* κλέος ἄφθιτον

     “Who says I didn’t?”   he says, matching tone. He’s traveled to the Underworld twice. At least. Only once was he shown the way without drinking from the Lethe, and so only once can remember he clearly; and he and Achilles spoke in that sunless place, too. But it was not much like this.

     Achilles had been dead, for one.

     And then he’d had, if not the presence of his loved ones, at least the knowledge of where he could find them.

     He shakes his head, but his answer, while neither no nor yes, is closer to an admission:   “Ten years is too long, when you’re apart. So would twenty be. Or one. I haven’t found any difference to that, whether I was there or here — and they are still on my mind.”

     THE DEATH OF ACHILLES  is something he doesn’t much remember ; there was life, and there was metaphorical death, and real death. the final of these phases, it remains blank. he’s read the literature, but as for the underworld meeting? it remains vague, listless and perhaps a blessing. it didn’t sound like he was particularly happy being dead. 

not that he’d been all the happy living, towards the end.    ❛   must be difficult with such a big brain, huh. all those thoughts dancing around in there, they must CONSUME YOU.    ❜ 

      she… hates him!

     “nice to meet. you.” it’s a short echo. she thinks about being a deborah. she thinks about texting odysseus to come back — but his phone’s probably fucking dead anyway, for all that he charges it. she decides she does not like either of these things. stilted: “how do you. know. — teodor.”