fledermaus

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 {A God RP}

𝗃 𝗎 𝗉 𝗂 𝗍 𝖾 𝗋

_{𝓟𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓪𝓭𝓮 𝓡𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓾𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓽 8:00 PM}

MOOD: ᴩɪssᴇᴅ ᴏꜰꜰ.

---

“Yes, I saw it.” His fingers shook with rage as he secured his necktie around his neck, and it felt awfully like a proverbial noose cinching around him. Behind him, his assistant quivered, unsure of what has his temper flaring but knowing it has been lit. Jupiter doesn’t know why his assistant is so nervous, Jupiter has never been the type to take his anger out on his workers beyond clipped tones and some grunt work here and there. “Holding the charity event was a last-minute decision on my part – all the information is provided in the pamphlet I gave you, just iron out the details. And catering. If you choose the same catering as the last fundraiser, you’re fired.”

Jupiter will kill whoever set him up like this. Whoever put his name down for this mysterious event is probably another god and it gives him a lot more passion in finding out how Hephaestus’ body. Once he finds out how to kill a god, he’ll kill the perpetrator himself for trying to sully his good name. To keep up with appearances, though, Jupiter has to act as if this was his plan all along. Even with his employees. In the end, it works out, the charity this mysterious “benefactor” picked out was environmentalist in nature and it would be a chance to improve his image among that community. Hopefully, the masses don’t see the pandering for what it is.

“I have an important dinner meeting tonight.” Jupiter turned from the mirror finally, adjusting his cuffs as he looks his assistant dead in the eye, “I expect no interruptions.”

“Dinner meeting?” The assistant asked hesitantly, flipping through the papers in his arms, “I didn’t have you down for a dinner meeting.”

Jupiter sighed and looked at the faint reflection of his face in his shined shoes, “Did I stutter?” Jupiter didn’t have to explain anything to his assistant, even if his assistant was looking at him suspiciously.

Without saying anything else, Jupiter left his office with his assistant profusely apologizing to his back. For the first time in a while, Jupiter felt dread rise up from his stomach as the elevator plummeted down towards the entrance. His rendezvous with Peter – no, Poseidon – has always been a source of grounding for him. A way to bring him back to the present when he got caught up with his big ideas and the stress of his work, of bringing Rome back. Now, Jupiter has to end it. A Greek has no place in his world, in the world he is shaping, whether his Roman brethren see it the same way as him or not doesn’t matter. The other pantheons cannot rise again and muddy the new tides of Rome and a Greek will never betray another Greek.

When he got to the restraint that he designated for the dinner meeting, it was around 8 PM at night already. A late dinner, as Jupiter had other things to attend to – like getting a surprise charity event put together. Out of habit, Jupiter had chosen a seafood restaurant as he knew Peter - Poseidon - liked seafood. Guess he knows why, now.

The hostess sat him at a table near the back, somewhere with privacy, and began perusing the menu for something light to eat. A heavy dinner will just make him want to puke from the anger coursing through him right now, from Poseidon to whoever this fundraiser patron is.

Everyone wants to make a fool of Jupiter, it seems.

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 {A God RP}

---

_{Eastside Café}

Hel & Loki

---

The things that could get Hel nervous in the whole world could be counted on one hand. Most of the time she barely had a grasp on what time it was in the world. Now she was bitterly aware that it was 10:59 a.m. on the 3rd of October. She was also well aware of where she was. The Eastside Café. Under normal circumstances she would have considered it a cozy and sweet place. An excellent place to get lost in a book with a coffee in front of her. Today though she was fidgeting with her phone. The tea before her was steaming but left untouched. Her eyes darted around. Scanning the ever moving crowd. Hoping to spot her father before he saw her. She needed that upper hand. Though she wished she didn’t have to feel so standoffish. There were many things she wished for. To see and hug Fenrir and Jörmungandr… and her father. A small smile formed on the mask that was her face usually. After so many years of her rejecting him, he never gave up. He kept showing his love. It was a dangerous, reckless, fate-tempting love but it felt good to have it. If only she could return it. Of course she couldn’t. The second she gave in to his love, the second she’d return it there would be no turning back. It was simply too dangerous.

