I d e a l i s t

There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance; pray, love, remember: and there is pansies. that’s for thoughts. There’s fennel for you, and columbines: there’s rue There’s a daisy: I would give you some violets, but they withered all when my father died: they say he made a good end,–                    – Hamlet, Act IV Scene V

[salingerisaghost]

great english qualifier | selena & edison

[gailxrogers]

gabrielsalinger‌:

“That long, aye? I suppose promptness has never been your forte.” His smile turned from mocking to soft & understanding. Although, if Edison were making his own list, he doubted there would be enough parchment for such a task. There was no doubt he was his own worst critic, which he supposed could, at times, be aggravating. Add it to the list. 

“Oh,” Edison laughed. “I guess for starters I’d have been in less danger. I’d also argue I’d have left in better standing with school.” As if that was even possible. One trip to that delipidated old shithole didn’t outweigh the hours & effort he poured into school. Top marks in OWLS, NEWTS, you name it. Not to mention Prefect & natural – Head Boy. 

Edison shrugged, ayes averting rather sheepishly in the face of not being allowed to blame Selena for his shortcomings, though he never considered that he would or actually could. Before he could consider the prospect to introspectively, however, Selena was reaching for her glass back which struck him as more than fair. He watched closely as her smile folded around the curve of the glass, remembering quite distinctly, her hands working his tie into quite the unsavory position. “I never said I regretted it.” He hadn’t meant to imply that he blamed her for beginning it or continuing it. “I appreciate the thought though.” Edison relayed; sure that he’d wind up an unfortunate ghost some place for the sake of someone’s posterity. He kept that particularly dreary thought to himself, not hasty to explore the possibility or implications. Instead she could hang him out to dry one more time & he could enjoy every bittersweet second of it. “He’ll never get off.” Edison said slyly. – “If you keep pushing for my brother to come up here, I’ll eventually quit keeping it from happening.” The wizard said dryly. He admitted to his bluff, eyeing her empty glass with a moderate amount of suspicion. He showed his hand in more ways than one, but honesty, at least when he wasn’t sleeping with someone else’s wife, was the best policy. 

It was his turn to refill the glass, as bad an idea as it was. “I know you can’t possibly find him attractive.” Edison pursued the allegations as he poured, still resorting to doing it without magic. “Beyond the clothes.” Was he actually sure of that? No, not really. He just supposed his brother’s mostly unsavory behavior & ideas accounted for his mild despicability. Did she really want to fuck Orion? He guessed it really didn’t matter… unless she did -– in which case he’d be fucking har-pressed not to lose his collective shit. They were both arrogant, he supposed. Successful. Determined. Edison pulls the proverbial brakes on that train of thought, unable or unwilling to imagine them together. “I’m beginning to lose track of whether or not you’re trying to make me envious or turn my stomach.” Edison hoped it was neither as he took a drink off the freshly poured drink before offering it to Selena. 

“I don’t think it’s possible for you to have had any better marks than you already did. Except maybe in Divination. If you’d paid attention in that class, we wouldn’t have gotten detention for the entire Shrieking Shack incident.” He could’ve warned them about McGonagall’s sudden appearance if he had the capability of tapping into some unseen future. Selena certainly wouldn’t have missed the Yule Ball, at any rate, and she would have spent less time copying notes from texts that she forgot long before gradation.  “You carried the both of us through the NEWTs, at any rate.” She’d give him that much, even at the expense of retaining her unaffected facade. A genuine smile could be choked down for a millisecond before it had to be hidden in her glass, tempered with a drink that lasted just a second too long.

The mention of Orion was a fairly cheap way to illicit a reaction, but Selena wasn’t above punching down when the situation called for it. She towed a delicate line in fabricating some sort of interest in the wizard who was undoubtedly snatching candy from children or leering at interns while she and Edison bantered and forth. Too much pressure would send the two of them into a serious argument -- - and where was the fun in that really? - -- but a bit of poking and prodding never hurt. Falling into step with the routine was easy enough, especially when Edison left himself vulnerable. “You’ve been keeping that from happening, then?” It wasn’t an action she would put past Edison, but it also wasn’t a precaution that needed to be taken; Selena would have ignored Orion in favor of Edison simply because the former was an incorrigible try-hard. The clothes were lovely, but the man at the helm? Boring by every stretch of the imagination. Had he not been a vaguely-present figure during her childhood, Selena would’ve ignored Orion’s existence entirely. Perhaps the same could be said of Edison, though she was quick to banish the thought before it could be given proper consideration. 

