[IC] On the Horizon: A Modern Day God RP

[HalfOfLancelot]

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Posting Rules!

• We expect at least a paragraph or two of detail and interaction. Also, try not to stall a scene when people are eager to move on. Obviously, not the most important rule, but if a scene goes on for way longer than it needs to, then try to wrap it up as best you can.
• Try not to reiterate as much as possible. Of course, some is fine and necessary. But if 80% of your post is "he said this, then this happened, then she replied this and my char nodded along" without adding much to the existing interaction, it gets pretty redundant.
• We expect a moderate understanding of grammar and spelling. You can be Ernest Hemmingway and have the most simplistic sentences, or you can go Dickens level of run ons, as long as I can read them.
• IC Drama is awesome, just don't make it over the top and entirely unnecessary. And especially don't let it bleed into the OOC.
• No speed posting! You should wait at least 2 posts after yours to post once more. This does vary if you play multiple characters. If you've posted for character A, you must wait two posts to post for them again. But you could post for character B without waiting for two posts after character A.
• Collaborations are awesome and encouraged, but not mandatory. However, if it takes too long for you to get a collaboration post up (like a week), just post what you have, even if it's incomplete.
• Just because the IC is up, don't forget to check in and chat in the OOC, and chatzy!
• We expect posts, at the very least, once a week (not for each character, though, so like you can post one character a week if you want lol)! Collabs all that jazz. Notify us—COMMUNICADO—if you're having an issue and need more time. Otherwise, you know, all that goodbye jazz after two weeks of no communication.
• I do have a plot in mind, so I expect you to at least attempt to follow it, but I very much appreciate creative freedom. Just know if I say a post I make is important, I expect it to be read at least once, i.e. the first actual post of this IC.
• No godmodding either. D:<

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Posting Format

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Add or Subtract to your heart's desire <3

[HalfOfLancelot]

"That's not something you just skirt over."
Interactions: With his computers
Location: Observatory, Phoenix, Arizona; 8:08 p.m.

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Moonlight settled the range of sepia rock and barely there shrubbery in a light haze, far above the smog of Phoenix's city life. Beyond the mountain and the pollution of lights smearing the sky in a viscous black ink, the only lights catching the horizon for miles came from the beat up Honda Civic rumbling down a dirt path and into a tiny parking garage. Honestly, the garage itself looked more like a shack than something paid for by a well-off university. Dwarfing the garage, the Observatory stood atop a hillside, pointing its panels and revealed telescope toward Orion's bow in the winter sky. Attached to the observatory lay a small building where various, powerful machines were housed for research. And off west and to the side, sat a numerous amount of far too large to be ordinary antennae settled on one vocal point in the northern sky.

The observatory itself remained separate from the house of machines, computers, and hard drives, which ran for the satellite project dubbed Haus. The entirety of the observatory's astronomers took part in Haus' research, meaning the University itself helped fund it. The research aimed to look into space at a higher definition and much, much farther than Hubble's could ever quite reach. The Haus telescope could render an image in real time for that section in space, meaning light wouldn't have to travel millions of miles. The project seemed far advanced for its time, which could be acquitted to the man who made the telescope from scratch: Valentine Haus, or as Emmanuel grew to know him, Vulcan.

A disheveled man, looking to be on Australian time rather than his own, bumbled out of the Civic with his suit coat wrinkled over his shoulders and a case in a barely there grip in his hands. Emmanuel Welch found his vacation to have ended abruptly, though the look on his face looked conflicted with the return of monitoring the night sky coupled with actually working. It found a nice in between scowl whilst Emmanuel jogged up the steps to one of the numerous entrances in order to slide his key fob in and tumble inside himself.

"A little late there, bucko," a quiet voice owned by a petite blonde rounded the corner the moment Emmanuel did. Snark held tight to the blonde's features, keeping an almost there scowl twisting her lips and cheeks. Caustic words seemed her go to, reaching an irritating balance between nasally and sarcastic.

With a taught frown, he sat what possessions he brought across from her small frame within the tiny space they acquired. "Anything big from Haus, Danielle?" Emmanuel moved past her toward their cramped space of coffee pots, mugs, and a half-eaten dish of cheesecake.

"You realize everything we find with that thing is considered groundbreaking, right?" Danielle replied with a steel glare. Emmanuel deflected both the question and her scrutiny with a well placed cup of coffee. "But, I think I did find something. You might wanna head down to the computer house to check the recent images Haus acquired," Danielle, after a lengthy pause, began, setting whatever she'd been working on down to look more closely at Emmanuel, "Steve thinks it's a glitch, that something's blocking the telescope's view, but I dunno."

"Well, fuck Steve, then. Tell me what you think," Emmanuel said, turning toward her with a mug of sugar in his hands—he liked his coffee heavy on the sweet side. He watched Danny squirm in her seat as her eyes moved toward the papers in her hands. She shuffled them with her brow pinched, before pursing her lips and stacking them neatly within her grasp. A sigh left her lips before she set the papers down again and turned fully toward Emmanuel, eyeing his hazmat mug with caution.

"I think you need to take a look at it yourself."

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Alias: Odyn Redheart
Interactions: Nobody in Particular
Location: High rise, Sydney, Australia; 2:08 p.m.

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Crimson red coated the walls of this Sydney penthouse, with gold trimming that demanded attention. A chandelier hung in the middle of a semi-circular living room, above a yew coffee table in a dipped annex between the kitchen and a large panoramic view of the sandy beach and endless ocean. An empty wine glass sat stained red beside a vase of yellow and orange anemones, the owner having left for a quick shower before his meeting—an unfortunate severance deal for the splitting of two companies who didn't see eye to eye in the first place. It required a touch of alcohol.

In the far corner of room itself writhed a curtain of steam from the bedroom door. From it a silhouette emerged, bracketed by the open door frame with a towel tight around its waist and a phone to its ear.

"Apologies, my shower faucet has been acting up," the gruff figure of Odyn rumbled into the speaker as he walked through his penthouse with no regard for his lack of clothing, "it gets locked up and wastes all of my hot water. I have steam wafting into my bedroom and rolling out into the main chamber.

"Anyway, I'll be there in about," Odyn took the moment to glance up at the stationed clock by his fridge. It staid stock still at 2:08 p.m. with a sharp crack unusually straight down the middle. His brow furrowed, but he made no effort to truly care; he didn't have time to ponder over faulty machinery. "I'll get there in an hour, expect me by, let's say three."

Upon turning, Odyn's brows furrowed at the shadow cast at his feet that grew with a rapid intensity. His eyes caught a figure outside, and he tilted his head with a scrunched expression. Chalking it up to nothing, Odyn moved back toward his bedroom only to be stopped mid stride by grasping blackness. A scream caught his throat, the phone clattering as the blackness edged over him and promptly disappeared, leaving the former god a mere husk—a stain on his marble floors.

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"A glitch my fucking ass."
Interactions: Danielle, Computers
Location: Observatory, Phoenix, Arizona; 8:11 p.m.

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How could anyone possibly think this thing resembled a technical error? Much less something blocking the telescope. No, too obvious to be anything but the space Haus showed.

Emmanuel, forehead creased and dented at the top of his bridge, looked back and forth between two HD copies of different parts of the sky. He turned to Danielle, who had proceeded to bite her lip and glanced up at him from the rim of her glasses. "Steve thinks this is a glitch?" he asked and she nodded quickly, "Where'd he get his degree?"

"DePaul, why?"

"Well, DePaul can suck my fucking cock," Emmanuel nearly shouted, slapping the pictures onto the table in front of him. "When were these taken?" He began a brisk walk through the warm environment, disappearing behind a large stack of state of the art computer hard drives. Danielle followed as quick as she could, cursing her high heels and awful coordination.

"Just a little over a month ago. I was going to run a few tests again this morning, but Steve insisted I don't," Danielle huffed, stopping right behind the hunched body of Emmanuel, "I can't believe they hired such a blatant, sexist asshole. Are we allowed to get him fired for this?"

"I would like to, yes, but I'm not," Emmanuel said, hands typing code quickly through the keyboard before finally, on the projector to his side, an image popped up. It laid black as night, but eerie in quality, as if he were staring into an abyss that dared to stare back. Danielle frowned at his side, her eyes never leaving the displayed image while Emmanuel continued fiddling with the code. "Here's another," he said the moment the second picture lit up the screen, displaying a partial galaxy.

"Wait, that's... that's the Andromeda galaxy," Danielle stated and Emmanuel nodded, before typing another set of codes in. The image widened to reveal more of the galaxy. "What the fuck? That's not natural—not for this galaxy."

"Millions of light years of space, just gone."

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"I wonder if he's still alive in ther—nope, that's pretty dead."
Interactions: Odin's Dead Body
Location: High rise, Sydney, Australia; 3:11 p.m.

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Moments later...

"Mr. Redheart?" a crisp Australian accent rang through the hallway leading to the personal elevator, stopping short of the foyer. Nothing seemed unusual, aside from an astray picture on the wall that needed correcting. The man, decked in a service uniform, left his cart of cleaning supplies at the entrance to the living room and proceeded to examine what needed cleaning. His eyes stopped roaming the moment they landed on the rooted and charred figure of Odyn Redheart in the midst of his foyer, his garish, orange colored cellphone cracked on the marble beneath him. "Jesus Christ," he ran toward the figure before gingerly picking up the phone and, swiping for emergency contact and entering the triple zero. He ranted off what he could and made his way back to the foyer to await—and partially because the statue that used to be Mr. Redheart still had its eyes intact.

Once the man left, voice barred by the door between him and the living room, the clack of footsteps echoed through the spacious living area. The feet belonged to rather long, brown slacks, and a white buttoned up torso. And the face, with it's pursed lips and inquisitive eyes, belonged to a very disconcerted deity. James made a circle around the supposed evidence the Oracle of Delphi had directed him towards. Her words rang stark in his ears.

... body like molten ash, hollowed out with eyes frantically looking on as the stars collapsed and the skies fell. He smells of sulphur and cyanide; he wreaks of radiation. It feels like a star died within him.

And now that James thought of it, having an Odin Statue leaking radiation everywhere seemed very detrimental to the various human lives in the vicinity. But he couldn't help but stare because James felt it, like a chain snapped around him. As if someone dialed up on the frequency of the universe and let him hear a few more buzzes, a few more words, a few more mumbles from distant planets. The moment it happened, James felt a cold chill run down his spine and in that instant terror sank in his stomach. It felt real, now, thinking about it and perhaps that was because it was real; the terror sank back in, eating up his insides with a hunger.

Or maybe that was the gamma radiation.

Regardless, James wrapped his arms around Odin's deceased form and pried him from the scene of the crime to take him back through the doorway he'd come from. Upon arriving, he was greeted with the face of Tyr and Athena behind him, both looking grimly at the body chugged over his shoulder.

"Looks like we'll need a meetin'," Tyr rumbled, the corners of his mouth pulling further down, "I'll task you with that. Open the doors, Janus."

"Aye, aye," James replied, looking toward Athena now who motioned him toward the hallway that lead to the analytical quarters of the newly fashioned 'Asgard'—a building in midday New York, shielded by what magic the remaining gods had left and only accessible through discreet permission from the gods themselves.

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Alias: Tyler Ericson
Interactions: The Summit Hall
Location: Asgard

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The great hall of Asgard held many archways and many halls with many doors and now, in this time of desperation, they all flung open. And through each one poured a deity, confused and bewildered as the last they were summoned here, they'd lost their powers. Now, they were finding them returning and each more grew in puzzlement, with questions they asked their fellow beings as they filtered into the great hall's granite splash of grey, blue, and gold floors, it's large, assuming pillars supporting the dome of constellations that hung over their heads. Grand archways lead into a series of seats fashioned in a circle around a large pavilion, staggered like a lecture hall, where a number of Gods of Wisdom and Law kept seated, Janus among them with his eyes wandering the various faces he thought he'd soon forget. Tyr stood in the front, waiting as each god took their seat and once they had he boomed, loud and clear in the echo of Asgard's mighty walls, his only hand (rather than the nub) gesturing to a clothed figure beside him.