Loki, on the other hand, was having a grand old time. With a skip and a hop, whistling a jaunty tune that may or may not be from Hairspray, he entered into the Café. The trickster god loved his children and would do anything for them, but he was under no illusion that they all had their problems with him. They blamed him for not helping them, and truthfully Loki was powerless under the entrails of his child, but it was his burden to shoulder. If they needed him to be the bad guy, well Loki will be the baddest guy there is - yet he would make sure, at the end of the day, they knew they were loved.

“Hel! Er, Astrid!” Loki quickly amended, waving enthusiastically towards his daughter. “How is my beautiful daughter?”

They got strange looks in the cafe, all of them looking dubiously between the duo and their obvious age discrepancy. Loki paid them no mind; mortals always found a way to explain away the impossible. Surely, they’ll just think he’s a stepfather or a lover of a plastic surgeon.

For a faction of a second Hel broke into a full smile when she saw her father, before she pushed all of that down. This was no place for smiles or waves. Not to her. This was serious and dangerous. She didn’t mind his little slip-up though. “I’m good. And you?” She returned the question as she motioned him to sit in the chair before her. The one furthest away from her at the table. In her mind she pushed away the fact that she had found Jörmungandr and that she had sent him a letter. But at the same time she had a duty to protect her snake-brother as well. What if he and Loki weren’t seeing eye to eye? What if he felt the same and wanted to stay away from everyone? What if he hated Loki as much as he would have to hate her? It wasn’t her place to tell her father about her brother. Even if she so dearly wished to. Her own thoughts had consumed already too much of her attention to notice the weird looks of the mortals. Though if she had she wouldn’t have paid it any mind. What did it matter what a mortal thought. In how many decades would they be dead? Five? Six maybe? Eight, if they were particularly robust. What did the opinion of those who lived so short matter?

“I’m having a jolly good time!” Loki exclaimed before moving in conspiratorially, “Say, you should check your mailbox this afternoon. I heard good old Augustus has a present for us.”

Loki leaned back and flipped open the cafe’s menu, his previous deviousness slipping off his facade like it was nothing. That was the thing about Loki, the way he could switch his masks from one thing to the next, like cutting through softened butter. Some people found it disconcerting when they witnessed it, but the trickster didn’t particularly care. There was no point in hiding his ways in front of his daughter, she knows him and knows he’s almost always up to no good.

Hel took a quick sip of her cold cup of tea. Trying to hide the swallow of fear when her father talked about some present from Augustus. Once she had wondered if Loki truly was just a mischievous trickster, or a malevolent creature bent only towards destruction and pain. Ever since Baldur’s untimely demise she had her answer. It was that same answer that drove her to ask him to meet her here.

Slowly she put the cup of tea down, trying to move her body slightly in the chair so there was more distance between them. She bit on her lips as she looked down towards the cup, not daring to look at her father as she posed the question: “Did you kill…him?” He wouldn’t have been the first god he killed. She knew he was capable of that. Had it been some sick joke? Another ploy just to get the Greeks upset? Was he working towards something now? She didn’t know, but she did know that during Ragnarök Loki was at least responsible for many deaths amongst the gods. Was Hephaestus the first one to fall now? The long winter hadn’t begun yet, but prophecies could be vague like that.

"Kill who?" Loki asked nonchalantly, still perusing the menu. He already had coffee, maybe it was time for tea. "Ooh, do they have boba tea?"

It wasn't a trick, his ignorance. Loki was so used to being accused of killing someone that he could hardly keep up. Not to mention Hephaestus' untimely death has been replaced with Jupiter's ball as the most important event in his brain. It was only when he had flagged down someone to take his order (as politely as he could, Loki was chaotic not cruel...ish) that he remembered exactly who Hel could be referring to.

"Oh, Hephaestus!" He practically shouted and several heads turned towards the table; he carried on oblivious, "Of course I didn't kill him. If I were in possession of a god-killing weapon, good ole' Heph isn't the first person I'd visit."

People were definitely giving the two odd looks now. “Could you-” Hel said under her breath, feeling herself get mad. She stopped herself, taking a deep breath. She couldn’t get mad around Loki. it was dangerous for her specifically to get emotional around him. With a new found calm whisper she said: “Could you not speak so loud? I don’t want to be thrown into some mental institution again.”

