WHO: Apollo and Rosario WHEN: Tuesday 19 May, late WHERE: Outside Rosario's diner, and then out where it gets black WHAT: You can't kidnap your own children, surely that isn't a thing WARNINGS: TBA
Eight minutes before the end of Rosario's shift, Apollo walked into her diner and ordered a very strong coffee. His reserves were low and coffee only promised to do so much, but he very much needed it to try. His dreams, when he'd slept, had been messed up. Omens, terrible ones. He'd dreamed of Melpomene, Melpo-fucking-mene, at the head of a funereal procession. Literal or figurative, it wasn't a great sign, and it only added to the number of things that pissed him off.
If Zeus were here, the signs would come through clearer. It wasn't Apollo's fault. He'd been hunting Erato and Hybris for weeks. He'd let almost everything else in his life fall by the wayside. He'd had plans for the spring, but no— nothing was more important than finding his muse.
And if there was any chance that his daughter could help, then she was going to. He'd kept his promise to stay away from her family, how could she not repay him by trying to help him save his?
Apollo blinked his eyes. Tired eyes. Focused eyes. Eyes of sandpaper and searing light. When he opened them again, there was Rosario; he saw her a moment before she lay her own eyes on him.
He didn't smile, this time, even though his heart did lighten to see her. He offered her only a nod, an I need to talk to you nod, and drained the last of his coffee. It had been sitting in the pot for hours, and stood no chance of scalding him, but mortal cares like the temperature of coffee no longer mattered at all.