#stephanos.about

alternate title, fatherhood

this would be the second time stephanos would make such an attempt.

( theo james, bisexual, cismale he/him, support ) «—◦—→ well met, STEPHANOS GARDYNE! the divine born child of HECATE. your name sings in our ears! it’s been 42 years and now they have answered the song in their veins. before they answered the song, they were a CORRECTIONAL COOK and were living in MAINE, UNITED STATES. history and myth will remember them for their NURTURING NATURE, DISCERNMENT, and CONTENTMENT but will also magnify their INVESTMENT IN OTHERS, OFT-MISPLACED HOPE, and NOSINESS if it causes them to falter. now it is time for the world to sing their name with them.

theadora, firstborn polous-gardyne

the her-ricane 🌀

wild-haired, wide-eyed. the eldest sister. esoteric curiosity and precision to find the answers she seeks.

highly likely to seek involvement in magical or mystical things, if not just to settle the mind's hunger for details that'd elude her otherwise.

has her mother's eyes (cold and commanding) and her father's hair (naturally buoyant, fluffed) but treats her eyes like her father's (warm stares turned cold) and her hair like her mother's (letting it grow, which leaves it wide and wild).

getting up the next morning, stephanos rolled upright, and stared down at

his hands.

there it is again. that pleasant prison, contentment.

stephanos wasn't fully aware of his return to complacency, until dawn bled through the blinds of another bedroom. adam's? prospero's? he wasn't sure which, and even that was routine, gentle collisions in some configuration of two or three, or even chasing the scent of the one missing by sleeping in their space. the schedule was loose, but it was present; meals at similar times, study at similar times, infirmary work at similar times, rest, things wholly aside from rest, and then rest once more. a pattern. a beautiful pattern, mind; a comfortable pattern, a warm pattern, with teeth that sank in and pulled, tugging, affectionately. a pattern that'd make many similarly-configured men fluster.

a pattern just complex enough to elude stephanos' perception, until he was surrendered to it, utterly.

a pattern that could trap him. for another twenty years, perhaps? it'd be a happy few decades, certainly. strange powers and regular vacations, punctuated with danger and desperate measures, only to return home and fall into each others' arms, as if the purpose of the excursions was purely to sweeten the taste of each other.

a pattern that needed to be challenged, before the door would close and he'd never find it again, until he didn't know where all the time had went.

word had gotten around about praying to their parents; an odd notion, seeing as they'd met them in person, not so long ago. the compass-pointed round of his own laurel crown, his first ritual circle, hung from his door as a wreath. welcoming and warding, in equal measure. and he had to wonder, would he pray to hecate? did he feel something strongly enough to do so?

ruminating on the topic, he did have some thoughts to share. perhaps not as a prayer, as a devotional, but as a conversation. reaching out, as much as reaching up. an adult child attempting to meet a long-estranged parent on more middle ground.

with the taste and composition of adrian's honeycakes in mind, stephanos set to work.

cooking could be compared to rituals, to alchemy, to magic itself, in a way. transformation, transfiguration. clear steps to achieve a result. afflicting his will on reality, creating sensation and sustenance from more base components.

stephanos called the elements around his own kitchen, circle in place around the space, and set to work. as a professional cook would return home to help in a holiday dinner, stephanos spoke into the space, as part of the ritual. sharing space with hecate, should she decide to join him, or merely accept the experience as form of devotional; however she would choose. his part, was to offer. how or whether she chose to receive, was her decision.

"three seems to be an important number for us," he'd began, as he worked through his mise en place. chopping, counting, weighing, setting aside. everything in its place. in this case, three courses. a meal to be shared. a family gathering, of sorts; there were plates to be set aside for merrick, as leftovers were as much an important part of gatherings as the meal itself. "I cannot help but wonder if that is your influence, active or otherwise." was he intrinsically drawn to triplicate? did rita want to stop at three kids, or had he simply completed another triangle? was he always meant to be with two people at once? "one can even say I've known three sons of hecate, including myself." the other only by word and the wake of his actions, that page still in his book. "but I try to keep in mind that thinking of a pattern makes us seek to repeat it. the fortune teller implies that a man with a blue hat will change your life, so you seek this man out, and feel changed. you own a car of a certain make and model, only to begin to see it everywhere." patterns seen, as much as mere attention and awareness.

the effort progressed to an appetizer; brief research informed the menu. a salad of arugula with charred onion and roasted garlic, dressed in a honey and pomegranate vinaigrette. specifically configured, but also balanced for taste; he did intend to enjoy the meal himself, aside from the saved portions.

tossing everything in the bowl, mixing the dressing, he continued-- "as someone apparently destined for crossroads, I find myself more attuned to cul-de-sacs." endpoints. loops. moving pleasantly and endlessly in a circle, with the exit in sight, but not at all desired. "are these points of transition? does repetition charge the eventual exit? is the purpose the crossing, if those moments are so brief between long bouts of stability?" not exactly light dinner conversation, but this wasn't the table quite yet-- this was the kitchen. politeness would give way to creation, to transformation, to transition. most cooks he knew didn't keep it polite in the kitchen. he kept it orderly, not soft or silent.

