a walking study in demonology.

“my dearest, sweetest, loveliest of muses – of course, i shall do this for you. only if you promise to tell me when i’ve slathered enough moisturizer on my face that i become more smoothness than man.” here was the important part of the afternoon: he was sitting beside artemis rhea ( the artemis rhea ), and she remembered his name. at this rate, he was going to have his own show by the end of the summit. what should he call it? the labors of theseus. no, too stuffy. the life & times of an icon? possibly. still pondering, he continued, “as wonderful as i am at chatting, i am far better at gossiping. and what better place than this for such a harmless exchange? i am dying to hear who is worthy of a kiss and who of a scorn.” or a punch, as it were.

A little trouble didn’t hurt anyone, that’s for sure. He nodded in confirmation at his twin as she began to take the lead in their shuffle. He would follow suit, walking to the other side of the terribly dressed individual. 

“My goodness, could that be?” He says with an over-abundance of enthusiasm. His hand places to the back of the stranger, gesturing outward. “No, no, look closer.” He gives a light nudge, “Closer!” He hollers, then gives another nudge, with more oomf this time, sending them over the edge.

There’s a splash and Artemis face grows wide in feigned shock and surprise. “Oh my!” The exclamation rings and she’s on her knees, tugging at Apollo’s trousers to do the same. Then, she’s reaching overboard, looking at the khaki-wearing individual with full intention to help him. “Can you reach my hand?”

Yes, yes he did. The news could be fabricated, lies twisted something that could be passed as the truth but if anyone would really know what went on when Hyacinth was gone it would be Artemis, with how close Apollo and her are, with his close Hyacinth and her used to be, he trusted her to tell him the truth, even if it was hard to hear. “More than you can imagine.” 

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that Apollo didn’t do well in his absence, but Hyacinth still manage to avert his eyes as Artemis said those words, how could he ever apologize for actions and decisions that weren’t his own? How much hurt did his parents’ hatred cause? “I should be glad but I’m angry.” While he was glad that Apollo managed to find a way to move on, it was infuriating that he had to go through it in the first place, that they all had to. 

He released the drink when Artemis snatched it. “Here I am again.” Hyacinth echoed softly and got quiet, looking at the drink that was now in front of him, he never in a million years thought he would need to choose his next words to Artemis carefully, a person he still sees as almost family. “I’ve never hated them more for this.” It was genuine, truly. It was no state secret how Amyclas and Clio Partan felt about the Rheas, but it never stopped Hyacinth from ignoring it, living his own life and gaining friendships and the best relationship he has ever had, all for them to maybe ruin it all in one single decision.

“If it were up to me, you would’ve known. Coma or not, you would’ve known.”

Anger isn’t an emotion that suits her well. In fact, Artemis thinks that no emotion suits her well: no genuine ones, at least. She’ll make despair and rage look deeply sincere on the silver screen, but in real life? It all feels too big for her body, as if they’re clothes that belong to someone else. But this anger, that on behalf of her twin? That might be something that comes completely natural to her.

“There’s absolutely fucking nothing to be glad about here, Hyacinth.” Grief didn’t dissipate over the span of two years, that much Artemis knew. Not in Apollo’s case, at least. In hers? Well, she’d cut it off like a sickly limb, but this wasn’t about her. This wasn’t really about Hyacinth’s feelings on the matter either, if you asked her.

She looks at him, silent in an uncharacteristic way. “Look, like. What they did? It’s fucked up. I get that. I get that you might be really messed up over it, that you’re real pissed at them.” A finger is pressed against the table, as if she’s punctuating her sentence. The sinew’s are tense, her eyes concentrated on him. “Sort that out. But I don’t know if I can be there for you through that. Rest assured I want to ruin your parents’ lives, but my priority is Apollo. It’s not telling you that I’m sorry and that I’ll hold your hand through all this, as I maybe should as your friend. I can’t do that.” 

Her finger beats the table again. “So, what’s the plan, when it comes to him? Because I won’t see him fall apart over you again.”

“Understandable,” he makes himself a space next to her, in the hollows that she carves out with her edges, now curbed in a moment of rest. “Haven’t had a chance to talk to father yet. Doubt I will with how busy he seems to be at the moment. I’ll get around to talking with your mom eventually.”