"It is with great misfortune that I say these words," Tyr stated, thick rolling, Irish hillsides laden in his voice, his head swiveling to pan across the congregation of deities, eyes falling on empty spots of deceased gods and goddesses of the war long passed, "but we've lost a great friend and former leader. Odin, King of Asgard and all the Norse, has befallen a terrible fate."

He leaned toward Janus who caught his eye, "If you would, my friend?"

A shout and a few collective gasps (and a laugh, which had James snorting) rang amidst the crowd as James unveiled the stone body of Odin. "After a great many years of peace, I am shocked to be saying this," Tyr hung his head low as he spoke, "But we here suspect a fellow deity has done this. As you know, we bound our powers within a seal of our own beings. It was bound to our lifetimes, infinite as it were, but unfortunately is not," he gestured to the deceased Odin, "and with his life, the seals have begun breaking and losing one chain has rattled the others. You witnessed it, we witnessed it, unfortunately we have no evidence other than suspicion as to who could have accomplished such a feat. However, we will not be announcing any names. I bring you here to notify you of our impending investigation and to mourn our loss."

Athena stepped up to offer her statement, once Tyr's pause grew lengthy enough, "We ask that you all remain here for the time being whilst the summit delivers its few statements. I assume, as gods, none of you have anywhere else to be?

"Good."

[impervious]

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Andrew lifted up the green sheet to inspect the body. It was a young girl, who’d died in a car crash. It had been a tragic accident, and caused by a drunk driver. All her wounds had been stitched up, and she looked peaceful, as if she was just sleeping.

Sighing, he reached over to the table and got the disinfectant. The techniques of embalming had changed dramatically over the centuries, and he had to say, it was a lot less squeamish now then back in Ancient Egypt. There was no brain scooping for one thing.

Massaging her muscles gently, he felt the tense knots relax. His hands were quick and deft in their movements, and he wondered idly whether he could take on a job as a masseuse if he wanted to.

He looked up as Hel came in, a smartphone pressed to her ear and a rare anger expressed on her face. Rather than saying anything, she was deathly quiet, placing a stray curly lock behind her ear as she listened patiently for the other to finish. She didn’t bother to even glance at her employee, but rather stalked the room, her heels clacking against the floor and her pencil skirt and button-up looking odd amongst the corpses of the room.

“No, you listen here you douchebag.” Hel finally hissed into the phone, grabbing at the table to lean her weight on as she scowled at whatever the other said. “I will bury you! You hear me? If you even think I’ll let you near my daughter after you slept with that mediocre, bimbo slut than you have another thing coming, Kent. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a job to do, unlike you I actually work instead of getting blown by a goddamn secretary!”

Hel hung up the phone, slamming it onto the table, not even flinching when an audible crack was heard. It was only then that she seemed to notice Anubis’ presence and she straightened herself up, repositioning her blazer and smoothing down the rage-wrinkles on her forehead. As if a switch was flipped, her face went from the revenge-depraved desperation that only a scorned woman could possess to a passive coldness, radiating business and brevity.

“Andrew,” She said, her voice carefully controlled with neither a quiver nor an influx of volume, “How is the girl? Any complications? The funeral is in a day or two.”

Her eyes glanced around the funeral home. It was a pristinely white room with a perpetual chill, to keep the bodies well preserved, and no decorations except for a kitten hanging from a string with the words “hang in there” could be seen. Hel hated that picture with a passion, but kept it around in order to ease her daughter when she came around. The air was dry and light, and the rather cheap light fixtures that hung from the ceiling on sturdy chains were harsh and bright, like the annoying ones found in hospitals and mentally-unstable homes. The room was occupied with long, thin, silver metal tables in which blue corpses slept. Overall, the room reminded Hel of death, but not the dark cold death that she was used to.

Andrew nodded, face blank but eyes betraying his concern as he looked sideways at Helena. She’d been doing this more often as of late, screaming down her phone and then acting as if nothing had happened. It worried him just how much more tired she looked, when she thought that he wasn’t looking.

“It’s coming along fine. She’ll be ready for the funeral in no time at all.” Hands gently moving the girls mouth into a neutral expression, he peeled off his gloves and face mask. It was just as he was setting everything back into place when he felt it. It was like a cold wave that washed over him, loss, despair, and the acrid tang of death that lingered in his mouth long after it had passed.

He stumbled in shock, and looked towards Hel in alarm, mouth agape.

“Did you...did you feel that?”

Hel’s breath swept out from her and she leaned onto one of the gurneys, her brown hair falling into her blue eyes. Anubis’ words barely registered in her ears, but a vague understanding dawned on her and she nodded, swallowing heavily around the lump in her throat, “Yes.”

He furrowed his brow and tried to pinpoint the source of that sudden swell of power. A god, certainly, but not a minor one. As it dissipated, he chased after last remaining tendrils, and recoiled when he found a void in which there once was knowledge and power and strength.

“It was Odin. Or at least, I think it was. Can you tell?” He was going to start rambling at any minute, he just knew it, and he clamped his mouth shut, chewing on his bottom lip nervously.

“Odin?” Hel muttered, reaching into the depths of her thoughts, trying to remember Odin’s godliness that had been ingrained in her mind since she was a child. She remembered everything about him, to his domineering personality to the stench of war that radiated from him. Hel smiled a terrifying grin, bringing a perfectly manicured nail to her lips and gnawed at the tip. “Yes, yes it is Odin.”

Then, to herself, she mumbled, “Odin’s gone.” The two words were uttered with such relieving glee and horrifying satisfaction.

Anubis frowned at her and hit her arm gently. “Helena! If you’re not going to be sympathetic, at least think about what could have done this. There’s hardly anything that can kill a god, even as a human.”

He knew that she had good reason to hate the god, there was no doubt about that. But it had freaked him out, that sudden wash of death. It was something that he hadn’t felt in a millenia, and it had brought back memories of his time as god, when that feeling had been almost constant. Part of the job description. Feeling it now had immediately set off warning bells in his mind, and he suddenly really wanted a glass of water to wash that taste out of his mouth.
“There isn’t much we can do, Anubis.” Hel said after a moment of silence, crossing her arms over her chest. “Let’s leave it to the other gods...the gods who haven’t moved on to another life. I don’t have time to endanger my children while messing around with a dead godking.”

Anubis sighed, resigned to the fact that she didn’t want any part in anything that might happen. He had just turned back to organising the tools, when the door swung open. Except it wasn’t just the door back into the main area of the funeral home anymore. A large hall could be seen, far too large and grandiose for his tastes, but the aura flooding off it was unmistakeable.

His hushed whisper was disbelieving. “Asgard…?”

Hel nearly startled at the sound of the door opening, but managed to keep the surprise down with the help of instant disdain as the familiarity washed over her. Asgard was never her home - Odin made that perfectly clear - but it belonged to a past life that Hel really did not want to return to. But she knew what the opening of the door meant: she no longer had a choice. Knowing that Odin was dead, she could turn away from it and never give it another thought, except when she needed a nice pick-me-up from a long, exhausting day. Being summoned by the other deities? That was bad news of itself.

“Why can’t we just be left alone?” Hel sighed in resignation, smoothing back her hair as she began to approach the door. She turned to look at her employee, offering a small, reluctant smile. “Well? Are you coming?”

Hurrying to stand at her side, he nodded, fiddling with his shirt. “Yup. All ready to go.”

And they both walked through into the hall, joining the other gods who were stepping hesitantly out of their own doors. It was exactly as he remembered, reminiscent of a time long since past. His feet carried him towards an empty chair, and he nodded absent mindedly to various faces that he recognised. As he sat, he turned his head to talk to Hel.

“That’s Tyr isn’t it? Been awhile since I saw him around.”

“Hmm.” Hel acknowledged, nodding her head slightly to confirm his suspicions. “Looks like he never replaced his hand, or lack thereof. My brother will be excited to see him...I just hope he won’t start something, today has been exhausting as it is.”

Hel leaned back into her seat, scanning the other deities around the table. She saw some that she recognized, more that she didn’t - or didn’t care to try to know - and Hel smiled smugly, feeling rather superior to the lowlifes that some of them had become. Hel didn’t bother looking for her family, knowing that they would come to her when they felt like it.

The murmurs of the deities around him were hushed as Tyr started to speak. Anubis’ eyes were immediately drawn to the cloaked statue beside him, narrowing with suspicion at what it might be.

When Janus showed him to be Odin, he was hardly surprised, but his lips tightened. It wasn’t a pretty sight, and he turned back to Tyr to listen to the rest of his speech.

[murdoc]

AND

Location: The Aurora, Los Angeles, California → Asgard
Interaction: Each Other

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Jordan sat back heavily in his chair, rubbing his eyes. A large photo was in the middle of the glowing computer screen in front of him. The underbelly of a stingray plastered across it in high definition. It was in a striking monochrome, light filtering in over the wings of the sea creature. He’d been hunched over his desk for far too long, and there was a crick in his back because of it.

Stretching, he looked at the clock and made a face. It wasn’t too late, really, but he doubted anyone would be willing to make plans with him on such short notice…

A grin flashed onto his face and he made a grab for his phone and tapped the phone icon, his fingers beating out a rhythm on his legs. The ringing went on for a few seconds before it was picked up.

“Hey, Sebastian! Yeah it’s me. Aw, did I wake you up from a nap?”

Smirking, he opened up his wardrobe, eyes flicking over the multitude of outfits kept within it. Muffled complaints were heard from his phone and Jordan chuckled as he threw a shirt onto the bed.

“Come on, stop being such a downer. I just finished a really good picture, and I wanna celebrate. And don’t tell me you aren’t available or some bullshit, I know you have nothing better to do.”

Pressing the phone against his shoulder as he held up a pair of pants against the shirt, he squinted, then shook his head derisively. Tossing them aside, he retrieved another pair.

“Yeah, yeah, you have to get presentable, what do you think I’m doing?”

Hopping as he pulled on his pants, he looked in the mirror and ran a hand through his hair. Not too bad.

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Jordan did, in fact, wake him up from a nap, but seeing as how he was still asleep at 7 P.M. on a weekday? He probably deserved the rude awakening. The voice buzzing at him through his cellphone barely registered, though his sleep-addled brain did manage to make out a few keywords: the most important of them being “celebrate”.

Of course, Sebastian being Sebastian, the thought of boozing it up at a club pounding with awful dance music was enough to make him reconsider saying “fuck you” to Jordan, and climbing back into bed. There weren’t a lot of things (or people) he’d make an exception for, but as much as he hated to admit it, having a drink or two with Jordan was one of them.

After putting up a token protest for appearance’s sake (he didn’t want to seem too eager now, did he?), he mumbled out an affirmative, and decided that he should probably start working on making himself look less like death.

Almost painfully slowly, he trudged around his disaster zone of a room, grabbing whatever he needed, like the world’s worst scavenger hunt. A comb, hairspray, and most miraculously, a pristine, navy-blue suit that he’d just retrieved from the dry cleaner’s. For a moment, he contemplated dressing down. After all, his hangover felt like an icepick lodged in his brainstem, and the last thing he needed was to throw up all over himself after one too many tequila shots.

This intense, internal deliberation, however, manifested itself outwardly as nothing more than a slight furrowing of the brow, and after a few, long moments, the inexplicable need to be a snappy dresser won out. Suit it was, then, he thought as he unzipped the plastic garment bag. Overdressing was always, always better than underdressing, and he’d be damned if he let Jordan one-up him.

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Jordan slid his phone out of his pocket as he stood outside the club. Rearranging the scarf on his neck, he sent a quick text to Sebastian. ‘Here. where r u.’

Just as he sent it, however, he spotted him weaving his way around some other people on the sidewalk. He walked to greet him, and gave his outfit a once over.

“Huh. Haven’t seen that suit before. Nice colour.”

