true north

battery park; sunset open @ohqstarters​

If she let her mind slip out of focus, she could almost imagine she was standing back on a balcony in Troy listening to the waves and watching the sun set as she waited for Paris to return to her. It was easy to pretend, to fall back into that lightness, pretend she was wearing a flowing dress rather than jeans and a pearl studded sweater, barefoot rather than shoes that cost entirely too much, and the longer she stood still, the easier it was to forget New York City at all. Serena, the girl who loved double shot espressos and puppy breath, easily faded to the background and so Helen, the weaker woman, could take hold, and it was in that moment that a small scoff escaped. Immaculately lined eyes widened, and her head canted as she realized no one missed Helen of Troy, not even her.

A white knuckled grasp on the rail was reminiscent to a stunningly revealing moment of the past, but there was no one sailing to drag Serena home, no one to rain on her parade except for the memories infringing on her new life. Muscles in her jaw flexed as she pulled herself back to the present, and after a moment, she turned to the person at her side, suddenly driven to feel connected to the present more than she wanted to give in to the call of the past. “You know, I’ve always been more of a sunrise person,” she murmured, turning back to admire the color streaking the sky. The sun was nearly gone now, leaving behind dark shadows among the peach and rose hues. “But my mother would say that’s because I’m better at starting things than I am finishing them.” Her brows rose on her face as she wondered which mother inspired that truth. 

Feet clad in athletic shoes pressed against the asphalt as Calla ran. While she spent most of her days in the yoga studio – or in her studio apartment – some evenings she simply preferred to run around the southern portion of Manhattan, as if the brisk fall air would make everything fall to the wayside. It had become more difficult for her to sleep, plagued by strange dreams of axes and of a voice that was just faint enough she could hear it but not discern the speaker. Tonight she ran in Battery Park, the water surrounding the island of Manhattan much more interesting to her than sunsets. [ But had not Penelope preferred the sea? Had she not sat at the shores awaiting her husband’s return? ] Her calves burned and her hamstrings were sore when she stopped, taking in a deep breath even as the cold air invaded her lungs. For a brief moment she bent over, tightening her grip on a railing and it was only when she heard a voice that Calla lifted her gaze.

[ In another world, Penelope would have recognized Helen, her cousin, another daughter of Sparta. But in this one, Calla simply glanced at Serena with a quizzical expression upon her face. ]

“Me, too,” she responded with a smile and a shrug of one shoulder as Calla straightened her spine and lifted her foot behind her to stretch her hamstring. “But I’m a morning person in general.” She hummed at the woman’s other admission, unsure of whether or not it was something that she wished to speak of. “There’s nothing wrong with the excitement of starting something new,” Calla offered, running her hand through her ponytail as her foot dropped back to the pavement. “What would the world be like if it always stayed the same, anyway?” A half-smile rose on her face.

More and more people began to file into the studio, and Oliver knew it was time to start the class, soon. At least for this hour he’d have something else on his mind, besides sonatas and the ever-present feeling of hunger. He’d be able to tap into his body, with Calla’s help. Feel the ground, or at least the floor beneath his feet. He could imagine, as much as the sun seemed to stream in the windows of this high-rise, that this class would be even better, out in the open air. He could picture Calla teaching outside, too. Breathing in the country air seemed like a fantasy to Oliver. He remembered years of camping in Colorado when he was younger, before his dad left.

“Sushi is good! I can’t really afford it, fresh fish in this city is a bit too pricy. But my two best friends sometimes indulge me, when I’m not being as stubborn and I let them pay for my meals. I’ve got the good ones, around me.” He grins. “Onions on a bagel is the way my mother taught me. And trust me, Miriam Reed is not the woman you ever want to attempt to argue with.”

More people continued to come into the studio and Calla nodded to a few other regulars as she spoke with Oliver. She hoped that this class would help, as there was something that worried her. While Calla didn’t know with certainty, she certainly had the impression that Oliver was struggling with something. But it was not her place to overstep and her smile remained on her face, though her eyes lost some of their glassy shine. “Are you about ready?” she inquired.

Calla nodded, the smile remaining on her lips as Oliver spoke. While Calla was careful about where she spent her money, she had not had to count her pennies so carefully in the way it was clear Oliver did. The feeling that it evoked in her was a strange one and she exhaled slowly, not wanting to make him feel awkward. “Sushi is an indulgence that everyone should feel absolutely zero guilt for,” she said, smile widening. Her brow rose. “I would hardly dream of it,” she said with another shrug of her shoulder. “But do they taste good?” The idea was still a strange one to the young woman, who rarely ate bagels as it was.

