. “You’re still not forgotten Irine.” The goddess said with a smile, hoping it would bring some comfort to the dead woman’s soul.

“Miss Krogh. I find you again on this beautiful dawn.” A man hollered as he drove up with his small van. “You should try to sleep, Miss Krogh.”

She threw him a small smile. “I try Pedro. You know I do. How are the children?” Hel asked as she began to put away her equipment.

At the exact same time, Pedro began to take out his. “They’re doing good! My oldest abandoning me actually. She’s going to university! If you told me a decade ago that I’d be sending my daughters to study so far away I would laugh and then prayed to make it true. Thank you for that, Miss Krogh.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Hel said as she stepped into her van. “Keep it tidy here, okay Pedro? It’s the least the dead deserve.” The man just gave her a nod before she drove off. Fifteen minutes later and she parked the van at the maintenance center of the graveyard. Her graveyard, to be specific. Though she always considered herself to be more of a caretaker of the dead than their owner. A moment later she was in her car driving home. Another moment later and she was going up the elevator. Only now did she realize she needed a shower before heading for Hera’s luncheon.

“Hi Garmr.” Hel called out as she stepped into her modest apartment. In the corner of the living her dog, Garmr, lay asleep. At least he was asleep a few seconds ago. He jumped up the second he heard Hel’s voice and came rushing for her. Releasing a fart on his way home. Garmr was a rescued bulldog. He was spoiled now. All he did was eat, sleep and fart. But he loved Hel and he never, ever barked. Something that made Hel love him more than ever. She gently scratched his head as she went over the gifts that were on her kitchen table again.

The first was a set of knives she managed to procure from some private collection. It had gone through as many historians as she could find to verify their authenticity. They all told her the same thing. These were two knives that the Order of Assassins used back in the early 12th century in what is now known as Persia. Considering how much her father loved his schemes, she knew it would make for an excellent gift. Perhaps he would even try and stab an Aesir with it. Not that it would really matter.

The next gift was something she had made herself in fact. On a cushion inside a box laid a stone she had imported from modern-day Norway. For two months she chiseled, on one side, the word “family” in runes. On the other side she had chiseled the word “love” in the same runic script. She let out a deep sigh as she let her fingers trace over the words. It was meant for Hati. They hadn’t talked, she and him. They wouldn’t talk. Not until Ragnarök. Though she hoped that Loki could pass these on to Hati.

For Hera Hel had procured a beautiful bouquet of flowers. This wasn’t a piece that you’d find on a grave. The colors were far too bright. She sincerely hoped Hera would like it. After all, she went through all the trouble of setting up the luncheon to start the festivities.

These were all beautiful gifts but one was missing. Of course! How could she miss such an important person? She strode out towards the liquor cabinet and opened it up. She pulled out the cylinder marked as a 24-year-old Scottish whiskey that – according to the person she bought it from – was from a very prestigious and rare distillery on a remote island in Scotland. Carefully Hel opened the cylinder and pulled whatever was inside out.

It wasn’t a bottle of expensive alcohol. It was an ugly, grimacing wooden figure that would give a child nightmares. Hel had carved it herself. When she took it in her hands the temperature dropped in the room and Garmr started to whine and run to his crate. She’d apologize to him later. This gift she had to give first. Before her appeared a ghostly, ethereal figure of a woman with her throat slit.

“Release… me…” She hissed.

Hel ignored her. “Find Odin and haunt him. Drive him insane. Now go!” She commanded, her voice was suddenly far more authoritative than any mortal could conjure. The draugr hissed again but then sunk down through the floor.

The temperature in the room quickly rose up again and farting, whining Garmr came to nuzzle up against Hel’s leg. She gently gave him some more head scritches. “It’s okay now. It’s gone.” Then she made her way to her shower. Half an hour later she was on her way to Hera’s luncheon. Hoping to whatever forces remained in this world that none of the Aesir would dare show up.

[KZOMBI3]

---

𝖏 𝖚 𝖘 𝖙 𝖕 𝖊 𝖗 𝖋 𝖊 𝖈 𝖙
𝖏 𝖚 𝖘 𝖙 𝖕 𝖊 𝖗 𝖋 𝖊 𝖈 𝖙

_{𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. the loft ⟼ the olympic club
𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐝. just perfect
𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬. hercules
𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬. apollo | comus 😭 | hades & perse | macaria | hera |}

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_{Tending to the garden. Picking flowers that she just knew would please her mother and sister. After, she planned on getting Zagreus to not take his princely duties so seriously. A lyre plays softly in the distance and though she's heard it before while basking in the sun's rays, she's never officially met the musician. Today would be different...}

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“...-til I get dragged off to eat teeny tiny little sandwiches, I’ll be keeping you all listening to some, dare I say, groovy tunes.”

Melinoë woke with a start, the radio still playing in the background of her lavish loft. She'd fallen asleep again atop a stack of case files currently in the process of being closed out. It was only a matter of time before she would be contacting her clients to update and collect the rest of her payment. A cheating spouse here, embezzling money from a trust fund there. It was the ones in which she could actually do, scouring in the night and collecting the wandering spirits - delivering justice to their persecutors, something that she gave the most detailed of attention to. The lost souls having been mistreated in life and then again in death. It was a sad life, melancholy even; or at least it should have been. These types of cases would bring even the most seasoned veterans to their breaking point. Melinoë wouldn't blame them for it though. She was born for this after all.