It wasn’t like Loki wasn’t above testing a weapon out before he used it on Odin on Thor. Her father might appear like a jubilant, somewhat unthreatening fool at times but to her that was all just a facade. Loki was clever. Dangerously clever. Luckily for her though, Loki also wasn’t in a habit of lying to her. If he said that he didn’t like Hephaestus, then he truly didn’t. Strangely though, it didn’t make her feel better.

“Do you… know what could kill a god so suddenly?” If anyone would at least know about the god-killing weapon, it had to be Loki. Loki who had been searching for a way to finish off Odin and the other Aesir for seventeen long centuries already. Loki who would usher in Ragnarök. He had to know.

"Hmm…" Loki tapped his fingers against his chin in fake thought, and his tone turned serious, "The perfect way to murder a god? Ally with them. Make them trust you, need you even, and then rip it all away. The perfect way to murder a god isn't to murder them, darling, it's to make them want to die."

Then, like a switch, Loki's face lit up again and a woman moved into view to take his order, oblivious to the smidge of plotting he divulged to his daughter. He ordered a boba tea and watched her walk away with barely concealed excitement — he really liked boba. With his order taken, he turned back to Hel and threaded his fingers under his chin, a smile on his lips and scheming on the brain.

"Now, do I think old Heph decided to off himself?" He shrugged, "No, not at all. Whatever happened to him is beyond my mental scope of thought."

The way he described the murder of a god. It chilled even Hel. To think loss and pain could be so intense it would render living impossible for a god. She could not imagine it. Not in her own darkest days. Yet here was her father, seemingly intimately aware of it. Did he kill someone already this way? Her mind harkened back the vague memories of gods deciding to finish it. There weren’t many. Which ones were driven so far that they would jump off the ledge? Which one did her father murder?

With his finger on her chin, she suddenly felt like a child again. Looking up at the Aesir in Asgard. A place she had once called home. With her father peacefully beside her. The memory made her close her eyes for a split second even. Back then she was blind to the doom that was getting close with every second. For a split second she yearned for that again. To be amongst people and laugh and drink and just be happy.

Her eyes slowly opened again. No. No no no. Back then she was laughing with blackguards. That life of closeness and warmth was forever lost. Was it? Her thoughts trailed to Jörmungandr and Fenrir. She wondered how it would feel. All of them, together. Set in the same scene as her memory. Laughing and drinking and being happy. For a second she felt that happiness. Then icy fingers wrapped themselves around her heart. For a brief moment the breath she let out came out as cold vapor.

“I really wish things were different sometimes.” She finally admitted, not daring to look at her father as she did though. “The death…it scares me.” It felt odd. A goddess of the dead, fearing death itself. Would she go to Helheim alone? As a mortal? “I know Odin and Thor are looking for whatever weapon killed Hephaestus so they can use it on both my brothers.”

Loki smiled as the server placed his boba tea in front of him and took a long drag from the straw, noisily slurping the tea to the chagrin of their table-neighbors. "Psht, Odin is doing no such thing. The only head he's thinking with is his di — it doesn't matter. Listen, darling, men. ain't. shit." And he tapped his finger against her nose with each word, grinning while he did it. "Especially the Nordic ones."

Though, after his impromptu word of advice, Loki realizes he trivalised his daughter's fear. Loki is a good father, he takes note of these things and tries to communicate honestly with his children, but that doesn't mean he shouldn't help them with their fears. Even if he, personally, doesn't fear it. Because that's what good fathers do.

"Hel," Loki set down his boba tea to signify that he meant business, "I won't let Ragnarok happen. I swear it on my life, I'll do everything and more to stop it. But, we're safe as long as we have the Colossus. Take this time to spend with your brothers; don't fear death, fear not living. It's time to be with your family — we all miss you."

