#crewfromcapulet

“Yes I do! Lovely guy, very fun to be around! Very helpful, both him and Quinn!” They had after all answered all of her questions about this new place she was in.

Apollo stared morosely at the grand doors that led out of the castle that was his home. A scowl marred his expression, and arms lay firmly crossed over his chest, letting it be known to all who saw him how displeased he was with the most recent "task" his father had given him: a diplomatic mission to a neighboring kingdom, one ruled by none other than his uncle Hades.

Rather than facing his brother himself nor summoning the man to the palace to deal with whatever law or agreement or whatever sort of boring documents that had to be discussed, Zeus was sending Apollo off. "Consider it as training, to prepare you for the day you inherit the crown," had been his father's reasoning.

Apollo swallowed a groan. He hated the heavy political talks. He disliked the role that has been dumped onto him. And even more so, he hated that of all places, he was being sent off to Hades' kingdom - a place that he'd often be described to be boring, gloomy, and dark. Neither of the three being thongs that he liked. Not to mention that the journey there would take forever.

💛 a moodboard about our muses’ relationship

//The Ghost King and his Significant Annoyance

It was a rare occurrence, especially for one of the blades she loved, because there was not a time when the blades where not taken care of with the utmost care and love from Viper. After all, why would you have the knives if you where not going to take care of them?

But once in a while, someone got in a hit at just the right spot, or she had missed something in the caring for them. And a weapon got damaged. Or broken. And it always hurt her soul to see it.

Knocking on the door to the house before peeking in, glancing around for a second. “Hello? Anyone here? I’d ask if I can come in but that ship has sailed.”

Send ‘fly on the wall’ for a Drabble of my muse talking to someone else about your muse

@crew-from-capulet

“So--”

“If you know what’s good for you, shut your trap, Ira,” snarled Marin, shooting the annoying shadow that loomed over her shoulder a particular scathing glare.

Silence carried for a good while. Long enough that Marin relaxed herself, her muscles easing from their strained position (ready to fight Rosie’s “hound”; though she knew that it would only ever be her doing the fighting) and her focus centering on her current commission. The silence was maintained long enough that as Marin carefully sculpted the soft graceful features of the statuette, she flinched when Ira’s rumbling tone sourced from her front.

“She seems nice,” was all the gago had to say. He stood in front of her work table, hands clasped behind his back, head tilted in an angle that many would find familiar in their mutts. He was the poster boy of the word “innocent”, but she knew him long enough to tell by the crinkle in his eyes that the ass was smiling.

Marin huffed. “She is.” Hopefully, he would drop it now that she gave him an actual answer.

Surprise. He didn’t.

“You talked with her for quite a while.”

“Bwiset ka - ha! I know you’re practically starved for interaction but that doesn’t mean you can just listen in on people’s conversations!”

Ira continued on, not at all commenting, nor even flinching, at her outburst. “You allowed her to approach even though you were working on that figurine of yours.” He nodded his head towards the partially featured little figure set on her desk, as if she needed a reminder of her workload. “You never allow people to interrupt you.”

And yet here you are, interrupting me. That was what she wanted to say - what she would have said if this were just any other land-dweller Ira was nosying about. What she ended up saying (embarrassing enough) was: “I like talking to her. Is that so much of a shock?”

He arced a brow. 

Marin rolled her eyes in silent defeat. Yeah - even she knew how off the norm that was. Since the very day that Rosie and Parisa had dragged her half-burnt and half-dead ass in to the shop, interacting with her was a guarantee to be sent to a hospital totting a whole chunk of flesh missing from your person. It was why she chose this position: an artist; a crafter for all of Rosie’s magical little knick-knacks. It kept her in her comfort zone and out of customers’ flesh - most of the time.

Had she been how she usually was, Blade would have just been another bloody tally in her track record of maimings. But she didn’t act how she usually was with Blade. (And that scared her.)

“Look, like you said, she’s nice. She’s not annoying, okay? And because of that I don’t mind having her drop by once in a while to interrupt my day,” she said, annoyed. “Now, you nosy mutt, leave me be.”

There was that damned crinkle again. Bastard was all smiles - looking far too much like his twin in doing so. “I see that you like her enough that she is now a muse for you.”

What?

She focused back on the statuette and, sure enough, the features she had carved out on the would-be tranquility charm held a glaring resemblance to a certain werewolf in her life.

Daylight fatigues Alexander like few things do. His entire biology screams against being active in the daytime, even though all the blackout curtains in his home are drawn and casting the entire place into darkness. Most of the time he gives in to this desire, but today he’s up reading Victor’s new brief about hunter activity in Gruene, Texas. Why the governing vampire can’t take care of that problem, Alexander doesn’t know, but she will get an earful when--

his head tilts sharply toward a noise that, however faint, shouldn’t be there. It could be his cat, Napoleon, getting into something he isn’t supposed to, but his instincts are firing, screaming at him to go check up on it. His cane is resting next to him and he grabs it, padding silently in the direction he thinks the noise came from. After poking his head in a few rooms, he finds nothing, but on the last one, he spots a man. Alexander sweeps into the room without making a noise, gaining on the man almost instantly and pressing the bottom end of the cane against his back, anchoring him in place.

It’s been a week since Ulysses has been on land, merely observing and trying to gather as much information as he can about this area. It did not take him long to realize he was on an island, one that was isolated to a degree because he did not sense the Athenian cultural norms. There was a heavy military influence, he noted as he often had to avoid long marching bands of men wearing heavy artillery, perhaps as practice. 

The sea monster was an expert in blending in, however so he acclimated the best he could, finding spare artillery when he wanted to go unnoticed, but after a while he became exhausted and found a nice lake to cool off.