BLOOD AND DARKNESS

❝ GODS, grant me the STRENGTH.  ❞

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous ( what for ? she’s already said YES ). Stomach seems to have a swarm of furious butterflies beating their wings against it with each kiss pressed to her skin, searching for an escape. Finally, mismatched gaze floats upwards to meet hers, lopsided grin shy on his features. 

dionysus  watches  the  godling  dip  his  fingers  into  the  drink  ,  before  reaching  over  to  do  the  same  .  it  is  good  ,  though  it  is  certainly  no  vintage  .  ❛  glad  to  hear  it  ,  zag-man  .  see  ?  this  stuff’s  much  better  than  water  ,  but  nooo  ,  "mortals  need  it"  ,  pah  .  hardly  .  this  is  the  good  stuff  .  ❜

now  that  the  inexperienced  godling  has  sampled  a  variety  of  drinks  ,  the  older  god  leans  his  weight  onto  one  hand  ,  looking  upon  zagreus  with  a  raised  brow  .  ❛  now  ,  drinks  aside  my  good  man  ,  as  much  as  it  pains  me  to  say  it  ,  you  do  look  like  you  have  something  on  your  mind  .  and  i’ve  been  told  i’m  a  damn  good  listener  ,  so…lay  it  on  me.  ❜

A soft chuckle escapes him at the bitterness towards the liquid that hydrates mortality. He’s not quite sure if he’d agree if his own divinity was leeched away, but DIONYSUS has a point; this is some good stuff. He’s about to indulge in another taste when words fly at him like bricks (damn the heart that lives so easily on his sleeve). Another chuckle floats past parted lips, though this one is more to combat the awkwardness making a home in his stomach.

PERSEPHONE’S EXPERIENCE WITH PEOPLE tells her that they are liars, manipulators, always trying to swindle others into some obligation or another. she shakes her head with a bitter look creeping over her face.

❝ i’m not taking out a favor with the prince of hell, thanks. ❞ a pause. ❝ besides. when it’s time, it’s time. tartarus is where the pieces of shit go, yeah? then it’s the right fuckin’ place. ❞

Heterochromatic gaze turns upwards in contemplation, taking a second to ponder the answer to the (probably hypothetical) question.

There were many things Tommy was used to happening the moment he turned the gun on someone: begging for their life was usually the most common reaction, now and again he’d have someone trying to take the gun from him (unsuccessfully, usually), and on occasion he’d have the person just accept their fate. There was a couple of other options, but he’d never been met with utter carelessness. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” 

Eyebrows furrow before splitting apart again. Right. This isn’t exactly his realm, so of course he can’t just expect people to KNOW who he is. Lopsided smile crawls across features that are too sharp to be human but too soft to be divine. Now’s a good a time as ever for introductions.

He’s nervous. Parchment feels rough against unusually clammy palm, as if splinters will pierce his skin at any moment if he’s not careful. He doesn’t think she’ll be upset with what he has for her. It’s just the circumstances under which he actually gives it to her which is the issue (discretion is key here). Flame-licked feet carry him into the lounge and he hopes that his features can cool their expressivity for a moment as to not give him away. It only takes a moment for the note to be pressed into her hand and he’s walking away, around the perimeter of the room for quick chats with the chef and the merchant before he’s out of there. 

MY CHAMBER, 5 MINUTES.

Dusa smiles as he does, glad that he is doing okay all things considered. The prince is under a lot of pressure and she can’t help but worry about her friend. It was a second nature to her.

“I know you are Zagreus, you’re probably the bravest person I know. You’ve got this!”

