thearios.

Apollo was the king of Vaudeville. He knew how to spin a good tale - knew how to trick and coerce in order to get his way. 

More than familiar with her twin’s flair for the dramatics - he’d always called it his right as an artist - Artemis knew better than to take his words at face value, ridiculousness and all. “Ah, so that’s where all my apple juice went.” She gave the other god a disappointed look. “Do you have any idea how much apple juice costs these days?”

As he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, the familiar weight of it bringing a smile to her lips, she leaned into his embrace, relieved to be reunited after all this time. “I haven’t been here all that long … But I knew you’d find me eventually.” Twin telepathy, they called it. Well, they weren’t half-wrong. “I’m sorry,” she whispered into his neck, sincerity coloring her tone. “I didn’t mean to make you worry … What of you? Are you okay?” He looked fine, but appearances could often be misleading.

“That’s what we have black felt pens for,” Apollo COUNTERS teasingly, relieved simply to have her in his arms again — uninjured and looking just as beautiful as he remembered; perhaps even more so. The golden brown of her hair shimmers in the sunlight, urging him to TRAIL gentle fingers through the strands — and he does, a grin forming on his lips at the silky feel of her hair brushing against his skin. “If you don’t initial it — welllllll, finders, keepers ...” Childish though it may seem, that’s how they’ve always done things. Unless she specifies as to what she wants to keep all to herself, it’s his for the taking if he so wishes.

    IF he’d had a tail, Cerberus would be wagging it at this point, excited that someone had recognized him without him having to shout to the heavens who he was and how much fun he was having with opposable thumbs. “I WISH I HAD THREE HEADS, BUT IT’S KIND OF NICE NOT HAVING TO FIGHT OVER EVERY SCRAP OF FOOD.” When you had three mouths to feed, what did ya expect? “WEIRD. WHENEVER I BITE SOMEONE, THEY EITHER GIVE ME AN ODD LOOK AND SLOWLY BACK AWAY OR RUN AWAY SCREAMING. EITHER WAY, THEY SCAT.”

“How’d that even work anyway?” A contemplative frown GRAZES his lips as images of Cerberus’s original form flicker through his mind. “Did you flip a coin to see which head had the privilege of chowing down on that night’s cocktail or something?” Better yet, did they telepathically communicate their desires to one another? ... Is it odd that he finds the idea intriguing? “Is that before or after they gave you opposable thumbs?”

“There’s no such thing as hypothetical situations where you’re concerned, brother dearest.”

“But I can’t deny a sense of relief seeing that you haven’t changed.”

“Oh, how you wound me, Arty. I’ve been a good boy this year — staying out of trouble, flying under the radar, drinking lots of apple juice. You know, the usual.” Whatever CONSTITUTES for usual, of course. 

“HYPOTHETICALLY SPEAKING?” She pins the god with a disbelieving look, more than familiar with his proclivity toward … unwelcome house guests. “PERHAPS, WHEN THEY LEAVE YOUR HOME FOR THE DAY, YOU SHOULD CHANGE ALL THE LOCKS AND MAKE SURE THEY CAN’T FIND A WAY BACK INSIDE.” Changing the locks is a sure-fire way to show them that they’re no longer welcome on the premises.

“What? You don’t believe in hypothetical situations?” He QUIPS, refusing for the moment to admit any of this really happened. As far as he’s concerned, it’s all conjecture at this point. “Change all the locks? Why, Dite, that’s awfully sneaky of you. But I bet it’s also super duper effective.”

“BITE THEM,” he supplied helpfully, dark eyes gleaming with earnestness — biting had always worked for him, so why shouldn’t it work for others?

Apollo BLINKS, an amused chuckle slipping free at his advice. “Now that’s liable to send the wrong message.” And can potentially lead to some dangerous situations. He may never get rid of her at this point. “And that’s also something Hades’s massively three-headed, too-excitable guard dog would say ... Cerberus, that you?”

“That depends, do you want to be nice and polite about it, or just make them go away, hypothetically of course.”

“Right. Hypothetically, I think I’d like to avoid any unnecessary drama — and from my own personal experience, politeness just doesn’t seem to get the right point across.”

    Queenie. It’s a name that can either be taken as an insult or as a compliment— and Kore chooses to think of it as the latter. “Is that your favorite holiday tradition?” She quirks an amused eyebrow at him, holds folded behind her back as her attention returns to the tree.  “Did you know that mistletoe was once considered a pest, one that killed trees and as a result devalued natural habitats?” She gives a slight shake of her head, a little saddened by that thought. “But alas, it has finally been recognized as an ecological keystone species, thought to have a disproportionately pervasive influence over its community … ” She rattles off the information as though reciting it directly from a book — or the internet.

   “Is that a threat?” She quips, completely entertained by this stranger — more than she should be.

— “Is it?” He SHOOTS her an innocent frown, a perplexed expression on his face. It’s obvious he’s putting up a good show, or at least trying to — but just because something is obvious doesn’t mean you want to acknowledge its duplicity. “Hm — I really can’t say.” 

Can’t say? 

More like won’t say. 

But when she starts rambling on about the greatness of the mistletoe, Apollo tries hard not to give into the urge to chuckle ... but fails, a ripple of amused laughter soon filling the courtyard as he ADOPTS her stance, standing with his back facing the tree. “Now that’s an evergreen I can fully appreciate — both functional and highly entertaining ... But Lady P,” he continues, his tone dropping an octave. “Won’t your other plants get jealous if they find out you favor mistletoe?” That’s what HAPPENS when you nurture plants all your life. They grow attached and expect to be your number one for as long as they exist. 

Kind of like children.