thunder bearer

Hera rolled her eyes. “One of these days, you’ll find yourself dangling off the edge of a cliff, and it’ll be up to me to save your sorry ass from falling to a very certain death. And I’ll make sure to remind you of all these times when you got on my ever lasting nerves as you slowly start to slip,” she said, a smile spreading over her face only for it to fall at his latest revelation. “Wait, you mean to tell me Pose isn’t thirty-eight? You could have fuckin’ fooled me, does he know he’s got that many grey hairs going on?”

“If I’m dangling from a cliff I for some reason cannot climb and you’re the only one around who can possibly save me, I have much larger issues than your sadistic whims, my dear wife,” Zeus laughed, barely able to even picture Hera trying to pull him up to safety. She may have been powerful, but rescuing a two-hundred-pound man with nothing but her own raw strength was another story entirely. “I’m going to tell him you said that. Now he’ll know that it isn’t just me who thinks he looks old as hell. All that stress and binge-drinking, it really gets to you.”

Hera’s lips drew into a thin line. “Of course you do.” Both of her arms extended, giving him a half-hearted shrug in return. “What can I say? The kids listen to me. I think your little frat pack was impressed; I hear they’ve been trying for months now to pull something like that over on you.” She grinned. “Face it, Zeus, I’m the one who runs this place. You’re just…well, you’re just for show.”

Zeus gave her a disappointed shake of his head. “Oh, Hera, Hera, Hera,” he tsked. “I don’t know what’s more pathetic, that you genuinely think you’re the one who ‘runs this place’ or that you think I would be offended by the insinuation that I’m just for show. That much was obvious. After all, I am the pretty one here. But also, the kids definitely lied to flatter you if they told you the frat pack’s never been able to pull that one off before. It’s a running gag, we always get them to make each other a little bit older. Pose is still pissed at me for getting them to make him thirty-eight.”

the guitar he owned never left his home. his hidden talent was kept hidden for as long as he could remember, it was rare for him to play somewhere other than the safety of wherever he was staying but he was beyond stressed and anxious about ichor’s silent nature. something was bound to happen, something big and it worried him. he found that playing the guitar relieved that stress from him and it was much safer medicine than drinking his heart away at a local bar. passersby’s observed his playing and even gathered around to listen to his sweet strumming. however, he wasn’t a beggar and accepted no form of payment whatsoever. after all, he was wearing a tom ford suit and a cartier watch. and yes, that was his bentley parked only a few feet away. his eyes shot up when the blonde male spoke to him. his brows knitted together before chuckling a bit, anthony stood and placed his guitar back into it’s case.  ❛ i have more than enough, thank you. just something i like to do once and a while and i agree wonderwall is a total shit song; and i’m not really in the mood to torture anyone tonight.  ❜  

expensive attire hardly deterred zeus from believing the man was a busker—for starters, because street performing and receiving gratuities for said street performing was hardly limited by socioeconomic class, but mostly because, well, while zeus himself was always impeccably dressed after amassing a small fortune during a few years spent as a pilferer of luxury goods, it used to be the case, in that brief period between leaving home as a reckless teenager and meeting his wife, that he was dirt poor but impeccably dressed because he had stolen it all. when the apparently not-busking-guitar-playing-man spoke, though, zeus cocked an eyebrow, frankly offended on behalf of oasis. “now, wait a second,” he said, holding up a finger in disapproval. “wonderwall is an excellent song; there’s a reason it was an anthem in the nineties, and why it grew so popular that it became a cliche. the reason people cringe at wonderwall is because it’s a brutally overplayed and oft poorly played song, not because it’s a bad one.”

It probably could have been considered callous, the way he and Poseidon spoke of their supposed comrades and allies at Olympus—like they were cattle, or worse, cargo. But Zeus had not survived ten years of espionage by being sentimental, and he frequently found himself rolling his eyes at the other spies who lacked his same detachment. “Assuming we can trust all the pilots flying the copters, of course,” he pointed out, leaning back in his seat with arms crossed over his chest. The whole situation was messy, to put it mildly; if he could, he would just round up the few spies he knew he could trust beyond a shadow of a doubt and have that team interrogate the rest—but after Odysseus’ betrayal, that number had shrunk to only three, and the rest of the agents in Olympus far outnumbered the four of them. The interrogations would take weeks, if not longer; too much time for there to be cross-communication. And with ICHOR led by a double agent herself, there was no telling how many Olympus agents she’d managed to get ahold of. “Honestly, I knew for certain we couldn’t possibly have gotten rid of all of the double agents during the bombing, so it wasn’t as though our location hadn’t already been compromised. But I should have spent more time trying to hunt down those that are left instead of...” He rolled his eyes, more at himself than Poseidon. “Geneva, I guess.”