As the deity of madness was shuffling about,putting case files away where they belonged, there came a rapping at her door. Upon opening it she was greeted by the superintendent standing there squared shoulders, a cigar already smoldering between his lips and a look on his face that screamed he wasn't paid enough for shit. "Hey there Miss Mavros," he always had a feeling that that wasn't her true name. However, he wasn't gonna pry into her assorted past life so long as she would extend the same courtesy to him. To Melinoë it wasn't hard to pinpoint someone on the run from a seedy past; one they were trying to avoid at all costs. She wasn't going to expose him - there was no need to. His conscience was doing enough damage to him itself.

"Mornin' Mr. Orsini. What can I do for you?" She held him at the front door, he didn't want to come in anyways. It was easier this way. "Some of the other tenants are still complaining about the odd commotions and comings and goings of some of your, uh... clients?" There it was. The complaints were steadily growing more and more in numbers and Mel assumed everything was going well. She was conducting business out of her home, but she had been up front about it all when she first got the apartment. Why was this suddenly a new development?

"I'm sorry to hafta do this to ya, I really am. But with so many complaints, and the amount of people coming and going outcha your place... I gotta let you go. You're gonna hafta find a new place to live by the end of the month." Instead of lashing out, like she clearly wanted to, she instead tuned the mortal man out. He clearly had some kind of speech prepared on the off chance she would berate and yell at him over the travesty. However, in his eyes, she took it quite well. It left him with a foreboding chill that traveled the length of his spine as he walked back down the hall towards his office. "Heaven help us..."

As Melinoë gathered up her belongings to attend the festival, she was stewing in her disappoint and anger. Her phone dinged somewhere from the confines of her bedding and she stormed over to it, angrily opening up the group message Hercules started ages ago. It was usually something she indulged in when she knew Apollo wouldn't chime in, typically for some kind of get together at a club or bar where a lot of the other gods partook in. Everyone was welcome. Except Hera. She shuddered at the mere thought of the woman. Hercules had posted something along the lines of; _{we need 1-2 housemates! must love parties! must enjoy good times! Hera not allowed!} Seemed like perfect timing with the shit news she just received. Besides, how bad could it be? Parties all the time? Psht. OK that's not that bad. Dealing with muscle-headed jock like beings? Also, not that bad. Mel caught herself grinning in her mirror. Shaking the tantalizing daydream from her mind she opened a separate text thread to Wonder Boy himself.

To: WonderBoy🏋️‍♂️
interested for damn sure. i'll meet up with you at the festival, yeh?

That was that. She tossed the device back on to the bed and continued getting dressed for the event. Since Hera hosted, every.fucking.year. Melinoë's made it her mission to piss off the once queen every chance she got. It wouldn't do well to outright attack her or make claims of war on her in the open. It would incite a riot. Not that Comus would mind; if he were here. But she wasn't entirely sure of who still supported her and her endeavors. She couldn't stand to be blindsided like that. Though her restlessness was getting the better of her as time has passed. Something needed to be done. Sooner rather than later.

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Walking up the doors of the country club, Melinoë let her lip curl into a snarl. Of course Hera would choose this pretentious place. "Plympic Club" How gauche. If she actually looked at the place from a point of view other than hatred for the hostess, she would allow herself to think the place was actually pretty decent. Nice even. However, it was Hera, and this was Mel. And that was never going to happen.

There was already a substantial amount of immortals present that it threw her off. As she made her way to a small table of finger foods she took notice of Hati coming in through the doors, looking more ragged than usual. She couldn't help but laugh at the sight. Something clearly ruffled his feathers and she was going to make sure to poke fun at it later. Over on the other side of the room sat her parents, looking as in love as always, and it made something constrict her heart and press on her ribs. It wasn't that she wasn't excited for them, on the contrary. However, she would be lying if she said she desire that own look from a special someone - at least at some point.

But those were thoughts for another time. She would have a moment or two before running into him. He was never on time for anything. Always too concerned with, well, everything else. Never what he's supposed too. _{Clearly not me...} Another thought she had to shoo away. He was not going to ruin the Festival for her. Not this year. Not the rest of her life. Never again. Melinoë learned her lesson. At least, that's what she told herself before she caught sight of the Bright One himself.

"Well, fuck me..."

[smarty0114]

_{location: The Olympic Club
mood: wallowy
interactions: Hera | Hati @KZOMBI3 | Pothos @Horangi}

---

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[KZOMBI3]

---

𝖘𝖔 𝖎𝖙 𝖇𝖊𝖌𝖎𝖓𝖘... 𝖆𝖌𝖆𝖎𝖓
𝖘𝖔 𝖎𝖙 𝖇𝖊𝖌𝖎𝖓𝖘... 𝖆𝖌𝖆𝖎𝖓

_{𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. the olympic club
𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬. artemis | pothos
changing melinoë's txt color to #e96b7e for this collab
a @smarty0114 | kz collab}

---

Apollo saw her before she saw him. It had always been like that, he thought. He played coy though, letting her eyes rake over him and all his glory. He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips as he sipped his champagne. When he felt her gaze divert, he trained his eyes on her, watching as she took in the crowd. Her back turned, he moved from his space on the wall. He was bored, and Melinoë was oh so fucking exciting. It was a shame that Pothos wasn’t here to see the show, and yet, that didn’t stop him.

The Bright One came up behind her, soft as the final notes in a sad, sad song. That was what this was to him after all; a song, great and loud and impossible to resist, one he hadn’t quite written the ending for. He didn’t know where it might go, but he knew he liked the melody, and he would indulge himself as long as he was able.

He leaned over her shoulder, whispering in her ear with that musical hush that drove mortals to throw out their best laid plans in favor of a life devoted to art and beauty and wonder. “Long time, no see.”