“You know I can’t be attracted to him?” Not much sense in arguing that. Selena could put on a front only for so long. Anything further would be cruel and would cast a dark shadow over the rest of the match. Rather than throw herself headlong into a monologue about Orion’s jawline, the witch opted to strum manicured nails against the lacquered bar behind her. Edison could draw his own conclusions. 

I don’t know if you’re trying to make me envious or turn my stomach. 

“Hard to say,” she murmured. The offered drink was taken and nursed only for a moment before she held it back toward his person, “If I wanted to make you jealous, I might be more inclined to talk about my husband. But that’s never seemed to bother you, has it?” Not when they were afforded a few moments to themselves in an owner’s box, at least. Heavy conversations about marital infidelity were reserved for Edison’s home, preferably after Selena had snooped through his washroom or rifled through his bedside drawers. 

[salingerisaghost]

great english qualifier | selena & edison

[gailxrogers]

gabrielsalinger‌:

If he’d known that Selena was thinking that she’d gotten under his skin, he would’ve scoffed. Maybe even vehemently disagreed, doing nothing but drawing her point closer to home. Luckily, however, he was not aware. Instead, at the suggestion that he might be able to share a room with Orion at St. Mungo’s, Edison blinked in appreciation. Seraphina would be there too no doubt. Archer too, given time. Hell, the youngest Beaumont actually might be first committed only because he’d been driven mad by the rest of his family. He was also the most outwardly obsessive. With his stars or charms or teaching or whatever it was he was doing at Hogwarts. At least his older brothers had the decency to hide their eccentricities in vices. 

“Looking for something better.” 

The sentiment drew Edison’s sharp attention, his chin lifting incredulously. He looked delicately aggrieved by that particular announcement. “I see.” His reply came just as swiftly. “In that case, by all means, let me know my pitfalls so I can rectify them for future encounters.” He would forever be the attentive student willing to re-organize for higher marks, even if he was already dead sure that he’d come to regret asking. 

“Send them a note shall I?” Edison asked, swallowing a laugh. “I’m afraid for a full reunion, we might’ve needed more notice. Orion’s at beck & call though.” Edison assured her. Lifting her glass off the cocktail napkin as she made a show of flashing her wedding ring, Edison ignored her, and instead pulled a quill from the inside of his jacket & jotted something in very fine print on the half-ruined napkin, not that he minded. It was lucky for him that his focus was directed elsewhere when Selena fired another lethal observation his way. The note, meanwhile, might as well have read ‘fuck you’ as it was never going to reach Orion’s hands, but Edison sent it off anyway, wand in hand as it flew out from under the space in door. He took his sweet time about putting his pen away, setting his wand on the bar top beside her drink as he whiled away the seconds Selena had given him to respond to her rather scathing statement. Instead, he fixed her with a gaze of interminable length. It was not so much keenly penetrating as exhaustively extensive. “Something I learned more recently; I’ll admit. It would appear all those years of trying to get me to sneak off the Shrieking Shack or the Slytherin Common Room’s finally taken its toll.” Blame successfully shifted, he committed yet another crime by taking up her whiskey & taking a long drink off the top. He pointed, glass still in hand. “Now there’s an interesting question: what happened to me?” Edison shook his head, grimacing as he took another drink. “We don’t have all day, so I’d start with the Lethifold thing from there we’ll jump over a lot & land on the unfortunate realization that I’d taken quite a liking to one Selena Sinclair.” Edison sighed. “Then for arguably the determinate of my own character, I doubled down on said infatuation. I wouldn’t say, however, that it’s been an unfortunate endeavor.” He clarified, looking grandiose. “Am I missing anything?”

“I’ll have my assistant write up a list of shortcomings right after this match. You should expect an owl within the week,” Selena quipped. It was easier to double down on the bluff than it was to admit that she was hard pressed to find any weighty faults with Edison Beaumont. In the span of ten seconds, Selena could compose a magnum opus of things she disliked about Rowan; Edison, on the other hand, existed somewhere between reality and an idealized version of himself that lived only in her head. Though not without flaw, he was certainly favored over the man she married. 

Attempts to read the message etched into a damp paper napkin were thwarted both by the swiftness of Edison’s strokes and the size of his lettering. Selena’s brow arched accordingly, though she didn’t bother to track the movement of the scribbled note as a flick of Edison’s wand sent it into the ether. “As I recall,” she measured her words, “you didn’t put up too much of a fight when it came to going to the Shrieking Shack.” Whether that was due to her coercion or his own curiosity was up for debate, but she glossed over the finer points of the memory in favor of the details that best suited her argument. “In fact, I think you should be thanking me for enriching your school experience. What would you have done without me? Nothing exciting.”

