Christmas was Sif's favorite time of year, although not for the reason anyone else used. This was her quiet time, after the fall harvests had been reaped, but before the first birthing pangs of spring began. She could feel the bulbs and seeds slumbering under the earth, but they remained silent and still. This was the time of year that she could do what she pleased, travel or shop, visit friends....whatever she chose. And tonight, she chose to invite her dear Hedylogos over. Something had been up with him lately, and she was getting a bit worried.

( She still gravitated towards the smooth talkers... )

When not surrounded by those who would raise a stink about it, Hedylogos was not one who ever fought the fact that he was a sensitive man with great breadth of strong emotions that sometimes needed to be expressed with tears. He cried. There was nothing wrong with crying. He was not a violent god and he never would be. He was an erote, a god of love and sensitivity. Of sweet talk and flattery and when something gripped his heart... he cried.

Something had gripped his heart. More than that, something had gripped his mind and then pulled at the heartstrings that had already been twisting and turning and aware they were doing things they shouldn't.

Bragi had given him a great deal of things to think about, whether he had truly intended to do so or not. They'd had a good conversation and it was always great to reconnect with his Norse friend, but... Hedylogos left with a heavy heart because he had to wonder if there were some things about what had been said that Bragi had been correct about.

( Especially that part about whether or not he was sabotaging his own happiness. )

Bragi was, and always had been, a bit of a roamer. There was so much to see, experience and record, that it was hard for him to sit still for long. He'd slowed down once he'd married Idun, however he'd been unable to stop. It was a mark of her perfection that his wife was understanding and generous enough to let him continue his wandering ways. His habits had shifted a bit after The Thing with that Greek goddess though. He'd been staying closer to home, and far closer to Idun. ( In truth, he may have grown a bit clingy. )

Hera's fingers trailed over the rough stone, remembering a time when what she was touching was smooth, polished marble. There was a single column left here at Heraion, the rest of the massive temple was nothing more than ruins. All around her was the evidence of the passage of time, and neglect, everything here nothing but a shadow of a memory of what had once been. But there was one pedestal top that seemed almost untouched. It had been moved from it's original position, and though it was now stacked on rubble with a few visible flaws, the top was still smooth and wide and the decorative trim still readily visible. It was a pedestal Hera remembered very well.

Truthfully, after her encounter in this very temple, Samos had become ( a very important place to her. )

The place was packed, which was how it was supposed to be. There were costumes everywhere... also exactly how it was supposed to be. Because it was Halloween. It was also Chicago and Americans went all crazy for the holiday. On top of that, it was Thirsty Thursday, something everyone in the American Midwest was familiar with. Professional drinkers, this lot, and Ninkasi loved them for it. Most of the costumed were immortal in some way, not just gods but nymphs and the like as well, but she was clearly allowing an occasional mortal in as well. There were rules outside to her bouncers for screening them properly.

Shortly, the specialty taps would be opened and her private brews would begin to flow. Which is what, she was sure, Kratos was hoping and/or waiting for. ( Wherever he was. )

To say Hedylogos was in a good mood would have been an understatement. He was in a fantastic mood. There wasn't any real specific reason for it other than the weather was nice, the skies over Olympus were beautiful and there wasn't a drop of rain in sight. He didn't mind rain, it had its place in the universe, but when the sun was out there always seemed to be a little extra pep in his step. So, the weather made him happy.

But so did learning that morning that the young daughter of one of his French attendants was in the early stages of love. She was young, but not so young that she would be embarrassed to gush with her mother over a cup of coffee in the large kitchen over the date she had the evening prior. The girl was seventeen, love -especially new love, was exciting and fierce. ( The young loved without restraint for they did not yet know heartbreak. )

It was a very odd feeling.

Freyja was not used to being bored. There was always something- or someone- to do. For some reason, none of the usual entertainments were very appealing. She hadn't found anyone that pulled to her, and no bar or coffee shop held any interest. She'd prowled the shops for a while, because really, who didn't like shopping? She had bought a few new things that she had sent on to her hall already, and now she just seemed to be aimlessly wandering.

( Which wasn't to say she wasn't working. )