Next Trump died. Maxo made you feel heartbroken with the image of a grieving father wallowing in misery and self destruction. But it was all still early, and most people didn't even notice. Trump died from neglect. Dan never saw him after adoption day. The server didn't come together like they did Juanaflippa. It was all very quiet. To this day, not many people in the community could tell you anything about Maxo's kid. About how hard his father bargained for his life between the gods. About how he failed. Trump was a whisper in the wind that only his father and those who watched him could bother to hear.

Then Tilín. At this point, the server was becoming more accustomed to the eggs. They were becoming attached. When Tilín died, it was depressing in every sense of the word. Quackity was somber, he barely spoke a word when he heard what had happened. A grave was built for Tilín by others with a heavy heart. There was no spectacle, and this time most people were involved in some way. Luzu came on to meet Tilín, and had to deal with that grief of being told his child was dead, something so heavy on him that he shut down completely. In life and in death, Tilín was the embodiment of sadness.

hey IRL moot. I’m super glad that you know that Hermes and Ares are siblings. 

And that I didn’t have to tell you and watch you speedrun the six stages of grief 

Regardless. 

Careful. Slow. Steady. 

Steady…

Ares grit his teeth, a lone drop of sweat traveling down his brow as he traced the paintbrush’s tip over the surface of the delicate seashell pinched between his massive fingers. 

Steady…

“Hello, darling!”

In an instant, the seashell was crushed to dust in his fist, paint smeared over his palm. Ares whipped his head around to glare at his brother, fluttering over his shoulder. 

“Hermes!” His roar rattled the mountain, and Hermes very wisely shot up another ten feet, out of Ares’ grasp. 

“What, whaaat, darling? I didn’t know you were…” Hermes gestured to the mess. “…doing whatever that is? What were you doing?”

Ares fought the urge to snap the paintbrush in half- or perhaps shove it up Hermes’ ass. Or both, in that order. “I was trying to make something nice for Aphrodite,” he growled. “So I would appreciate privacy.” 

“Ooooh…” Hermes sucked in a rather patronizing breath, his eyes half-squinted and the barest bit apologetic. “Sorryyyy.”

Ares grumbled and sat back down, picking up another seashell from the bucket he’d gathered. “Now, if you’d excuse me. I have work to do.”

Hermes didn’t leave; merely fluttered over his head like some obnoxious pigeon, watching his hands move. “Hmm. You’re not as bad as I thought you’d be, darling.”

Ares continued grumbling under his breath. 

“Rude.” Hermes turned away, sticking his nose in the air. “And here I was about to offer you help with your little gift.”

That caught Ares’ attention. The war god slowly lifted his gaze to Hermes. “…what?”

Hermes grinned, flipping over so he was hovering upside-down in front of Ares. He was probably spending too much time with the winions again. “Just thinking, darling- you may make her a beautiful gift, but I have zero doubts in my mind that your presentation of it would impress her.”

Ares’ brow furrowed. “What is your meaning?”

“How were you going to give it to her?”

Area squinted at him. “…I was simply going to…give it to her.”

“Well, exactly. You need to deliver it with some pizzaz. And I would know, I’m the definition of pizzaz!” Hermes chortled. “At least wear something nice. She’s probably gotten used to seeing you in your armor by now.” 

Ares huffed, but looked down at his armor. He practically slept in his gear. “And what’s your suggestion?” 

He regretted the question as Hermes gave an excited little “oh!” and zoomed off- only to return seconds later, with an odd piece of clothing in his hands. 

“Give the seashells a rest, and try that on.”

Ares still seemed rather suspicious, but he begrudgingly set the shells down and took the clothing. 

“…it seems a little small…”

Ares grit his teeth, standing as stiff as a corpse. “I don’t like turtled necks. They’re too short in some places and too long in others.” 

“Hmmm.” Hermes thoughtful expression vanished, replaced by a sly smirk. “I think Aphrodite would like it, though.” 

“…you think so?”