Annoyance made itself plain in the deep parenthesis around the corners of her mouth as he helped himself to her drink while ruminating over his character flaws. Though a wide array of insults had been queued in the back of her mind, she was given pause by the mention of her maiden name. It was worth noting, perhaps, that his infatuation hadn’t begun with Selena Newf -- - no, he had elected to use the name she wore throughout their school days, thus putting to bed any notion that he had overlooked her in favor of his studies. In another setting, perhaps she would’ve contemplated the weight of that implication. Perhaps she would have pressed him as to why he hadn’t made mention of the timeline of his interest, or perhaps she might’ve had the good sense to skirt around an impossibly heavy subject in its entirety. Instead, she grinned without any indication of feeling, “You can’t blame me for your defects. Not all of them.” 

All at once, she was struck by a peculiar dryness at the back of her throat. Selena reached for her drink, fingers splayed across his knuckles before she lifted the crystal from his hand and brought it to her own lips. A few precious seconds were bought in the time it took her to pull from her cup, “Maybe we could blame me if it was a one-time thing. But I don’t recall being solely to blame the second, third, and fourth time.” Another drink, “But if your immortal soul is at stake, maybe I should consider the consequences.” As if she wouldn’t send both of them to Hell without a second thought. Selena tipped her glass forward and drained the remaining contents. Once finished, she discarded the empty cup and fixed her full attention on Edison Beaumont. “I’m sure Orion would be more than willing to step off his high horse long enough to fill the void.”

[salingerisaghost]

great english qualifier | selena & edison

[gailxrogers]

gabrielsalinger‌:

“Yes,” Edison sighed. “As dangerous as that is. – Feeling a bit light-headed.” Edison’s lips tightened into a thin line as he touched his tie for emphasis. “Whatever you surmise, I’ll just assume the opposite. How’s that?” His irritation was evidently not to be passed over as she jumped immediately on the chance to rattle Orion around in front of him as if he’d ever gone a moment in his life jealous of his floundering older brother. “He’d love nothing more, I assure you.” Edison said, matter-of-factly. At the mention of the Lethifold, Edison’s skin prickled. Older siblings were expecting to do awful things to the younger of the house when the parents weren’t looking but locking an eight-year-old in a cupboard for hours & giving him a lifelong phobia was not. That was Orion for you  – never to be out down. 

Her grin on the subject irked him, but he chose not to show it so he smiled in lieu of scowling. “Less of a story to tell at parties, more of one to be whispered to the St. Mungo’s staff when he’s finally emitted. Can’t be long now, the way he carries on. But–” Edison cut himself of, raising his hands in defeat. “He’s my brother, but he’ll have to admit himself. I’d never force it.” Selena, however, had taken to the bar to gawk at him as if he was already there himself. 

“What?” His eyes narrowed as she looked him up & down. “He hasn’t much else going on. He’s probably down there… somewhere. He’s a man of the common wizard & all.” The lie was so bold-faced, he nearly had trouble getting it out of his mouth. “Looking for something new are we?” Edison asked suddenly, head cocking ever so slightly as honeyed grin wiped across his features. “I’ll tell you, if you found me at all distasteful, you’ll find Orion absolutely wretched.” Edison’s grin widened at that. “Older, louder,” Edison took a step towards Selena’s judgmental leaning form. “Man never runs out of breath, so don’t bother trying to get a word in, he’s got it covered for you. – Did you want me to call on him now or?” Edison’s lower lip bulged with question which he managed to pose innocently enough, not feeling it in his best interests tonight to get worked up over nothing. “Or?” It was his turn to size her up. He made a show of it, eyebrows knitting together when they landed on her face. “You know what? I’m not entirely sure he’ll be interested.” He let the sentiment linger for a few uncomfortable seconds, allowing her to draw her own conclusion. Then Edison shrugged his shoulders before holding up his left hand & indicating his own bare ring finger. “He’s obnoxious, but he did manage to inherit some morals somewhere along the way.” Edison smiled. “Tough luck, love.” He murmured carelessly.

The subject of Orion was an easy way to get under Edison’s skin, but Selena couldn’t remember a time when he had gotten so worked up over his brother. There had been instances during their school days that came close -- - she remembered multiple instances of incessant and cruel bullying in the Great Hall - -- but such childishness had been expected during their youth. Now Edison stood before her, significantly older but still playing the part of the younger brother with such ease. The bridges burned between them must have been unsalvageable, though that would scarcely stop her from seeking Orion’s eye for fashion when it came to premier events and parties. Perhaps that had never been a subject of jealousy for good reason, though; what did it matter if Orion dressed her as long as Edison was undoing his work by the end of the night? 