Sebastian just crooked an eyebrow at the compliment, his own gaze sweeping appraisingly over Jordan’s getup.

“You’re not so bad yourself, kiddo.”

Not even he was sure where ‘kiddo’ came from. Jordan, and the rest of the Norse pantheon, were what, a couple millennia older than him? But after being stuck on the mortal plane for so long, he was starting to accept their newfound personas as a fact of life. For all intents and purposes, Jordan looked to be significantly younger than him, and to be honest, he found his disdainful expression to be quite amusing when he addressed him by the moniker.

Briefly, he glanced towards the inside of the club - ribbons of glowing blue and green lights shining through the glass windows. Throngs of people were already starting to file inside, the promise of a great Friday night spent with friends spurring their movements. For a moment of two, he let his gaze linger, though it just as quickly flickered back to Jordan, the corner of his lips turning up into a wry smirk.

“Well, unless standing out here all night is your idea of fun, we best be getting inside.”

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It was crowded inside, as was to be expected. Loud, thumping music had already begun to play, and he waved over a bartender. Leaning forward to be heard over the music, he rubbed the card in his hand.

“I’ll have a Jack and Coke, and my friend here will have…?” He glanced back towards Sebastian and raised an eyebrow questioningly,

“A Sangria, my good man.” Sebastian quickly piped up, flashing the bartender a million-watt smile, and just for kicks, threw in a suggestive wink.

With an odd look, the bartender hurried off to prepare their drinks, and while he was occupied with that, Sebastian turned back to Jordan, giving him a chummy smack on the arm.

“So, what’s this ‘really good picture’ you were talking about?”

Jordan couldn’t help the wide grin that spread across his face, and he quickly launched into his story.

“Alright, so, I just wanted a photo of some schools of fish, something bland like that, right? But instead, I turn around and right there is an honest to gods sting ray. Now, I was pretty freaked out, as you would be, but I got a couple of good photos before I decided that swimming away would be a pretty good idea.”

Retrieving his phone once more, he tapped at the screen a couple of times before turning it around to show Sebastian the photo that he was sure would get him at least a placing in the latest contest that he was entering.

Sebastian had to squint to see the picture - the strobe lights of the club weren’t exactly conducive to such an attempt. But vaguely, he could see the outline of the aforementioned stingray, bending and twisting in the clear, blue ocean water. It was a good picture, no doubt, and he said as much to Jordan, though not before lacing the compliment with one of his signature wisecracks.

“Hey, that’s really nice.” Sebastian leaned back in his seat with an appreciative nod, running a hand through loosely tousled hair. “Good thing you’re still here, though. Can’t have you pulling a Steve Irwin on us now, can we?”

Jordan snorted at that, and nodded to the bartender as their drinks were set down in front of them. “As if I’d die like that. You know me, gonna go out with a bang.”

Taking a sip from his whiskey and coke, he let his eyes flick around the club. It was like every other one he’d ever been to. Flashy, loud, and filled with too many teenagers. Snorting at their frankly terrible dancing, he looked back to Sebastian.

“What’ve you been up to then, apart from being holed up in your apartment?”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed, but after taking a sip of his drink, he simply shook his head, a huff of dry, self-deprecating laughter escaping from him. “Actually, I live in a house. Thanks, Jordan. You know me so well.”

“Same as always, I guess. Work, work, and more work. I’m not exactly rolling in cash, but selling farm equipment pays surprisingly well - no commission cap, either.” There was a short pause before he continued, his expression sobering up a little. “…Mierda, when did I become this boring?”

Sebastian punctuated the thought with a quick look around. It wasn’t even midnight yet, and the dance floor was already filled with sweaty, alcohol-soaked teenagers grinding up against one another. It was strange, but the sight filled him with an inane sort of jealousy, though it was all he could do to ignore it. He came out here to have a good time, and by God, he was going to have a good time. The existential crisis could wait.

Jordan followed his gaze and sighed. “Half of those kids probably got in here with fake I.Ds. I mean, it’s so obvious, I don’t get why they weren’t just told to go away at the door. See, that one still has baby fat on his cheeks. Baby fat!” He shook his head and took another drink, making a face at the burn of alcohol down his throat.

Sneaking a sideways glance at him, he had the sudden, insane thought of the two of them dancing together. To his dismay, he found himself actually considering it for a second, before realizing where his mind was going with this. He immediately turned away and swallowed down the last drops of his drink before ordering another. He was not going there today. It’d be all kinds of awkward and he knew that suggesting it would probably get Sebastian wondering if he had actually, finally gone insane. Just a bad idea that he should never bring up again.

To the untrained eye, one might’ve dismissed Jordan’s glance as nothing more than a trick of the light, but Sebastian saw it, clear as day. Now, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what he was thinking, and the sudden lull in conversation only confirmed his suspicions. If Jordan wasn’t going to say anything, then there was no other choice but for him to make the first move. And they were at a club, for God’s sake, if they wanted to have a quiet drink, they would’ve been better off meeting up at the bar uptown.

So, it was with a newfound resolution that Sebastian downed the last icy-cold dregs of Sangria, wiping his mouth off on a complimentary napkin. He wasn’t nearly drunk enough for this, but he’d never let sobriety dissuade him. Standing up, he closed a hand around Jordan’s arm, tugging at it in invitation - though the shit-eating grin he wore made it very clear that he wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

“I don’t know about you, but I think I’m in the mood for a dance.”

Even though Jordan let himself be tugged along onto the dance floor, he made it very clear how against this he was. No matter what far fetched ideas he might’ve had, he was quite possibly the worst dancer in the world. All awkward elbows and jerky movements, and really Sebastian should know this already.

But he let himself get pulled into the fray, surrounded by sweaty bodies and momentarily lamenting his jacket. But soon enough, he was shaking his hips in time with the music, a stupid grin spreading across his face as he and Sebastian were pressed much too closely together to be acceptable in any other situation.

“You’re a giant dick, you know?” He half shouted over the noise, but without any real venom behind it.

“Oh, shut up. You know you love me.” With some effort, Sebastian managed to make himself heard over the pounding bassline, and then, a real laugh, full of mirth, bubbled up from his throat. For a split-second, he thought about circling back to the bar for another drink, but the expression on Jordan’s face was enough to keep him there.

Quite unlike his companion, Sebastian was rather good at dancing - if this could even be called dancing. It was just something that came naturally to him, though his frequent visits to clubs similar to this one couldn’t have hurt. Still, he was almost impressed by how easily Jordan acceded to his request. The guy always seemed so prim and proper, and now, seeing him pressed flush against him, all that inhibition stripped away - well, Sebastian didn’t think there was anyone else he’d rather be with.

“You’re better than this than I thought. Been partying without me?”

“I have many hidden talents.” Jordan wiggled his eyebrows meaningfully, then a giggle burst out of him. An actual giggle. The high pitched thing that girls do. He looked momentarily horrified, before devolving into a laughing mess. He was high on adrenaline and buzzed from the alcohol, and apparently that just made for a very clingy Jordan.

Sebastian was just as surprised by the giggle-slash-laughing-fit as Jordan was, and in response, it earned from him a low, rumbling chuckle. “I’m sure you do.”

He had no idea what’d gotten into him; all he’d had was a single glass of Sangria, but in that very moment, deep within him, he could feel a strange sensation welling up, a vague sort of desire skittering just under the surface of his skin.

…Well, he had to do something about this, didn’t he?

With a near-hypnotic slowness, he slid a hand down Jordan’s side, coming to rest at his hips, and as he leaned forward, he swore he could feel the other’s breath on his skin.

The second before their lips met was almost like an eternity for him. They had both paused, before he pushed forward, the first action that he had taken all night. Max’s lips were sweet from the Sangria he had drunk, and he couldn’t help but flick his tongue out to lick them teasingly.

---

---

Countless drinks later, clothes stained with alcohol, the two were staggering off to the side of the club, away from the pulsing sea of dancers. A similarly drunken giggle escaped from Sebastian, as he all but collided with an unfortunate stranger, spilling his half-drunk margarita all over them.

Vaguely, as if underwater, he could hear them cussing him out, but right now, all he cared about was Jordan, and of course, finding somewhere a little more private.

Venturing further into the club, Sebastian kept his arm cinched tightly around Jordan’s waist, eyes flickering from one corner of the darkened interior to the next, until finally, he spotted the perfect place - the men’s room. As an attempt at subtle, he turned back to Jordan and raised an eyebrow, though he didn’t wait for the other’s affirmation before pulling him towards it.

With an unsurprising lack of grace, Sebastian pressed his lips against Jordan’s in a sloppy kiss, hands cupping the sides of his face as he backed him up against the door, pushing.

Jordan’s hands tangled in his hair as they half fell, half stumbled through the door. There was an immediate feeling of something different in the air but he brushed it off. At least, until he pulled away from the kiss to see an arching roof and pillars on either side.

“This is definitely not the bathroom.” Looking around them, and at the other gods, some of whom had noticed their enthusiastic making out, he groaned.

“Don’t tell me we’re in Asgard.” He looked pitifully back at the door, that had already swung shut behind them, restricting any possibility of going back and finishing what they’d started.

Disentangling himself from Sebastian with reluctance, he swayed and put a steadying hand back around his shoulders. His scowl did lighten somewhat however, when he spotted Hel taking her seat. Waving enthusiastically over the crowd, he called, “Hel! Sis! Great to see ya!”

He tugged on Sebastian’s arm and gestured vaguely towards the seats. “C’mon. We need t’get good seats.”

It was all Sebastian could do to follow, clumsily settling in one of the chairs. He had next to no idea about what was going on; the decadence of Asgard was something new to him, even after Jordan’s occasional recollections of it, and the stares that they’d garnered after their rather unexpected entrance didn’t help in the slightest. He was willing to bet that he looked like a fish out of water, gaping uselessly at the sudden change in scenery.

Whatever had been going on, it seemed that they’d made it just in time, though it was a rather unfortunate coincidence that fell through the door like that. With no small amount of effort, Sebastian finally managed to tear his gaze away from the decor, and instead, focused his attention on the cloth-covered figure, which was swiftly revealed to be a stone statue in the likeness of Odin.

Did they really have to bring them all the way here for this?

“Hey, isn’t that your granddad?” Sebastian questioned, probably a little too loudly for the current situation.

Jordan gave him a condescending look. “You’ve been brainwashed by all those stories as well. Odin, is Loki’s blood brother or whatever. So not related uncle. Kind of.” He frowned, struggling with it for a second before shrugging. “A giant dick anyway.”

“Huh. You learn something new everyday.” Sebastian interjected, nodding sagely.

Tyr shot them both a disapproving look, which just made him burst into laughter again. When he launched into his speech, Jordan leaned over and said, in a stage whisper, “You know, Tyr’s real handy for this kind of thing.”

“Oh, yeah. I can totally tell.” A cackle tumbled past Sebastian’s lips as he briefly glanced towards the eponymous Tyr. While he was certain that he was making a complete ass of himself, he couldn’t muster up enough willpower to stop laughing when Tyr shot them yet another withering look. “I think he’s mad at us.”

When Tyr announced that the statue was actually Odin, Jordan burst out laughing again, leaning against Sebastian for support. “It’s not much of a change. Guy was always so stony faced before!”

Sebastian let out a derisive snort at Jordan’s little comment. He wasn’t expecting the news, but to be honest, he wasn’t exactly surprised. In fact, he almost found it hard to believe that Odin hadn’t kicked the bucket sooner, what with all their rampaging Norse warrior crap. Somewhere at the back of his whiskey-fogged mind, however, he couldn’t help but feel a little disconcerted by the news of Odin’s murder.

[OnlyThePie]

Huitzilopochtli

---

Nike

---

Hewitt sighed as he paced the War Room. The radios crackled as his team spoke to each other, and the wall of TVs showed the view of each of the men (and woman) as they went about their task. Hewitt watched as Richard finished wiring the door. Hewitt leaned forward and pressed his own microphone. "Rich is in, Carlos, now's your move." Hewitt turned to the screens, arms crossed and a tense scowl playing across his mouth and cheeks. His muscles rippled with nervousness, and he kept glancing to the other screens to make sure all was going to plan.

