Achilles had spent months dragging himself around what felt like a rope around his neck, pulling him in one direction to another. While not quite on as many pain pills as he'd been on months ago, he managed to pull himself out of bed. He got so little sleep as of late , why not try to socialize. His agent had contacted him dozens of times about a new book, play or film when something interesting came across his desk----but Achilles had ignored them all. He'd been drowning in his own head for so long, getting out of it was always the real war.
The mask did little to cover his most prominent features, but he was not looking to disguise himself, the stiffness in his leg alone would be enough to give him away. He grabbed a glass of water (he was not one to partake in anything beyond a casual glass of wine) and slipped his other hand into the pocket of his jacket looking for that bottle of pills and debating if the pain was enough to warrant one. He hadn't even noticed he was so close to his fellow Goddess, and he calmly apologized feeling rather surprised with his lack of social skills. He was usually far more put together than this. He held his head up and gave her a soft bow.