And now they waited...

Bes' friendship was proving to be such a, for lack of a better word, godsend that Loki wasn't sure where he'd have been without him. It gave him a better grasp on how the world had changed and gave him a change of pace when he needed some man-time. Sigyn was amazing and he loved her, but sometimes... sometimes he needed a friend who wasn't anything more than that. Odin and Thor had once filled that need, but then things went horribly wrong. Plus his kinsmen seemed to always have qualifications attached to their friendships with him -they were his friend as long as he was useful to them. So far, Bes seemed to not have qualifications in their friendship. It was a foreign concept to Loki but one he was glad to experience.

So, when Loki needed advice on what he should add to his man-cave... he called Bes.( he called Bes. )

Prometheus had spent a month trying to sort out the return of his immortal grace. After he'd calmed down, he thought maybe it was a fluke. Perhaps Zeus had gotten distracted by something, or had undone some other proclamation and accidentally undid his banishment as well. Then he thought maybe he wasn't actually un-banished, and he'd always still had the ability to bring to life small things. Just... in two thousand some odd years he'd never accidentally used it? Yeah, that had made little sense to him. It wasn't likely that this was an ability he'd always had and could just now use. Then he spent a week or so thinking that perhaps it was just something small, it wasn't his full powers.

( Here goes nothing. Remember. Keep calm. It's been thousands of years. Bury the fucking hatchet )

It had been a stressful few weeks: stocks were down, weather was shit, the elevator in the condo was out for maintenance. One of his neighbors had a kid with some form of screaming illness like colic. He thought about buying them out, maybe tearing down the wall between his condo and theirs and putting in a home theater. One of those super swank ones with recliners and a popcorn machine. But then he remembered that stocks were down and he couldn't afford buying a 2 million dollar condo then adding another couple hundred thousand in renovations on top of that.

( And then he remembered he wasn't actually Peter Keagan, philanthropist-trust-fund-stock-market-guru. That was his mortal identity. He was once Prometheus, a Titan. A God. Of course, that hadn't been true in centuries. In an effort to console himself, Prometheus decided to do one of the few things that still made him content. He spent the better part of the afternoon sculpting a hand from clay. ) After a few hours work, Prometheus sat back to admire what he had made. It looked far to real to sell or trade to his usual art co-ops. It was propped up on it's own fingers, like a pianist's hand ready to play a concerto, fingers at the ready above the keys. He chuckled to himself as he was suddenly reminded of the hand from The Addams Family.

Then the hand twitched. It's fingers flexed and pushed, and it skittered across the work table like a 5 legged spider. Prometheus did what any sane, rational individual would do; he screamed like a girl, fell backwards off his work bench, flailed around for anything that could be used as a weapon, and beat the clay hand to death with a hammer.

Once the mangled mess of clay was safely in the kiln where it could skitter no longer, Prometheus took a few deep, calming breaths and grabbed his cell phone. He flicked through his contacts to find the only person he could think to call at this moment and dialed. Answer your damned phone, Dionysus...