The team was trying to break into the German embassy in Belarus, and kidnap the fake-Germany agent within, who had come there in claims of asylum, but was really there to steal German secrets. The Germans couldn't do this operation themselves, as it was obviously illegal, so they had contracted Hewitt's team to do it instead. It was really quite petty, but the money was good, so Hewitt had no argument.

Carlos walked into view, wearing a magnificent dark blue suit to carrying a briefcase that could contain important papers, but Hewitt knew contained a rather more dangerous object. He approached the gate, and spoke in rapid fire German. The gate opened and Carlos stepped inside, scanning the fake badge the team had made. Hewitt switched over to Horsch's screen, as the Austrian prepped the car, which was waiting just beyond the rear entrance. Hewitt pressed the microphone again. "Carlos is in, Horsch, be ready to go, Megan, you're up."

Megan began her job, dropping into the security room from the duct. She knocked out the man sitting at the desk, and began disabling the cameras. Hewitt gave a half smile. As much as he liked violence, hurting the German officials would only annoy his employers, and that wouldn't be good for business. As Megan worked, Carlos approached the main desk. He asked another question in German, and the woman pointed him down a hallway. Hewitt spoke, "Alright, here's where things get tricky, Carlos is about to reach the target. Richard, get those doors open."

Carlos swept into a room, some kind of holding cell. The man sitting at the table looked startled. Carlos walked to the table, setting his case down, speaking in German to calm the man. He opened the case, and pulled out the collapsed machine gun, folding it out into its full size. He barked a command, and the other man stood up. Carlos spoke, in English, "Target is mobile, coming to you Rich." The pair of men began to move.

And then it hit Hewitt. Cold, vicious power washed over him, and the stink of death filled the room. He swore angrily. "Damnit not now!" He paused, watching the screens as his mind spun. That kind of power only came from a major god, and that smell could only mean they were dead. The intercom crackled, but the door to the room swung open. Hewitt spun to see, but it opened onto a room that did not match the hallway outside. Hewitt roared in anger. He hit the intercom "Finish the mission, I'll contact you once you're finished." he growled, viciously.

He stomped into the halls of Asgard, paying no attention to the opulence and splendor of the room. He grumpily sat down in the first chair he came to, glaring at Tyr and the cloaked form sitting next to him. When the cover came off, Huitzilopochtil stared stonily at it, undisturbed. They were wasting his time. He wanted no part of their issues, he had his own to deal with. But there was something in the dead eyes of Odin that offput him, he just couldn't place what it was.

---

Nicole bounded up the steps of the bleachers, sliding into the third row, taking a seat next to a tall, brown haired man. She set her bag down in between her legs. She looked up and smiled at the man. "Hey Paul!" she beamed. Nicole's daughter, Alexa, was on the High-school Field Hockey team, and Paul's daughter Alice was good friends with Alexa. Paul smiled back at Nicole.

"Hi Nicole. Know anything about the other team this week?" People often asked her if she knew anything about the team's opponents, both because she often ended up training some of the kids, and because Alexa told her nearly everything. But this time, she hadn't heard much. She told the man as much, frowning slightly.

A whistle blew down on the field, and the small crowd turned to look. A boy slid into the seat next to Nicole. "Hey Ms. Harrow, is Alexa playing today?" The boy was taller than Nicole, and had a shock of short black hair, and a toned form.

She smiled at him. "Hey Tom, yeah, she's playing, I think they're about to start." Tom was one of Alexa's oldest friends, and it was very clear to Nicole that he was interested in her as more than just a friend. A fact to which Alexa was completely oblivious, something that made Nicole laugh more often than not.

The girls started to play, Alexa's team took the lead very early, but a penalty tied the match back up. Many parents didn't like to sit too close to her, because she screamed and cheered much louder than was really appropriate, sometimes. Paul and Tom didn't seem to mind too much. The teams stayed fairly even, and then the ref blew the whistle for a timeout. The girls trotted to their sides of the field. "They're doing good." Tom said, looking down at the girls.

Nicole nodded, "They are. Hopefully they can keep the pace up," she said, looking at the other team, trying to judge their exhaustion. Suddenly, it got violently cold, and a rush of power and the stench of death rolled over her. Nicole stood, mumbling an "excuse me" to the people around her as she ran off down towards the bathroom. She hadn't felt that in ages, literally. That much power, it could only have been a few gods. She knew it wasn't Zeus, it didn't have his signature stain. It wasn't Ra or Osiris, not hot enough. None of the Asian gods were cold enough to... Nicole had a suspicion.

She stumbled into the bathroom. Why did she care? Other than the fact that the feeling had made her sick, she had no value for most of the Gods. One of the stall doors swung open, but there was no toilet behind it. A grand hall spread out before her. She gulped. This was not the time. The game would be over soon, and she had no interest in seeing the beings she had avoided for so long. But she recognized the doorway for what it was. It was not a choice, but an order. She glanced once more at the doorway out of the bathroom, and then crossed into the grand building.

As she stumbled through the crowd, she heard the word "Asgard", which must be the place she was in. She found a chair in the back, and pulled it away from the others a bit. An angry looking giant of a man sat down in the nearest sit, scowling at the front. Nike recognized very few of the people in the room, though she spotted Hermes a distance away. When the one-handed man revealed the now deceased Odin, Nike let out the tiniest gasp. Then Athena demanded they stay, and her surprise quickly turned into anger. When Athena cut off any protests, she stood in indignation. "Some of us do have somewhere to be, thank you, now if you don't mind, I don't really care about this poor old man, so I'd like to go home."

[Subject Zero]

---

---

---

---

"Stop trying to hit me and hit me!"

He could see the rage building in his opponent as he yelled the movie quote. He saw the fist fly at his face and felt the displaced air on his nose as the blow swung just millimeters from contacting. His response was an uppercut to his opponents jaw that sent the sweating man crumpling to his back.

"You know, at some point, you have to at least give them a chance." said Old Walter from the side of the ring. The older man leaned against the boxing rings ropes from the outside and half smiled, half scowled at Jack.
Jack simply shrugged and let out a sigh of disappointment as he replied "But then how would they learn anything?"
From his feet, he heard the still crumpled Marco complain "Learned not to spar with you." as he rolled over onto his side and groaned.
Jack scrunched his face up in thought before conceding "Well I guess it wasn't a complete waste of time." He crouched down to look at Marco on the canvas and prodded him on the shoulder with a padded glove before saying "You've got a lot of potential kid, but I've been doing this a lot longer than you."
Marco narrowed his eyes and stared at Jack in confusion at the use of the word 'kid'. Marco looked to be at least five years older than Jack and at least 100 lbs heavier, yet Jack insisted on using the word kid when addressing him.
The corner of Jack's mouth turned up in amusement at Marco's look before he reached out with both arms to help him back to his feet. He playfully prodded at Marco's stomach when they were both standing and found it funny when the much larger man recoiled.
"If you two ladies are done kissing," said old Walter "You have a visitor."

Jack turned to look at the aging man who had now lost his smile entirely. Old Walter, despite his nickname, was still incredibly fit for a man of 65 and was just about as muscular as the much younger Marco. His nickname of 'The Wall' still seemed very apt. His square jaw was clenched tight in an expression that reminded Jack of the day they met over a decade ago. He had pulled that look when he first laid eyes on Jack too. It was the same look he had whenever there was what he called "a high falutin suit type" around. Jack peered around his old friend to take in the gym. There was the usual assortment of muscleheads and fighters in the dimly lit gym, sweating and panting as they worked out. But there was also one person who stood out like the proverbial sore thumb.

Right there in the middle of the room, bathed in the pale sunlight streaming in through the high windows stood a young woman dressed like she was ready for a business meeting. Pencil skirt so tight Jack wondered how she could move at all. Her hair was perfect. Not a single strand out of place. She clutched a briefcase in both hands in front of her as she waited patiently, trying not to make eye contact with the admittedly gruff and smelly clientele of the gym. One woman, who looked like an amazon passed by and looked her up and down with an expression that was half derision and half lust. There was no denying that Melodee Bryant was an attractive woman in that rather uptight way of hers but Jack couldn't help but sigh at the sight of her. Mel had been looking thoroughly uncomfortable surrounded by so many sweaty, half naked men and women but when she saw that Jack was looking at her, she straightened and raised her head up from between her shoulders where it had been slowly shrinking. Jack made his way out of the boxing ring and past Walt who gave him a grunt as he passed.

"Have you considered the irony of the Chairman of a billion dollar telecom company who never answers his phone?" asked Melodee in a half shout to be heard over the noise of the gym as he approached.
Pulling off his boxing gloves, Jack responded "Have you considered the possibility that I didn't want to talk?" He swerved off to the side before reaching her and shoved his gloves down onto a bench next to his bag.
"Oh please." scoffed Melodee with a snort. "The day you don't want to talk is the day I start working out in a dingy hole in the wall like this."
"Oh" said Jack with feigned surprise "So you brought your workout gear in that precious little briefcase?"
She shot him the same fake smile she had perfected for use during board meetings and replied "No, I brought something much better. Papers for you to sign."
Jack's shoulders visibly slumped and he made a show of groaning. "People still sign papers?" he complained. "Don't we live in a digital world?"
"Some people like paper" responded Melody with a smug smile as she retrieved her precious papers from her briefcase. "Penderton being one of them."
Jack cringed slightly at the mention of Penderton's name. Albert Penderton was the owner of a small company that Quicksilver Communications had recently agreed to purchase and the old man was possibly the most boring person Jack had ever met. He was hoping Melodee's forms were the last things he'd have to sign before he could be done with Penderton forever. He gave the papers a quick scan before signing them and handed them back to Melodee who placed them back in her briefcase and stood there, staring at him for a moment before her eyes slowly drifted towards his bare chest. "Hey!" he barked, snapping his fingers at her. "My eyes are up here."
Cheeks visibly reddening, Mel gathered her composure and said "Don't flatter yourself. You're not my type."

Jack was preparing some witty retort when he felt something strange. It was a feeling he hadn't felt for a very very long time. Not since his time among the gods. Not since his life as Hermes.

It was a soul passing on. And not just any soul. A powerful one. Hermes had always been attuned to such things, thanks to his duties as a psychopomp. He was responsible for escorting the departed to the other side. But it had been a long time since Hermes, now Jack, had had such responsibilities. Not since the gods collectively agreed to relinquish their powers. For Jack to be feeling this now, even without his powers, it would have to have been someone of great power.

The color visibly drained from Jack's face and he lurched forward slightly, almost falling into the arms of Melodee in front of him. "Oh my god, are you okay?" she practically yelled in concern. Jack could hear the hurried footsteps of Walt and Marco approaching behind him but he quickly regained his composure before they reached him. He took a deep breath and turned to smile at them.
"I'm fine" he said, glancing between them and Mel. "Still a little hungover from last night...You know me. Party till you drop....There were twins." He shot Marco a wink and Marco smiled back, proud of bro's "achievement". Walt, however, had a face of stone and seemed to know Jack's story was bullshit. The Wall's silent looks of judgement were the worst.

Melodee was obviously still concerned and as Jack pulled on a t shirt, she asked "Are you sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine" smiled Jack, lying through his teeth. His attention had shifted to thoughts of Hades though and he wondered if the creep had felt the same thing he had. He'd have to have felt it, right? Hades was infinitely more powerful than Hermes when it came to sensing souls crossing over so if Hermes had felt it, Hades certainly would have. He decided then to try and contact his creepy old "uncle" to see if he could fill him in on what was happening. "Be right back" he told everyone, snatching his phone from his bag. "Need to make a call."

He wandered off, heading down a nearby corridor as he punched a number into his phone. Before he could enter the last digit however, he noticed a door pop open. What lay on the other side was definitely not the foul smelling bathroom that would usually be there.