There was something so calming about the way that Calla spoke. Like she was destined to be a meditative guide. A voice of wisdom and reason. Ella knew herself to be bold and brash, but Calla was calm and understated. It provided a nice balance, between the two of them. 

“Do whatever it is that you do. Work your magic, Call.” She kept her hands in position, as Calla instructed. Calla pulled her hips back, and Ella felt a bit of release in her lower back. “Damn. You’re so good at what you do. I wish I could have you with me whenever my back feels out of wack, but I appreciate your help every Sunday morning, anyhow.”

“I’ve thought it through too much, probably. I keep waiting for the catch. Everything in life seems to have one, anyways. Why would this be any different? It almost keeps me on edge. But then, he just… cares about me. That’s new. I feel like I’ve changed, and I don’t even know how. I must have, for someone like this to have entered my life.”

It was easy for Calla, to stand here in the yoga studio and make sure that alignment was correct and positions flowed accordingly. But then again, interacting with people had never been Calla’s problem to begin with – she was always the type who forgave, who forgot, and who continually moved on with little recollection.

Sometimes she hated that about herself.

Calla laughed, a sound that was genuine and soft, and she continued to move her hands on Ella’s back. She was pleased by the woman’s response and her lips curved upwards. “I believe they have chiropractors who are more often on call,” she offered, the words only half teasing. She pulled once more on Ella’s hips and then stood back. “Perhaps rotate your hands out just about 15 degrees or so,” she instructed, the words sounding more like a request than an order.

Hearing Ella talk of her own happiness was sweet and Calla found herself smiling as she heard the tone in Ella’s voice and the words she used when describing this man she’d seemingly fallen for. “You may be overthinking,” she agreed with a shrug of one shoulder. “And it’s possible you’ve changed, but I think it might be more likely that you’ve simply found someone who makes you feel comfortable being exactly as you are.”

“Well, in that case, this one’s on me.” He said, placing the kombucha concoction in front of her with a sympathetic smile. As a bartender, the god of wine had seen so many dates gone awry, and even more fizzle out before they’d even started when one party decided not to show up. “I bet he wasn’t even worth your time anyway - the kind of asshole that wouldn’t show up for a first fucking date was going to let you down at some point, right?” It wasn’t fun to play with Calla now that she had his sympathy, and he turned his attention to being quietly supportive in any way he could. It’s what Oli would have wanted him to do, he thought. 

He watched Calla with curious eyes as he mixed a mojito for another customer, his hands going about the motions like they were innate - and for a god like Dionysus, they partly were. “So, on a scale from one to ten how hot was he? I need to know the extent of the situation that we’re mourning here.” 

Perhaps another woman would have arched a brow, concerned about the bartender’s intentions. But Calla had never been a woman who preferred suspicion over kindness and the smile that graced her face was genuine, sincere, and, briefly, unguarded. “Thank you,” she said as she reached for the drink he’d made her. Lips pursed slightly as she took a sip from the straw and when she set the glass back down, her eyes crinkled at the corners. “It’s possible,” she agreed, not having through that far ahead. She bit her lip, ignoring the smudging of her lipstick. “It was just, kind of, nice to feel wanted,” she admitted, hoping he was not the type who would look at her out of pity. “My last boyfriend, well, I went through the wringer with him. Multiple times.”

She took another sip of the drink, finding it tasted much better than her original vodka and soda. Laughing, Calla shook her head as she struggled to find a way to answer his question. “Probably a seven?” she said, a bit unsure. “Maybe more of a six. He didn’t seem to photograph very well.”

Part of him wondered what Calla’s life was like outside of these four walls. This was the only context he had ever properly seen her in, but just like teachers in school, they had a whole life, a whole story, outside of the realm of the classroom. Clearly food was a big part of that, but he wondered what else she got up to when she wasn’t healing his mind, body and spirit. “Being an adult is weird. Having to make decisions and take care of ourselves… what a drag, you know?”

“Okay, yes. A lot of gluten. I think Jews have been through so much hardship that we needed to make food that could help us weather any storm. We needed to be a hearty people.” He chuckled - hearty would not exactly be the right word to describe Oliver, but he had made it to this day, hadn’t he? “Oh man, scallion cream cheese especially. And tomatoes and onions and lox, but you don’t eat lox. God, I could think about bagels all day.”