“I believe conditions like that are hereditary,” she mused into her glass. “Maybe they’ll allow you adjoining rooms in St. Mungo’s -- -  a little suite situation, perhaps?” The hospital would be torched within a week. That alone was worth a monologue and a half, but Edison had insisted Orion was a man of the common people and Selena was forced to stifle her laughter. In the end, she couldn’t keep a scoff from escaping previously pursed lips. Though her politics aligned with Orion’s to some degree, even she believed his propensity for flashy displays could be a bit too much to handle. Then again, perhaps there was some part of her that wouldn’t forgive the older boy for his relentless torment of her best mate during their school years. Not that she would ever admit as much aloud. 

Looking for something new, are we?

“Looking for something better.” The retort was easy, effortless in its delivery. Edges of syllables were sharpened enough to wound rather than kill, but she flashed a smile as if to tell her company that everything was in good fun. “I think you should call him, actually. It’s been so long since I’ve properly caught up with him, or Archer for that matter. You may as well invite the whole family.” 

Despite her best efforts, Selena couldn’t quell the ever-increasing drumbeat behind her ribcage as Edison drew nearer. When given even the slightest opportunity, he somehow managed to advance upon her and focus his sights on her infidelity. All she could do was mirror his action, showing off both the engagement ring and wedding band that he had so boldly indicated, “As I recall, you lacked any interest at all until this came into the picture.” Was she wrong? He was given a moment to protest, though not long enough for Selena to entertain anything he might formulate. “Shame about your brother, though. I always wondered just how depraved he must be if you’ve grown up to be hellbent on sneaking around every chance you get. I could imagine what he’d do, if given the opportunity, but I suppose he’s had a change of heart. Good for him. What happened to you?” 

[salingerisaghost]

great english qualifier | selena & edison

[gailxrogers]

gabrielsalinger‌:

Nine months ago, Edison had a dream about the unthinkable. It was probably because he still hadn’t taken enough showers to wash Greece off of him, but nevertheless, he’d woken up in a cold sweat ready to take another. “If you talk,” Selena had begun, sheet gathered at her torso as if she didn’t care what she bared now that they’d already been caught. “No one will be able to protect you.” Dream Edison had said with the sort of finality reserved only for grave threats. It was a tone Edison couldn’t remember using, but he’d commanded in the dream like he’d been waiting all his life to say it. The man who’d caught them – Edison hadn’t recognized. By the time he’d woken up, Edison had forgotten most of the details, lost on their way back to the real world but he did remember the young man’s eyes. His eyes were wide & full of money. Edison had believed him. The man had taken a bribe & a threat & disappeared. He’d have told Selena about it, finding it vaguely amusing now, but he kept it to himself, unable to speak the prospect into the world lest it come true. 

“I’ve got no personal opinion of Borth.” Edison said, sounding bored by the mere prospect of getting to know her. “I know her stats don’t match up to the caliber of my team. ‘Fraid her contract never waved a flag to us.” It really wasn’t personal. Blunt was typically an understatement when it came to Beaumont’s approach to Quidditch. He was very good at numbers. Even better at making the decisions no one else wanted to make. That was probably why he’d found so much success in the league since his inception. He was to be a thorn in the side in every other organization’s side. Selena’s included. Maybe doubled. 

Seeing Selena enjoying his confession so much made Edison half smile himself. Even if he did roll his eyes towards the ceiling. Such a sadist & yet he didn’t move away so what did that make him? A lamb at best. Masochist at worst. “I’ll admit it’s not what it used to be.” Edison admitted without much love lost. Something else had piqued his interest, he wouldn’t begin blaming it on a damaged reputation in the form of something like a waning attention span. “No, thanks,” He breathed when she offered, rather sarcastically, to connect him with her husband’s doctor. 

“No more trips to Greece, I’m afraid.” 

