| A Mothers Touch (Nyx) |
[17 May 2008|01:09pm] |
So many things had happened in the past few months. Even if Lethe could remember it all and never forget that didn't keep her from being lost about it. How had she managed to go along for so long. How had she kept these things from her favorite sister, from her mother she loved dearly? How had her father gone along and even destroyed them just to try and rebuild it the way he was? How did any of them have hope anymore?
Hope was lost on her.
She didn't hope that Hades would forgive her. She didn't hope that Styx would understand. She didn't hope that everything would be as it was. Because it couldn't be. They couldn't forget it. They couldn't forgive everything. They all wanted to push past it and let it go and Lethe just couldn't. She was sent away from Hades and it'd hurt. It shouldn't have hurt. Why did she even care now? Why was she sitting alone in her temple tears rolling down her face.
Why had all this hurt so much?
Lethe would have ran to Erebos. It was a natural reaction for her to do. She always ran to her father. When she cut her knee he was there to pick her off the ground and tend to it. When she was alone and afraid he was always there, darkness or her own shadow. He was there for her. But now. Now when she was such a disappointment. Another stone thrown at the glass house that was Olympus. She couldn't. They'd been there together.
He should have stopped her sooner.
Thanatos was angry, she was angry at him for being angry. She was sad. She was ready to explode and she didn't know what to do.
Who else to turn to? Who could help her now?
"Mom?" Lethe called to the blank wall of her own temple. "Mother...?" She'd hear her. She'd know.
She'd come.
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| No Going Back (Morpheus) |
[17 May 2008|05:41pm] |
It was late, nearly 11pm in Portugal. She'd gotten a table, the table she'd sat in inside of that dream with him. The air was warm, warm enough for her to wear the little black dress without needing anything to go over it. The heels she could have done without, she wasn't a heel person, but it fit so much better with the dress. She wanted to look nice because.. She just wanted to. For him. Even if he loved her no matter what, liked how she looked no matter if she was groggy, crying, or fresh out of the shower. She liked looking nice for him.
Especially here. Because a lot of her feelings for him started right here. Sitting there close to the fountain just listening to the murmur of the couples around her, the night sky over head for real this time. Everything came flooding back. She smiled then, eyes shut.
"Morpheus." She barely had to whisper it. She knew he'd hear her. She knew he'd come. A bottle of wine was already on the table, sweet white wine, like before. Two glasses. Makaria kept her eyes closed. If she thought about it long enough and hard enough all of the aggression towards herself would surely melt away. She hated herself hours ago. But now. Now she'd called her boyfriend. Her.. She loved him. And he loved her.
And everything was going to be perfect. She could already feel him. The smile spread across her face but she didn't open her eyes just yet.
She could be dreaming after all.
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| One Truck-Stop From Heaven [Selene] |
[17 May 2008|10:57pm] |
Never try to drink a Titan under the table.
The morning came too sharply. He wondered if Eos suffered even half as much as he. She'd been well into her cups before he'd approached her table the night before. That Sumerian goddess, Ninkasi, had excellent taste in beer, and Prometheus had a hole in his leg. Philammon was never so certain of anything as he was of this.
There was no returning to his Fort Worth flat this morning, not when there was a slim chance that Oizys would finally show up - only to see him in his sorry state. He didn't know how to go about apologizing to a goddess for giving her a hug, but he knew for certain that he couldn't muddle through it when his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth and his head felt like a ball of spikes and sabers. There was only one thing that could help this: one big, greasy dinner.
So it came to be that Philammon, son of Apollo, God of Musicians, found himself in an off-the-freeway truck stop fifteen miles from downtown. He sat uncomfortably at the counter on a swiveling red-vinyl barstool, suit jacket draped in his lap for lack of a chair back. The abrasive waitress - nearing her 50s, if Philammon was any judge - called out his order between smacks of gum, and sloshed black sludge into his coffee cup in front of him. There was no musicality in her voice at all; it sounded like her throat had been run through a cheese grater. If it had only been her voice, he could have kept from wincing. But the volume on that woman...
He groaned softly, which only earned him a glare before the waitress walked down the counter to the person who had just sat down a few stools over. Philammon didn't look up... at first...
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| Intermission ( styx ) |
[17 May 2008|11:05pm] |
Speaking with Perses had calmed her down considerably. The fact that he had been there had shocked her. For a moment, she thought she had seen her father back from the dead as so many had come. Bia had never felt so happy and scared at the same time as it was upon seeing his face. The realization that it was her uncle had brought both relief and disappointment. She didn't voice that, however. Instead, they carried a pleasant conversation and parted ways. Where did she sit now? Bia sat on the steps of Phobos temple, for some reason. She just felt fixated to sit there and wait for him to return. She wasn't sure what she was going to say to him. Before Perses had come, she probably would have done so in anger, but instead, she sat there confused. Confused and...she didn't know. He was her husband. Perhaps he knew something she had simply missed. Him and that stupid overgrown house cat of his. ( She kind of missed the anger. ) |
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