with a brief detour to dessert -- as he wanted to use his oven to bake, rather than risk a mishap with his enchanted 'stovetop' -- stephanos folded the lavender and the poppy seeds into the lemon loaf batter. he'd intended to combine the experience of a glass of lavender lemonade with the cool bite of a lemon poppy seed muffin, and the recipe was more of a tester than a known factor. the offering was as much in the making, as sharing the space, as it was in the dessert itself; if failure prevented divine affection, then why try at all? as one must fail, in order to learn how to better and best proceed.

glaze cooling and loaf baking, he arrived at the matter of the entree. milk-simmered potato mash, and cinnamon-spiced pork, paired with apples and carrots. the menu tended a bit sweet, but there didn't appear to be many savory offerings to hecate. "do all gods have a sweet tooth?" he asked, daring to tease-- "or is it just the titans?" his grin was as private as hecate would prefer, whether she'd witness it or leave it on record. "that aside, what I'm reaching out to say, is this." replacing the cake with the pork, he put desert to chill as he begun work on the potatoes. "you marked the transition of my life from fatherhood, to that of a guide for others. not the hand that rears, but the mind that lends its learned experience to others, so that mistakes don't have to be repeated." what mistakes has he made? far too many to count, most likely. "what I must ask now -- or, more likely, talk through with you present -- is where to go next. I have to resist the temptation to accept what I have, and not reach for more." stephanos' caution has always led to contentment, happiness in what one has, rather than what one doesn't. his hands on the oven handle, he turned to face the middle of the room. imagining her there, to continue the conversation. "I love what I have. I appreciate what I have. attempting to attain more-- more knowledge, more power, more capability, is not a disrespect to all that I currently have, and all I currently am." an affirmation, or if he dared it-- an oath. "I thought about inviting adam and prospero, or even merrick, but I realized this was a conversation for us to have, ourselves. or me, to the imagined effect of you, so I can process how to proceed."

rather than relying on a timer, he'd attempted a minor effect; the same alarm that'd alert him of someone crossing the threshold, applied to the meat reaching a certain temperature, at its deepest. pulling the pork out to rest, stephanos returned to the cake to get it glazed and cooling once more.

"I offer this evening of conversation. companionship as I would my own mother. sharing the act and effort of crafting a meal, of sharing one's affection and creativity through sensation and nourishment." nodding as he pronounced each word specifically, deliberately, carefully. "I offer a serving of this meal. I offer a seat at the table, to share it." salad, tongs into bowls. potatoes scooped, pork sliced and laid across the bed of them. "I offer time shared, open thoughts, and consideration." loaf sliced, and it smelled just right.

three courses. three portions of each. one for stephanos, one for hecate, and one to be set aside for the brother he's met. a pattern that seemed more right to maintain.

"in return, I request clarity. from myself, or from guidance at your hand. for I fear the ease with which I return to complacency, as much as I understand and welcome the comfort."

with the meal served, stephanos raised his hands, and closed the circle.

passing by the library, stephanos often finds one person researching or another. he's there for recipes, or magic, or myths; selfish interests, often enough. he's spent a fair amount of time chasing trails early in his tenure, but he was quick to discover that faster rabbits more often caught the threads. the fates had dealt more interesting or more dangerous tapestries to those with more life ahead of them than behind. so, he's become more accustomed to letting the others race ahead. joining when he has time or the mind, when someone remembers to inform or ask. it's another quiet life he's found for himself; as quiet as either of his partners or his dog would leave it.

having caught someone with a question, as usual, he helped where he could; for one reason or another, likely the noted curse coming into effect, they'd found some information -- but not enough. wanting to give the man space to process, he stepped away, continuing after finding what his own purpose for arriving was. apparently, shortly after, a more important discovery was made-- one important, vital. lauded, even. just a few seeming moments after he'd departed.

and, again, the fates had decided. those whose hands upon the world would turn, and those who were meant to watch. comfortably, perhaps, from a balcony not too far away. with a full home and a full heart. more than one could have ever asked for, truly.

if they need him, or until they need him, he'll be there.

the first stone was somewhere between a mishap and a happy accident.

when his partners returned from their shopping trip, arms laden with new gadgets and gizmos, one specific object went to him. an odd little iron fish. stephanos thought little of it, at first. it went in the pot when boiling or braising, when making soup or broth or anything that'd involve an amount of liquid. iron was an important part of anyone's diet.

them, especially, since they were always bleeding in some way or another.

giannis, thirdborn polous-gardyne

the mirror 🎭

surrounded by women (who loved him! mostly!), giannis sought most of his identity directly from the source. determined to reflect his father in as many aspects as he could, giannis didn't take as much time to discover himself, as he took to discover what he could of the man that helped raise him.

severely likely to seek involvement in mystical matters, only if he discovers how deeply involved his father is.

living apart from his role model, giannis is on the hunt for a new identity. the journey to discover himself leads him in too many different directions, too many capacities untested.

his arrival at camp for the holiday may lead to him 'borrowing' the stylings or mannerisms of one or a few demigods. be warned.