“Whose fault is that?” Edison asked. If he hadn’t been standing so close his worrier brain might’ve easily taken the statement much further than she’d intended. Luckily for him, he was still wrapped up in sliding his thumb across the place where a calluses might’ve resided on anyone who had to work a real day in their life. Edison’s were devoid as well, but he’d shaken enough hands to notice. But then it was gone & Edison’s eyes were slow to rise. A cold shiver ran the length of his spine as Selena’s cool fingers found themselves on the back of his neck. He frowned at her, sure his tie was already straight, but as the knot edged towards his throat he smirked, sure now that there’d never been anything wrong. “Do I?” Edison asked, testing a swallow against the pressure Selena held to his neck. “According to who?” He went on, searching Selena’s face for answers. He’d expected her to pat & release him, but she held on, leaving Edison to measure his breaths. “Do I let my brother dress me?” He asked, incredulously. “I can’t fault his eye, but the day he started carrying a cane I stopped taking his advice.” He chuckled then, reaching up to relieve the pressure at his throat with a well-practiced hand. “’Scuse me,” He muttered, his hands moving Selena’s on his lapel in order to tuck the tail of it back into the confines of his ink black vest. “If you were me,” Edison began, tugging at his collar, “Would you be more worried that you think I let my brother dress me or that you’ve been paying attention to what he’s been wearing?” Or that strangulation appears to be on your agenda?

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Edison would reject the offer of Rafferty’s physician, but Selena donned a level incredulity that bordered between overly-practiced and impossibly feigned. Her brows lifted and lips parted as if she might offer a rebuttal to his rejection, but no such argument ever came. Instead, she shrugged as if to say suit yourself, then. There was no sense in testing the waters too early when it came to the mention of her husband, especially when she hadn’t quite sussed out what kind of mood Edison was in. Under the right circumstances -- - and, if one had to be honest, a hand on the small of her back did speak to the proper circumstance - -- the middle Beaumont could be quite amiable to the mention of Rafferty Newf, but a misplaced barb or reminder could have proven disastrous for the rest of the Quidditch season. Refusing to relinquish future prospects in favor of a joke meant that Selena backed down and effortlessly changed gears.

She was the one to blame for a lack of time in the sun, though she wouldn’t dare admit that she had been given the opportunity to visit Greece once during the off season. Rafferty -- - or was it Cordelia this time? - -- had suggested a brief weekend holiday, and Selena had refused. Her excuse had been something about meetings and restructuring, but the reality of the situation cut a much more sinister path. Greece belonged to herself and Edison; Rafferty wasn’t welcome on the shores of Mykonos when she had already claimed the space for herself and a man who, unbeknownst to her, had been running through a myriad of social circles with a young, pretty blonde on his hip. "Perhaps I should have gone back,” she mused, fingers working fabric deliberately while he considered her question about Orion. 

“Orion always has been fashionable.” It was easy to admit that much when the robe she wore had been designed by the eldest Beaumont. The cane could be forgiven as an eccentricity, much like Edison’s anxiety, and could be further written off as Selena had used the prop to spread a particularly nasty rumor about Orion Beaumont smacking the knees of beggars in Diagon Alley. Fabrication though it was, there was enough truth within the rumor to evoke similar reports from witches and wizards who had been on the receiving end of Orion’s imaginary beatings. The numbers crawled so high at one point that Selena wondered if she’d told a lie at all. “You could learn a thing or two from him.” 

Her hard work was so easily unraveled with a single tug from Edison, who loosened his tie as if his part-time paramour hadn’t attempted to crush his windpipe only seconds before. Her hands had been brushed away, which was sufficient warning to pick up her glass and tuck herself into it while Edison ruminated on where his apprehension would best be placed. “Are you having me think for you now?” Was there nothing he could do himself? She sipped and made a show of thinking the subject over. “Maybe you should be concerned that I’ve noticed him at all. I’ve thought about inviting him over for tea one day. We could catch up on everything I’ve missed, or he could tell me again about how he convinced you there was a Lethifold loose in your house.” A story she’d heard countless times, but one that never ceased to amuse -- - and, to some degree, agitate - -- the owner. Selena grinned around the rim of her glass, taking a final draw from its contents before she allowed it to find the counter-top once more. Rather than reach for Edison, however, she leaned her weight against the bar and sized him up. “Do you think he would be free before I have to be back home? Could you ask him for me?”

[salingerisaghost]

great english qualifier | selena & edison

[gailxrogers]

gabrielsalinger‌:

A delicately placed ‘careful’ rang in his ears like something one could identify in hindsight as the cause of all their troubles. For him, it happened in real-time and it carried with it a grave warning. In all honesty, he really didn’t have the constitution for heavily imbibing anymore, but he wouldn’t get the chance to agree with Selena given that her next statement made him choke. The whiskey burned the back of his throat as he coughed. He could choke all he liked, but Selena’s assertion remained & Edison has to meet it, couldn’t not. What he thought may have been a stern but amiable warning now read as a more dangerous precursor to a wallop he hadn’t been expecting. He’d have stressed that he didn’t deserve it if he hadn’t spent a miserable second wondering if she’d read his thoughts. No, he supposed, she hadn’t. She had read him, however, which caused him to abandon his glass. “Let’s hope not,” He said, tone sounding more gravely invested in avoiding that particular avenue rather than pressing where it hurt to find out which pore the vitriol had stemmed from. He was in good spirits after all, despite the culmination of his whole life having just been cracked down to a drunken pregnancy & failed marriage. – He was in a good mood indeed. 