With an utterance of a few simple words, Melinoë was transported back to when they would meet in the gardens. When he would play his instrument, soft tunes stemming from lithe fingers and full lips. Time seemed to cease to exist but only in those moments. Sun shining and warmth crept along her usually cold flesh. He uttered those words before, when he had stood above her as if she were one of his many worshipers, gazing down at her through long lashes, the sun's rays casting a halo ring behind him. He was beautiful, she remembers thinking in those moments. Moments that were only meant for the pair of them.

Now, however, as his breath hit the shell of her ear Melinoë couldn't help but to roll her eyes, a shiver running up her spine. And she tells herself it's out of disgust. "Long indeed~" She wanted to fall into him, lean into the warmth that only came from when you lay out amidst the sunshine. That's what he provided for her. Then and even more so now. Yet she refrained, instead plucked her own glass of champagne from a wandering server and tipped it back before finally turning to face the sun.

"Looking to break more hearts?"

“I’m always in the market,” Apollo smiled, and took a sip from his glass. “You look good. The Agatha Christie work’s still going well for you then?” He looked into those bright, maddening eyes and smiled wider, like no time had passed at all since their last meeting. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like this game, one sided as it was.

Artemis thought it cruel of him, but could he do much about his nature? She was drawn to girls, and he was destined to an eternal cycle of rising and setting. In place of stability, he offered blue eyes and a smile, promises of tangled bodies, twisted sheets and whispered words of love, dripping from them like notes falling from the strings of a lyre. He offered himself and made no mockery of it; only fools touched the sun, and were shocked when it burned.

Another sip to finish off her glass had her in a very different mood than when she walked in. "Got your attention didn't it?" It was coy enough to garner his fleeting attention. His games he plays. One of the many things about Apollo that infuriates her to no end. What was a game and what was truth? A game she could never hope to win at. Fairly or otherwise. Though she continues to try to compete in, regardless of the outcome.

How she longed for just one more moment of the past. Of feather touches while a gentle breeze shifted the tall grass around entangled bodies. A laugh so musical falling from lips she couldn't believe wasn't his. Endearing words that made her malicious heart soar into the blue sky above them; the only one to witness their time together.

To go back to before everything came to light. The lies, the hurt, the burning that once stood for something passionate and lovely turned scorching and enraged. The familiar feelings boiled low in her gut and if she were to think too long on them it would surely come to the surface. Melinoë didn't want to ruin this moment. She wanted to pretend that those hurt feelings, feelings of getting burned, were all a dream and here in the now was what was true.

Of course, with Apollo, the answer lay somewhere in the middle. He was a poet, and he buried his reality beneath layers and layers of honeyed words and enticing gazes. The game was the truth.

“That it did, that it did,” Apollo said. His eyes peered over the edge of his glass as he took another sip. One did not need an Oracle to deduce what was on his mind. “I’m playing a set at The JJ tonight. Maybe I’ll see you there?” He brought a hand up to gently brush a strand of hair behind her ear, smooth even now, in the face of madness.

Melinoë played absentmindedly with the rim of her empty flute, stopping herself from leaning into the brief contact he provided; like a moth to an open flame. Instead, she looked up through her lashes into eyes like the sky, searching his face for any tell that he was toying with her. It wouldn't be the first and definitely not the last. A small drop of champagne clung to the corner of his lips, and as she mulled over his words - coupled with the action of him tucking her stray hair - Melinoë was filled with a sense of proclivity that came out of nowhere. "The Jade Jaguar, hmm?" The faux pondering was strictly for show as she shifted her weight to the opposite foot closing what little gap there was between them. Her empty hand coming to rest beneath his denim, nails scratching lightly across the fabric of his dark shirt, stealing his cap in the process, "I'm sure I could make an appearance for my favorite musician."

She reached out to thumb the liquid off his face, bringing it to her own lips to suck off, "I’m going to need another refill, Sunshine~ Wanna join?" Melinoë gave a wink, proud of herself for being able to keep up in this game of his and for once coming out ahead. Even if it might be short lived she didn’t mind. Being so close to the sun this go round, she didn’t mind a few burns in the process. _{’I’m prepared this time…’}

Apollo’s good mood remained unfazed. He let out a breath, suddenly struck by the goddess before him. His heart beat faster, spurred on by Melinoë’s flirtations. He lived for these moments, when she surprised him and took the reins in her own hands. “I’d join you anywhere, Little Death. Just lead the way.”

[Horangi]

𝟎𝟏 : 𝕸𝖎𝖓𝖊.

_{The Luncheon}

I’ll stab a bitch, haha jk… unless?

---

interactions: Anteros, Hera @smarty0114

mentions: Apollo @smarty0114, Melinoë @KZOMBI3

❝ ɢᴏʟᴅ ᴇʏᴇs,
ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇᴀᴠᴇ ɢᴏʟᴅᴇɴ ʟɪᴇs
ᴘʀᴇss ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟɪᴘs ᴛᴏ ᴍɪɴᴇ
ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴀʟᴍᴏsᴛ ғᴀʟʟ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴛɪᴍᴇ
ɢᴏᴛᴛᴀ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ɪɴ ᴍɪɴᴅ
ᴛᴏ sᴛᴀʏ ɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅᴇᴅ
ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇɴ’ᴛ ᴍɪɴᴇ
ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇɴ’ᴛ ᴍɪɴᴇ
ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇɴ’ᴛ ᴍɪɴᴇ ❞



The air in the studio was charged, the uptempo thrum of an electric guitar and beat of a drum set echoed in Callaia’s ears. There were more words to be recorded, a fun guitar solo to crescendo up to, a sultry outro to hype up her fans for the following song on the tracklist, and yet all that played was the instrumental.

