Richard Arthur Emrys

APHRODITE   laughter loving.   sweet smiles.  dressed in silk and satin.   flower in their hair.   sees the world as a runway.   unapologetically sexual. the sea washing their ankles.   in love with love.  stirrer of passion. cunning concealed by painted lips.  secret daggers.   doves. revolution in their kiss.   delighting in the waves.   flirtatious winks.  strolling along the beach.   staring wistfully from a balcony.   this is how to be a heartbreaker.   wants to be adored.   gets turned on by danger.

APOLLO   glitz and glamour.   art galleries.   turning the volume up.   being made of gold.   neatly organized music sheets.   notebooks filled with poetry.   bathing in the sunlight.  the powerful urge to create.   collecting vinyl records.   beautiful cover of wonderwall.  playing multiple instruments. tasting like sunshine.   healing touch.  speaking in prophecies. smile mingled with wrath. shunning lies. sporting shades.   hanging out at music festivals with their friends.  sleeps naked.   arrow to the heart.   paint brushes. probably has a tinder account.

ARES   armed for battle.  wants to raise a dog with their significant other.  soft spot for children.   gives piggyback rides.   scarred body.   blood on their hands and face. willing to fight the world for the ones they love.  fights against injustice.   warm hugs. well worn combat boots. boxing gloves.   bandages wrapped around bruised knuckles.  fist raised in protest.   ignites revolutions.   fear is a prison.  more sensitive than what their tough shell would have you think.   exhausted.   damaged goods.   force to be reckoned with. red roses.  curses under their breath.

ARTEMIS         keen sense of a hunter.   freckles like constellations on their skin. piercing eyes.  disheveled braid.   moonlight peeking through the shadows.  the calm of the forest at night.   lying on the grass and staring at the stars.  mother doe and her fawn.   protecting their kin. the moon shimmering on a still lake.   quiver full of arrows resting against the bark of a tree.  running with wolves.   bonding while circled around a campfire. not being much of a people person.   arrow hitting a target.  popping egos.  patience on 3%.   touches heaven and returns howling.

ATHENA       discerning gaze.   unreadable face.  quiet museums.   owl perched on their finger.   armor that intimidates. eye for architecture.   plays the sims for the sole purpose of building houses.   studied the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid. big fan of logic.   loves brain teasers.   ancient buildings.   sweaters in neutrals and cool colors.  hair done up.   can kill you with their brain.  heads to the library often to research.   sharpened pencils.  abs that can cut steel.   stoic statues.   pottery classes.

DEMETER       soil covered hands.   smile that can bloom flowers.   skin loved by the sun.  being the mom friend.  can lift you and your friends.  flowers kept in the pockets of overalls.  takes pride in their beautiful garden. speaks to their plants.   leaves rustling in the wind. stalks of wheat. picking fruit.  greenhouses.   heart as strong as a mountain. values simplicity. daisies dotted across a collarbone.   curls crowned with flowers. folded pile of sweaters in warm hues.   pulling out fresh baked bread out of the oven and the smell wafting through the air.

DIONYSUS     drunk shitposter.   on their sixth glass of wine before you’ve even finished your second. seductive smirks.   untamed curls.  rich fabrics on dark skin.   sleek furred panthers.  theatre masks.   stage productions.   receiving a standing ovation.   rose caught between their teeth.   being the baby of the bunch.   wild parties that last from sundown to sunup.   creeping vines. inspiring loyalty. grand opera houses.   masquerade balls.  rolls of film.  shattered chandeliers with broken glass scattered across the wine spilled floor.   pouring champagne into flutes.   lives for the applause.

HEPHAESTUS       the calloused hands of someone who knows labor.   sweaty brow.   flame burning in their eyes. inventive mind.   broad shoulders. steampunk goggles.   nuts and bolts stored away in little boxes. ashes.  striking a match.   blueprints for future projects.   fixing up a busted up car and giving it cool upgrades.   wrestles with bitterness.   work boots have seen better years.   wrinkled plaid shirts.   iron melted in blazing fire.   huge jackets. crafting masterpieces.   greased stained overalls.   fascination with robotics. pain is fuel. stack of weaponry.   even their muscles have muscles.

HERA      resting bitch face. dressed to the nines.   cows grazing on a pasture.   cool rain. loving and hating fiercely. hand clutching a string of pearls.   large chandelier with glittering crystals. plays the sims for the sole purpose of killing off their sims.   romance to realism.   pictures of the sky while flying on a plane.  files that under ‘ fuck it ’.  downs glasses of wine as they relax with a scented bubble bath and netflix.   like their selfie or you’re grounded.   knows 57 convenient ways to murder a man. dark eyes that penetrate your soul.   marble and gold.

HERMES      devil-may-care smile,    always up-to-date on the latest technology.   will steal your french fries.   does it for the vine.   shitposter.   puts googly eyes on everything.   meme hoarder.   long drives on the highway.   ma and pop diners.   spontaneous road trips.  folded maps.   fingers dancing across the keyboard of a laptop.   shooting hoops on the basketball court.   chatting up strangers as you all journey to your own destinations.   goes jogging in the morning . mixes redbull with coffee.   menace on april fool’s.   hoodies and sneakers.  