And she missed them. Deeply and dearly. Every day she wished they could all be together. But even now, being here with her father was dangerous. Every bit of proximity could lead to the end of her brothers. She would not be their murderer. “You don’t know if the Colossus is stopping it.” Her words turned icy as her barely thawed heart froze over again. She could miss them, yearn for them and wish for her family all she wanted. But she couldn’t act on it. Every day, she would have to shield herself from her own wants. Because it wasn’t about what she wanted. It would never be about what she wanted.

Slowly she reached over to hug Loki, and in their embrace she whispered: “I love you, dad. I know I don’t show it well or often but I do. With all my heart, I love you and Jorm and Fen.” With those words whispered, she released him from her always cold hugs and stood up, leaving the tea only half-drunk. “Goodbye.” She said, before bolting out of the tea shop. Begging her weary heart to be still.

Loki sighed, sitting back in his chair and taking another draw from his boba tea. He doesn’t know what he should do with that girl, she is as stubborn as he is. Loki sighs again, standing up and throwing some bills on the table for his drink. He knows he should wait for the receipt, but he has neither the care nor the time. Loki has some plotting he must do (and a dick appointment in the making).

---

^{a collab with @Legion02}

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 {A God RP}

𝗃 𝗎 𝗉 𝗂 𝗍 𝖾 𝗋

_{𝓒𝓪𝓷𝓵𝓲𝓼 𝓡𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓾𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓽 10:45 AM}

MOOD: ᴍɪssɪɴɢ ʀᴏᴍᴇ.

---

Patterns existed in everything; nature, humanity, business, godhood. It’s why Jupiter found them so comforting; patterns meant predictability and predictability meant that Jupiter always had the upper hand. The god himself had a predictable schedule: wake up, work, jog, work, shower, work, work, work. However, none of the brothers of the Archaic Triad could be considered predictable themselves. Jupiter may maintain a predictable livelihood, under his dark hair stirred plots from all angles. Because of his capricious nature, Jupiter is of the understanding that Mars and Janus are also of the same nature. Brunches may be the bane of Jupiter’s existence (brunch for this, brunch for that, brunch for family, and brunch for business), it was good to take the time to catch up with his duo that complete his trio and some of the other Romans.

If he could get out the door, that is.

“Mr. Kingsley, you have received an important message from – ” His assistant hurried after his steps, his formal shoes clacking on the tile like tap shoes on a mat.

Jupiter didn’t bother glancing up from the newspaper he was reading, “No.”

The assistant hesitated and Jupiter’s long strides took him far away from whatever nobody wanted to contact him. He passed by the circular desk at the front of the building, and Helena perked up at the sight of him. Her eyes roved over him, looking for anything out of place, until she spotted something absolutely juicy. Nothing could get past Helena, the gossip hound of the company.

“Mr. Kingsley, did you fall and bruise your neck?” She asked innocently, as boldly calling it a ‘hickey’ would certainly land her in hot water. “I hope you didn’t hurt yourself!”

“I’m fine.” Jupiter responded, turning the page of his newspaper and hurrying up to the glass doors.

And once he thought he was free from his nosy and noisy employees, he was greeted by a small protest at his doors. Surely over some clean energy thing that Jupiter had no interest in at that particular moment. Sure, the environment is important – matter of fact, Jupiter thinks it is extremely important if he is to bring Rome to its former glory – but his aerospace company is a long way from being able to operate without jet fuel.

“Mother earth killer!” Someone shouted at him and Jupiter sighed as he tucked his hands into his pockets. Hypocrites, all of them. They like to degrade his use of jet fuel until one of them needs to fly halfway across the world.

Jupiter tossed the newspaper towards the protester and the protester fumbled to catch it, “Recycle this please.” Plebeian.

A black car awaits him at the curb, bodyguards holding back the protesters who seem more confused than organized. The driver had been informed ahead of time where to drive him, a preference Jupiter expressed to his assistant as he likes his car rides to be as silent as possible. Instead of making light conversation, something he finds rather wasteful of his breath, Jupiter stares out the window at the American citizens he will one day make his. He nearly grins at the thought of it; Rome, glorious, built again. Some might call it an obsession of his, but Jupiter prefers to think of it as a purpose.

The car pulls up to the restaurant and Jupiter slides smoothly from his seat. He throws a couple of bills onto the seat he once occupied, tipping his driver a little something extra as there is a chance he’ll come back with a temper. Not that his brothers made him temperamental, but rather discussing godhood politics was a source of great frustration for him.