She rolled her eyes; typical Zeus antics. “The university of what, idiocy? You’d be the founder.” The new revelation resulted in her face falling, eyes narrowing as she swatted his hand away. “Fuck you,” she hissed, the edge of playfulness still there in her voice. “Is this for me bribing forgery to put that you were forty-five on your fake passport?”

“We prefer the name University of Particular Intellect, thank you,” Zeus said, accompanied by a patented Zeus smirk-and-double-eyebrow-raise.™ “So you admit it! I knew that was you. The kids didn’t wanna talk, but I could tell from the look in their eyes that it was you who had intimidated them. Stop bullying the new agents, Hera, it’s unbecoming. And most of them are your children. Or, well, step-children, but good enough.”

“Don’t passive-aggressive at me, Pose,” Zeus countered, looking thoroughly unfazed as he took a seat opposite his co-captain and spread a few blueprints across the table. “I realize you’re probably getting all housewife on me for being late, but I had to go back to grab these, since I may or may not have stolen the tower blueprints as soon as I got back here to start preparing evacuation plans just in case. Call it paranoia, but hey, what else do you do when you’ve finally got a new home after your last one’s been blown up, right?” Already, there were several markings in red outlining routes to safety from the network locations. “Of course, the challenge is still finding a solid evacuation plan for the agents that they and their damn egos will actually follow. My vote is we just sleeping gas everyone and carry everyone up to the helipads on the roof, since that’d be the fastest way to get them evacuated anyway.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m kidding, obviously. Mostly. It is like herding cats.”

“She’s dead and didn’t talk to me before that, so no.”

“yikes. buzz kill. ah, well. i suppose you have an excuse, then. carry on.”

“i wouldn’t know, i try not to think about your physical appearance because it pisses me off,” he muttered, and then for the first time in a long time, he held up his hand, rejecting the drink that zeus offered him. he didn’t want to drink anymore tonight, because, well, even an avid drinker like himself recognized when m o r e of something was a hindrance instead of a plus. “i’ve had too much tonight alright i’m gonna be fucking dead in the morning, and i’ve got shit to do…do you know how long it’s been since i’ve had a hangover. i think i was 23.” he abruptly stopped his pacing and for a moment, he was either going to slam his fist into the table again, or slump into the chair. and his body was tight and tense until he made his decision and sat down, body sagging a bit as he propped his hands up with his elbows on the wooden surface and kneaded his temples. “don’t refer to yourself as daddy, that’s creepy. besides, you’re not my dad there’s no definite proof in the mythology…” he paused and shook his head. “i don’t want to tell you what happened, because i don’t want to sit through an ‘i told you so’ speech, so…we can skip that part, and i’ll just admit right now that yes, you were right.” he sighed. “but i filed the report already, so you’re going to find out soon enough. ran into mavis and some man, at a bar, i drank a lot, i got fucking paranoid…wanted to be on the safe side, that’s the long story short.” and really, there was a lot packed into that short story. because one, soter had felt threatened by mavis, which was previously not something that had ever happened, despite zeus’ constant grumblings about it. secondly, some man, said with the most disdain he could muster at this point, which must have sounded like jealousy. he wasn’t jealous. well…maybe he had been, yes, but moreso mad. mad that she’d rubbed his face in the guy. a guy that he couldn’t help but notice proved that she had very similar taste in men. “so here i am, on the safe side.”