Odd.

Curious, he stepped through.

---

---

---

---

On the other side, he was only slightly surprised to see a number of other gods step through similar doors. Apparently there was something important going on. After stepping through the threshold, he felt an odd yet pleasant sensation. Like an adrenaline rush of epic proportions. He hadn't felt like this since being stripped of his powers.

He wandered into the main room where the others were gathering. He recognized rather a lot of them and gave a few nods to those he hadn't seen in a while. Slumping down into one of the chairs, he looked around and spotted Nike sitting at the back of the room, away from everyone else. He gave her a smile and a casual salute before turning his attention to Athena and Tyr.

Like most, Hermes was shocked by the news about Odin. He had felt him pass but it was still surprising to learn that something like this had happened to someone so powerful. Who could have done such a thing? Despite the mild knot forming in his stomach, Hermes couldn't help but smile when he heard drunken laughter coming from a whose names he couldn't quite remember. It wasn't that he agreed with them, he simply enjoyed seeing people in a good mood. Plus, he was glad he wasn't the one getting into trouble this time. The smile was wiped from his face when Athena mentioned that everyone present would be questioned. They thought someone here had killed Odin? More important to Hermes though was the fact that he couldn't leave. He was about to voice his annoyance at this when, much to his surprise, Nike did that for him.

Hermes knew from past experience that it generally wasn't a good idea to poke the proverbial bear that was Athena but, hey, she wasn't in charge of him anymore. "Yeah, I'm with Nike on this one" he said "In case you haven't been paying attention this last few millenia, I'm a very busy person."

[BreakingMe]

Alias: Kora Black

Kora leaned over and picked the yellow dandelion from the tiny patch of grass at her feet. Sure, dandelions weren’t real flowers, but Kora love them nonetheless. They were disregarded as weeds by humanity and it always made her a little sad. She ran her index finger along the satin petals and smiled. The sun was directly overhead, hanging magnificently in a cloudless sky. She loved coming out to the park on her lunch break. It was one of the few places in the area with natural growing grass.

The weather was warm and very little breeze blew. It was just transitioning from spring to summer and she was exhausted. Living in New Mexico was a completely new experience for her. She had always enjoyed living in areas that flourished with vegetation but had hit a point in her life that she needed something different. What could have more different that living in a land with almost no vegetation?

Kora dropped the weed to the ground and started to wander back toward her jeep. She needed to get back to the office to finish paperwork for an acquisition of a smaller cosmetics company that had been in the works for months. She was excited because this possession would allow for an opportunity that she had wanted to implement for years now - full figuring models for advertising. The company that Vanity was taking over had a clause in their contract for hiring models and would, by default, push out the modeling company that Kora had originally signed with.

She reached her silver, topless Jeep Rubicon and hopped inside. She pushed in the clutch, started the engine and smelled the faint aroma of french fries. She had custom ordered the vehicle to run off of used cooking oil, saving the earth from hazardous emissions that were made by gasoline and diesel fuels. She glanced over her left shoulder to back out of the parking spot she had taken and immediately stepped on the breaks. Her mother, Demeter, stood directly behind her.

Kora shut of the engine, hopped out of the driver’s seat, and casually walked toward the rear of the car. Demeter remained in place, her stance wide, as if she was preparing for battle. Maybe she was. Kora crossed her arms as she stood toe to toe with the other woman. Demeter simply smiled before Kora started, “What are you doing here mother? I thought we agreed we would give each other space for a while.” Demeter reached forward and moved a free flowing lock of Kora’s chocolate brown hair behind her daughter’s ear. Kora casually lifted her hand and pushed her mother’s away. “Well?” She asked, slightly cocking an eyebrow.

“Oh Persephone,” Demeter bit out, “cut the attitude. You know it hurt me when you and Hades split. I wanted what was best for you. Even if I wasn’t a fan of him in the beginning, neither of us can deny how well he took care of you.”

Kora let out a small burst of laughter before she huffed, “Mother, my name is Kora now. Not Persephone. No goddess powers, no goddess name. I’m turning over a new leaf. And that means no Hades too. Besides, I’m seeing someone new now and I’m really enjoying it.” She dropped her arms, allowing her mother to step a few steps closer. This appeasement gesture, however, didn’t lighten Demeter’s tense mood.

“I heard that,” her mother started, “some Aztec war god. Disgusting really.” She scoffed and started to brush some of the dust off of the back of Kora’s Jeep. Kora grabbed her hand and held it tightly.

“Stop it mother. You’ll scratch the paint.” She chastised. They dropped their intertwined hands. Suddenly Demeter looked over her shoulder, as if someone was listening. Kora sensed the woman’s unease. “What’s the matter, mom? Why are you here?” Demeter grabbed her daughter by the shoulders and looked into her eyes before she spoke.

“Something has happened. Something terrible. We must go to Asgard right now.” Demeter said. Kora was taken aback slightly.

“Asgard?” she asked. “What business do we have in Asgard?”

“Just come Persephone. Right now.” Demeter turned and walked away, her image shimmering the desert heat before it disappeared completely. Kora sighed. As demanding as her mother could be, there was no way she would have sought her daughter out unless the matter was of priority. The spring goddess threw the top back on her vehicle, sent a text to her assistant to start the paperwork without her, and walked herself into the meeting hall of Asgard.

[BreakingMe]

Double post - ignore

[McHaggis]

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[Undine]

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[Apokalipse]

Location: Regan Macguire’s Apartment; Aurora, Colorado
Interactions: Booze and mention of Aphrodite

A single, diamond bead trickles down the side of the squat bottle, slipping onto the expensive white nightstand. The single drop calls her name, echoing inside her hammer-struck brow as she ripples beneath silver cotton sheets, her crystalline eyes remaining hidden from the world. Ivory flesh peeks from beneath the silver swaddle, weaving itself with the fabric as a low murmur reverberates in the apartment swathed in white. Her hand, blind and giddy, sweeps across the nightstand until a thin finger brushes against the damp glass and then the whole appendage strangles the neck of the bottle, dragging it to greedy lips. The sweet burning of alcohol slithers down her throat, numbing the constriction in her heart.

Regan pushes herself up with lightly toned muscles, her blonde mess of curls rubbing against the headboard of her California King. The bottle shakes in her sleepy hands before it’s relinquished to the mercy of the floor, shattering into black, dry pieces. Absent-mindedly, Regan runs her hand over the Egyptian cotton next to her, smoothing over the rumpled sheets and flat bed. Drunkenly, she smiles.

“He’s gone.” She smirks, a queer quirk of her twisted lips, her mind feeling pleasantly hazy when she attempts to think of her bedmate last night. Almost immediately, her grin is replaced with a frown, slender lines creasing her forehead in worry. “He didn’t steal from me, did’e?”

Regan hums, slipping off the bed, careful to step over the glass mess she has created, and wanders into the kitchen. A large white shirt billows over her form, though it doesn’t cover the black exposed underwear gracing Regan’s hips. Stumbling, Regan trips to the fridge and opens it to stare into the depths of the empty beast, groaning in despair when nothing edible is found. Sighing in disappointment, Regan crosses the room, ruffling around the sheets until a slim but expansive smartphone falls from the folds, flopping onto the timber floors. Nearly falling over herself, Regan slaps her hand across the new age technology and steals it from the floor.

“Pizza…Chinese…Mmm, Taco Bell sounds amazing.” Regan closes her eyes in thought, leaning against her bed until a startling realization hits her, “But they don’t deliver. Damnit.”

Knowing that her chosen food was not at hand, and driving was out of the question at the moment (not that she cared about human well-being, she just didn’t want to get arrested), Regan began to shuffle through her Candy Cabinet(TM). Whiskey bottles clanked together along with the few rare beers and a large wine in the small mini-fridge, hidden discreetly in her kitchen (under the sink cabinet). Her phone was still clutched in her hand, smooth and warm from the bed sheets. Regan pauses in her search, not able to find her favorite, and glances at her phone in the hopes that a solution to her hungry, thirsty problem will appear. Perhaps the gods (ha) heard her plea, for in that instant, her cell began to ring – since when was her ringtone Justin Bieber’s “Baby” – and a familiar name flashed across the screen. Regan clicked the answer button and held the phone to her ear, thoughts of bribing her sort-of-friend for Taco Bell.

“Howdy, partner?” The blonde beams into the phone.

“Macguire.” The other voice came out more somber and serious and Regan immediately winced in annoyance. “You missed you’re appointment today.”

Her peach digit traced a magnet on her fridge, pushing around the large Texas magnet. Blue eyes stared at it, turning it around in circles and ramming it against Florida. Jenkins’ irritated tone caused Regan to smirk rather than smile. “You’re gonna have to be more specific, Jenkins, I have lots of appointments nowadays. Refrain from prostitution jokes, please.”

Despite her playfulness, Jenkins, Regan’s coworker, refused to relent. “This is serious, Regan – the General’s not happy with you.”

Regan frowned, wrinkling her nose, “He’ll get over it.”

“I know that Afghan is hard, Regan, but you have to go if you want to get better.”

“I don’t need a shrink, Johnny.”

“This behavior is inappropriate. You could get kicked out of the military – ”

“So what – ”

“Who’ll pay for you – ”

“I don’t want to talk about it – ”

“You hit someone –”

“Stop.”

“What if you kill someone next time –”

Sausage-like thumbs pressed into brown orbs, pressing and pressing, until streams of thick coppery blood spilled from the caved frontal skull, staining his dirt-covered wrists.

“Jesus Christ, John!” Regan slammed her forehead against the wall, ignoring the immediate pain that throbbed. She slammed her head once more against it, bidding the thoughts to leave her mind – disturbing thoughts that she had tried to get rid of for years, centuries. Only one thing did the trick. Regan blindly moved until she felt the tell-tale Candy Cabinet(TM) knob with a collection of cork stoppers hanging from it on several strings. Finally opening her eyes, she picked the biggest bottle she could find and pried it open with her teeth, the bottle jerking and wine sloshing from the top slightly.

“Macguire, stop –” Regan pressed the red button on the screen, throwing the phone somewhere in the distance and slapped the bottle into her mouth, chugging the wine.

She didn’t stop until she felt an overwhelming buzzing taking over her mind, numbing her ears and mouth and tongue and eyes and heart and gut. Then she threw the bottle in the sink, tripping her way to the bathroom in order to get in the shower and sober herself up so she could get drunk once more.

Her hand sloppily fondled the door knob, trying to turn it but unable to focus as much to do so. Finally, the door pried open after her drunken machinations, and she stumbled inwards, her eyes closing when blinding whiteness penetrated her eyes. Blinking several times, Regan managed to open her eyes wide enough to the disgusting splendor of Asgard. Frowning in delayed confusion, the Morrígan staggered down the hall and into the congregation of assholes deities. She squinted, her mind still not able to keep up, but smiled to pretend that she understood anyways, and she crumbled into a seat – next to Aphrodite, maybe (her sight has been compromised by the booze). The Morrígan didn’t understand a lot of what was going on, but the sight of Odin managed to hint at a lurking danger that sent chills down the drunken war goddess’s back.

[Undine]

.

[Komo]

Interacting with: No one in particular

Location: Los Angeles -> Asgard

---

---

Today was Mythology day in school, and the kids got the ask anything they wanted about any form of mythology they wanted. Heidi was pretty sure that the most popular ones would no doubt be the Greek and Norse ones, and was already fully prepared for questions of any sort the young kiddos could ask. These were young, inquisitive and overly curious minds, and it was her job as a teacher to enrich them and supplement their learning. Freyja, a teacher. Not just any teacher as well, an elementary school teacher. Who would have thought. Well, she did love children after all, but she loved adult men as well, albeit in a different way. Ever since she made the transition to Heidi, the Norse goddess has toned down a considerably lot, and was no longer as flirtatious as before. Dressed in a peach-coloured button up shirt, and a white pencil skirt, she made her to class.