He didn’t bother listening to the owner of the restaurant, not even acknowledging him as the owner greeted him with a ‘Mr. Kingsley, you’re brother is-‘. Jupiter knows where his brother is; the penthouse, like always. It’s a waste of conversation to confirm something Jupiter already knows, so Jupiter sees no point in discussing it. Instead, Jupiter enters the elevator and presses the button to the top floor.

The doors open into the penthouse; it is nice and beautiful by modern mortal standards, yet Jupiter can’t help but compare it to the sweeping architecture of Rome made with hard labor and mathematical precision. And there was his brother, Janus, standing amongst it all. Of them all, Jupiter believes Janus adapted the best, as expected of him.

“Julius, you are here early. Like always.” It’s the most Jupiter has said this morning, having been buried in paperwork since the early hours, and ignoring anyone who tried to hold conversation with him. “The others must not be long now.”

Jupiter meandered around the room, studying the interior that he has grown accustomed to. Jupiter has always lived as a King, lavishly and extravagantly, but being a capitalistic king was a whole new experience. Well, it was some odd years ago when he first conquered the transportation industry.

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 {A God RP}

Many things could be said about Loki. Homewrecker, murderer, life-ruiner, trickster, the list goes on and on. Loki likes to think of himself as the life of the party. And he quite likes parties, always had the taste for them since the roaring twenties; not the foolish frat parties those little Greek gods like to throw. No, Loki loves true parties, the Great Gatsby kind, the kind where extravagant people go to get extravagantly wasted.

And what better way to celebrate mourn a death than a party.

“— cordially invited to party with your favorite — Todd, are you writing what I’m saying or playing with your dick. Jesus, you write so slow.” Loki snapped his fingers at his lackey, er, assistant.

“Sorry, um, h-how do you spell cordially again?” Todd stuttered, pencil held ham-fisted over the back of a receipt Loki got at the convenience store down the street (he was craving bad coffee).

Loki sipped his bad black coffee, choking a little on the aftertaste and enjoying it in the way only a Chaos God could. “Uh, I don’t know actually. Maybe sound it out?”

Todd sounded it out under his breath, writing it down, and Loki took that as his cue to continue. “Ahem, with your favorite trickster — ”

Just as he had started, the door busted open and in came a breathless (what was his name again?), panting like a dog south of the equator. His hair was mussed and sweaty hands were gripping a black bag that he weakly brandished to Loki. “Mr. Leo, I have it!”

Loki steepled his fingers together and grinned, “Perfect. Absolutely perfect. You are
dismissed, Todd.”

“What about—”

“Dismissed!” And Todd scuttled out the door with his tail between his legs.

The trickster god beckoned Carl(?) over with an ominous finger. Carl carried the black bag like it held his lifeline (and, truthfully, it might) before slowly placing it on the desk. Loki gestured for Carl to push the black bag closer to him. This was it, Loki felt anticipation at what he was about to do. Todd was a good substitute, but nothing could replace his — laptop!

The laptop gleamed in the dank basement of Todd’s mother (Loki really needed to find a new base of operations) and Loki rubbed it lovingly. Now, he can truly write his invitation, with beautiful, beautiful spellcheck.

“You may go, Carl.” Loki waved his hand towards the wooden stairwell.

Carl made to leave before straightening in almost offense, “Uh, sir, my name is Timothy.”

“Wait, really?” Loki pondered this, wondering briefly where he got Carl from. “Well, Timmy, you are free to go. Shoo, shoo.”

Timothy left without another word and Loki got to work. His fingers moved speedily, dancing across the sleek keyboard as the words flowed easily into his mind. The trickster was beyond giddy with his idea. The ball will not only give him a chance to wear that suit he impulse bought, but will also allow him to stoke the flames between the gods without even having to lift a finger! Hera was so quick to accuse everyone in the span of five minutes; he wonders how many accusations will be thrown around during an entire ‘charity event’. Loki made sure to write up a separate invitation to invite some humans to the ball as well, to make the event more legitimate.

