Who: Zeus What: Honey I'm home... Where: The Marris/Jube household When: BACKDATED to Friday afternoon Warnings: None
An early day was rare. But when Zeus found he had them, he liked to take advantage of them. He glanced at the garage as he drove up to his home, nothing that his wife's car was absent. Pity. He'd passed a hammock in a yard along the way home, and his mind was skittering with possibilities of combining the item with other activities...
Shaking his head with disappointment, he parked and headed into the house. And froze. He was no Hestia, with his very blood and bones attached to his home like a lifeline. But he was still a god of hospitality. He knew when someone had violated that and entered without his permission. Growling, he reached into his briefcase and pulled out a discreetly hidden pistol. True, he himself was a better weapon than any firearm, but if he killed the intruder it would be hard to explain the burns.
He silently explored the kitchen, the living room, the laundry room. All were empty. And even more perplexing, completely untouched. If these were robbers, they were either very good or very bad; there was absolutely no sign of forced entry, his security system showed no sign of disruption, and no items had been moved or harmed.
Right off the bat, he knew something was not right with this.
So with the first floor and backyard clear, he began to search the second floor. But every room was just as empty of people, their belongings exactly where they should be... for a second, he was unsure of himself. Maybe... he was imagining things after all...
Only the bedroom was left now. Still holding the gun, he pushed open the door, and felt his heart stop when he saw what was waiting for him.
His chest, the huge wood and steel trunk he had never allowed even Hera to touch, was wide open. Its numerous contents had been spilled, no more like flung, across the ground and bed. He dropped the gun and began to examine the items one by one. They varied wildly; journals all in his handwriting but in dozens of languages and differing in age and decay, clothes or what was left of them, a scrapbook of photos that was as thick as his arm, letters from around the globe...
It was the scrapbook he picked up last, flipping through its endless photographs as their colors moved from grainy black and white to calmer browns and up into the modern day colors. But about in the middle of it, he stopped. He could feel the blood in his face draining away as he sat there, staring in shock at blank pages. Oh, oh no.
Everything from 1940 to 1950 was gone. Light squares where the pictures had been pasted or taped was all that remained.
A chill went down his spine. No common thief could so specifically go after these photos and the papers with them. But it still left a wide variety of villains in this scene. The Egyptians or any of their allies? What use did they have of them. The Natives, seeking to gain more information on the people now living in their lands? If that was their case, he wanted to know if it was tradition for them to leave the evidence all over the place and only take a fraction of his recorded history.
His mind paused as he considered the last one: Subrosa. He doubted they were so idiotic as to invade his home and leave such obvious clues. But, his doubts said, they had invaded the home of Hestia and Demeter, taking them with enough clues to tip off Hades. But why those photos and documents?
Could they know?
He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe to resist the urge to fly out and either go strangle a mortal or start up a hurricane. Neither of which were productive at all. No, whoever this was, they had made the first move. It wouldn't be the last one.