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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"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."

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