“Hm, it’d be rather weird for an illegal bookie to be holding a charity event, wouldn’t it?” Loki tapped his chin in thought even though he didn’t even really have to think about it.

Gods and Goddesses,

I cordially invite you to my lavish charity event that is to be held October 16^th. It is a black tie event and I expect you to dress your very best, lest you be denied at t he door! I hope you all grace us with your presence. (:

- Jupiter, King of Gods

And sent!

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 {A God RP}

𝔗 𝔥 𝔢 𝔐 𝔬 𝔯 𝔯 𝔦 𝔤 𝔞 𝔫

_{LOCATION: ꜱᴇᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀꜱɪᴛy}

MOOD: ʀᴇᴀᴅy ᴛᴏ ɢᴏ.

---

The room started to thin out, several of the gods seeing it fit to leave early and the Morrigan felt her anger flare once more. She pinched the bridge of her nose and took a second to even her breaths before addressing the room.

“I know I don’t have a lot of information, but it’s imperative that you all know as soon as possible.” Her hands grip the podium and her eyes pierce into every god in the room, “There is a murderer on the loose and any one of us could be next.”

The Morrigan spared a glance towards the mourning mother, feeling one-legged and graceless. What is one supposed to say to people who lost someone special? Especially when all she knew of Hephaestus was his ugliness and bad politics. The Morrigan cleared her throat awkwardly, “My condolences to everyone close to him. He was, er, a special man with…a good heart?”

Well, she tried.

The Morrigan was a professional, and professionals always put their phones on vibrate during an important meeting. Despite the gravity of the situation, someone thought it fit to call her again. The woman fished out her phone from her pocket and glared at the caller ID. She hit the end button, resolved to call back after she concluded the meeting.

“Well, this has been…entirely unproductive and I hope next time we meet it will be tamer.” She shot a glance at the door which Ares had walked out of a moment earlier. “Now, excuse me, I have an important phone call to take.”

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 {A God RP}

𝕃 𝕆 𝕂 𝕀

_{LOCATION: ꜱᴇᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀꜱɪᴛy}

MOOD: ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴛɪᴍᴇ.

---

interactions:@Danvers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

---

𝔗 𝔥 𝔢 𝔐 𝔬 𝔯 𝔯 𝔦 𝔤 𝔞 𝔫

_{LOCATION: ꜱᴇᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀꜱɪᴛy}

MOOD: ʜᴀꜱ ʜᴀᴅ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ.

---

interactions:@gothelk & everyone at the Conclave

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Meadow University

𝓜 𝓲 𝓵 𝓵 𝓲 𝓮 𝓙 𝓮 𝓪 𝓷

_{LOCATION: ɴᴇᴄᴛᴀʀ'ꜱ}

---

There was something about rolling your eyes too hard that was slightly painful, like a twinge in your eyebrows when your vision goes dark for that split second. Millie Jean only knows this because she rolled her eyes so hard at Jasper that she saw red spots for a split second. She doesn’t really know what she did to offend Jasper so much other than stick up for her friend. In her humble opinion, the other girl’s immense dislike of her seemed uncalled for; not that Jasper would care to hear her opinion at all, or even hear anything Millie Jean had to say.

Usually Millie Jean would chuckle at Nate’s awkward and endearing nature, but her mood had soured at the presence of Jasper. Millie Jean was too nonconfrontational to talk to Jasper about her frankly offensive behavior, so instead she took a sip of her drink and kept her eyes on the napkin before her. The club suddenly felt very, very hot.

“I’m going to the bathroom.” Millie said suddenly, standing up and grabbing her drink. She moved away from the table quickly before she could hear them say anything, gunning for the bathroom to at least get some space from the table. Tonight was supposed to be her night.

And it, decidedly, wasn’t her night.

The bathroom door looked like the gate to heaven, a golden halo around it symbolizing her escape. Her imagined getaway was beautiful until it was blocked by a familiar silhouette. Like a train wreck, she saw everything in slow motion; her body careened forward, tripping over someone’s foot in the crowd, and she face planted into someone’s back. Her drink dumped all over her and the not-so mysterious other.

