#olympiansevent

So as he waited for a doctor or a nurse to at least ask him what was wrong, he kept telling himself those same words, repeating them in his head like a mantra as he kept remembering the incidents that had lead him to where he was: the fire, the panic, the screaming, the smoke. It could’ve been worse.

He looked at the clock on the wall. It was late and he had to head home. Jack would be pissed off if he came home late and woke him up, right? He didn’t want to deal with someone yelling at him after everything...He was tired and sore, his throat was dry and itchy. He wanted to go home.

“i um...Excuse me....” He coughed, covering his mouth with the back of his hand, rubbing his eye with the other. “Sorry to bother you but um...I-I dropped my phone. I don’t...I-I need to....I have to call someone....They don’t know where I am and I....I need to tell Jack...I-I need....I need a phone.” He tried to catch a nurse’s attention but the emergency room was swarming with people and he had always been good at staying out of sight.

It could be worse.

The invitation was made to someone else’s name, a man deserving of being in such luxurious places despite his reluctance to come back to the society that called upon his name like sirens to tired sailors. Evan had simply stumbled upon it by mistake.

Are you going? He had asked, eyes full of wonder of what such events might be, forever impressed by the opulence and the decadency of events meant for those with money spilling out of their pockets and pearls decorating their necks.

He wants to believe it wasn’t pity what drove Jack to invite him along. A decision that now he half regrets, feeling odd amongst the luxury of the event. He doesn’t belong here and he is very aware of it but there is a part of him that doesn’t want to be chased out, a part of him that refuses to be intimidated by the champagne flutes and conversations about topics he does not understand, so he sticks to something simple when he tries to stablish a conversation with the first person he sees:

“Have you tried the truffles? The ones with specks of gold? I had no idea chocolate could taste like that.” And yes he sounds out of place but he has learned is better to embrace his place as an outsider than forever stand alone in the shadows.

Kane liked parties well enough - music, drinking - and he liked the aftermath even better. He always made it out with a pocket full of watches, wallets and rings pawned off those robbed first of their wits by the preceding thief of alcohol.

The schmoozing was just practice, really. He was used to lying directly to people’s faces, he did it almost more than he told them the truth.

But, like anything else, the way to lower suspicions is simply to play the field, be present. Not that he thought this particular group was distant enough from him to let him get away with anything while they were fresh and sober and responding, but it was worth the shot.

“It’s kind of pitiful, all this standing around.” Kane muses as he leans against the wall.

      Change was great all right, it was a beautiful thing and it helped business thrive. Call her a vulture, but she was just being a good business woman like she always had. That night, she’d sat on her window sill and called each one of the numbers in that little book, chatted away with old faces, and enjoyed the way that the moon illuminated the skyline. Wendy had only closed the old flip phone and tossed it somewhere on her bed when she had rounded up every last one of Old Olympus’ jilted customers, and why not? They had been hers first. She held no hard feelings when they decided to stay on old ground, she’d welcome them back into her rounds with opening arms as long as they provided the money, and a shred of their shifty loyalty. They’d even provided some of her sister’s customers that wished to end their membership with Old Olympus. Frankie, I love you, but this is business.

      The next day, business was booming. In between the morning rush, and people traffic, Wendy’s lucrative business had bore fruit to one of the best paydays she had seen in a long time.The flutter of a butterfly’s wings can cause a typhoon halfway across the world. Business had been so great that morning that she decided to give herself the afternoon off...she didn’t think Hades would mind, her revenue was never lacking, and today, she’d had an extra kick. So here she was, watching the day pass by, and sipping on a cold glass of lemonade. She was at this Bulgarian restaurant near fourteenth street, and she’d expected a peaceful lunch. If nothing about her life was peaceful, why would her lunch be any different?