But first, he’s going down the list of people closer to him than their parents, with perhaps the exception of Hermes, simply because of all the siblings, he’s found he has the least success with words when it comes to the youngest. An issue to be dealt with at a later date. For the time being, he’ll start where he has reasonable sureness of footing.

“You know me. Busy-body. Working my way through all of us one at a time and doing damage control as needed,” with varying degrees of success, but that’s nothing new. It’s only when shit hits the fan like this that he comes out of the woodwork of his own volition and tries to be more involved in his siblings’ lives. He leans back on extended arms, squinting up at the clouds and what look to be gulls circling. “You think they’ll work things out during this summit?“

It is so often one of two things with Ares and herself, as if there can’t be a shade of grey between them — it’s either sparks flying, annoyance and frustration having the upper hand, or it’s this. A grounding, maybe, or even an anchoring. She thinks she should be kinder to him, then lets go of that thought because when has she ever followed up to such promises? “Poor mom.”

She’s staring at the sea again, listening to Ares and feeling rather bad about her own lack of impulse to check in on her siblings. It’s Apollo alone she’s really spoken with about this. “Hey, this is new, there’s no Artemis Rhea Damage Control needed. So take a beat, now. I think Apollo’s the main one to worry ‘bout.” She’s worried, what with Hyacinth’s less than glorious return, worried about how he seems to feel a lack of security within the confines of family.

There’s something with clay and seaweed on her face — she’s not sure about the details of the mask, really, just desperate for the preening of strangers, the distraction of self-care, the so-called self-reflection which is just performance. Robed, hands recently scrubbed and moisturised and sipping cucumber water through a straw, she sits on a chair on the spa’s desk, shooting a grin at the occupant of the chair next to hers. Theseus Angelos might just be the exact kind of distraction she needs. “Listen. I need someone to tell me when this mask starts cracking, so it can be taken off at the exact right time. Will you do me that favour, Theseus?” See, she can remember his name. “And in the meantime, we can chat.”

The hug wasn’t a surprise, but Hyacinth still wondered if it was really for him or for the public. “You didn’t exactly ran into my arms when I first arrived, did you?” He whispered back. It wasn’t anger, he understood that some people needed a minute with the recent news than others but how else he was going to catch the rest of the Rheas if not by surprising them? “I just want talk, Temi, as much as I like keeping you on your toes.” Hug is over, a handshake and a smile on his face. All for the public, after all. Nobody needs to know that anything’s wrong. 

“Gladly,” Hyacinth grabs his own drink and holds it in his hand because if he was going to have a private conversation with Artemis, he was going to need it close by, it’s just a shame he couldn’t have grabbed the whole damn bottle. Anger, he felt so much anger but not towards Artemis or her family, but his own. He will not let them win, let them destroy the relationships that he had with these people. If they only knew he was on the road to destroy it himself. 

And in the quiet corner that they found themselves in, Hyacinth still glanced behind them, just in case someone was curious, shoving their noses in business not their own. Sitting down in the comfortable sofa, his phone rang and upon seeing his parents’ number once again, he declined the call immediately. “How bad was it?” 

There’s venom that she swallows, which ends up in the pit of her already acidic stomach. One day, it might burn holes. One day, she might release it all and poison the world. But for now, there is distance between herself and Hyacinth again and she rolls back her shoulders, flashes a smile that’s more teeth than lips. Is there misdirection to be found here? Certainly. But Artemis doesn’t forget so easily, the grief her twin had shouldered, the way she’d rubbed his back after he’d been called by the very person in front of her.

She does not talk as she leads, heels clicking, jaws snapped tightly together. A reunion of friends, colleagues, former potential future family members even — how darling. Artemis sits across from Hyacinth and he asks her a question that makes her genuinely scoff. Eyebrows raise. “What, when you supposedly died or when you came back to life?” They raise a little higher. “Are you sure you want a genuine answer to that?”

“Why would he? Don’t think I’m much his type.” Not that she was talking physicality, because if you could appreciate a woman’s good looks, then, well, she was everyone’s type. “I’m sure just about everyone on this ship thinks I’m scribbling smiley faces into my tablet when somebody starts to speak.” She didn’t mind it, not really. That was the point. “I mean, I am. But that’s besides the point.”