With class well under way, Jack, one of her nine year olds, asked her a question. "Ms Olsen! Aren't you from Norway? Do you have any stories to share on Norse Mythology? What happens to the people who die in Norse Mythology?" The barrage of questions came suddenly, but Heidi was well-prepared for it. These kids were young and curious, and more often than not simply said what were on their mins without restrain. She answered the boy with a warm smile. "Yes, Jack, you're right. That's where I was from. I live here, in L.A. just like you do now. What happens to people who die?" Turning around to grab a chair to place herself closer to the class, she took a seat and began telling them tales of the Norse afterlife.

"There are three main paths to Norse afterlife. All three are linked to a different god or goddess. The three are Odin, Freyja and Hel. Freyja, the goddess of Fertility, Love, War and Death had the honour of having the first pick of the slain, and as a result of that, most often called her Valfreya as she would ride together with the Valkyries into the battlefield of the dead. Those that Freyja picked would enter her heavenly fields known as Fólkvangr, where they could gain entry to her majestic hall full of delicious food and drinks and drink until after Ragnarok. What is Ragnarok you ask? I'll get to that in a moment. The second pick of the dead would go to Odin, who Valkyries would pick the slain of his choice, most noticably valiant and courageous warriors, sending them to Valhalla, where they would continue to train and feast until they were ready to face Ragnarok. The third and last pick would go to Hel. Well that isn't much of a pick really, as it was mostly the leftovers from the other two, and were usually the evil and dishonourable sort as well as those who died of diseases or natural causes. They then entered Helheim, Hel's realm full of icy cold death. It was said that this part was where the Christian "Hell" came from. Those that died of diseases and natural causes were watched over by Hel and were given a chance for rebirth. Those of evil nature were condemned forever to dwell in the icy cold realm of Helheim."

Getting to her feet, Heidi finished with a statement. "I hope that answers your question, Jack." Jack, like most of the students in the class right now, looked a little awestruck by life-live storytelling, and he simply stuttered a "Yes, Ms Olsen.." Beaming him another smile, she said, "Good." just in time for the bell to ring. Class was over, and the children emptied from the room. Heidi was packing up her things and about to leave when she felt a strong familiar sensation. Something she hadn't felt in a long time, since she had made the transition from Freyja to Heidi. A Death. A powerful one. One of this magnitude had to be a powerful god. One more powerful that she was. And there was only one that was really more powerful than her. Odin.

As she looked up, a glowing door had appeared at the back of the classroom, one that probably no one else but her could see at this moment. The kids had all left but now, and the hallway was empty for the moment. Heidi stopped through the door, and entered a familiar place she knew as Asgard. Locating the rest of the gods and goddess, she noticed that there were several of the gods and goddess from other pantheon here as well. She walked up and lay her eyes on the stone dead form of Odin. She'd been close to Odin, and used to even teach him some of her magic as well. His death was a serious matter as only some really powerful could have accomplished this. Killing a god, even one who had lost most of his powers was no joke. Heidi gave looks of extreme displeasure, at those who were taking the situation seriously, no doubt not knowing how grave the predicament they were all in right now, regardless of the pantheons.

[Apokalipse]

Location:Wolfgang's Mansion in Ireland
Interaction:Guy he kidnapped and a married woman

It was his favorite room in the house.

Walls thick as thighs and soundproof, with red paint slathered onto the walls (some parts still drying) and round suspicious holes and cracks. An assortment of tools hung on the wall, shiny and glistening under the dull yellow flickering light. Chains were suspended chaotically from the ceiling, tangled together and looping around chairs and other such innocuous items. In the middle of this room, there was a chair with a man sat in it, his legs wrapped to the legs of the chair and his arms twisted behind his back. A starchy, itchy burlap sack was shoved over his head, with string tightening it around his throat. His distant, muffled screams could be heard, expletives pouring from his mouth, only accompanied by footsteps coming down the stairs.

“Are you ready to talk yet, Mayer?” Wolfgang Reinhardt, notorious criminal extraordinaire, said as his boots thumped onto the dusty, wooden stairs. His fingerless gloved hand scooped instant macaroni and cheese into his mouth, engulfing the tines wholly in order to scrape the last bit of goopy cheese with his tongue. His other hand dangled by his side, knuckles gripping on a lavish leather wallet that most certainly wasn’t his.

Almost anticlimactically, Wolfgang’s foot slammed onto the cellar ground, dust stirring around the boot until it settles by the sole. A devilish smirk came across his face as he grasped a chair by the stairs and dragged it to be in front of the bagged man. He threw himself into the chair, slouching casually and smacking his boot onto the other man’s leg, using it as a footrest. Wolfgang inhaled the rest of the microwave meal, letting out a satisfied sigh when he was done and tossing the plastic bowl to the side.

Wolfgang smiled cockily, gesturing with his fingers vaguely between the two (despite the other man unable to see the gesture), “Why is there such awkward silence between us, Mayer? I thought we were friends - hell, I thought we were best friends considering the favors I’ve done you. Why such the cold treatment?”

Wolfgang frowned in a faux pout, his stubbly handsome face conforming perfectly. Then, as if tired of such fake charades, the expression dropped from his face, only to be replaced by a terrifying cold impassiveness that could only mean trouble. Wolfgang sat up slightly, his fingers pinching the burlap sack and ripping it from the man’s head. With the bag removed, it was easy to see the elderly man’s face with his salt-and-pepper hair and slight facial wrinkles. Blood drooled from his mouth and bruises littered his temple and cheek, purple and black in color. In his mouth was a red clothe, stifling any protests that might have been made.

Wolfgang sighed again, this time out of agitation, his eyes rolling to the side at the whole unnecessary process. “Will you tell me where my money is, Mayer?”

Mayer offered only strangled muffles, products of shouts and screams. Wolfgang slipped the red clothe from his mouth, throwing it onto the ground where dirt and hair immediately clung to it. Despite his mouth being freed, he remained silent, his eyes assessing Wolfgang while his lips held onto the secretive location, unwilling to give it up to the beast before him.

Wolfgang leant back, his spine hitting the back of the chair with a dull thud and his shoulders slumped in causality, though he felt nothing but. “I’m disappointed in you, Mayer.”

Wolfgang began to reach for the red clothe when Mayer felt his lips loosen, his mind crazed.

“Eat shit!” He hissed at Wolfgang, before propelling a droplet of his spit which landed on Wolfgang’s cheek.

Wolfgang swiped the disgusting liquid from his stubbly cheek, wiping his hand on the gag he used. Then, without warning, Wolfgang surged forward, his hand snatching Mayer’s bottom lip between his fingers and stretching it far from his gums. When it seemed he couldn’t stretch it any further, he let it go, sauntering backwards away from his victim and towards the wall that held his favorite devices. However, just as tan fingers began to glide against metallic sheens and shining points, the sound of a doorbell jolted him.

Wolfgang crossed the room, absent-mindedly stuffing the dusty gag into Mayer’s mouth, and jogged up the stairs, taking two at a time. His sons His dogs barked at the sound from their perch at the expensive couch, though they didn’t bother to get up at all. Wolfgang opened the door, only to see a woman dressed luxuriously head to toe. She smiled innocently at him, her lips curving seductively as she fixed the sun hat on her head (Wolfgang glanced into the sky curiously, only to see it cloudy and brewing up a storm).

“Hello, I’m Siobhan.” The blonde woman introduced, offering her hand to which Wolfgang shook lightly. “I called on the phone yesterday, about you training my new dog. You said to come by sometime?”

Wolfgang’s features relaxed, his mind recalling her from a week ago. “Oh, yes, of course, Mrs. Berne.” He forced a casual laugh, “I’m sorry, you caught me at a bad time. Is it possible you could come by – let’s see – next Tuesday?”

The woman seemed off-put, especially since she had come through all the trouble to come to his home, but nodded graciously anyways and gave a demure smile. “Of course, Mr. Reinhardt. I’ll see you then.”

“See you then.”

Wolfgang walked back to the door leading to the basement, eyeing his sons dogs when they quirked they scratched at the door. He distantly wondered if they were worried about the blood, but shook it off since they never acted so when others were dying in his basement. Wolfgang pried the door open and entered, expecting to have to walk down the stairs rather than down a lavish hallway.

He recognized the place as Asgard and, while walking towards the table in which other gods were sitting, Fenrir was angered by the thought that Odin dared to summon him. He took any seat that would do, barely glancing over to see Hel and his damned father, Loki. When Tyr stood at the front, Fenrir snickered at the sight of his nub, thoughts roaming back to when he swallowed the hand whole (it had a horrible taste, but the satisfaction had outweighed that). But then the news of Odin’s death was brought and Fenrir froze in confusion.

It had always been his destiny to kill Odin – it was always his ambition, the thing that kept him going on, really. And that was taken away from him. How was he supposed to feel about that? Angry, devastated, upset? Odin’s stone body was revealed with a flourish and Fenrir settled on one, single emotion: hysteria. A laugh bloomed in his chest – a real, god-given laugh – and Fenrir’s laugh began to echo around the room. His fist slammed on the table in hilarity, his chest hurting with his laughing – it came to a point in which he spilled from his seat and landed on the floor, rolling in laughter, chanting “Odin’s dead! Odin’s dead!” in between.

[Dusk]

Location: New York City -> Asgard
Interaction: A couple "coworkers" and assorted divine dropouts

---

---

Truly, Alexei had to applaud himself this time.

Rarely did he not appreciate his various exploits, but tonight's was just positively splendid. Next to his already-shirtless form, on either side, sat the male and female leads to his new show, "Always Early, Never Late", a tale detailing a young couple's fight to circumvent death after both are terminally diagnosed. Their search led them down every conventional road until they took the unconventional, ultimately ending in their demise as the forces they employ turn them against each other.

However, the forces being employed now were far more intoxicating.

His arms wrapped around both of them, themselves in various states of undress, his lips passed between one and the other. A bottle of wine, one of Alexei's finest, sat uncorked on the glass-topped, brushed aluminum coffee table, it's contents shared with three delicate glasses. All three participants tasted of the vine, succulent red staining lips ever-so-slightly. This was almost every night for him. New faces came to his New York loft, minimalist in it's design, and Alexei gave each one anything it desired, only for a night. Wine, body, soul, all were bared for those that stepped into his door. And when they left, he insured they craved more. That was his power over them. The last shred of his godhood.

The black leather couch was beginning to get uncomfortable, skin sticking to material, and Alexei pulled back from his work. His cheeks were warm and rosy, underneath the black scruff that peppered his face, and his cerulean eyes were dilated. "Now, this is merely a suggestion, but I happen to have a positively immaculate bed just down that hall that I would love to introduce you to." His head motioned to the short hall just to their left. The living room was fairly bare, save for the slender steel floor lamps that flanked the couch, a black, wooden dining table off to the right near the pristine kitchen, surrounded by six chairs, and the wall of windows that revealed the starry cityscape before them.

Marissa, squinted her verdant eyes at her director. "Sounds like quite the entertaining meeting." A mischievous grin spread onto her face. Her adorable features did wonders to hide the wild animal locked within that tiny body, and that's why Alex had given her the role. Her looks were so deceiving, and her emotion so raw, that it led to a wonderful twist at the end. Lucas, on his right, ran his free hand through his once-neat mess of brown hair. "I'd have to agree. Wouldn't want the show to stop here, would we?" His eyes locked onto Alexei's, and a playful glee fluttered in his chest. All of life's carnal pleasures, here in his humble home. Could he ask for a more perfect night?

He stood to lead the two to his chamber when it hit him. Ice slid down his spine, muscles rippling and feeling as though they were snakes crushing his body. In the back of his mind, the Dionysus part, a little hole had opened. A void. Out of that void came a feeling of undeniable dread. Once his muscles loosened, Alexei swayed, almost falling and hitting his head on the coffee table had his current lovers not caught him. He heard them, but he didn't hear them. It was just noise now, as his brain rushed to process this millennia-old information.

Well, what the bloody fuck was that?