A laugh escaped from her lips. “It can be,” she agreed with a shrug of her shoulder. It was strange, sometimes. When Calla thought about her past, when she thought about where she’d originally wanted to be at this point in her life, she’d never quite imagined this. Calla had thought she’d be more settled, at least when it came to her personal life, but she didn’t wish to burden Oliver with that and so she merely offered him another smile. “I think I’m a bit more used to it than you are. You’re the lucky one.”

She ran her hand through her hair and a smile graced her face at the irony; she thought that perhaps it was Oliver who needed the hearty food now. But she said nothing, not wishing to be rude or pushy. Her brow furrowed as he spoke of bagels. “I’ll eat sushi occasionally so I think, perhaps, I could try lox. Just the once, though.” Calla’s lips turned upwards as she spoke. “Though I’m unsure why you’d want onions on a bagel,” she pointed out.

Ella listened to few people, but Calla was one she was okay with. She nodded, placing her hands down on the mat, stretching out. She planted her feet, and soon her body was in downward dog, as though she waited for Calla to cast some magic spell or wave a wand on her aching back. 

Ella couldn’t help the blush that rose to her cheeks, but she always got a bit flushed talking about Brant. Even thinking about him… he was her boyfriend. She was able to say that, exclaim that to the world. “I.. yeah. Calla.  He’s.. god I don’t even know how to describe him.” 

She paused, considering her words. “He’s the first person I think about when I wake up and the last person I think about before I fall asleep. You know? And I used to think all of that stuff was bullshit fantasies, but it’s all happening to me and I don’t know how to process any of it. Because it’s all so new and so wonderful and it all feels like there has to be a catch, but it hasn’t shown up yet.”

She watched as Ella got into the proper position and she spoke softly as she moved closer. “So I’m going to pull back on your hips but you keep your hands in the same position, alright? It should add a bit more traction into your spine; it’s one of the problems with gravity – it doesn’t work well with our bones at times.”

A brow arched as Ella began to speak about her boyfriend and Calla wondered just who this man was who had turned Ella’s head on its axis. But she was not one known to pry and instead she listened, offering a small hum as she began to pull on the back of Ella’s hips, her eyes carefully watching the spine to see if it elongated with her movements.

Once upon a time, Calla had a man like that, one who she thought of at all times, one she would do anything for. But it had taken years for her to end the never-ending cycle of breaking up and getting back together. Still, she was happy for the other woman and her lips curved up at the corners. “You don’t seem the type to get into something without thinking it through,” she pointed out.

Ever the dutiful student, Alex followed Calla’s instructions wordlessly. The stratgeist inhaled as she stretched, gaze contemplative. There was some truth to Calla’s reflections – Alex did what she did because she loved it. The income was just a very, very nice bonus that allowed her liberties she deeply enjoyed. And perhaps, that financial security allowed her a singleminded focus which made her excel at her craft. “I suppose the rest is moot until you know what you hope to gain from your art.”

For Alex (her), it was the confident thrill of that moment right before victory, when her gambits had played out precisely as expected and there was that empty look of loss in her opponents’ eyes.

“I’m sure some come for the instructor too,” Alex observed, returning back to a cross legged position on her mat. She wasn’t blind; Calla was pretty and friendly. It was no surprise she had admirers. “But that’s a fair assessment. Unless–”

The idea strikes her then, drawing a somewhat mischeivous smile from her lips. “Wine and Weave? You know the Upper East Side housewives would love it.”

The yoga instructor nodded as Alex followed her instruction and she tilted her head to the side. “Good,” she responded to the woman’s movement. “I imagine you’ll feel taller when this class is over.” She ran her hand through her hair and shrugged. “I just know that I love it, that it’s part of me, you know?” she inquired. She couldn’t imagine a life where she wasn’t making pieces of art and if she was pressed to admit it, she didn’t wish to.

Lips quirked and Calla’s eyes widened. “Do they really?” she inquired. “I hadn’t…considered that.” It sounded lame coming from her own lips, but Calla had never really looked for men – or women – to date while she was working and was often oblivious to any attentions that were paid to her.

