milliways_bar | (no subject)

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There is dust on his face, in his eyes, in his hair, on his clothing.

(He's spent the past months roaming.

I will remember and not be unmindful of Apollo who shoots afar.

No destination in mind, no end in sight.

As he goes through the house of Zeus, the gods tremble before him and all spring up from their seats when he draws near, as he bends his bright bow.

He just had to go.

But Leto alone stays by the side of Zeus who delights in thunder; and then she unstrings his bow, and closes his quiver, and takes his archery from his strong shoulders in her hands and hangs them on a golden peg against a pillar of his father's house.)

He hasn't been here in what feels like an age.

He doesn't stay inside (he never stays), instead taking the quickest route out the back door, towards the lake.

(He needs the space.)

(He's missed it.)

[ tiny tag: apollo ]

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Puck probably shouldn't be outside. It's not as safe as the bar, for him-- there being any number of things to fear from the woods.

Caution, however, has never been his strong suit.

Therefore, there is a slight figure watching Apollo from atop a big rock by the lake, with the precarious posture of someone about to take flight.

"Kalispera," Apollo calls down the way, long legs shifting with unusual grace as he makes his way across the green.

"The air's good," he adds, following a short pause. (The way the statement is delivered - let alone the statement itself - suggests that speaking isn't something he's done in a while.)

"And a good even to you," Puck returns, relaxing slightly-- but only slightly-- at the word and at his approach.

He smiles; it has teeth in it, even in the darkness.

"I find it often is."

Murmured, and if Puck were the sort to be hesitant he would sound it now.

He's still watching, albeit not quite as obviously as before.

"Are you planning on taking advantage of it?"

It's plain and simple curiosity. A little childish, perhaps, but generally well-intentioned.

He smiles a little brighter at that.

"I take advantage rather oftener than I ought, I expect."

Apollo raises his eyebrows.

(Sparks come back one at a time, little bits and pieces of composure.)

"Oh?"

A glance away, and a fluid, easy shrug-- easier perhaps than it should be.

"... Have we met?"

"Maybe."

He cants his head to one side, as if in thought.

"I don't think so."

He laughs.

"Very well. I thought to ask."

"I suppose it's important."

A beat, and he offers up a mock salute.

"Apollo."

Puck blinks.

"Robin Goodfellow."

Melpomene's down by the lake, not really doing anything. Just staring down, as she often does.

Behind her, she sees the reflection of someone she knows, and turns.

(She'd never known him as well as the others. Still, he's a familiar face.)

Tragedy in general was something he'd never grown to like (possibly because he had had enough of it already), but it wasn't something he faulted Melpomene for.

He stops a short ways away, gangling limbs recollecting themselves into a whole.

"Kalispera, Melpomene."

"Hello," she says, simply.

"It's been a while."

"Has it?"

It's not sarcasm that causes him to respond so quickly.

"I suppose so. I feel like it's been a while since I've seen anyone."

There's a good dose of irony in her voice as she scans his dusty face.

"Yes, certainly looks like it."

He reaches up to brush his cheek with the back of his hand, leaving a smear of dust.

A little sheepishly: "Haven't gotten the chance to clean up yet."

"Where have you collected all that dust, exactly?"

"Many places," he says.

"Any place that there is dust to be collected."

"You'd have to stay there for a while, to collect all that," she says, flicking a speck of dust from the cloth on his arm.

She has missed her nephew and Demeter has been not around Milliways that much of late, far too much pain for those she cares for.

Yet she spots him enter and follows him, wrapping her black cloak tight around her,

"Oh Apollo. Where have you been?"

"Around," he says, after some careful consideration.

"I'm not sure."

Another pause.

"I've been running."

Once she's close enough, she hugs him tightly,

"From what?"

"Myself. Other people. Things."

He leans his head on her shoulder, suddenly small, suddenly tired.

"I couldn't be sure."

So she holds him closer for all of his height, he still fits in her arms,

"Then tell me what you have seen."

"Too much and too little. Everything and nothing. Everything I am meant to have seen but not enough of it."

A beat.

"You understand."

"You can never walk far enough."

"Something like that.

"You know that woman disappeared? The Japanese goddess. I don't know when. I just know I never saw her again. It's not the reason I left but I wonder if it was my fault."

Another pause, and he straightens up.

"It's winter again. I almost didn't remember."

She runs her hand through his hair and down his back,

"Sometimes people simply leave and she would not like to see you so sad."

"I'm not sad," he says, almost immediately.

"I don't think I'm sad, anyway. All I know is I don't know."

"You're not happy either. You're like a cloudy sky unsure if you want to rain or not."

Apollo considers the metaphor, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"I suppose so," he says, at length. "But they aren't mutually exclusive, are they? The fact that I'm not happy doesn't mean that I'm sad."

"Oh no, they're not. I just would rather see you happy."

"I know."

He smiles, very quickly.

"You're family."

"Yes, and that's not going to change. So you will have to accept that I'm going to worry about you and take care of you no matter how much you tower over me."

He smiles again, a little longer this time.

"I accepted that fact a long time ago, aunt."

"Wise boy. Now when did you last eat?"

It's an impulse she understands.

She abandons her table and follows him out, keeping a few paces behind.
And thyself thou enterest thy Father’s house, and all alike bid thee to a seat; but thou sittest beside Apollon.
She doesn't speak until they're closer to the water's edge.

"Hey there, brother mine."

"Hey there, sister mine."

He smiles, small but sincere (because, more than maybe, she generally makes him feel as though everything will be alright).

"Long time no see."

It's almost a question. But not quite.

"Too long."

Observation more than criticism; they have all the time in the world.

She ruffles his hair, knocking some of the dust loose.

"Where've you been?"

"I wasn't really keeping track," he admits, wrinkling his nose.

"Here. There. Everywhere.

"I remember Africa."

"I haven't been there in a long time.

You done wandering for now?"

There's no judgment in the question, just curiosity. This place is a way station, after all. There might be somewhere else he needs to go.

"It's more lovely than you remember it to be. Parts of it, anyway."

He blinks, looking over his shoulder as though expecting to see something there besides the woods.

"I'm done," he decides, glancing back at his sister.

"For now, I think."

She takes his hand, squeezing it gently.

"Good to have you back, then."

Grover is out by the lake enjoying the peace it offers. He is tracing the patterns of the stars (are they really stars?) that line the sky when he catches a scent that seems familiar but not familiar.

Looking around he sees the approaching figure and stands to offer a respectful bow. "Good evening...lord?"

Please forgive the question, Grover is still struggling with the idea of multiple versions of the Theoi.

[Can I beg a slow as it's late here?

Pan stretched as he emerged from the trees, and shook himself off. What a glorious rest. He even gave each hoof a little shake before stepping, listening to the crunch of fallen leaves.

Never really cared for the winter, he was always about the spring.

The faun's steps paused upon a familiar sight.

Damn. He's back. He debated saying anything.

"Surprised to see you back here." Well that's civil enough for him. Granted the music contest was ages upon ages ago, but still stings from time to time.

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