“Cal?” The worried voice of Warren Blake, CEO of the Seattle-based recording studio, buzzed in through the speakers.

“Let’s do it again, that was-“

“Go home, we can come back on Monday rejuvenated and refreshed,” he sighed and powered down the recording equipment. Callaia exited the studio briskly, her brows knitted together in confusion and annoyance, ready to proclaim how she was ready now, but the Kim Possible text tone dedicated to her brother stopped her sentence from forming. “Don’t you have a brunch to get to?”

“It’s a luncheon-“ her deadpan earned her a chuckle and an affectionate ruffle of her perfectly pressed hair, Hey-!”

“Get outta here kid, I’ll see you Monday.”

Pothos’ cheeks puffed out in annoyance, had anyone else referred to her in such a manner she might have lost her shit, but Warren had gotten away with it since their first meeting. There was something about this mortal that made her feel.. human, and contrary to popular belief, it was a very welcomed feeling to Pothos.

“Fine. See you Monday, old man.” Desire grumbled at the warm affection that rumbled in the notes of a short laugh that followed her out of the recording studio and into the backseat of a black town car. A reminder chimed on her phone for today’s Luncheon and she let out a sigh, thumbing through the guest list, ” Alive, alive, well that’s surprising, alive, alive, fuck.” Pothos groaned and leaned her head back against the plush leather seat, “You’ve ever been to a Luncheon that hasn’t devolved into a cluster fuck?”

The driver met her eyes through the rearview and shook his head, Pothos hoped that he hadn’t ever attended a Luncheon, but knowing her community, gatherings and shit shows were synonymous. Desire tapped impatiently on her phone screen checking social media, reading her emails, and finally getting around to responding to her better half.

To: Loverboy
I heard they were doing classes at Apple on how to use phones for the Elderly, maybe you should take her for ✨bonding✨ one of these days! _sent

To: Loverboy

But also, stop looking because your favorite superstar is here 😎 _sent

“Well, I hope you’re ready to become the world’s best getaway driver, Max!” Pothos coos as she exits the car in a practiced manner, ready to greet the paparazzi she knows aren’t there, as if any of the wait staff or venue owners would leak information when The Marilyn Montgomery was in charge.

“Miss?” The driver peers out of the cracked passenger window worry painted on his features and it makes Pothos laugh as she dismissively waved her hand.

“I’m just kidding Max, I break hearts, not bones~”

—

“Well, on second thought, I don’t think I’d be much of a disappointment if I broke a face or two.” Pothos grumbles under her breath, her hands squeezing around her phone as she was greeted by the audacious mingling of Radiance and Madness in some sketchy corner of the opulent venue hall.

Pothos hated how her eyes seemed to snap to Apollo’s stupid face no matter the size of the crowd or expanse of the space they occupied. For he was the Sun, and she a lonely planet that couldn’t spin fast enough to break out of orbit, and so she was caught up in the seasons of love with a fair-weather god. Now it was winter, the blossoms had shriveled and died weeks ago but the yearning to sprout again weaved into the lyrics she penned and echoed in the tenor she crooned.

Flicking her, still perfectly pressed, hair over her shoulder, she washed away the emotions with a class of expensive bubbly and continued her rudely interrupted entrance. Pothos sent a wink toward her favorite huntress, blew a kiss towards her brother, and effortlessly linked her arm through her grandmother’s, “Word on the street is you’ll be able to put away your smoke signals kit soon thanks to your second favorite grandchild, love that for you!”

[AlteredTundra]

LOCATION || Belltown, Seattle, WA — Piers (between 3 and 4am)

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They thought me to be weak. They came into my gym - my save haven for those who cannot defend themselves, asking for a fraction (as they called it) of my earnings. A protection fee, but everyone knew what it was. Deep down in our souls, we all knew they are thugs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who the hell are you?”

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

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Later in the day…

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

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

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

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

[Akayaofthemoon]

---

_{The Luncheon}

_{Mood: Like a duck.}

---

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_{Interactions:N/A}

Hours, that’s how long she had been sitting in her car at the back end of the Olympic Club parking lot while trying to urge herself into officially arriving. If anyone could ruffle her feathers and cause strain on the calm she normally exuded, it was her mother, Queen of the Greeks. She found that it was hard not to cave into whatever whim her mother might desire of her and the best way to stop that from happening was complete avoidance since she didn’t want to be a pawn but this was one event that couldn’t be so easily brushed aside. It was a time of year she dreaded, the knot in her stomach worsening as the event was called and the invitation received while she prayed her existence would be ignored at the function. It always made her feel like a duck, appearing calm and serene on the outside while under the surface, there was a furious paddling against churning emotions and a struggle to keep afloat or risk drowning in them. Needless to say, it made for an exhausting day and that wasn’t even half of the issue since it would also bring Ares who absolutely terrified her in more ways than one. It might not be so bad if he didn’t seem to make it his mission to bring discomfort or at least she saw it that way since he always seemed to be right there when she wished he wasn’t.

Pasithea just hoped she could find solace being around some of the other gods and goddesses, maybe find someone that even Ares and Hera would keep away from. One can hopefully be optimistic even if it is highly doubtful. She glanced at the clock with a groan, sighing deeply as she had stalled the inevitable as long as she could. She slightly stumbled out of her car as she got her balance, already regretting her choice to wear heels as she brushed her outfit off of any crumbs before striding into the building before her, easily finding the private event since she was sure as the underworld not calling this a luncheon, no matter if finger sandwiches were a thing. It was practically a bunch but without the best part which was breakfast but if she could drown her nerves in champagne then that would be fine. Maybe it would add a kick to the dessert for breakfast she had consumed slowly through her wait because for now she wasn’t feeling the effects at all.