Pink crawls onto divine features, the last of the red washing off of his form, seeping into the carpet beneath his feet (hopefully she won’t have to take care of it; he’ll take her place if he sees that’s the case). He certainly doesn’t feel like the BRAVEST person amidst these walls. The most rebellious, maybe.

dionysus  hits  him  with  another  easy  going  smile  .  he  won’t  hold  it  against  him  ,  even  if  it  does  strike  him  as  odd  that  he  hasn’t  quite  put  certain  things  together  .  without  thinking  too  specifically  about  it  ,  the  notion  of  a  cold  drink  has  the  liquid  thickening  within  the  goblet  ,  until  it’s  a  thick  frozen  cream  .  it  retains  the  tawny  tint  to  it  ,  though  it  is  overwhelmingly  white  and  ––  surprisingly  ––  green  .  

he  tilts  his  head  at  that  ,  amethyst  brows  furrowed  .  without  asking  a  single  question  ,  he  reaches  a  hand  out  and  dips  a  finger  into  the  mixture  ;  he  then  pops  it  into  his  mouth  ,  sucking  the  cream  free  from  his  digt.  he  hums  at  the  taste  ,  purple  hued  eyes  sparkling  with  recognition  .  

❛  now  that’s  good  stuff  ,  zag-man  !!  from  some  rocky  isle  somewhere  up  north  ,  that’s  why  it’s  so  cold  .  it’s  sweet  ,  here  have  some  .  ❜

Curious eyes drink in the transformation. Colour, consistency, temperature, all of it seems to happen instantaneously and in slow motion all at once (maybe it’s the dizziness setting in behind divine features that has him experiencing this strange dichotomy). Is it...green?? The sight of such a colour confuses the so-called godling. He supposes he isn’t the only one with questions as a finger belonging to a certain violet-tinged deity comes across his vision to scoop some of the concoction out for interrogation. Lopsided grin crawls across features that are slower to react than is typical. His own appendages are curious, index and middle fingers teaming up to guide some of the mixture to his own tastebuds when prompted to, eyes lighting up similarly to his cohort’s.

She thinks back to their earlier days , when it was just the two of them && Than , feeling like they could take on the world . She remembers Zagreus helping her formulate her questions to Nyx for assistance ; she remembered Zagreus making every effort possible to honor her new name && pronouns . She remembers all of it , though she had thought it locked away behind gilded bars long ago .

Now the memories come back to her, pink lips moving to softly say, ❛ You always have, Zag. ❜ It’s the constant attention toward her , as if she were his true north , && he the helpless compass needle , that makes her next breath hitch . They aren’t alone –– who knows how mnay shades have gathered outside the door , craving the novelty of change this deep in the underworld –– && this whole conversation is risky , but she leans down to kiss him again one more time , needing him to know that despite her everything , she’s still his.

He dwells on the past, he’s sure, as anyone else confined to these walls. When an eternity in THE UNDERWORLD is your fate, sometimes there’s no choice but to wonder just how you got here. But he’s always managed to have one eye on what lies ahead as well, whether it be his own escape or the future they carve out for themselves. He can see the very image of it as if it’s already transpired, and he’ll do anything he can to make it come to fruition. 

Tommy was usually more the careful ‘snipe them from a roof across the street’ kind of type. But sometimes it just required something a bit more.. personal. Was it risky? Oh, absolutely. But also so much more satisfying when he pulled the trigger.

Fucking scum.

He was just about to turn around and leave, when a voice sounded out behind him, followed by a hand on his shoulder. Spinning around, Tommy lifted up his gun and aimed at the person now standing in front of him. “What the fuck are you doing here?” The warehouse had been empty, abandoned. He’d made sure of it before he dragged that fucking piece of shit in here. No one had been in or out of this place in ages. “Fuck. Give me one good fucking reason why you shouldn’t join him!”

Heterochromatic gaze considers the shiny object in front of him, curiosity restrained so that he doesn’t just reach out and grab the thing itself. Then the mortal before him mentions that he has the mind to send him back to TARTARUS along with his victim and the understanding clicks beneath infernal laurels. His cousin must be having a blast with this human invention; he can only imagine the excitement these must bring to the battlefield.

And what if you don’t want to do it?

No one except Zagreus has asked her what she wanted before –– it was simply assigned to her . She was built this way && she knows no other way . It would be like asking what if a fish chose not to swim , or Hypnos not to sleep . That’s simply an impossible question - they wouldn’t know what to do with themselves to answer .

She can’t see the separation of self && duty , && she knows that . It’s always been a strength of hers before .

