starbeast (starbeast) wrote in olympian_rewind, @ 2011-04-24 16:18:00 |
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Entry tags: | atlas, hephaestus, natal maltose, vadimas lugosi |
Who: Atlas and Hephaestus
What: Just a little chat...
Where: Stately Lugosi Manor.
When: After Atlas left The Everglades
Warnings: None.
Hephaestus stormed into his own home. He slammed the front door forcefully against the wall in his irritation. He entered the foyer and turned to face his guest and the source of his irritation.
“Just what, exactly do you think you were doing?” Hephaestus asked pointedly.
Atlas sauntered into the house, his calm demeanor contrasting Hephaestus’ irritation. He grabbed the door, which was still vibrating from the force of Hephaestus’ entry, and gently closed it behind him.
“Taking a walk?” Atlas asked sarcastically in return. “What did it look like?”
“It looked like the MDPD’s most wanted asking to be taken in!” Hephaestus’ vexation was starting to boil over. “They’ve got your face plastered all over the local news. Every security officer, doorman, and two-bit bouncer from here to Orlando has your description memorized. And, even if we forget about all the fixed-position security cameras, every person over the age of four has a cell phone with a camera attached.” Hephaestus let out a frustrated sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. Dealing with Atlas never got any less stressful.
“You’re lucky I came along when I did,” Hephaestus continued, annoyance still plain in his voice. “Otherwise, you’d undoubtedly be in some MDPD holding cell by now.” Hephaestus had come across Atlas blithely walking the street while on his way to VTS. Almost without thinking, he had coaxed Atlas into the car and driven back home.
Atlas growled in frustration. Was nowhere free of the humans’ cameras? They were proving an ever larger thorn in his side.
“Freyra said that they would be looking for me in the Everglades,” Atlas said in way of explanation.
“She’s right,” Hephaestus allowed. “But that’s only where their search is focused. The Miami police are passively looking for you everywhere in Miami. Freyra obviously gave you too much credit and assumed you’d figure that out yourself.” Hephaestus allowed himself that dig at Atlas. It helped ease his frustration.
“What were you doing wandering the streets, anyway?” Hephaestus asked. Given Atlas track record, it was likely he was trolling for men to fight, women to lay with, or both.
Atlas had tensed at Hephaestus’ insult, but he calmed himself. He was in control of this meeting, even if Hephaestus did not know it, and the younger forge god had just given him the opening he needed to exert that control.
“Why, I was coming to see you, Hephaestus,” Atlas said genially. He even smiled, though it came off as predatory rather than friendly.
“To see me?” Hephaestus asked, taken aback by Atlas’ answer. “The bombs in your body have already been detonated, so what business could you have with me?” His instruments had informed him when the bombs he had implanted in Atlas to ensure his good behavior had exploded, and Freyra had told him the whole story later on. Hephaestus was surprised that Atlas survived, but the greater shock was how hard those at Ridgekeep had worked to save him.
Atlas bristled once more upon being reminded about the bombs Hephaestus had planted in his body and the lies that surrounded them. For a brief moment, Atlas fantasized about visiting a portion of that pain and violence on the son of Zeus. Hephaestus, however, was the son of Zeus most likely to be inured to physical pain, and Atlas had already found a more vulnerable, more appealing target.
“Just a little friendly advice,” Atlas said, resuming his genial tone. “[I have made Freyra my woman.]” Atlas sat back on his heels. A smug grin sat on his face as he awaited Hephaestus’ response.
“What?” Hephaestus asked dubiously. Frank disbelief was heavy in his voice. “Okay, first, that’s not advice. Second, no, you didn’t. Is that all you came here to say?” Hephaestus’ annoyance was partially replaced with confusion. Had Atlas sought him out only to tell him an obvious lie? That was odd, even for Atlas.
“Oh, you’re so sure about that, are you, son of Zeus?” Atlas asked patronizingly. “How do you know? Did she tell you as much?” Again, Atlas paused, inviting Hephaestus to respond.
“She did not need to.” Hephaestus shot back. “Freyra has more sense than that.” Hephaestus crossed his arms. He would not let Atlas get under his skin.
“You think you know her well, eh, son of Zeus?” Atlas asked, eyebrows raised in feigned surprise. “Then tell me of her. What is it you think you know?” Atlas leaned in, bringing his face closer to Hephaestus’ own.
“I will not be interrogated in my own home, Atlas.” Hephaestus said resolutely, his voice tinged with simmering anger. “Do not think to test me.” Hephaestus had brought Atlas in to protect him, but he would think nothing of tossing Atlas out to take his lumps from the police and, worse, Freyra.
Atlas raised his hands as if in submission. In truth, he was preparing yet another attack.
“No offense intended, son of Zeus,” Atlas said placatingly. “I did not know that asking about Freyra would infuriate you so.” Atlas let his barb sink in before he continued. “But if you will not speak of her, I will.”