A rot had somehow clung to his nostrils. Death. Yes, this was death, on an unprecedented scale. A big name had been wiped from existence. Could such a thing happen? Was it...?

"I'm fine loves, I'm fine..." He paused, actually feeling disappointment in such an intrusion. "Sorry to cut things short, but I do believe...something's not settling right." Alexei stumbled towards his bathroom, first door on the left down the hall, and opened it, amber light pouring out. "I'll make it up to you after the premier." A charming, irresistibly teasing smile revealed perfect teeth, slightly stained. "Think of this", he motioned to his half-naked form, "as incentive to knock it out of the park tomorrow. Door's over there, bottle's yours, have a nice night." He stepped inside, closed the door, and slid against it to the floor, waiting a few minutes to hear the awkward shuffling stop and hear his front door close.

Dionysus closed his eyes, searching for his father, Zeus. They were close enough, and of the same pantheon, that he could pick up his presence even now. It was most definitely still there, but...ah. There it was. The Norse All-Father wasn't present, and such a large figurehead was awfully hard to miss.

Alexei placed his hands on his temples. He was partially relieved, but seeing as Zeus was worse than he was, the playwright couldn't deny there wouldn't be much mourning. Now what was interesting, were two things.

1. How did the leader of a still practically immortal pantheon kick the bucket?
2. Why was this room so fucking hot?

His body had seemingly decided Alexei's mental command was inadequate and had taken to refusing to move. There was drunk, and then there was this...had he drank that much? No, only a couple glasses...

As quickly as it had come, it was gone, replaced by complete clarity. This shift occurred three more times before finally Alexei scuffled to the toilet and retched, his body unable to handle the poisons. But after wiping the saliva from his chin, Dionysus actually smiled. A certain familiar strength ran through him, only by a thread. It seemed a very specific lid had been blown off, and his power over his own inebriation was returning. A party trick, really, but also a delicious omen.

Suddenly, the bathroom door flung open, unnatural radiance and warmth washing over Alexei. He stood, stepping through into the gilded hall of Asgard with a confident stride. Yes, he was about to appear in front of dozens of gods shirtless, and he was going to enjoy every second of it. It felt good to be among peers, among the elect, once again. As he took his seat, mostly near fellow Greeks and Romans so he could tease them, Dionysus took note of the shrouded figure, Athena (gorgeously in charge, as ever), Janus (there were a couple thresholds he'd love to cross), and Tyr (He'd had to have gotten good with that one hand). Hades, Nike, Hermes, all of them were there as well as the other pantheons. Everyone was getting their own winks and grins. The situation's gravity was...lost on him, to say the least. Too much of an ecstatic rush.

As the news was delivered, the new art piece revealed, and the lockdown cast, Dionysus really sobred up. He crossed his hands on his stomach. "Athena, darling. As much as I adore your heavenly face, and really, it has been too long, is this truly necessary? Have you...maybe heard of texting? Calls? Hell, I would've accepted a carrier pigeon, if you're feeling nostalgic." He looked to Odin's dead, hollow eyes, and part of him shivered. "I do have a production to open in the morning. And, Nemesis, sweetheart," His gaze turned playful, almost menacingly so, "if anyone here has been foolish enough to involve themselves with mortals to such a degree, I do believe that's their own fault. We got far too comfortable with them, and now look what happened." The God of the Vine nodded toward Odin's ashen corpse. The Goddess of Justice had always gotten on his nerves, such a petty concept, and it truly hadn't taken much to pick her out after that outburst.

He really didn't care who was responsible, nor did he care if the heat was shifted to humanity, he had a place to be and anything went to get him out of there.

[HalfOfLancelot]

"That's my cue."
Location: Phoenix, Arizona → Asgard
Interaction: Taking the Podium

---

---

That feeling.

Like the moon shined a certain clarity upon his eyes. No, not just his eyes, his entire being swelled as if the lunar rays wrapped themselves around him, heavy, yet a constant comfort. Emmanuel shut his eyes and breathed deep through his nostrils, ignoring the sudden, painful presence of piercing blue eyes on him. For a moment, Emmanuel could feel freedom and, for him, that feeling came scarcely.

"-manuel. Emmanuel. Manny!" A voice snapped him from his reverie and Emmanuel gasped at the cold shock of a hand grasping his forearm. He yanked back and nearly tumbled into the desk beside him.

"Sh-shit, Danny," he breathed, looking from her to the projector as it flickered on and off, sliding in almost real time to show another entire side of the Andromeda galaxy being wiped away—no, devoured. Almost half the galaxy was just... gone.

From beside him, Danielle made a nose, turning from him to the projector's image. She cursed and bit down on a gasp, "Shit's right. What the hell do we do?"

Emmanuel moved, his mouth open for a moment before the door slammed forcibly into the wall. Danny jumped, and made toward the sound only to be stopped by Emmanuel's hand yanking her back. "It's alright," he said, guiding her to a chair, "I need you to stay here, record and document everything and I'll be back as soon as I can. Promise."

Before he turned the corner, Emmanuel glanced back, a finger pointed at Danielle, "And don't tell a soul outside of this project. This stays here, Danny, got it?" Once she nodded her understanding, Emmanuel disappeared and flew toward the sound, knowing full well what to expect. And then he paused, forgetting that he needed evidence before standing before the entirety of earth's Deities and attesting to something. It took a moment and a shush for Danielle's inevitable questions before he stuffed his suitcase with everything he needed and vanished through the portal.

The door gave an audible slam behind him. And that was it. This was it.

Emmanuel rushed down the steps, ignoring the curious eyes and nearly tripping over that damned dog. He didn't have time to scream, shout, or get angry; he'd save the tantrum for later.

"Shut up," he shoved past Tyr the moment the god opened his mouth to reprimand Fenrir, "And sit the hell down." With a finality, Emmanuel slammed his briefcase onto the podium. All but Fenrir's giggles hushed themselves into silence, though not many took their seats again.

"James," Emmanuel started over the silence, opening his briefcase to pull out the projector he'd stuffed inside and all the cords tangled in, "Be the sweetheart that you are and find some way to plug this in?"

James blinked at the request but did as he was told, giving Emmanuel a nod and finding a suitable place to plug everything in. Oddly enough, Raijin had enough juice to power the object and the picture of the Andromeda galaxy, whole and peaceful in its still image, lit the curtain enveloping the small pavilion in the center. It took a little adjusting before James got the projector's image just right.

Of course, Emmanuel hadn't expecting this to go as smoothly as he hoped and Tyr chose that exact moment to make his protest. "What does this have to do with anything?" he hissed, "This is an investigation, not show-and-tell."

"Stow it and move Odin's corpse off the stage, please," Emmanuel said, not missing a beat and not giving Tyr the satisfaction of eye contact. Before Tyr could make a move, Emmanuel turned to give him a look as he spoke, his hand wrapped around a remote and clicking the button in the center, "This is the Andromeda galaxy, approximately 2.5 million light years away."

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Tyr said, pounding a fist onto the podium.

"As you can see, there's absolutely nothing happening in this boring, dead, spiraling piece of crap heading our way one light year at a time," Emmanuel closed the distance between them, bumping chests and huffing in Tyr's personal space. A click sounded between them and the picture changed to show the ever decreasing space of one of Andromeda's mass of stars, "This is the Andromeda galaxy not 30 minutes ago." Another click, another chunk gone, "This is 28 minutes ago." Another, "26 minutes."

"You get the gist?" Emmanuel dare, and Tyr took a pause before backing up to look at the display, "How long was it since Odin's time of death?"

James chose that moment to speak up, "Uh, about 20 minutes ago. Give or take" Raijin hissed at his side and James muttered an apology, while one of the Mayan god's of death chimed in to concur with James.

"This was taken about 24 minutes ago," Emmanuel stated and clicked again. Thousands of light years had been wiped from existence, leaving nothing but the backdrop of stars behind it. He clicked one more time, showing one side practically devoured in an instant, and third of it just chipping away into nothing, "This was 18 minutes ago. And this,"

One last time to show the most recent slide Danielle and he had acquired. A massive galaxy, spanning hundreds of thousands of light years across eaten away, bit by gigantic bit. Those were stars hundreds, maybe thousands of times the size of their sun, completely eradicated and they were all squabbling and laughing. Emmanuel took a great breath and set the remote down to shuffle a few papers. "I have quite a bit of statistics here from Vulcan's Haus satellite showing the enormous rate at which this galaxy is practically dying. No light distortion, no radiation emissions, explosions, galactic supernovas. I can't find anything but just data erased as this thing crumbles to pieces. I have charts comparing Andromeda 20 years ago to now and 1 hour ago to now and they're so drastically different I'm about to have an aneurysm.

"I don't know what you guys have been doing in your spare time, but damn, someone here's gotta vendetta against this entire universe or the fact that a galaxy was named after whatshisface's girlfriend. But I have a sneaking suspicion that whatever did this," he pointed at the image and then at Odin, "and that, isn't someone looking for revenge. No matter how much I want someone here torn to shreds, I can't consciously condemn him to death.

"So, yeah, I mean, feel free to leave to your wife, your husband, your kids, your shitty plays, and your worthless lives. I'll just be sitting here gloating over Odin's dead body waiting to tell ever one of you, 'I told you so.'" And with that Emmanuel slammed his briefcase shut and immediately regretted the action the moment James came flying down with the projector and its memory card. He opened it for the guy before slamming it shut a second time.

"Are you done?" Tyr asked, his teeth almost audibly grinding together. Emmanuel gave him a smile, a pat on the nub, and found his seat. "Right, so, I suppose we have that to investigate, as well. So, yes, this is vastly important to every one of you, not just us Norse fellows because I'm positive none of you give two shits about Odin dying. I have half a mind to say it was well deserved, gods rest his soul. But that hatred doesn't detract from the direness of this situation, and Mani proved his point."

Athena cut in, stepping by his side, "However, we're not making any rash decisions just yet. It was nice of you to bring that to our attention, Mani, but it won't be stopping this investigation any time soon. We'll our people look into it, while also weeding out any of our suspects here. It's just not enough evidence to drive us away from our main concern and that is a god or goddess with a vendetta. Nemesis, if you will?" She turned toward June and gestured to the crowd, waiting for her to take her allotted group through to be questioned and filed.

[murdoc]

&

“Asgard more like Assgard.”
Location: Asgard
Interaction: Each Other and Interrupting Iðunn

---

---

The fact that an entire galaxy had disappeared, just like that? Sebastian should’ve been worried, even taking into account how the Mesoamerican and Norse Pantheons have never seen eye-to-eye. Odin’s death, and now this, those two events were something bordering on catastrophic, a telltale sign of forthcoming destruction. If even Odin could fall victim to such an attack, what did it mean for the rest of them? Truth be told, however, he really couldn’t bring himself to care about what had happened. Perhaps it was the alcohol, or the countless years he’d already spent as a boring, old human - either way, he didn’t think any of this was worth his concern. If there was someone out there coming after them, then so be it. They’d already spent far too long meddling in the affairs of the universe, anyway.

Still, in spite of any misgivings he might’ve had, the vehemence in Mani’s voice was unmistakable. Evidently, the Personification cared a great deal about Odin’s death, and the disappearance of the stars, but Sebastian couldn’t help but let out a chuckle when he started gesturing wildly at the little slideshow he’d prepared. What were they, in high school? He was expecting something a little more Tony Stark-esque; a swish, flick, and voila! A 3D hologram of whatever the hell you wanted. The gravity of the situation seemed lost on Sebastian, even as images of the quickly vanishing Andromeda flashed across the screen. The whole affair seemed laughable, almost ludicrous - Sebastian could hardly believe such a thing was possible. Who knew that even in death, Odin would be such a troublemaker?

Jordan wasn’t particularly fazed by Mani’s loud entrance either, staring at him as he rushed past to show them something apparently very important. Something to do with stars and galaxies? He wasn’t sure. He hadn’t really been listening, just looking at the pictures of the stars and ooh yes, they were very pretty stars.