“you have strong feelings about my physical appearance?” zeus’ eyebrows shot up, his expression somewhere between surprised and impressed. soter was clearly in love with him. he couldn’t understand how soter was so blind to his obvious infatuation, except that soter was usually blind to things close to his heart, like the treachery of that redheaded bitch. there was equal surprise at soter’s refusal of the beer, but the expression faded just as quickly as it came, warded off with a shrug and another sip from zeus’ own glass bottle. “fair enough. just drink your water, old man. or are you so old you’ve forgotten how to avoid them?” a less experienced agent may not have been able to keep the concern off their face, but zeus’ expression remained imperceptible as he watched soter’s every frustrated, twitchy movement. what the hell happened? “it isn’t creepy. don’t let little girls with daddy issues and daddy kinks turn it into something creepy. it’s supposed to be humorous,” he scoffed, as though he wasn’t very okay with girls with daddy issues and daddy kinks referring to him as such. “and anyway, if i promise not to gloat, will you at least tell me what happened?” but as the story continued—or began, really, following that lovely preface, it really took every fiber of zeus’ being not to gloat. he knew it. he fucking knew it. speak (or think, apparently) of the devil and she will appear and oh, god, zeus knew it. of course, every drop of smugness quickly transmogrified into a fury that, only a few weeks ago, zeus had not felt in a very, very long time, yet between this and the bombing of their appalachian headquarters, it had become all too familiar, almost a comfort. but it was quickly branching off from acceptable protective best friend fury, wanting to stomp on the heart of any bitch who dared stomp on his friend’s, and into a vicious, viscous violence, a need for vengeance twisting in his gut the likes of which zeus could only attribute to the raw bloodlust of hades. he registered, distantly, that that was probably something he should be concerned about, but that minuscule subconscious of a conscience stood no match against the louder voices in his head that told him to rip mavis limb from limb, atom from atom—that heartbreaking, traitorous cunt. “‘some man’?” zeus repeated—spat, really. “one of her fellow fucking terrorists, i’m sure. god, don’t be jealous, are you fucking kidding me? kill that bitch. we should have killed her before. you should have killed her right then. it would have been so fucking poetic—bang, bang, my baby shot me down, bang, bang. because that’s what those ICHOR bitches do, soter. they toy with your fucking feelings. they make a sport of it. i mean, for fuck’s sake, hyperion is their leader, and we all learned how she played atlas.” he shook his head and took another swig of beer—a long one, buying time to collect himself. “i can’t believe she’s here. she had better pray to whatever cavernous asshole of hell she crawled out of that i don’t catch her out and about.”

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to talk with your mouth full?”

he was a native to the snow, to the cold in general. but the breeze of the london evening was something he could never familiarize himself with. the breeze kissed his cheeks, leaving them red. he hated the feeling yet he couldn’t bring himself to go inside and enjoy the warmth of whatever a cafe could give him. he sat outside occupying himself on a bench with his guitar in hand. he was leaned back and the guitar fit inside his grasp perfectly. he strummed a tune, humming along quietly but never daring to sing loudly (he was talented but sensitive about it).   ❛ anyway, here’s wonderwall. ❜    

“oh god.” zeus wasn’t one to interact much with strangers on the street—the rest of olympus seemed to have constant run-ins with strangers and make new friends on the street, but for an experience agent that read like blatant signs of lack of experience and training. as much as he didn’t want nor entirely care to reprimand the youth of the organization because damn, didn’t that make him sound old, it was such a clear breach of security protocol that zeus couldn’t help but roll his eyes and admittedly think less of them as agents. that said, agent or not, zeus was definitely not the type to interact with whom he perceived to be a busker; he’d grown up wealthy enough that the poor were invisible to him, especially after years of living in new york. but that one song—kids today were sick of it, never mind people who were actually alive and mentally conscious enough to remember when it got overplayed on the radio. “listen, mate, if you’re trying to score some cash, that’s not the song to play.”

“contour skills,” zeus repeated, monotonous, staring flatly at aphrodite as she spoke. if only she weren’t so damn hot, then he could just walk away and live his life in peace. instead he was stuck here, listening to her drone on about things he couldn’t care less about. sigh. “my theory is that overconsumption of fish and chips is why brits all have terrible teeth anyway. so maybe it’s for the best.”