To be quite honest, Millie Jean was tired of falling onto Cassian Lee. What is that saying? Once is an accident, twice is a hobby?

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 {A God RP}

𝔗 𝔥 𝔢 𝔐 𝔬 𝔯 𝔯 𝔦 𝔤 𝔞 𝔫

_{ꜱᴇᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀꜱɪᴛy}

MOOD: ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ ᴄʜᴀʀᴛꜱ!

---

The Morrigan is a precise woman. When she sent her emails, penned her letters, ordered her crows, she did so with the message that it was The Conclave – with a capital ‘C’. Capitalization to signify the importance of the Conclaves and why attendance was dire. Yet, still, the gods bumble into the room like toddlers with their ‘why, why, why’s. Part of her wants to scream ‘why? Because I said so!’, but then she would have to deal with at least two gods calling her ‘mom’.

First it was Mot, sweeping into the room with his disinterest and disdain, demanding answers from her like she was his to serve. Politely, she told him to wait, as there were more to come. Politeness went out the window when it was asked a second time, by Shango, and she answered with clipped tones and forced smiles (“Not everyone is here yet, please take a seat where your name is.”) And her seating chart! Her seating chart, thrown out the window by everyone and their damn mother! Do they not know how much of her prints she used up for those name slips?

By the time the danishes arrived, a headache had already formed in her temple like a steady beat of a drum. No, with Zeus in the room, it became a sledgehammer on soft clay. She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes to the gods, breathing in and out with the whirr of the air conditioning. The din of the room faded behind the kaleidoscopic swirls of her eyelids and she lost herself in her breathing. When she opened her eyes again, she was calm – not collected, noticeably, but decidedly less likely to rip another god’s head off with her bare hands.

With a new distance from the chaos of the room, the Morrigan watched the pantheons behind a veil of disinterest and cold observance. It seemed that a lot of them were under the impression she liked these Conclaves, that she enjoyed bringing them together for dick measuring contests when all she wants is answers. When all she wants is to return to her place in the universe. The Morrigan glared at an empty seat, noticing the absence of the Roman gods with a prick of annoyance. Of course, they wouldn’t show, even when one of them RSVP’d. Well, Mars might show eventually, to report back to his brother-in-arms.

“You must wait no longer, my fair lady~!” The thin veil between her and chaos snapped, torn down by the hands of Benzaiten (no, she goes by Bentley now). “Did you get my email about next semester? Not that I mind seeing everyone still alive and kicking, but you don’t need to throw these little meetings to see me, I’d come wherever you asked me to.”

The Morrigan cleared her throat, belatedly noticing that Benzai – Bentley had taken her hand to kiss. A little bit of heat stuck to her hands where her lips once were, and the Morrigan snatched her hand away quickly to clasp in her other hand. She forced a smile, polite but distant, “Ah, I haven’t had a chance to check my email, what with planning the Conclave. It is about to start, I think I see a seat with your name over there that you can – fuck it, just sit wherever you want, everyone else is.”

Last time she makes a damn seating chart. She, once again, wonders why she bothers as she twists away from Bentley to take a drink of water from her water bottle. When she turns around again, there’s vomit on the floor and the room stinks of upchucked fish and artificial raspberry. The Morrigan runs her hands over her face and glares at the empty seats once more. Fuck the Romans, fuck the Greeks – hell, fuck everyone for ruining her seating chart. Who does that? Their names are clearly on their seats! It doesn’t get much simpler than that!

“Poseidon.” She says instead, fingers gripping the podium she stands behind as she smiles at the long-thought dead god (except she knew, always had known). “I’m glad to see you made it. Please take a seat…wherever. Thank you, Anubis, for getting the janitor.”

She waited until the mortal janitor left before talking about their very discrete matter. “Everyone please settle down, I have something important to say.”

No one heard her, caught up in their own conversations, and she thinks she even spies three of the Greeks napping. Do they really think she called a Conclave for them to dally? Does no one understand the risk they are taking, letting the Colossus sit in the unknown?