His brow furrowed slightly, however, as he saw them blinking out of existence, chunks of them disappearing with each photo, as if someone were taking massive bites out of a galactic cookie. Then Emmanuel stopped changing the photos, went on a rant and really, Jordan wasn’t going to pay attention to a word of that. He did smile however, at the look on Tyr’s face when Mani patted his stump of a hand before sitting down.

What came after that was a little more successful in garnering his attention. Talk of investigations and suspects...even after considering just how many shots he’d had, it wasn’t too hard to put two and two together. If they were thinking it was someone within the Norse Pantheon, well, bets were probably on him and the rest of his family. Groaning and slumping in his seat, he looked pitifully up at Max.

“All I wanted, was to get shitfaced. Really. And now this?”

Sebastian just shot Jordan a knowing grimace in response. All this talk of investigation? It sounded like a textbook witch hunt, and he really wasn’t about to take that lying down. The whole thing sounded like far too much effort, and the mere thought of spending the rest of his night under interrogation was enough to elicit from him a groan of despair. Why couldn’t they have just left him alone? He hadn’t even gone anywhere near Australia, and for God’s sake, he was literally this close to getting laid.

“Man, fuck this.” Again, his words came out a little more loudly than he’d expected. What can he say? He was an angry drunk, and under the circumstances, loudly complaining seemed to be the only thing he could do to alleviate his displeasure. Well, apart from harassing the other deities, he supposed. Maybe they’d throw him out if he caused enough of a disruption, and then he could finally, finally get back to his life. “Why do we even have to put up with this shit?”

Unsteadily, he clambered to his feet, irascible, brown eyes darting around the hall like he was looking for someone to sue. There was a brief moment of silence as rows upon rows of gods got herded off for questioning, and Sebastian had to wonder if they were next. Jordan would no doubt be one of the prime suspects - after all, his history with Odin wasn’t exactly sunshine and rainbows. If anyone here had a motive to kill the Allfather, it would be Loki and his children.

Jordan had been leaning quite comfortably against Sebastian, until he stood. Letting out a noise of indignation as he slipped to the side, he glared up at him (“Sorry, cariño,” came Sebastian’s reply, a sheepish grin plastered on his face). The other gods were getting up as well however, and he pushed himself up onto his feet reluctantly, making an unnoticeable adjustment to his clothes. Half-heartedly, he tried to get his hair back in some semblance of neatness, but the wavy strands falling over his face every which way were apparently vehemently against that.

Patting Sebastian’s shoulder clumsily, he attempted to console him somewhat. “C’mon, it won’t be that bad. They probably haven’t even considered you as a suspect. You won’t be kept for very long.”

Sebastian just snorted, looking at Jordan like he’d just grown a second head. “Yeah, well, can’t say the same for you. You’ve got a target painted right on your back. Maybe we can get out of here without anyone noticing… or maybe just find some mead. I’m not nearly drunk enough for this.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Sebastian wandered off in a seemingly random direction, and he waved Jordan over with a vague hand gesture. If he wanted to drink himself into a stupor, then he was going to drink himself into a stupor. The death of a trillion stars wasn’t going to stop him from getting absolutely shitfaced - in fact, it was an amazing reason to get shitfaced. You know, to drown his sorrows, and all that.

“How well do you know your way around here?” He questioned, leaning in a little too closely, a conspiratorial arm slung around Jordan’s shoulders.

To be perfectly frank, Jordan had only the vaguest memories of Asgard. And none of them were located anywhere near these halls. The only thing that was familiar at all, was how goddamn shiny everything was, and just how many pillars were scattered all over the place. And weren’t those a Greek thing anyway? But he nodded, grinned, and pulled him off in a direction that was vaguely (not at all) familiar.

It wasn’t too long before they were lost.

He could still hear the voices of the other gods, but he didn’t have a clue about how to get back. And it was dimmer here, the light not as bright as it had been in the hall, and he supposed they were probably using up all the electricity they had to put on that show with the ceiling anyway. Turning to face Sebastian, he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“I may or may not have lied when I said that I knew my way around?”

Sebastian’s lips were pressed into a thin line as he eyed Jordan with some measure of impatience, but after a quick glance at the winding hallways of Asgard, he came to the conclusion that getting lost here probably happened far too much for comfort. It all looked the same to him - towering marble pillars and golden floors - and Jesus Christ, the money they must’ve spent on upkeep alone.

“I think I came to the realisation about five minutes back. Thank you, Jordan.” Sebastian declared, a long, heaving sigh bubbling up from his lungs. The fact must’ve been exceedingly obvious to Jordan, seeing as how he was the one who got them into this predicament in the first place, but the look in Sebastian’s eyes, that was a different story entirely, near-unnoticeable in the dim lighting. Somehow, they’d managed to slip past the ever-watchful Athena, though that was probably due to the distraction wrangling a couple dozen gods warranted. But now that they found themselves alone, a familiar idea, much like the one from earlier, popped into his head. “I think we’ve got some time before anyone finds us.”

With a quick stride forwards, he had Jordan pinned up against the wall, fingers lightly brushing against his jaw. For a moment, he didn’t do anything besides stand there, close enough to Jordan that he could feel his breath on his skin. His companion looked a far cry from how he did earlier that evening; cheeks flushed, clothes rumpled, and his immaculately styled hair even more so. Sebastian would be lying if he said he didn’t find the entire thing incredibly attractive, and his next words came out in a suggestive rumble, lips curling into a smirk. “Now, where were we?”

Jordan’s eyes slanted dangerously and a grin of his own danced on his lips. “Think I might forget if you don’t hurry up.” He punctuated that by leaning forward and pressing their lips together hungrily, hands running up Sebastian's face and into his tangled mop of hair once more. Pushed back onto the wall again, he grinned, feeling the chill seep into his back. And if his teeth were just a little sharper, or if his tongue felt like it was forked, well… Sebastian wasn’t freaking out about it.

Sebastian kissed back with fervour, and he barely noticed the teeth until he pulled away to catch his breath, a drop of blood starting to bead on his lower lip. For a moment, he paused, tongue swiping out to taste the dark, crimson fluid. His arms were still wrapped tightly around Jordan’s waist when he surged forward once again, this time, going for the throat. He pressed his lips against the rapid beating of Jordan’s pulse, kissing a path towards his jaw, teeth scraping skin.

Jordan tipped his head back with a slight exhalation as Sebastian nuzzled his neck, hands moving down from his head to map a path down his back. Then their lips met again, fervent and clumsy. Jordan forgot why exactly they hadn’t done this earlier. The world narrowed down to Sebastian’s hands and mouth and anywhere else they were touching. It was all going so well, until-

“...Oh!”

Unless Jordan’s vocal cords had magically transformed into those of a teenage girl, Sebastian had reason to believe that the exclamation of surprise did not, in fact, come from him. So, it was through process of elimination that he came to the conclusion that there was someone else there with them. It wasn’t that hard to put two and two together, but he had the strangest sense of déjà vu, like this kind of interruption was something that’d already happened today.

Reluctantly, he pulled back, searching for the source of the voice, and surprise, surprise, there the culprit was. A young girl, no older than seventeen, stood in the centre of the hall, eyes wide, mouth formed in an ‘O’ shape; the very picture of scandalised disbelief. Her long golden hair was tied in a braid, reaching down to her small of her back, and her eyes were an alarming shade of blue. It was easy enough to peg her as part of the Norse Pantheon - Iðunn, most likely, judging from her young, girlish features. Sebastian had only met her once or twice, but for all intents and purposes, she seemed nice, much unlike the rest of her kin. Getting interrupted for the second time, however, it pissed him off; and if he ended up ripping her a new one, could you really blame him?

“Who the hell are you?”

The girl let out a squeak of surprise, instinctively shrinking back when Sebastian turned the full intensity of his sullen glare on her. “I-Iðunn.” (He called it.) “You guys can’t be here. Tyr says everyone has to stay in Valhalla till the questioning’s over.”

Jordan turned his head to narrow his eyes at her as well. Really, was the universe dead-set on him getting cockblocked at every turn? He knew Iðunn, well, kind of. She was kinder than most of the gods, although a little vague sometimes. She certainly didn’t like any of Loki’s family however, after that nasty little incident with the giant. As soon as she seemed to realise it was him pressed up against the wall, a more indignant look settled onto her face, and she turned up her nose, the very picture of a prim and proper young lady.

“Anyway, you should get back to the hall and find out what group you’re in.”

Turning on her heel with a sniff, she stalked away, apparently expecting them to follow her like good little kids. Jordan turned his head back to look at Sebastian with one eyebrow raised. Even if the goddess was older than the both of them, she still looked like a child, and he was not going to be seen trailing after her like a lost puppy.

“Are we going to go with her now, or wait for Tyr to come and have a fit about us being gone? I don’t think he’d resort to killing us…” There was nothing funnier than seeing the control-freak god lose it, even if there was a high risk of death attached to it.

Sebastian seemed undecided, gaze flickering back to Jordan from the retreating silhouette of Iðunn. On one hand, he really wanted to get back to that thing they had going, though was it really worth incurring Tyr’s wrath for? He had to admit, the sight of the Norse God blowing a gasket was pretty hilarious, but he preferred to laugh at him while standing safely on the sidelines. There was a lot Tyr could still do, even with a missing hand; and hey, chances were that if they stayed here, they’d only get interrupted again. Getting into Jordan’s pants seemed an exercise in futility, at this point.

“He’s not going to kill us,” Sebastian began, taking care to avoid pinning a ‘probably’ on the end. “But I don’t wanna stay here and find out.”

Jordan let out a sigh but pushed himself off the wall anyway, brushing himself down with the same outcome as the last time he'd done it. Indulging himself with one more kiss before they both had to go back and face interrogation, he pulled away reluctantly. Iðunn was still waiting for them at the end of the corridor, tapping her foot impatiently. It was cute how she seemed to think that she was being authoritative.

He walked up to her, and swept a hand forward mockingly, an obviously fake respectful look on his face.

“Lead on m’lady.”

---

---

Soon enough, they found themselves back amidst their so-called brethren. Iðunn seemed to know her way around Asgard like the back of her hand, and Sebastian would almost be impressed if he wasn’t so miffed. Sighing, he plopped himself down on an empty chair, accepting that his mission for the night had ended in complete failure. No mead, no sex, and to top it all off, they still had to hang around this dump for God knows how long. Tyr would doubtlessly flip his shit if anyone else tried to make a quick escape.

“You know,” Sebastian motioned for Jordan to come closer. “You could come to my place after this. If they manage to get everyone processed before the next Ragnarök, anyway.”

Jordan flopped down into his own chair and absentmindedly ran a hand through his hair. That last statement of Sebastian’s was right-in fact, he was surprised that they'd gotten this whole thing together so quickly after Odin’s death. Normally they just held endless meetings and made long winding speeches until everyone was bored out of their minds, even anyone that was actively trying to pay attention. He suspected that Tyr had been about to go out on a tangent at the beginning, but had been cut off quickly by Athena. Smart of her.

“If there's a possibility of us getting out of here any time soon,” not likely “we're definitely going to my place. No offence, but your place is a constant dump.” He did sling an arm over Sebastian’s shoulders to take the edge off the insult however. He thought bitterly that whatever he did say however, they’d find a way to pin the blame on him somehow.

“Wow, low blow.” Sebastian began to explain with a disdainful sniff, though there was no real malice in his voice. “I'll have you know, Mister Perfect, it’s called organized chaos. Everything is right where they need to be.”

Just as quickly as it’d appeared, his expression of annoyance quickly dissolved into one of lazy nonchalance. “But your place is fine too, I guess. ‘Least I don’t gotta clean up afterwards.”

With a one-shouldered shrug, he turned his attention back to the situation at hand, leaning back against his chair. As much as he loathed this interrogation, it seemed as if there was nothing left to do but cooperate. The sooner they could get out of here, the better, and if there was even the slightest chance that this would be over within the next century or two, he wasn’t about to risk prolonging the torture.