“Hmm, I hope it’s later. I’m rather liking not having to listen to you croon.” Aite grins at her own remark and tilts her head to the side again, taking a moment to observe Artemis. It’d been a hard past couple of days, but at least now things were seemingly looking up for her friend. “There’s only one way to figure out if we’re allowed, and that’s to do it. What are they going to do, escort us out? I’d be so upset.” She rolls her eyes and leans up on her elbows. Tilting her head down slightly so that her glasses slide down the bridge of her nose, she lets them fall onto her chest. “I’ll get a skimpier bikini than this, if we do it.”

Artemis makes a sound of indignation. “Psh. You should be everyone’s type.” A corner of her lips lifts, though, as Aite speaks: there was something to be said in favour of being underestimated, after all. “Well, just be sure to scribble frowny faces when they’re pretentious assholes, and you’ll be all good.” She reaches for her drink, takes a long sip. “And hey, these science freaks couldn’t last one day at Delos. So.”

They come together perfectly; like two halves of a whole, finally as one. Orpheus, almost instinctively, shifts to accommodate her movement, as though able to predict exactly where she might go, which space she might occupy. Artemis’ touch is electric, leaving gooseflesh in wake of her touch. A half smile, almost goofy in it’s being, takes purchase on their lips. They watch — no, they observe her; the rise and fall of her chest, the way her eyelids flutter, the curl and bend of her lips as she speaks. Orpheus believed they could get lost like this, in her being. She was a work of art, one they beheld with great reverie. 

Orpheus almost makes a joke, purely cocky in nature. A half thought that sits lazily at their lips; some retort about You love to hear me sing, huh? They don’t allow it’s escape, won’t let humor ruin this moment. Instead, their hand finds the gentle dip of her waist and rests there as they speak. “Sure, I’ll sing you to sleep.” A pause. “Anything for you.” 

A promise, sealed with a kiss. One waited for, anticipated since their first lonely night. They want it to continue, obvious in the way their lips follow after her’s in their retreat. But they do not pry, do not rush; instead, they relish in her touch, relish in the closeness of such a simple intimacy. A secret intimacy. Their own private oasis, for them, and them alone. 

Their gaze never leaves hers, even when her eyes close, they watch their movement behind the shroud of the lid. And, for a moment, they wonder what she thinks of, wonder what feelings might elude them. Then, she speaks, and they feel their smile grow, feel the baring of teeth. “I don’t think I like the water all that much.” They admit. “You might think ‘m exaggerating, but I swear I can feel the swayin’. It keeps me up.” 

A half truth, one that conjures a strange twist of guilt in their stomach. How can they begin to explain I’ve grown homesick, now, when she exists with them like this? How could they convey their loneliness in a way that does not demean their … this? Orpheus does not feel lonely when Artemis is there, but when she leaves, it’s an overwhelming feeling. She can’t stay with them forever, though they might wish otherwise. 

“‘M okay though. It’ll be easier to get some rest, now that you’re here.” They are the one to close their eyes now, burying their face in the crook of her neck. Hiding their guilt. “Feel like I haven’t slept right since we left Olympe.” Words spoken, muffled against her skin. There was a strange betrayal that accompanied the words; a betrayal to twenty-one years spent in Tartarus, that Olympe might now be synonymous with a version of home. 

Two homes, leaving Orpheus feeling divided, discombobulated, especially after Heteraidia. “’M having fun though, really. Been nice just, loungin’ around with Dandy.” A cushion, so that they might not sound entirely miserable. “You havin’ a good time? Enjoying yourself?” They gaze up at her from their burrow, lips mouthing gentle kisses against her skin as words are spoken. 

What might it be like? To come to an event like this as a couple, to be granted a room that could house them both as one unit — to not have to resort to these teenage-esque methods, sneaking around and finding release in reunion. To simply be together. It’s not hard to imagine, in all truth, what with their years of sharing a home between them but still. There’s yearning. There’s something like fear, too.

There’s no room for fear in this bed, though, so Artemis focuses on Orpheus up close; that curve where their jaw turns around a corner, the bat of their lashes when they blink, their cupid’s bow. The words they speak. The world can be so small, here, so much easier to swallow, and Artemis wonders why she had deprived herself of such comfort before. Not for the first time.

A finger moves over the previously visually explored areas ( jaw, under eye, cupid’s bow ), and she smiles. Anything for you. Artemis thinks she might return that sentiment, even if that too, scares her.