But if he was drinking quick, Selena was drinking quicker. He watched, bemused as the bottle drifted by him, sure that she’d tag him with it, but she doesn’t. “Me? Sentimental? If it’s not over Quidditch I don’t think it’s possible.” Edison says, self-assuredly dismissing the notion. She didn’t have to say it. He knew. Or at least he hoped he did. But then her fingers brushed the back of his hand in the sly way they did when someone was watching and he knew for sure. She moves past, too near for a moment & then gone again, & his chin follows her to the shelves of liquor. 

“You hated Borth.” Edison points out, feeling safe enough to touch his glass again, but not brave enough to drink from it. ”I thought I’d wear your hat for a moment, but the false gusto is making me feel ill.” He pouted, patronizingly. “I’ll take back my modest enthusiasm & you can have your… conviction back.” Edison smiles, two of his fingers tapping on the side of his glass, before he pulls them away to wipe the condensation on his trousers. He takes the opportunity then to check his watch but it doesn’t tell him anything he already doesn’t know, so he abandons the glass in favor of orbiting towards Selena, looking up like he’s interested in the labels on fifty-year-old bottles instead of being nearer to the blonde doing a good job of pretending she’s just as invested in fonts & years. He’s already said enough so he wouldn’t dream of admitting that he’s already missing Selena’s eyes when they aren’t on him. Edison’s eyes are drawn to Selena’s hand at her side. He shifts without having to think about it, grabbing her right hand in his so that that they’re closer together, no longer shoulder to shoulder. He inspects it at waist level, left hand already landing on the small of her back. He only has to move his left foot to assure whoever may walk in that he was merely examining an imaginary cut on Newf’s hand. “Is it just me -” Edison began, eyes drawing up the line of her neck. “Or did you just find a way to just now insult my entire being & somehow make me forget about it in the span of two minutes? I can’t tell if you’re losing your edge or if I left my dignity in another coat.” Edison’s inquiry was paired with him staring hard at the side of Selena’s face, eyes lingering on hers for moment before his inquisition turned to lines of a smile that he wouldn’t keep. Instead, he hid it & tamped the looming tension, looking down at her hand that he turned over, thumbing across it. “& you have the nerve to say I look pale.”

The only validation Selena needed came in the form of Edison choking on his drink -- - the faltering as he fought for air against the tide of her relentless barrage was just as satisfying as she had imagined it would be as she invented quips to trade back and forth during the off season. When she wasn’t preoccupied with Rafferty or traveling with Cordelia, she had allowed her mind to wander to Edison and all the ways she could take her rightful place under his skin as soon as the qualifiers started. If the first few minutes of their reunion could be any indication, she was already doing a good job. 

“You. Sentimental,” she repeated the word, slower now that he was questioning her. It was a subject that could be pressed further, but was unceremoniously dropped with a wave of her hand instead. “No, you’re right. I assume it’s nerves getting the better of you.” Best not to wade into treacherous waters at the very start of the season. He was sentimental -- - so was she, for that matter - -- but there was no reason to give life to the truth. That was something best stowed away like so many of their hasty, half-planned meetings. 

To say that she hated Borth was an understatement, but Selena took it in stride. Lips pulling apart to reveal a Cheshire grin was a dead giveaway at any rate. “I certainly didn’t protest when it came time to see her off.” She hadn’t attended the party that Puddlemere United had thrown at all, nor had she sent any kind of gift. Good riddance. Elena’s Angels, or whatever that ridiculous trio was named, had been retained as property of Puddlemere United and had been swiftly dismantled. The marketing scheme ended just as it had begun -- - with the unceremonious stroke of a pen during a particularly lax lunch out. “I was a bit surprised that the Cannons didn’t want her, either. Not fond of the girl, I take it?” 