Calla laughed, a mirthful sound, at the words that came from Alex’s lips. “They likely would,” she agreed. “But I already have the patience to put up with them now. I’m not sure I’d have the patience to put up with them intoxicated, too.” She shrugged one shoulder. “It’s something to think about, though.”

i. @queenofithaca​

Laurel was happy when the other woman sat down with her. Even if it could only be a moment or two, Laurel never seemed to have much time to catch up with her friends socially. She probably saw Calla more often than most because yoga was something that she was careful to structure her other activities around but it was still nice to chat when she wasn’t trying to contort herself into an impossible pose. 

“Really?” Laurel perked up at that small tidbit from her friend. “I had no idea. Did you grow your own food and everything? I’ve often thought I’d like to do it but I’m not sure I’m quite ready to give up on my career just yet.”

Calla smiled and took a sip of her tea, nodding as Laurel asked a couple more questions. “I was young,” she admitted. “Dropped out of college to move upstate. We grew our own food, yeah, worked odd jobs around the town, but mostly just smoked a lot of weed.” She shrugged one shoulder and laughed, finding it strange how much time had passed since she’d been that person. “I only lasted a couple of months before I was back.”

She understood being ambitious, the idea of having a career and wanting to established it even more. “I think I’d like to be self-sufficient at some point,” she opined. “But right now being in the city suits me. At least so far it does.” Lips twitched. “And if I had a career going as well as yours, I’d not want to give it up either.”

“It’s this hard balance, right? I want to be environmentally conscious, most of all. Like what do we have if we don’t have this earth? But then, I’m skinny enough as it is. I need to eat, and I don’t have much to spare. So I take what I can get. But then I feel bad about the waste and the animals, and it just makes me frustrated, more than anything else.” Oliver was an idealist. It was one of the many things that connected him with his counterpart, Orpheus. He just wanted to make the world a better place, but he was plagued by poverty and trials and tribulations that are just a bit bigger than himself. 

Oliver could just imagine the three of them sitting around her kitchen table in her own tiny apartment, and it brought a bright grin to his face. His mom was strong and wry, but also sweet and terribly affectionate with Oliver. He hoped that even though she might be amused by Ty’s whims, she’d realize how in love her son was, and love Ty too. “Yes! Now I absolutely have to teach you how to make them! They’re absolute comfort food. That and bagels and matzoh ball soup. The Jewish heritage really brought out some good food.”

Calla nodded, her lips curving upwards into a smile as she listened to Oliver speak. She could understand his mindset easily; though she would not say she was wealthy by any means, she made a decent amount as a yoga instructor at two studios in the city. But food was important to her, always had been, and the majority of her money that didn’t go to her rent-controlled walk-up was put into weaving or into her nutrition. But she wouldn’t say that to Oliver. “I think,” she said carefully. “That it’s hard to care about everything. Sometimes we have to pick and choose what’s most important to us as we make decisions about our money and our jobs and our food.” She shrugged one shoulder.

Lips continued to remain quirked at Oliver’s excitement about his heritage – and the food that went along with it. “That sounds like a lot of gluten,” she teased him, head tilted to the side. While Calla ate gluten occasionally, it was not something that regularly entered her diet. “Though I remember my time of bagel eating. There’s nothing better than one from this Jewish bakery in Brooklyn. With cream cheese, of course.” She stretched her hamstring quickly.

“I believe they call it A/B Testing.” There’s an energy about her, passion coloring her voice with more emotion than usual – it wasn’t the heady thrum of excitement that hummed in her nerves on election nights, but something softer. That first flicker of illumination, dipping her toes into a pool of new knowledge and finding the waters pleasantly warm. "Though likely, you’ll have to do a combination of both. It’s simply a matter of figuring out which is worth more time and money.”

Twisting at her waist and contorting in an easy imitation of the position Calla had taught the week before, Alex observed the instructor intently. “How many of your other yoga practitioners know about your work? It might also be a matter of awareness,” she thought out loud. The strategist herself quite enjoyed knitting, but it was one of those secret, feminine things about her she tended to keep to herself. “If you have the time for it, you could even teach your weaving – like paint and pour. Weave and…water?”

Nodding, Calla made a mental note to Google A/B testing and figure out how best to implement it in her own business. Lips twitched at the corners and she stretched out her other calf, wanting to be limber enough during the session coming up. “Try stretching your spine just a bit more,” she suggested to Alex. “You’ll get a bit more traction that way.” She bit her lip. “That does seem to be the conundrum. Time, money, and enjoyment. I worry, sometimes, that I won’t get as much enjoyment out of my weaving if it turns into a business instead of art.”

