Michaela Lawson (_michaela_) wrote in labyrinthine_, @ 2015-06-16 15:56:00 |
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Entry tags: | anteros, michaela lawson |
They'd discussed it, on and off, Michaela moving to Las Vegas rather than staying in the apartment in New York. It was true that she had a job that would let her work just about anywhere. It was equally true that Las Vegas had a pulse nearly as intoxicating to her as NYC. What she didn't know for certain was whether that was more because of the actual city itself or because of West and the thought of him on its streets.
They'd discussed it but never actually come to a conclusion. No plans or promises were made. Important things never seemed to happen when they were together, other than the act of breathing and living and occasionally pausing to eat or sleep. She forgot to worry about time or, well, much of anything that had any weight to it when she was in West's arms. She always meant to ask questions, but he had this way of distracting her with a smile that she was powerless to resist.
Because he was a god. Maybe because he was a god. She had to remind herself, sometimes, that West was a name, a disguise, an affectation for the ancient, powerful impossible god she thought about and worried about and craved. Hermes.
It was mostly worry now. She hadn't heard from him in months. He'd spoiled her horribly -- wonderfully -- the last time they were together. So much that she should have realized it might have been a final goodbye, but no. She didn't think he'd do that, simply disappear and never see her again. He hadn't really been good so long that she had to believe it was forever, but he had gone even more quiet than usual. Nevermind the lack of visits, there were no calls, no random texts. Just nothing. And that worried her. She remembered murmurs of trouble brewing. She'd remembered that Dionysus -- and why didn't he choose a nickname? East, maybe. North. Something. -- had also suggested that she stay. To be close, to be protected. To be safe.
She could have called. She could have written. This was Vegas, though, and Dionysus owned an entire freaking casino. Why would a god bother to follow up on a phone call from someone he probably didn't remember? Why shouldn't she take her much-neglected vacation time and use it to do some investigating of a personal nature? She was good at getting answers when the story didn't involve her, so this?
This was why she sat at a bar in the Labyrinth, twisting a pina colada in the ring of condensation at it's base while she watched the mirror for a glimpse of someone familiar. Sooner or later, she'd see something.