Even a fool would have noticed the way Edison followed Selena, how his hand so effortlessly took up her own before he explored the small of her waist with a greater measure of -- - what was the word he had used? - -- conviction. “Is it just me,” she evoked his tone effortlessly, “or could you not keep your hands to yourself for a full five minutes?” Best, she decided, to avoid the supreme compliment that came in the form of being told she had eviscerated Edison’s entire being. Selena beamed -- - wolfish, self-assured in her position - -- but made no move to detach herself from the man examining her hand, or perhaps the silver band around her third finger. “I can’t guess about you dignity, but you might want to see someone about your attention span.” A nod toward his glass, “But that probably isn’t helping matters either. I could get you an appointment with Rafferty’s doctor, if you like.” I know you enjoy taking his things. 

Her complexion was called into question, leaving Selena to flex her fingers without pulling herself away from the man who had so boldly captured her hand. “No more trips to Greece, I’m afraid.” She was long overdue, but that went without saying. Tension was allowed to linger in the air between them -- - it was a familiar blanket now after three seasons of back-and-forth banter - -- but Selena eventually was forced to steal a final sip from her crystal before it came to rest atop the bar behind her. Without taking the care to brush condensation from her fingertips, Selena settled on straightening his tie -- - one hand at the base of his neck, the other working the long tail of fabric beneath - -- as if it was the most natural thing in the world, as if she wasn’t applying pressure to his throat by tightening the fabric. “You certainly dress like a bachelor these days.” A final tug didn’t deter her hands in the slightest, smoothing down the fabric of lapels that she gently grasped without releasing. “Or do you let Orion dress you? That seems to be his forte.”

[salingerisaghost]

great english qualifier | selena & edison

[gailxrogers]

gabrielsalinger‌:

Edison’s eyes held no expectation, but the grin that found him when Selena entered any room was a sort of dead giveaway that he’d long since discarded any notion of pretending to be apathetic towards Selena. She’d always been better at it than him, she was doing it now with her easy ribbing. One of his cloaked shoulders rose & fell, an admittance of guilt. Being on time was being late & all that. It didn’t bare repeating, so Edison didn’t say it. He loathed such practice & instead watched the bottle of Firewhisky with interest as it tilted towards a hovering glass. His eyes, however, darted away & towards the maestro. “I look pale?” Edison clarified ruefully. As much as anyone might have taken that as an affront, Edison Beaumont was in no place to argue. He was Irish. He was pale. He’d have almost been positive that it was impossible for him to do anything other than freckle if he hadn’t experienced the phenomenon firsthand on the beach in Greece with the woman insulting him now. It was a pleasant memory, one that washed over him with enough gusto to simultaneously make it stand out more that Selena was doing more than needling him. Edison made an affirmative noise from the back of his throat as he brought his glass to his lips. Interesting she should insinuate he’d be off on some other sandy shore with some other witch that wouldn’t be able to survive an hour in Selena Newf’s precarious stilettos. He smiled, but only to himself, quietly enjoying the fact that she’d been worried he might’ve tried to find out.

 “What should I be nervous about?” Edison asked, cocking a brow. ”Am I to take your punctuality as a bad omen of sorts?” He continued, smiling politely. It was amusing that after so long apart, their first instinct was to carry on like someone was watching. – Maybe, Edison begins to consider, he should be nervous that Selena’s seen some vapor on him. Some vapor of him not being faithful to her while she’s unfaithful to her husband. He swallows the liquor & tries not to dwell on that, but this is Edison & he’s never been able to let a thought go without riding it all the way to the end. So maybe he’d found himself missing someone gently. Perhaps he missed being led down some moral gray area. Conceivably, he’d acknowledged, somewhere in the distance between them, that he needed to be led & hated it all the way. But then he’s alone, head getting the better of him. 

He thinks to say something then, but he can’t find the words he wants, the ones that are detached, a little snide or, more than likely, suggestive. They don’t come to him because his head is still wrapped around the unfortunate scenario. Instead, he commanders the bottle & refills his glass before it’s empty, holding himself very still. 