It was a good idea, now that Calla thought about it. She tilted her head to the side. “Some do,” she said with a shrug of one shoulder. “I try not to mix things up too much. People come mostly for the yoga, don’t they?” She ran her hand through her hair as she thought about what else Alex had to say. Calla chuckled at the suggestion. “Perhaps something other than water, but you have a good idea. I’ll have to think on it, see if there’s something fun and niche to do. I think some of my students at the other studio would be into learning about weaving a bit more than those here.” The penthouse yoga studio catered more to the upscale clientele, while the smaller studio she worked for downtown seemed to appeal to holistic types that were more similar to her.

( send me a copic color for a headcanon )

frost blue: does your muse enjoy the snow and cold? or are they the type to enjoy summer more?

peacock blue: is your muse honest? what sorts of lies do they tell, if not?

lapis lazuli: does your muse prefer the idea of exploring the depths of the oceans, or the boundless expanses of space more?

reddish brass: how likely is your muse to step up and take the role of a leader? are they willing to take the challenge, or are they more apt to being a follower?

burnt umber: how stable is your muse, mentally and/or emotionally?

champagne: does your muse drink (alcohol)? are they a heavy drinker, if so?

tea orange: what is something that your muse is fascinated with?

malachite: has your muse ever done anything that they winded up feeling incredibly guilty for in the end?

olive: is your muse prone to feeling envious of others? if yes, what is it that they typically feel envious over?

vermillion: is your muse courageous, or would they consider themselves to be more of a coward?

coral: what is your muse's romantic and sexual orientations?

bougainvillaea: would your muse consider themselves as blunt, or do they beat around the bush instead?

currant: what's something that absolutely disgusts your muse (can be a person, place, thing, ect)?

crimson: how passionate is your muse about the things they love most?

raspberry: what food and/or drink can your muse not get enough of? do they indulge in it often, or is it something reserved for special occasions?

baby blossoms: does your muse have a favorite scent? what is it, and why?

mallow: what sorts of things might remind your muse of those close to them? any scents, objects, sounds?

aubergine: does your muse prefer the day, or are they more of a night-owl?

acacia: how much does it take for your muse to hate someone?

cadmium yellow: what subjects or topics does your muse avoid, because they bring up harmful / painful memories?

honey: when your muse loves someone (whether it be romantic, platonic, or familial love), how do they show it?

chartreuse: if you had to describe your muse with a color, what color would it be and why?

anise: when it comes to self-care, what does your muse do to take care of themselves? do they take care to spend time on it, or do they feel they don't deserve it?

new leaf: what message would your muse send to their past self, if any?

moss: how easily does your muse adapt to any new situations they're thrust into?

silk: does your muse care about appearances much? do they spend a lot of time on their own appearance, or do they just go with the flow each day?

sanguine: does your muse typically have an optimistic, pessimistic, or some middle ground outlook on life?

atoll: if your muse could go anywhere, without any restrictions whatsoever, where would they go? why would they go there?

cool grey: if your muse could ensure one thing for certain in their future to come, what would it be?

Ella had once dreamed of living in Paris. The romantic, chic edge of the city called out to her, and she could only imagine waking up in the morning, sitting on her balcony with a cigarette, a coffee and croissant, and a delicious view of the Seine. So many times she told herself she was done with New York, and that there were bigger and better things for her, so much untapped potential in some other city. But at the end of the day, she could only visit other places. She would never take the leap. New York was her home, and she couldn’t really fathom anything else.

“I wouldn’t mind that. I’ve been holding so much stress, and it doesn’t help that I mostly work at a computer.”

She chuckled, nodding. “Well… as it turns out, I haven’t been sleeping that much lately. But that’s not really an issue. More so that someone new is keeping me up.”

The sunlight continued to shine into the room and Calla was thankful that her classes in this building were mostly in the morning. She imagined that it would be much too warm during a later part of the day, though the view of the water at dusk would be lovely.

Calla nodded and gestured to the other woman. “Why don’t you get into downward dog and we’ll see if we can’t get some traction back into your spine?” She hoped that pulling on the other woman’s hips to elongate the spine would be enough, but she expected that if Ella spent as much time at a computer as she intimated, it would take a bit more work than that.