“No, I get you. There’s something strange about sleeping on the water. About a city on the water. People say the heights in Olympe are a lot, but ...” There’s a small shrug. Pontius wasn’t natural and perhaps that was the point of it. That wasn’t to say Olympe was, of course, but there was still a significant difference. Most of it came back to control, in truth, and the way Artemis seemed to not have enough of it here.

Orpheus buries themself in her and Artemis lifts them, slightly, tucking her arm under their body and pulling them close. “Hm-hm. I always sleep better when you’re here.” It has to be the same for Orpheus, right? Oh, what a strange thing: to possibly be a comfort to someone. A haven. Artemis can’t quite picture it, but she wants to cling to the thought. “Is it because of ... you know, everyone being here?” A careful question, eyebrows knitted together. Sometimes, Artemis nearly forgets that Orpheus hardly sees those from Tartarus these days. 

Strange, that these people are bigger constants in her life than theirs. A twist of the Fates that seems wrong, somehow, but that Artemis doesn’t feel equipped to think too much of. She smiles, faintly, “Dandy must be loving this place, right? The beaches at least. I’m glad you’re having fun, too.” 

 who :    @ohartemis​​ .

 what :   poolside   solace .

 where :    ext .   a   quiet   pool  deck ,   pontius .

 when :    kalavria  ,   week   two .

 why :   that’s   what   old   friends   do .

 tisiphone   is   a   good   listener ,   first   and   foremost .   this   trait   has   a   multitude   of   applications   in   their   professional   life ,   but   beyond   that ,   it’s   a   tenet   of   their   social   one .   she   wasn’t   looking   for   artemis   up   here .   in  fact ,   she   almost   turned   heel   when   she   spotted   them .   there   was   thirty   seconds   of   silent   pause   before   her   better   impulses   won   out ,   and   tis   refastened   their   hair   into   it’s   clip ,   kicked   off   their   sandals ,   and   slipped   into   the   pool   beside   artemis .   ❛ ❛   hey .   ❜ ❜   don’t   misunderstand   this   companionship   as   forgiveness ,   acquiescence ,   allowance .   they’re   a   slow   simmer   of   anger ,   raising   the   temperature   of   the   saltwater   around   them   by   a   measure   of   degrees .   but   tisiphone   is  a   good   listener ,   first   and   foremost .   and   artemis   has   probably   had   a   rough   forty  -  eight   hours .   so   if   they   wanted   to   talk ,   or   float   on   their   backs   and   pick   out   the   stars ,   or   play   marco   polo ,   tis   could   do   that .   in   fact ,   it   was   probably   the   least   she   could   do .

“Oh, it’s Delos’s interests you have in mind, then.” Aite observes the stranger for a moment longer, then looks away. Tilting her glasses back up over her eyes, she tilts her head back and allows the warmth of the sun to bring her back into the peace she’s set up for herself. “Poseidon does know how to pick them, it seems. Speech writers, speakers, tech gurus.” With a sigh, Aite takes off her glasses. 

“I can’t imagine it’s all too life changing, that’s for certain.” Aite scrunches her nose. She’d been lucky with the life she’d been offered, and Artemis had been a large part of that. If she could do it for somebody else, especially somebody who was forced to dwell among those who smelled like salt water and self-tanner? Well, Aite would have to agree that Artemis needed to do to all they could do to bring them back to Olympe. At Temi’s question, Aite leans over, checks the time on her phone. “About an hour and a half.” 

Artemis catches the person’s eye, gives a small smile and a wave and answers Aite without looking at her, “Sure, or my own. Same difference?” Then she lets her gaze travel to her friend, quirking an eyebrow up in interest. “Has he ever tried to poach you, then?” He’d certainly had his little attempts with her, though she’s not fully sure if he’d been serious. That’s an agitating thing. “No worries if he has. I think he like, gets off of it.”

who: @ohartemis when: mid-end week 2 of summit where: a random bar

Everything was moving too fast, on a time that Hyacinth wasn’t mentally prepared for but had no other choice but to face. While his body was still trying to catch up with his mind, his mind was already working overtime between the press and the people that thought him gone. It was a hard pill to swallow and Hyacinth still couldn’t wrap his mind on the fact that while for him it only has been a few days ago, everyone close to him thought him dead because of his parents, for years. Three years.