( with the exception of asking Hades not to make her work with her sisters more than she already had to , && that remains the only request she’s made on record in the long tenure she has with the House )

❛ I’m not asking you to do that , Zagreus . && asking such questions is pointless . I’m only asking you to see me as I am now –– not as we used to be . ❜ What they had before was beautiful , tragic , and a little bit manic , but they’re older now . The same free will cannot be granted so easily , and she’s not one to trust before she leaps , even if she can fly .

“You DIDN’T ask, Meg. I’m doing it of my own accord.” Maybe his own optimism will be his very downfall, but he’d rather put his faith in the people he sees worthy of it than to tread carefully to avoid the potential suffering he’ll endure. After all, is living in fear for eternity really worth it?

She asks him to see her as she is, but half-infernal gaze hasn’t left her since the beginning. He’s seen her throughout the four centuries during which they’d been apart, each step and strike alike, and yet his feelings for her remain steadfast. The more she’s grown, the more his attention has been captured by her, as if looking away would kill him where he stands, the Pool of Styx no longer a guarantee. 

❛ But I am , Zagreus .  I have a job I must do , and it is who I am . ❜ It’s in her title , it’s in her name . Megaera , First of the Furies . She cannot abandon that for her own selfish needs  –– nothing is supposed to come between a fury and her target . She is a fury && works as a fury && love will not change that . Zagreus may be able to take his crown off

( or she can take it off for him , as she already has , she thinks , looking to the discarded laurels on the ground beside them )

but she cannot strip her very self . He laughs at her , and she knows he does not understand . ❛ Zagreus , it’s what I was made to do . Your father only wrote up documentation for it –– I would still be doing what I do even if I did not have the paperwork for it . It’s no different than Cerberus in his prime . It’s what we do . ❜

A soft hum infiltrates the space between their faces. “And what if you don’t want to do it?” The colours of both life and death stare up at her, curiosity pooling amidst a curtain of dark lashes. He doesn’t mean it with any malice or ill will. He genuinely wants her answer.

“I’m supposed to be PUSHING PAPERS in the administrative chamber. And yet here we are.” An eyebrow raises to punctuate his point. Maybe he cares less for the REPERCUSSIONS of his dissident than she does (maybe his title as the PRINCE OF THE UNDERWORLD does fit with his fiery nature). 

Him and his ideas –– always striving for the next thing , && taking along anyone who happens to get swept up in the ride . To think that much boundless energy lies with the prince of the realm , not some muse nor minstrel of the mortal world ; it makes her laugh internally , at how much life the prince of the dead has within him .

❛ You become insufferable , ❜ she admits in a long suffering tone , though the smile cannot be struck from her face . ❛ Though this time I don’t think it will be aimed at me . ❜ She cups his face with both hands , looking down at him with tender molten gold . She wants him , but she needs time to think . That would be going too far –– even she must have her limits , even after her boundaries have been so thoroughly broken down .

She swallows at that thought , smile fading ever so slightly . He is a prince , && she is a fury , && no matter the joy he causes her he also can cause her great pain . She supposes she’s lucky that he is far too kind to use his station against her , though she must use her own against him time && time again .

How is that fair ? How could such a bond ever not cause pain to one or both of them ?

( because she loves him && he loves her && that’s all that need matter , according to the mortals && the love songs && the poetry && the muses )

❛ Zagreus , look at me . ❜ A weighted pause , && then , ❛ How can you not come to hate me when our roles put us on opposite sides ? How can you so easily brush your place aside ? ❜

Her smile seems to illuminate the whole room around him and he can’t bring himself to tear away his gaze despite the blindness it may inflict upon him. He hasn’t seen her smile like this in what seems like centuries. He’s only too happy to bask in its glow now. 

It is this careful study of her expression that has him noticing when it changes. To anyone else, it might not seem significant, may even have been missed. Grip tightens in response, to the same degree that the levity has fallen from her face, as if to take up the weight of whatever has stolen it from her. 

His eyes meet hers when commanded, but he can’t help the soft laugh that escapes at her words. “THAT’S what you’re worried about?”