Brows rose and the smile that rose on her face was a genuine one. “Is that so?” she inquired, her lips quirking at the corners. “You do have that glow about you now that I know to look for it.”

the relationship that brewed between them was one that had barely been mentioned in the history books. homer had sought to write more of penelope’s husband and only mentioned clytemnestra as an avenging wife. they had been cousins but burnt by clytemnestra’s beautiful sister, helen. though ithaca and mycenae were far and wide apart, leaving the two women as only footnotes in a story that had passed from generation to generation. 

but what about calla and phoebe?

her arm links with calla’s, ignoring the cry of the woman she had once been as she finally joins her sister-in-arms. phoebe had never lacked in much, she had been born into a world celebrating her birth and had been raised with every luxury known to man… yet, friendship always dodged her grasp. it was calla, and mostly calla alone, whom she could trust with her entire heart. with every beat, she counted her lucky stars, because, without the nutritionist and yoga-freak, phoebe would’ve been totally alone. 

“well, i thought i’d get the mimosa and you can get the smoothe,” she whispers, grinning from ear to ear before tugging her from the plush studio setting and down the hall before landing in the elevator, clicking the ground button with a satisfied groan. “how are you, calla? sorry, i didn’t text you back, iris… well… she dropped my cell down the toilet, can you believe it?” 

Perhaps, in another life, they would have been close as sisters. There was the foundation for it, of course, the familial connection that arose from being daughters of Sparta. But war, and distance, had both separated them and made them kindred spirits all the same. Had Helen not brought them anguish simply by her very existence? Had she not turned Clytemnestra into a wife who had murdered her husband and Penelope into a brittle soul who thirsted for Odysseus and no one else? Had her beauty not launched a thousand ships and ruined so many more lives?

[ They still had this life, strange as it was, with memories of mortals that had never truly existed. ]

Now, however, as Calla walked with the other woman, their arms linked, she was thankful for Phoebe’s presence in her life. With most people, Calla was a curiosity, a health nut or a pioneer in her ways of living. She did not want for attention, but it was rare for her to make a deep and meaningful connection. In her life, now, Phoebe was enduring, steadfast, a perfect foil to Calla’s excitability.

A laugh escaped her throat at Phoebe’s whisper and Calla shook her head in amusement. “That sounds perfect,” she mused, hoisting her bag over her shoulder as they stepped into the elevator. Her brow furrowed. “I can believe it,” she stated, her tone quite wry as they stepped out into the sunlight that bathed Manhattan in its glow. “Have you purchased a new one yet? The new iPhone looks sexy with all of those cameras.” Phones, Calla had found, were expensive. She’d currently been using hers for nearly four years now; the battery was shot and at some point she knew she’d need to replace it.

He cared about life to such extremes. So yes, he was tired and hungry, but that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t attempt to squeeze every bit of excitement he could get out of his day to day. He cared about yoga, he cared about Calla, and he was going to give 110%, even when he barely felt like he was capable of 50. He shivered just a bit, and slipped on his sweatshirt that was pooled at his feet. He made sure his wild curls were pulled back by a thin, red headband, and he smiled, waiting for it all to begin.

“I wish I could be vegetarian. Maybe one day I will be. It’s just that some of the cheapest food in this city is meat.. burgers and that sort of thing. It’s a little easier for me to stay full that way. But hey! The meal you described sounds incredible. And filling. And perfect for these the cold we’re about to face.” He grins, nodding. “I’d love to! I think it’s my job as a nice jewish boy in New York City to share the wisdom of latke making! My mom and I are going to teach Ty, real soon. It’s going to be his first time meeting her… I’m really stoked. I hope she likes him.”

“It’s not for everyone. I try to recognize that. There’s no pressure,” she told him, the smile on her face genuine and the expression light. She had been a vegetarian since she was a child; Calla recalled visiting a farm upstate with her elementary school class only to realize that the cow she’d spent hours laving affection upon was to be killed the next day. She had not eaten any meat since then, save the occasional sushi indulgence. “But there’s a definite problem with food costs, absolutely. It’s disgusting that the most inexpensive items are the ones that aren’t…always as good for you.” She shook her head, thinking of just how much of her paycheck often went to purchasing food that met her standards – organic, local, and minimally processed. 