For him Pontius didn’t change one bit, it was still the same place that horded the science people, at least they came out of their labs for five minutes to build a decent bar. Hyacinth will deny that he was nervous if asked when he saw Artemis sitting there. Once again, telling himself that while he thought he only saw her a couple of days ago, for her it’s been years. Fuck. Fuck. This whole situation was a fucking mess. 

Hyacinth, instead of delaying the enviable, walked towards the bar and stood next to the Artemis. “How much did you miss me? You better say a lot.” 

There is an impulse to isolate, to spend the remainder of this Summit where really, she has little to offer but some discord and prettiness, on a private beach with only people she properly enjoys being around. And when Hyacinth Partan approaches her as she sits at a bar, oiled legs glistening, not a hair on her head out of place, the impulse grows. Because, look — it is not like she is unhappy he is alive. She’s glad, really, but it’s the kind of truth that’s hard to wrap your head around, especially when there already quite a few other life-altering things taking up room in ones head.

There are eyes here, though. So she smiles wide and she hops of her stool and she embraces Hyacinth after exclaiming that she missed him, “Lots, of course.” Close, now, she inhales to see if he smells the same and then adds, “This, really, this is where you want to do this? What the fuck?” It’s hissed in his ear, serpentine and not sweet at all, not dripping in her usual saccharine sugariness, even if she keeps her face mostly . “What, you like messing with my head, or something?”

The embrace lingers, because there is, she supposes, comfort to be found in this strange reunion. But discomfort crawls and she pulls back, pulls her walls up and reaches for her martini. Downs it, places it on the bar with something of a slam. Then, Artemis reaches out and takes his hand, starting to move away from onlookers. Get your pictures and look away, she thinks. “Let’s get out of here.” 

She simmers quietly below the surface, as if a thousand winged insect-like creatures live under her skin, humming incessantly. Artemis Rhea is restless, possibly more so than usual: a scandal nips at her heels, as does her father’s apparent need to continue his affair at this blasted event, as does the knowledge that her twin’s past lover is not dead at all. There is no control to be found here, on Pontius, where she does not know the place well enough, where she has less power to wield. At some point, she considers retreating to the storage closet where she had a breakdown as a teenager, but she refuses. 

So, in stead, she spends her time wasting it. Cocktails, a different bathing suit every day, dragging Mene to hot springs or yet another skin treatment, more cocktails, maybe a bump of Somnus during late evening mingling, trying to find distraction in the pile of script pitches sent her way, floating in a bad filled with herbs and oils that are supposedly calming and by now, four days have passed since Ogygia. She’s on Helicon, separating herself from someone intent on pitching to her, on her way to the bar for another drink when she spots him — Achilles.

Artemis would think it wholly unfair if all her Tartarus bridges were to be burned over a righteously thrown punch. So, she orders not one, but two obnoxiously pink drinks with an assortment of fruit and edible glitter and joins him at the table he stands at, pushing it his way. A gesture she’s made before, back in Tartarus — a show of gratitude for past actions and maybe some fondness, too. “You looked incredibly thirsty, Mr Pithia. It’s crucial to stay hydrated here, on Pontius. So much sun!” She grins, takes a sip through her straw. “The sea treating you well, then?”

closed to @ohartemis​ location: helicon, the morning after the chaos ball He’s not so juvenile as to not assume there are two sides to the story leaked to Pandora the prior evening, though the footage is as clear as can be: Artemis throwing a swift blow straight to Thanatos’ face in what is clearly the villa at Ogygia. It is a conundrum, especially troubling, as he’s fond of them both, and he’s not here on Helicon searching the crowds for Artemis’ face to condemn, but to search for answers. To understand. “Artemis.” His expression is even as he calls out to her from where he sits beneath a heavily shaded cabana. “A moment, please.”

The sound of her name being called is always one of two things: something she welcomes, egocentric as she is, or something she wishes to ignore. Usually, in the case of uncle Hades, it is the former of the two; giddily accepting the attention of her favoured uncle — but recent events make plenty of things bitter. She turns on a heel, takes in the lack of expression on his face and gives a beam of a smile in return. Feigned, of course, but what is everything if not shimmery-shiny-fakeness? “Uncle. Of course.”

As she moves over, she looks for a way to make the cabana make way for sunlight, to make this uncomfortable for him, too. No such thing, though. She sits. Crosses her legs, straightens her sundress, gives a challenging look that is, really, nothing but a method of defence. “Kept up with the news, recently?”