Each step into the room was calculated and cautious, if not a bit shaken while making a beeline for the refreshments, working to find a seat as far away and to the back as possible. Pasithea knew it wouldn’t be polite to hide but she couldn’t help herself. She might seek out their hostess later, when someone else could be by her side and give her some back up or at least she thought that was what the saying was. Pasithea took a seat, taking a good gulp of her drink as she scanned the crowd of those to arrive so far. Her eyes instantly stopped upon her father, an ache to go over and make a conversation but she hadn’t done so in a long time. She had always watched from afar, that hadn’t seemed to change much but she also didn’t want to draw any negative attention to Dio. Hera had always been somewhat unpredictable and the last thing he needed was her attention because Pasithea was around. She pulled her eyes away, playing with the rim of her glass so it would lightly ring and waited for this disaster to start since there was no family even that didn’t descend into chaos. ‘Maybe I can make a game of it this year? Every barb, insult, fight, or drama gets a glass and we will see if I can still stand by the end of it….on second thought, might as well count myself drunk now if I take on that challenge.’, she thought to herself with a giggle.

[Aewin]

𝐜𝐨𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞

^{𝐭𝐰: 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐥, 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 & 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐲}

_{𝚄𝚆 𝙼𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝙲𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛 → 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙾𝚕𝚢𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚌 𝙲𝚕𝚞𝚋}

𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬: 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐫 @metanoia

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_{21:37
Emergency Room}

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

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

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

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

"He's herniating!"

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

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

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

___________________________________________________________________________________

_{08:22
Break Room}

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

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

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

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

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

[AlteredTundra]

LOCATION || The Olympic Club
INTERACTION || Sekhmet _@Aewin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[KZOMBI3]

---

𝖆 𝖇𝖗𝖚𝖘𝖍 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍
𝖆 𝖇𝖗𝖚𝖘𝖍 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍

_{𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. Saga Antiquities | The Olympic Club
𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬. Hel | norse pantheon
𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬. Hebe | Loki
a @Danvers collab}

---

When the Fall happened, Odin worked his ass off for a lot of things. Making things right with the rest of the Norse pantheon was top of the list and the only one that was still considered a _{work in progress}. Other notable accomplishments he can successfully say have been crossed out are; Making connections with other immortals, constantly and forever learning the ways of the world around him and establishing not one, not two, but three corporations that have made him almost as wealthy as his former life. With those businesses being as successful as they are he would have thought he was done with the humdrum life of a founder and CEO. Retired

Yet, here he was. Sitting behind his large oak desk, one he made sure was always available should they call him into the office to sign papers or hold meetings - to "show face" as it were. Useless. The lot of them. _{'What's the point of paying them if they aren't going to work for it...?'} There was a reason he was "retired". He put in the hard work, built the company(ies) from the ground up; literally. He shouldn't have to be here in person to sign papers. That's the beauty of the modern world; everything was electronic nowadays. Didn't change the fact that the Allfather was here instead sipping whiskey instead of champagne with a certain dark headed trickster.

Another glass of whiskey down and sigh passing his lips had Odin pressing the button to his personal assistant's intercom, "Miss Hebe, could you bring in those files on the latest Skara Brae dig site and another glass while you're at it, please?" Slumping back into the plush leather chair, hands coming to rub down his face, another exasperated sigh escaped him. This should have been an easy day, come in, do work shit and get out. Checking his watch he noticed that he'd already been there for nearly three hours.

Pulling out his phone while he waited for Hebe to bring him his requested, he hastily typed out a message before sending:

To: midnight trickster🗡️❤️
Looking to start some chaos today? I need an excuse to get out of here and please skip the rat poison this time love _sent

A freezing chill came over him, blanketing the room as if it were covered in frost. Loose papers fluttered to the floor and the air turned crisp; burning the lungs with every breath. In the distance Odin was sure he heard the cawing of a raven. When nothing immediately happened he relaxed a bit, enough to settle back into his chair. That was when it attacked.

A ghoulish figure emerging from the shadows of his office, pale as snow, screeching at the top of her lungs. A draugr. No doubt sent by Loki in his latest attempt to end his life. If Odin had time he would have rolled his eyes and scoffed at the whole situation of it. Honestly, when did Loki have the time to conduct the ritual for this? He shouldn't be surprised, it's very on brand for the Trickster. Instead, Odin was preoccupied with dodging the revenant's slashing motion as she advanced on the Norseman.

Items and furniture were overturned with every backwards step the Allfather took, all in an attempt to get out of the way and find a better approach to this, currently, one sided fight. A battle was something Odin never turned away from, why would this be any different? He grabbed at anything he could, lobbing it towards the creature, only for it to phase through and land on the floor with a resounding thud. "Greaaaat." The woman continued to press on, only having stopped to change directions and follow her prey. Her talon-like fingers grazed him across his right shoulder, sending him tumbling into the floor. More items were thrown from his position on the ground, all of them missed or passed through her. She was on him, so close he could see the fog of his breath, could see the jagged incision of the wound to her throat. The only thing that was left for him to use in his position was an artifact, a shield, he had procured during the fifties in a hidden castle in Wales.

'Shield of Evalach, said to bring holy protection... Here goes nothing,' His internal monologue cut short as he grabbed the shield and held it between him and the draugr, quickly bashing it up into her chest. Luckily, the material made contact and it sent the creature stumbling backwards into his desk. The mini battle continued on like this for some time, with Odin finally being able to land a hit, and the draugr refusing to give up. "Under different circumstances, you would have done well to reach Valhalla." Another successful hit made contact and with it sent the body of the woman into the opposite wall of his office door.