Calla knew nothing about Oliver’s mother but as he spoke of introducing her to his boyfriend, she hoped – for the sake of all of them – that Oliver’s mother was a patient being [ and that Tyson could tone it down when in front of her ]. She said nothing of the sort, however, and merely offered Oliver a sincere smile. “I’m sure it will go well,” she said soothingly. “I had latkes with a friend from middle school once. She served them with applesauce; I think they were one of the best things I’ve ever eaten.”

“Drinking’s not supposed to be healthy.” Dionysus replied, looking absolutely scandalised at such a bastardisation of his area of extreme expertise. “In fact, it’s supposed to be the exact opposite of that - I would know.” He looked at the vodka soda as though it deeply offended him, but said nothing else on the matter - preferring to act on it. “I have something way better - just wait.” He flitted around the bar that was his domain, making something that would preserve the nutritional integrity Calla seemed hell-bent on. “It’s like a Moscow Mule - but healthier. Kombucha instead of ginger beer, and no sugar. Kombucha and vodka are the worlds best kept secret taste combo.” 

He’d made her life hell for the hour or so he’d been at the class with Oliver, the least he could do was make a peace offering. Though that didn’t mean he’d go any easier on her tonight. “Oh, believe me, I don’t find that very hard to believe.” His smirk was wicked, and his eyebrow shot up in a very suggestive manner. Dionysus couldn’t see the personal benefits of yoga, but he did reap it’s secondary merits every night in bed with his boyfriend. “So what brings you here, then?” He said, starting on a drink for another one of the customers at the bar, but hovering near Calla. “From the constant phone-checking and the killer outfit I’m going to assume a date?” He wriggled his eyebrows excitedly.

Calla offered Tyson a half-smile, the corners of her mouth twitching while she shrugged one shoulder. “If you have organic wine, I might take a glass of that,” she said, her voice placating. She lifted the drink back to her lips and took a long pull on it, enjoying the feel of the carbonation as it moved over her tongue. Her ears perked up as she spoke of something else that might be healthier than the other sugary options at the bar. Her brow lifted and she nodded. “It sounds good,” she agreed, willing to try it. Calla did not drink often, but when she did, she usually had the same thing. Perhaps Tyson’s concoction would be worth the risk. She certainly hoped so.

Eyes widened and Calla became increasingly suspicious that Tyson was enjoying making her uncomfortable. She was not certain how she felt about that and she nodded briefly, slightly flustered about the clear allusions to the sex life of people she knew. “ Oh. Um. You’d know better than I would.” [ For all that Calla might be free-spirited, there were some things she preferred to keep private and those who graced her bed were on that list. There was also the fact that her bed had few visitors of late, but that knowledge was for her alone. ] At the question, she let out a brief exhale, slightly relieved that the conversation had taken a turn. “First date,” she said. “Just a drink, really, but we met on one of these apps and I’m fairly certain he’s going to stand me up.” She pursed her lips at the thought and as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a bit of light left her eyes.

The city was where Ella thrived. She was a New Yorker through and through. Growing up surrounded by skyscrapers made her feel safe. Even going to Harvard, situated in Cambridge, a quick train ride to a major city, was terrifying to her, at first. She needed to be in a place where everything happened, where she had influence. Where the whispers of secrets never stopped.

Ella rolled out her neck and shoulders, feeling the bones grind against each other, cracking slightly. She made a mental note to schedule a massage, soon. 

“Oh and my family certainly passed on a whopping amount of their trauma onto their precious little one.” She rolled her eyes, but it was true. It was passed down, and even though she pretended she had it all together, she knew that she didn’t. That’s why something like yoga, and meditation, was starting to help. “It’s helped with my business, even. I can stay more centered at work and not threaten to rip someone’s head off.”

Calla had spent so long in New York now that she could hardly recall living anywhere else. It was strange, sometimes, for her to enjoy the city so much when she thrived out of doors, near water. Even in the winter, the waves called to her and she spent many an early morning walking the rocky shores of Manhattan or Brooklyn in introspection. As the sun came up outside, her lips curved.

The smile turned into a wince at the sound of Ella’s bones grinding against each other. The yoga instructor bit the inside of her cheek. “Do you need me to re-align you?” she asked, worried that Ella would become injured during her class.

Her lips stayed shut at that admission, for Calla did not want to pry anymore than she may have already. She inclined her head and ran her hand through her hair and was pleased when the discussion on yoga continued. “I’m sure your employees like that,” she said with a smile on her face. “There are some sleep meditations I use that really make me sleep well. I’m always more pleasant when rested. Shall I pass them onto you?”