Who: Hephaestus & Allegra What: Meeting up after far too long, and also a game of Who Can Pretend They're Civilized Chicken. When: Er, technically Tuesday afternoon. I think. Feel free to correct me here. Where: The Little Owl, the Village Warnings: It's Allegra. She'll probably beat up the waitstaff and make the cooks cry.
The city streets moved too fast and the sidewalks were too crowded for an old cripple like Hephaestus. It wasn't that he hated New York, per se, just that he couldn't stand to be near so many of his own relatives. He knew they were close, with old habits, older ways and bad memories creeping in to make him irritable. He'd done well for himself for a very long time, and having gone centuries without seeing anyone who could claim the name "Olympios"? That had been like an especially peaceful gift unto itself. Peace, he could do. Peace, he liked.
And then, of course, he met Allegra. For a year of Hephaestus' life, peace had flown out the door, and quiet had been right out. He'd taken on the strange charge of a fifteen year-old girl as a challenge -- create, really create when he had not done so for longer than he cared to admit. Somewhere along the way, "the girl" became Allegra, and eventually his Zoe. Limping through the streets of Greenwich Village, the fire god tried to figure out exactly when he'd become the type of man who handed out pet names.
Eight years after meeting the mortal-not-mortal girl and he still didn't know. She had that kind of effect on people, bringing the change that only contained chaos could. For a time, he'd considered resenting her for it. That was before Hephaestus realized it was impossible to begrudge Allegra anything. So rather than dwell on the imminent madness he knew was forthcoming, he trudged on up Bedford Street. The Little Owl's signage leapt out at him, all bright primary colors, and the old Greek artist's first thought was copper plate, stencils, wall hanging, something he filed away to work on later.
A quick glance over the restaurant -- the damn place was all windows, it seemed -- told him she wasn't there yet. He could wait inside for her, but no. No, he wanted to be there when she arrived. He wanted to see the closest thing he'd ever have to a daughter barreling her way down the street. He wanted to make sure that the damn girl actually showed this time. Hephaestus eased his way onto a bench outside, thought of raincoats and eye exams, and waited.