Hera made her way down the hall, thoroughly engrossed in the file in her hand. She did not lift her head from her perusal, because she did not have to. The halls were wide and well kept, so nothing would be on the floor to trip her. Her servants and staff were well trained and respectful, so nobody would get in her way. Therefore, all she had to do was walk a relatively straight line to go past the throne room and get back to her office.
Which was precisely what she was doing as she read. No sense in wasting these moments on something idle when she could complete her task in less time and leave a bit early today. She was rather fancying a shopping trip. Shoes, perhaps. But that was for later. For now--
For now, someone was singing Joan Jett in her throne room. Well, the one she shared with Zeus. Some male person was singing Joan Jett and changing the lyrics. Not that she'd admit aloud that she knew who Joan Jett was, or that she enjoyed the music enough to know what the words should have been. She did have a certain image to maintain, after all.
Hera paused in the doorway, leaning one hip on the door jam as she took in the scene before her. It looked as though somebody felt like they needed to drown their sorrows. She arched a brow, debating internally. He was really her husband's charge, not hers, and she'd always rather though Styx's offspring did not think highly of her. Not that they were ever in any way disrespectful, they were always everything that was proper. But still, there was a niggling doubt in the back of her mind.
On the other hand, the quartet had lived here on Olympus, in rooms attached to the temple, for almost their entire lives. They had grown up here, and Hera had seen them go from barely adolescents who still complained of a scraped knee to the powerful and loyal servants they were today. While she was not their favorite person, she did not necessarily dislike them either.
Besides, the boy was sitting on the stairs to her throne, drinking her husband's whiskey. She'd have to say something either way. Decision made, she straightened and strode forward, her heels clicking decisively on the marble as she crossed the room. "You're not drinking that straight, are you?" Hera clucked her tongue derisively. "That's being lazy in your sulking, Zelos. I never took you for someone quite so slothful."
She deftly retrieved the bottle, while simultaneously plucking the whiskey glass from his hands. Having rescued him from his own folly, Hera proceeded to the bar, pulling out the things she would need. As she gathered the items, she said, "Whatever has you so out of sorts that you're sitting and drinking alone in the throne room, Zelos?"
While waiting for his answer, she poured a couple of drops of absinthe in an old fashioned glass and gently rolled it around the vessel. In a second glass, she muddled some sugar, added ice cubes, the rye whiskey and the bitters required before stirring. Then she strained that into the absinthe-coated glass, decorated with a twist of lemon and carried it, along with the bottle of whiskey, back toward the stairs.
"Have you had an argument with your siblings?" she asked as she lowered herself to sit gracefully beside him, offering the drink. "Sazerac. It's what men drink."
And men, all men, no matter their station, were suckers for food and drink. If a pretty woman-- and Hera flattered herself that she was more than merely pretty-- offered one or both to a man, it tended to ease the way to getting what she wanted. They were simple creatures, men. They appreciated their comforts being seen too. It put them at ease. Zelos, she was sure, would be no different.