Hephaestus channeled all his scorn into scoffing at Atlas’ assertion.
“Please do.” Hephaestus said sarcastically. “Share with me your wisdom and insight about Freyra.” Hephaestus actually pulled over a chair and sat upon it. He folded his hands as might a student eager for a lesson.
Atlas chuckled at Hephaestus’ antics. If Hephaestus wanted to play the student, Atlas would oblige and school him.
“Freyra often complains about her family and her responsibilities to them,” Atlas began, “but it’s borne from genuine affection and concern.”
“Truly, your grasp of the obvious is impressive,” Hephaestus commented dryly.
“When freed of these restraints, though,” Atlas continued, ignoring Hephaestus’ jibe, “she reverts to her carefree, impish self.”
“You may as well tell me that she is ravishingly beautiful, or that she is an elf,” Hephaestus said jeeringly. “I have seen as much with my own eyes.” Hephaestus was starting to relax. Atlas was all talk, and this was naught but a clumsy attempt to strike at Hephaestus’ insecurities. Hephaestus had weathered far worse, and far pettier attacks in the past.
Atlas could see the relief flowing over Hephaestus. It was time for Atlas’ killing strike.
“Have you?” Atlas asked indulgently. “Then, maybe you’ve seen the look of peace on her face in those rare moments when her family is working according to her plans. You have then, of course, seen the joy in her eyes when her huntsman brother manages to bring a boar larger than any brought in by the other north men for their annual feast, or the mirth in her lips as I argue that my much larger dragon is the superior kill. You’ve seen the suppleness in her shoulders as she relaxes after a frustrating day with a mug of her people’s honeyed wine.”
“And that is only the start of it,” Atlas continued relentlessly. “You have sat with her in Frigga’s chambers, completing endless puzzles about endless cats. You have spoken to her about her frustrations. You know of her desire to see the golden apples of her people grown once more, and you have been entrusted with one of the precious seeds from which they grow.”
Atlas paused, as if finished, before speaking once more, almost as an afterthought.
“As I have.”
Hephaestus sat stock still. His eyes were locked on his folded hands. Much of what Atlas had said was trivial. It was nothing but the minutiae that made up Freyra’s daily life. However, that made it sting all the more that Hephaestus had not shared in any of those experiences. His knowledge of Freyra and the time he had spent with her was even more superficial, and she had vouchsafed Hephaestus nothing but moments of her time. Moments that Atlas had been given in spades.
Hephaestus knew that, rationally, such an outcome was unavoidable with Atlas living and working at Ridgekeep, and he clung to that rationalization to keep his injured pride in check.
“That is well,” Hephaestus said, his voice low, “but it does not make Freyra your woman.”
“Perhaps,” Atlas allowed glibly, “but perhaps not. If she is not my woman, it is by my choice, not for want of opportunity. Can you say the same, son of Zeus?” Atlas finished tauntingly, as if he was mocking Hephaestus through his parentage.
“Do not call me that!” Hephaestus frustration exploded out of him. “Zeus is not my father.” Atlas’ mockery provided both the straw that broke the camel’s back and an avenue for Hephaestus’ anger and frustration to be expressed.
“Ha!” Atlas scoffed heartily. “That I believe! Any self-respecting son of Zeus would make Freyra his woman. Make any woman he wanted his! Not sulk in his cave like a love-sick, moon-eyed calf that misses his mother’s teat.”
Hephaestus rose to his feat and drew his coil gun in a single fluid action. He pointed the weapon at Atlas’ head.
“Get out,” he ordered coldly. Seething hatred radiated from his body.
“Out?” Atlas asked, unconcerned about the weapon pointed at his head. “But you are the one that brought me in. What about the cameras and the police and the humans all waiting to get me?”
“They are your concern now,” Hephaestus said harshly. “I will not be mocked in my own house. I offered you my protection, but you have thrown it back in my face. So face the consequences of your actions and be damned. Leave.” Hephaestus placed his finger on the trigger. “Now.”
Atlas bowed mockingly and turned to open the door. He stepped through it without another word, but as soon as it closed behind him, he let loose with a torrent of laughter. His plan had worked perfectly. With any luck, he had crippled Hephaestus as effectively as his bitch of a mother. Now to find Wisdom and make his day complete.
Hephaestus slumped back into his chair, his gun slipping from his numb fingers. He could hear Atlas’ muffled, mocking laughter even through the heavy wooden door. He fought back tears of bitter self-recrimination as he wondered just what had happened. He could not even summon his voice to call for his girls. He could do nothing but lose himself crushing self-pity. How had Atlas, once his prisoner, gotten the better of him so completely?
Summary: Hephaestus spots Atlas blithely wandering the streets and hurriedly brings him to his mansion. Little does Hephaestus suspect that he is playing into Atlas’ hands, and less still does he suspect how deftly Atlas will play him.