The noise of the door opening distracted Odin enough that the creature lunged at him, knocking his weapon away and pressed him into the floor below. Odin looked up and noticed Hebe standing there in the doorway, papers clasped between her hands.

"I..." The young assistant blinked, blonde hair draping over her shoulder as her head tilted to one side, akin to one examining some abstract (and bizarre) piece of art. There was a rather awkward pause before the details of the Skara Brae dig site crept up to hide the bottom half of her face, a giggle escaping her lips. "I-I didnt realise you were interested in interpretative dance Mr. Odin." She managed to stammer out between her gentle bouts of laughter.

Were he caught in any more of a precarious situation, Odin might have found that comment to be laughable. Instead he gestured with his eyes back and forth between the two women in the room as if to ask "can't you see?!" In a matter of seconds, the draugr screeched trying to nip at his throat before disappearing completely, an ominous sign for sure.

Cautiously getting up from the ground Odin dusted himself off and took in the sight of his office with a crease between his brow. Debris and trinkets scattered throughout, littering the floor and making a mess of the room. He pinched the bridge of his nose, "Helga is going to have a fucking field day with this one."

He approached the giggling blonde at his door and reprieved her of the items in hand, taking the paperwork and signing it against the wall - one of the few things that wasn't destroyed - before tucking it under his arm then downing his glass of whiskey in one go. Smacking his lips in pleasure he tossed the glass somewhere behind him, listening for the shattering sound to follow and turned to his assistant with a smile on his face.

"I do believe we're due to make an appearance at the Olympic. Care for a ride?"

Regaining her composure, Hebe shook her head. "Thank you but I'm going to catch the bus. This guy was telling me about how the polar bears have no ice left and it was super sad...so yeah. Bus it is." She finished with a small smile, realising he probably didn't care about any of that.

"I'm sure I'll see you there though Mr. Odin! And I promise I won't tell anyone about your secret hobby!" She chirped lightly. It was best not to question the Allfathers actions too much, she'd found it was better just to roll with his moods & whims. It made for a diverting day job...and at the very least he'd seemed to enjoy the dancing.

Odin watched as she practically skipped out of his office, her grin still plastered on her face as if she were just let in on the most hilarious of jokes. It made him chuckle before doubling over in pain. The draugr did a number on him too it seemed. Before taking his leave he stooped low to pick up the shield that had been tossed to the side deciding to bring it along should he need the protection.

When he finally arrived at the Olympic Club the atmosphere had already warped back to normal. Daily life seemed to have not been interrupted and people were still going about their day blissfully unaware. Stepping through the threshold, icy eyes locked onto his target, but not before scanning the others in attendance. Hati talking to one of the Erotes, Hel lurking about… somewhere he couldn't pin her location but he could sense her. He made a mental note to speak to the Moon chaser later during the festival about restocking his utterly destroyed office.

For now he simply strode in, snagging two glasses of the bubbly, and weaved through the gathering of immortals plopping down beside his brother. His elskhugi sat there, eyes refusing to meet his own, studying the party goers with an intensity that screamed he was scheming. So, Odin sat there talking a long sip of the mute golden liquid, a content sigh falling from him, "If you stare any harder Loki, they'll surely combust and then where will be the fun in that?"

[Legion02]

A R E S

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Mentions of | Everyone at the party but specifically Pasithea @Akayaofthemoon
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Ares woke up with the sun. His bed was far too comfortable. He got up to look out the floor-to-ceiling window into the water that surrounded Seattle. It looked so serene and peaceful. It felt weird though, knowing that a little more than a century and a half ago the Americans would be fighting for this area. Of course, Ares had been there. Even now he could point to where manned a canon. Too much had changed though. If given the chance Ares would’ve stood before the window ruminating about the past for the entire morning. However, today he did not have that luxury.

First he went for a run. Not on a treadmill, of course. That was the useless habit of people who were far too rich. He ran through the morning streets of Seattle for 45 minutes just to warm up. Back in the hotel he ditched the hoodie, the only thing he wore over his chest and started to lift weights at the gym. The exercise barely activated the fire in his blood. Though he could still lift the weight of a fully grown adult with ease. Sweat began to pour as he continued his workout. Next up was boxing. By now drops of sweat began to roll over his toned body. He closed it off with a half-hour swim in the hotel’s pool. When he was done most of the hotel goers who fancied an early morning swim were up. The men looked upon him in the same way most of his siblings looked at him. With a mixture of disgust and distaste. The many scars he had all over his body made it dreadfully clear that he was a fighter. Such a thing was no longer a sign of respect in the civilized world though. The ladies, and some of the men, looked at him with admiring eyes. Some looked from the corner of their eyes. Others were more daring. When Alexander Markov was done, he pulled himself out of the pool. Steam rose up from his chiseled body and for just a moment the pool fell quiet. One woman flashed Ares a wink. He just returned a polite smile before he walked past her.

Half an hour later and Ares was dressed in the armor of the civil world: suit and tie. He looked closer to a dashing young lawyer than the mercenary he actually was. Though the art of theatre was not reserved for Dionysus alone. He was running late though. His car was already waiting. Beside it was the lovely Melissa.

Ares didn’t know Seattle as it was now. The place was a labyrinth of skyscrapers to him. To make sure his stay would be as comfortable as possible he had hired what could best be described as a guide. Of course, this was not your average $200/day guide. She was highly suggested by one of Ares’ far more affluent clients. According to the man, she knew Seattle better than most residents. Not only on a political level. There were some whispers of extra services rendered but Ares wasn’t particularly interested in that.

