WHO Luna & Hermes WHEN Thursday, mid-morning WHERE Their apartment WHAT All sorts of symposium results. WARNINGS mentions of sexual assault and violence.
Before Peitho's symposium, Luna's tarot reading had been unclear about what the night ahead would be. She'd restarted the reading three times, feeling like it was always off, that the cards were keeping something from her.
The cards said: it'll be an interesting night. The cards said: you're in great danger. The cards said, very loudly: we have no fucking clue, but maybe you should wear a seatbelt.
It turned out to all be correct.
During the course of the night Luna had admitted to Will Scarlet that she was interested in him but nothing could come of it, had the hands of famous demi-god hero Hercules on her body, had stopped a sexual assault, had almost been murdered by a war god, had been fucked by gods and immortals and whatever else that she didn't even get the name of, had been turned into the actual moon, and had a horrible limerick performed about her.
It had been, by all accounts, a truly exhausting night.
Where Ares had grabbed her arm, the bruise was beginning to turn blue at the edges instead of just the dark purple it had been. She was grateful for the colours in her tattoo, which masked the worst of it. When she looked carefully she could see the individual imprints of his fingers and it made Luna shudder.
After confronting him at the party, Luna had sat on the floor of the lift and ridden it down to the ground floor, with no plan and no idea of where she was going. At the Dunkin' Donuts across the street she sat in one of the bathroom stalls and sobbed and sobbed, her body shaking with fear. She had to tell three people she was fine before eventually gathering herself back together.
She was a professional. This was her job. This life was what she had chosen and it was often so simple, so easy, so enjoyable. Sometimes it was hard, but sometimes all things in life were hard. There was simply no escaping that existence was sometimes a very difficult thing.
With a piece of dampened toilet paper, Luna cleaned up the mess her mascara and eyeliner had made and then looked properly and critically at her reflection. It definitely looked like she'd been crying, but she could play that off as something else. Too much booze, too much pot, cum in her eyes, needed more sleep. There were options that weren't 'I've been crying' and they were all better ones.
On the mirror, just above her eye-line, someone had written in red sharpie: didn't come this far to only come this far. Luna stared at it.
A fair assessment from the random vandal: Dunkin Donuts should never been the end point of any journey.
Then she'd sighed, glared once more at her reflection, and returned to the party.
But the party was long over now, and the apartment was back to looking like it's beautifully curated self. Though she had to admit, her master and mistress really did suit those velvet lounges and being surrounded by adorers.
Hermes had no adorers today when he came into her room, and Luna looked up from her book with a smile. "Good morning."