WHO: Apollo, Marcie, Athena, Aphrodite, Hecate, Tragos WHEN: Tuesday evening WHERE: Hospital WHAT: TAKE IT BACK WARNINGS: TBA
Apollo folded his arms as he looked up at the hospital, this house of healing, this temple born from his knowledge (the medical kind, rather than the musical, or the prophetic, or the knowledge of sweet sweet loving) and felt a stab of irritation that Athena had managed to twist his arm into coming.
Her with her logic and utter unwillingness to be drawn into an argument. A part of him had to be grateful for that unwillingness, knowing that if he had argued with her any longer than he had, he only would have lost. She was right, a war, right now, would cost him too much. Didn't mean he was happy with her.
But a stab of irritation was better than a stab with a knife, he thought, as he inspected the blade he'd taken from Tragos. The knife crafted by one of his Muses, the knife that had killed him; Apollo didn't want to let it go. Oh no, he was holding onto this one. The fates would make it clear where he was to use it, he didn't have any doubt about that.
The gun he'd unloaded and chucked in a bin, the shells into another tip several blocks over. But the knife he was keeping, and he slipped it into his coat pocket as he spied Athena across the road, sighed internally at the sight of her, and crossed over to where she was waiting for him.