“Oh my God, are you a trekkie too?” Artemis questioned with geeky glee. “I’m just saying…y’know, if you are, we could have some father/daughter bonding over Captain Kirk and his many adventures. And we could talk about my conspiracy theories, like how I think Tupac, MJ, and Elvis are just chilling on an island somewhere because they refused to be apart of society’s fucked up system.” She explained and she herself turned back to her search for what she really wanted. Pinky Floyd and Queen were just two records she was stuck between but really all she really needed to leave with today was Billie Holiday. “Whatever, same difference,” She said while holding her hands up in defense. “So you’re saying, Animals basically determines whether you’re normal or fucked up with daddy issues? Interesting..now I’m kinda sad I’m not prepared for it. It’d prove my theory further that after years of hand-me-downs and half-assed promises, I finally cracked. All I needed was a little lovin’, for you to remember my birthday and to give me a better belated gift than eternal virginity and a bunch of random women to frolick around in the forest with. Which, by the way thanks for giving me the gift receipts to, because I returned those hella quick.”

“What.” Zeus stared at her like she’d grown a second head (or, perhaps, had begun speaking in Klingon). Him? A Trekkie? He didn’t know whether to laugh or take offense at the accusation, that’s how absurd it was. “No, I’m quoting Red Hot Chili Peppers lyrics, it’s a reference to—” he rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying his best to be the picture of a tired and disappointed father figure. “Have you really never heard that conspiracy theory? The moon landing was staged, it was shot in a basement in Hollywood...” He snorted and tucked the LP collection under his arm, raising an eyebrow at his so-called daughter. “My, my, what a misnomer you have—Artemis was actually a feminist,” he tutted. “And her eternal virginity was a choice and a testament of her own agency that didn’t necessarily exist in Greek, particularly Athenian, culture.” And then, with a wink, he added, “You know, none of your siblings turned out so bitter and pouty. Take a lesson from one of them.”

“then maybe you shouldn’t come home at all hours of the night,” he snipped, perhaps a little grateful for the banter, lest it put off the inevitable explanation he’d owe both zeus and atlas when he returned to base. he sighed heavily, dropped the hand gun back on the table and then leaned against it. the safe house was sustainable living for about a week, though he hadn’t planned on staying that long at all. just long enough to call in his sightings, report his whereabouts and deem it safe enough to exit. he subconsciously rubbed his right knuckles on the inside of his left palm, barely noticing the dull sting of the scraped skin. “under control enough,” he said roughly, and then frowned deeply, eyes squinting, as zeus walked away from the door in his typical flair. “don’t you strut like that towards me. you’re not fucking zoolander.” he pinched the bridge of his nose, and shook his head. he hadn’t even gotten in a fight- he’d been moreso beating himself up, for lack of better phrase. he’d spent a good ten minutes wailing on the walls in frustration. soter very, very rarely lost his composure to such an extent, and he was more than relieved that no one had witnessed his break down. “you know me…i just love fucking cricket.” teeth ground, he pushed off from where he was leaning on the counter to pace the floor again, his own tension palpable. the last time he’d been this frustrated with himself was in the weeks after Jiala. and this, much like that instance, he was very reluctant to talk about. because it meant dealing with his own problems, and in typical soter fashion, he vastly preferred to deal with everyone else’s problems than his own.

“of course not. i’m much better looking than zoolander. besides, if i’m anyone, it’d be hansel,” zeus scoffed, feigning offense at the very comparison. “and i’m not strutting. this is just how i walk.” burning with curiosity if nothing else, he hopped onto the counter, legs swinging idly, and watched soter pace the safe house, tension written in the line of his shoulders and the hard set of his jaw. not tension—anger. zeus’ brow furrowed as soter continued pacing, an expression he would probably give soter shit later for causing because, you know, ugh, wrinkles. unfortunately, as much as zeus liked to feign the ability to read soter’s mind, he couldn’t even begin to imagine what it was that had set him off so furiously or what could have caused the retreat to a safe house. “well, you can’t go picking fights over cricket, soter. it’s not like it’s rugby or something.” he slid off the counter and walked over to the refrigerator, investigating its contents—aha. perhaps not the most productive use of space when stocking a safe house, but an important inclusion all the same. alas, though, no bottle opener in sight. nothing if not a frat boy at heart, zeus cracked two beers open against the counter, then slid one over to the edge to invite soter to take a drink. “alright, alright. tell daddy what happened, he can fix it,” he sighed, taking a sip of his own drink.

“Who are you, again?”