Hephaestus’s mysterious death in Seattle meant more than a simple mourning. It meant they were killable – by something other than distance from the Colossus. It meant that they were immortal, but not invincible like they originally thought. They don’t have her power, they don’t see the threads of fate twisting before her eyes, and they didn’t see the clean snip of Hephaestus’s string. It wasn’t his fate to die – someone manipulated fate to kill him, cut the threads themselves, and it wasn’t just wrong, it was impossible.

“Please, everyone just – ” and still they continued, Hades even managed to slink in during the chaos. She couldn’t take this anymore! She is so tired of being the responsible god, the god that calls the Conclaves, that covers for them when they slip on their secret – tired of being the damn janitor!

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

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 {A God RP}

𝔸 𝕄 𝕄 𝕀 𝕋

_{ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴜʀᴛʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ ⇀ ꜱᴇᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀꜱɪᴛy}

MOOD: ꜰᴜᴄᴋ ᴇᴠᴇʀyᴛʜɪɴɢ.

---

interactions:@Icy Hot@Akayaofthemoon@Rockette

The heated battle of court is the only thing keeping Ammit’s eyes wide and awake. The night before was spent nervously cooking meals upon meals upon meals, anxiety only borne from conclaves gnawing at her like she gnawed on hearts. Work was easy, though, a rhythm that her fingers fell into with a tap, tap, tap.One would think the repetitiveness would have her falling into dreamland, but dissecting the loud yelling of the prosecutor and the low timbre of Anubis.

“The motion to reduce the bail for Mr. Andre Lawerence has been rejected, we will convene back here to continue this case bright and early on Monday. This is day five, Mr. Isam, let’s not drag this on much longer, alright?” The judge intoned and Ammit hurried to type it down so she could get out of there as quickly as possible. The Conclave was starting soon, too.

From across the courtroom Ammit could see the broad planes of Anubis’s back clothed in one of his nice suits. Eons of knowing him led Ammit to understanding him almost like the back of her palm – she could see the frustration emanating from him like drawn radio waves in a comic book. Her first instinct was to go to him, smooth his suit down and tell him his favorite words of hers (“I’ll feast well, tonight”). Then she remembered – he’s not her fuckin’ boss anymore.

“Hmph! I’m my own boss!” She harrumphed to herself, gathering her things together.

“No, you’re not.” The Judge muttered as he passed behind her, not even looking up from the paper in his hands. Ammit clamped down her first reaction to give him a not-so-kind gesture.

Whatever, she has a Conclave to go to anyways.

______________________________________________________________________________

Her shitty car didn’t have a name, because shitty cars don’t deserve names – and she tells her car that every time she drives it, angrily thumping at the steering wheel when it makes a weird sound. She refuses to get it fixed, whatever is wrong with it; no way in hell is she going to spend money on such a piece of junk. At the thought of it, Ammit rolls down her window and spits, hoping part of her saliva hit the car to remind it that it is beneath her. Sometimes it forgets.

Because of the reasons outlined above, Ammit drives her car slowly and carefully on the road. An important thing to note when she spots Anubis’s car zigzagging through traffic while hers chugs along like a slug on fire. Ammit scowls to herself, smacking the radio in between the seats to change the station – violence is the only way to get any of the buttons in her car to work. In a way, this car was meant for her.

It was a slow drive to the Conclave, frustrating and anxiety riddled. She parked her car messily, going over all sorts of lines, and caring very little for it. She dares someone to hit her car. Ammit may not eat hearts anymore, but that doesn’t mean she won’t stab them. (An over exaggeration, of course, but said with the confidence that if she were charged, Anubis would work for her for free).

The room was easy to find, and she didn’t so much as push the door as she did kick it wide open. She didn’t do it for the dramatic entrance, but rather to get the last bit of anger out of her after she saw Anubis’s car in the parking lot. He was there before her. It might not have been a race, officially, but damn did Ammit hate losing. Ammit entered the room and ignored everyone around her, beelining for the Egyptians since they were all already congregated together.

“Hey Bastet, Hathor.” Ammit said in greeting, choosing to slouch in a chair near Hathor, and added belatedly, “…Boob.”

Ammit glared at Anubis, daring him to challenge her nickname for him in front of their pantheon.

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 {A God RP}

I said I wouldn't... But here I am 🙄😂

@Venus

ayyyyyy join!!!