One second, please. He motioned with his hand and lips, before pointing at this cellphone to his ear. “Listen, I’m running late for something. But when I’m done here in Seattle I’ll come to visit you in DC, okay? Okay. And hey, I love you. Okay, bye-bye.” With that he finished the call and gave his guide a soft smile. “I’m sorry for that. Right, I suspect it will be a weird day for you today. I’m not entirely sure where I’ll go today and I’m afraid you’ll have to stay in the car for most of it.”
Melissa just offered him a genuine smile as she opened the door. “Not a problem.” She said. Of course it wasn’t a problem. At the end of the week Ares would’ve paid her more than most people get paid in a year. Still, he returned the friendly smile and crawled into the car. “Well, the first stop would be a local country club.”

~

The driver found said country club easy enough. Meanwhile, Melissa regaled Ares with tales of the many fun summer parties she attended there. Apparently the grass was some special kind that made it excellent for croquet. Not that Ares would ever play such a dull sport. Eventually they drove up to the front entrance of the club where Ares would step out. Though he quickly turned to his guide and driver and said: “My calendar says this will take about two hours but if I’m honest I doubt this will last longer than half an hour. Knowing the people in there at least.” Really, what was more like a powder keg than the whole Greek Pantheon? All the Pantheons together of course. “So… leave her running would you? I might have to flee the scene.” He said with a wink. Obviously he was joking. He gave the drive a thankful tap on the shoulder, an old habit from the sandbank, and stepped out.

The opulence screamed at Ares. It reminded him a little bit of Olympus. Only a little bit though. He strode through the halls following the nicely put-out signs telling him where to go. Honestly, if it wasn’t his mother who organized the luncheon, Ares would’ve never attended. But she did, so here he was. After almost thirty years of barely attending the Festival of Life he came to the most unnecessary appearance of all. With little theatrics he entered the hall but like a trained soldier his eyes went over every person in attendance. His children were there, as was Sekhmet. That would be interesting. Some of the Norse pantheon were present as well. He took an easy breath when he noticed Tlaz wasn’t there. Maybe she would skip the party altogether. A part of him was excited to see her again. She was one of the few people that could make his blood boil at just a sight. It was her strength over him now, even if she wasn’t aware of it herself.

He did lock eyes with Pasithea, his half-sister. She was as gentle as Ares was rough. Which made the fact that she was family all the more interesting. He didn’t approach her though. He slightly raised the glass of bubbles he effortlessly pulled from a passing tray to greet her. Then he sat down on a chair that was half hidden in the shadows. For now he would be happy with just observing whatever was going to happen.

[smarty0114]

---

Covetous Eyes
Covetous Eyes

_{location: The Olympic Club
mentions: Melinoe @KZOMBI3 |
a @horangi & smarty production}

---

In a private suite tucked away in the west wing of Seattle’s most luxurious country club, Hera preened in front of a mirror. Delicate, slender fingers pulled her hair into place, and fastened it with a pin, pearly white and inlaid with diamonds. She’d arrived hours before, and had been working tirelessly on her image, while the employees below worked to arrange the luncheon she’d arranged. With Anteros joining the fray, she was putting the finishing touches on her look. Perfection could not be perfection without a little bit of work, after all.

By now, the servants employees had finished with their preparations, and the other deities had arrived, bringing with them the stench of desperation and classlessness. The only thing she enjoyed about these festivities was the opportunity to posture over the others. It was her arrangements on which immortality rested. Sure, Persephone tended the garden with her bastard hands, but it was Hera who brought them together, Hera who allowed them to eat. Or so she liked to think, at least.

Giving her reflection a once over, she decided that she was done. She smiled at herself, and strode out of her room, long legs carrying her forward with all the elegance and grace of a true queen. In her strut there was power, authority, dignity. Mortals, clad in the country club uniform, scurried out of her way, already well aware of the stories detailing Marilyn Montgomery’s infernal rage.

The stairs into the foyer provided her with an overview of the assembled deities. Piercing green eyes scanned the crowd, sizing up each and every one of her rivals. She saw Loki, the foul heathen, smiling his conman grin, and Zeus, whoring his way throughout the room. If it was up to her, they’d both be barred from the festivities, left to rot in their mortal bodies. Alas, access to the fruit was not truly in Hera’s control, loathe as she was to admit it. Zeus and Loki were painful reminders of her failings in this regard.

Artemis stood against a wall, alone, thankfully. The country club had been given a very explicit guest list, mainly to ensure that none of the Moon Witch’s savage girls made it through the doors. Surely they were watching the perimeter, but at least Artemis would have to rely on her own ears to gather information today. Anything that weakened Zeus’ bastards, was worth the fuss.

Lips curled in a practiced smile, Hera waved over a waitress as she descended the stairs, swiping a champagne flute from her tray, a fork from a nearby table, and raising both in the air. Clink clink clink went the fork against the glass, a summons of divine importance.

“So, we find ourselves here again. Another year, another festival. Oh how the time does fly,” Hera said. Her words dripped with the saccharine sweetness of a practiced politician, a woman who chose her words with care. “It is truly wonderful to see you all once again. Truly. Lunch will be served shortly, and then, a bout of my favorite game. I’m sure you all know the prize. So, go and do what you are best at. Eat, drink, and be oh, so merry.” Hera punctuated her speech with a sip of champagne, before gliding forward to play the game she truly favored. The politics of the gods.

No sooner had she stepped onto the board than her favorite player arrived, dressed to kill.

“Word on the street is you’ll be able to put away your smoke signals kit soon thanks to your second favorite grandchild, love that for you!”