POSEIDON     storm with skin. colorful coral reefs.   waves crashing against the shore.  stroking the soft fur of a cat.   their heart pounding as their horse’s gentle trot speeds into a gallop.  tousled locks.   clothes smeared with paint.   owns several sketchbooks yet always yearns to own more.   leather jackets.   fondness for diy projects.   handwriting that flows across the page.   nimble fingers playing the strings of a violin.   velvety singing voice that haunts your dreams.   mood as ever-changing as the sea.   the roar of a motorcycle.   compass with a spinning arrow.

ZEUS    thunder in their heart. running on coffee. flash of lightning.   un-natural charisma.eloquence. badass in a nice suit.   aficionado of history.  force of nature.   lenny face.nightmare-filled nights.   proud arm around their lover’s waist. high-rise buildings.  planes soaring through a cloudless sky.  technician on the piano.  maintains order.   strong handshake.   juggling multiple events on their busy schedule with ease.  expensive watch.

“Parents insisted we all learn an instrument as kids. Sammy’s the more musical one since I took to dance instead,” she explained quietly. “And the piano came in handy for ballet as well, since some of us would play another off during private rehearsals if the accompanist wasn’t there.” 

Delilah rose to her feet, picking up the tablet to lock and turn the screen off. After pushing in the bench and making sure the keys were covered, the blonde ran a hand through her hair. 

“So where did you go off to?” 

“I had to learn, too. Supposed to teach me focus, and it was...expected,” Richard said, with a slight smile. “My son is considerably better than I am. But it used to be soothing, when I was young. I’ve always enjoyed the piano.”

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It’s been forever since she’s played the piano. Her fingers gliding across the keys as she played Clair de Lune, looking at the sheet music she had on a tablet resting against the stand. It was a small luxury of the small Airbnb that they were renting. But the sound of the door opening and closing surprised her, even as the piece wrapped up. 

Delilah felt almost embarrassed by the idea of Richard seeing this. Let alone hearing it, especially when she knew the piece was still a little rough after not playing it for almost five years. 

“Scared the shit out of me.” 

“I’m sorry,” Richard said, with an arched brow as he walked into the room, taking the sight of her in, and the piano. When he’d heard the music as he opened the door he’d been sure she was just watching something, or listening to it.

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“One canister lasts forever.” He would eat one here and there, but never really destroyed a can in less than a month. And it was useful to his friends who sewed who would often liberate the empty containers. 

“But sorry ‘bout your leg. But I kinda get it, when Lil’s and my dad died. It was about the time I got into my first bar fight a week or two after the funeral.” He was underage and wasn’t supposed to be drinking, but the dive bar in Troy didn’t really ID anyone. “Stupid shit goes down when grief and anger get in the way.” 

It was the story of his life, but he was alright with it for the most part. You get up, dust yourself off, make sure your teeth were still in and go about your day. 

“That’s good,” Richard nodded, and then grimaced, at the mention of his leg. He shrugged a little.

“…But I don’t need stronger?” He replied, confused about why the older man was so worried about him. Sam got by alright. He knew of a physicians who worked with him under the table from time to time when it came to getting medications. Write him prescriptions for antibiotics when need be. 

“It’ll heel fine, six weeks. Not my first, not my last. If it gets worse, then sure. Until then, I’m good,” Sam continued stubbornly as he casually flopped down into a chair. 

“Just can’t smoke for over a month, keeping drinking to a minimum so the liver doesn’t get fucked. And can’t lift the boxes in the back of the bar,” he listed, lazily as he closed his eyes. “When you get into as many scraps as I do, quickly learn what’s ER worthy and what’s not.” 

Richard nodded, glancing aside and shifting a little, quiet for a moment. His hand dropped to his knee. 

After a few moments he patted it. “This didn’t have to be as bad as it is. I was in a bad place, when I fucked it up. I was stupid and hadn’t ever had a real injury before. And my dad was dying and being an asshole. I get a bit twitchy about people being hurt. Sorry, it’s my baggage,” he admitted, his jaw a little tense.

The bribe was tempting, almost too tempting. But he found himself almost stubbornly shaking his head. “It’s good, not much that you can do to treat it. Don’t wrap too tightly, cough every so often, keep from getting pneumonia,” he recited casually. It definitely wasn’t his first go around with this injury. 

“It’s a cracked rib, I can breathe fine. Not much pain. I’m good.” 

Richard stared for a moment, rubbing at his temple. The man took getting injured far too casually. 

“The doctor could at least give you a prescription for nicer pain meds than what you can get over the counter?” he tried, not trying to push much. But when people were hurt around him he tended to get nervous.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said dismissively as he took a sip from his water. Injuries weren’t too uncommon for him, between bar fights, some of the sports he still did with friends, and other activities. It was normal for him to have a bruised or slightly cracked rib there, a busted nose there. Though, he was pleasantly surprised he never broke his nose. 

“Not worth it getting checked out.” Not like he could afford it on average. Even with the shitty health insurance he paid for out of pocket. But he would live to fight another day, that was the important thing. 

Richard just stared at Sam for a moment and sighed. “I’ll get you a whole tin of those butter cookies you like if you let me take you in to get checked out. I prefer my friends to be in mostly one piece.”