Hera did not need to feign a smile for her granddaughter. She wore a rare grin as Pothos took her place beside her.

“Darling! Did you see my speech? It was a good one this year, not that anyone here can appreciate it,” Hera punctuated her boast by finishing her glass and leaving it on a passing waiter’s tray. “How is the music going? Well, I presume?”

The brightness in Hera’s smile cast away the gloom that dared to creep up in Pothos’ subconscious, daring her to turn from the beauty of her mother and give into the wrath of war that coursed through her veins, but Hera was a safe haven for her, whom had been abandoned by all but her brother. Pothos returned the smile and released a breath that relaxed her shoulders, her arm slipping away from Hera’s to give the woman a once over and then an approving nod, “I got in near the end of it, but you’ve always had a wonderful way with words. The music?” Pothos repeated her brows furrowing slightly as she pondered what a good answer would be to that.

Of course in the span of her perpetual life her music career was great, but in her current life she, as Amor, she had yet to release her Sophomore album, ” It’s going, still working on the second album, but art takes time, you can’t build an empire on a single track list, ya know?” Pothos was content with that answer but wanted to avoid further conversation about her music career, lest she be subject to disappointing someone else in her life and so she cast her eyes to the growing crowd of gods, “Seems like the crowd is still quite large, I see that some of our favorites are still kicking around..” Pothos’ gaze wandered over the crowd and landed on her brother and his peculiar companion, “Ant made it seem like you were looking for me, was it just because you missed me or did something happen?”

Hera clapped her hands together, surprise and excitement bubbling over as a gasp slipped past her lips. “Yes, yes, I almost forgot,” she said. Reaching into her clutch the Queen of the Gods produced a black, leather box. Popping the lid back, Hera revealed a pendant, a small, shining, golden apple, attached to a thin chain, and nestled against the black velvet of its box.

“Once upon a time, your mother and I went to war over an apple like this. Heroes fought and died for a fruit that they would never taste. We fought and fought and fought, and that apple remained untouched. I thought…” Hera paused, ran her thumb against the edge of the box, “well, I saw it and I thought you should have it.” Hera pushed the box towards her granddaughter, a softness that most would’ve found alien, overcoming her usual icy poise. “A reminder that it’s far more advantageous to be coveted, than to covet.”

Pothos’ eyes widened as she appraised the necklace that was thrust into her hands, she snuck a couple glances at her grandmother’s face as the reminder she shared hung in the air. Did she know? The thought popped up as she lifted the necklace by the dainty chain, her eyes glanced over the swarm of gods once more as she undid the clasp, there’s no way she knows… no she definitely knows! Pothos held up the unclasped necklace to request her grandmother’s help before turning and lifting her hair, only just realizing how silent she had been while her mind raced, “I love it!” her words came out in a rush, an octave off from her usual tone and she grimaced at the forced sound.

After a beat she cleared her throat and tried again, “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting to receive something so beautiful, really, I’m grateful for this… and for everything you’ve done for me, for us.” Pothos reached a hand to touch the pendent that rested against her clavicle, “I won’t tell Ant you gave this me, he’ll get jealous.”

Hera smirked, content in believing her gifts took everyone’s breath away. She placed her hand softly against Pothos’ shoulder, protective and firm all at once. “You always did know how to keep a secret,” the matriarch said, eyes flitting out to scan the enemies that walked amongst them. “Do me a favor, and keep an ear open today. You can never be too paranoid, especially at a festival.”

Pothos simply nodded at Hera’s words, though her thoughts lingered on trying to pick apart her tone, “Speaking of paranoid, have you talked to your likable son recently?” Pothos started and leaned forward against the stone ledge to search for the face of her uncle, “He stopped by the studio when I was on my way out the other day, he didn’t seem… well, like not sick but something was definitely bothering him.” Pothos turned again, away from the party and to cross her arms over her chest as she rose a curious brow, “Also, guess he’s not in on the family drama, he thought I would have information on Ares-pfft, yeah, barking up the wrong tree with that one.”

It took Hera a moment to place exactly which child her grandchild was referring to. “He did stop by the office last week,” Hera said, looking off into the distance as she recalled her most recent meeting with Hephaestus. “I thought he was there to discuss his campaign, but he was asking about the family as well. Something about Athena, maybe?” Hera waved her comment off; she’d never given much thought to Hephaestus, despite her oh so maternal nature. “I wouldn’t give it much thought. He’s sentimental, in his own ways.”

Pothos pursed her lips while taking in her Grandmother’s expression, for a moment she opened her mouth ready to pose her next question, but held back and pulled her lips into a smile as she straightened from her position.

“As much as I adore all the time I spend with you, duty calls. I’ve got to make my rounds as the Super Star around here, and you’ve got to be the Hostess with the Mostest.” Pothos grinned, eyes twinkling with mischief as she touched the Golden Apple again, “Or rather, I need to put myself in a better position to be coveted.”

Hera smiled, genuine and full of pride; she might have made plenty of mistakes, but her grandchildren were not among them. “That’s my girl.”

[Aewin]

𝐚 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫

^{𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬: 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐫 @metanoia & 𝐒𝐞𝐤𝐡𝐦𝐞𝐭 @Aewin}

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

’Something to spice up the festival.’

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

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

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

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

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

“Right, the drill.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[AlteredTundra]

_{a @metanoia || @Danvers || @smarty0114 collab}

_{Interactions: Hercules, Hebe, Hera
Mentions: Melinoe (via text) @KZOMBI3
Location: Bus Stop → Olympic Club}

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

Again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Received

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

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

Sent

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

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

bump-de-bump

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

Crisis averted? That was simply wishful thinking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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