The season had begun & they’d seen one another again. It was a homecoming of sorts, one for which Edison couldn’t have waited any longer. But they don’t say those things to each other. That’s why when the months stretched on without some aligning of the league’s stars to bring them together, Edison finds that he’s more desperate to be in Selena’s company than he was over the summer. (As if that was even possible six months ago.) His hands are the only part of him he sometimes can’t control when he wants to be touching Selena. When he can’t have her, his hands want to twitch. He doesn’t let them. He remembers Selena walking by what would’ve been two weeks ago then, her fingers intwined with Rafferty’s instead of knotted in his own hair or tugging at his collar. Then he remembers a tube of lipstick. Something cold rising up in him, something that feels an awful lot like jealousy, something he’s not been formally introduced to so he seeks someone out for the sole purpose of making Selena just as mad at him as he is at her. Someone willing, someone pretty, blonde, & smart enough to understand she’s being used. He keeps the girl at his hip for a few days & she’s the type that eats up all that attention, all the while Edison keeping carefully out of the public eye that would so quickly expose him. Anybody that does look, she smiles at, stares, she talks to everybody about it, she touches Edison, his hands & cheek, his shoulders, the inside of his thigh, until he hates her just as much as he hates everything else. Afterwards, for a while, he can’t look at Selena & he almost hates her, but he doesn’t see her. Somehow that’s worse. It’s a hell of a lot worse. & he’s too smart not to notice that at least before he was looking for a partner & now he’s gone & changed the game to be just that: something superficial & idiotic to play at. So he takes a drink, reminding himself that this was months ago.

Where had he been gallivanting off to? Had it been exciting? – “I’ve missed you.” He says it & regrets it in the same second. But something forces him to not be disingenuous. “It’s too bad one of us always leaves these stadiums irritated.” It was a loaded sentiment if there ever was one. He’d slipped so seamlessly back into their repartee that he didn’t even have to chose his next words. “So you’ll just have to promise not to be too pessimistic once the snitch is caught.” He tried for a grin, sounding more the practiced prick than the tortured romantic. It didn’t feel more or less right, but at least he’d found his arrogance again.

The first drink roused suspicion, but the second was a dead giveaway; Edison’s mind was in the middle of some tumultuous free fall, and he’d sought another glass to quell the mounting nervousness before he hit bottom. “Careful,” she chided with all the consideration of a bored housekeeper, “you’ll be piss drunk by the time the match starts if you keep this up.” Perhaps Selena knew him better than she intended.  “You’re practically elderly now, if I recall correctly -- - you’ve not got the constitution for heavy drinking anymore.” A beat, “But I suppose you won’t have to worry about coming out of another bender with a child and an ex wife.”

Was that too much? She considered the idea for a moment -- - contemplation was easier when she could stare into her drink as if expecting to see cubes of ice arrange themselves in some sort of constellation or prophecy akin to the tea leaves she had agonized over in Divination - -- but abandoned the thought in favor of a drink. Too much thinking would cast a dour light on the game long before the snitch was released; Selena was in no hurry to repeat the dozens of arguments she and Edison had over the course of the last season. There would be plenty of time for vitriol in front of the press or behind the closed doors of all-too-expensive hotel rooms. 

I’ve missed you. 

It’s the ghost of a smile that finally betrays her --  - the unintentional quivering of her upper lip that can barely be stifled by tucking herself back into her drink. She’s the one drinking faster now, nearly draining her glass before the bottle of Firewhiskey floats away from Edison and toward rapidly-draining crystal. The bottle pours a steady stream while Selena shrugs, ever the picture of unaffected coolness. “Maybe you should cut yourself off now. If I didn’t know you, I’d think you were being sentimental.” Surely not Edison Beaumont, the boy she had relentlessly teased for being too guarded, too soft during their school days. 

“Irritated,” she gave each syllable the consideration it was rightfully due. “Or unsatisfied. Hard to say.” She let the sentiment hang in the air in time to send the bottle of Firewhiskey back to the bar in a gross display of unnecessary magic, made even moreso by the fact that she followed its path until she was close enough to Edison to casually clink her glass against his. Cheers. 

I’ve missed you too. 

She doesn’t say it -- - can’t, really - -- but the sentiment exists in fingers that brush against his knuckles just before she pulls her glass from his, or in the way she brushes past him to examine the other bottles behind the bar. Small clues -- - the breadcrumbs they allow themselves in boxes and in front of wandering eyes. “Puddlemere’s made quite a bit of progress this off season. Trading Borth might’ve best decision I’ve ever had a hand in.” Did it matter that her decision was made because she hated the girl rather than any latent ability that the chaser was lacking? No. The girl they’d picked up afterward was just as good, if not better, and didn’t keep her head in the clouds. Overall, it was the best possible decision for Puddlemere, even though the initial backlash had been damning. “So what I’m saying is that you shouldn’t count that win before you’ve even made it on the board.” Unlike Selena, who somehow managed to do that very thing every single match.

[salingerisaghost]

great english qualifier | selena & edison

[gailxrogers]

salingerisaghost‌:

Somehow passing through the door shed Edison’s of the small throng of people that had been following him. They hadn’t continued after him & were left stranded in the marble entryway like pixies just beginning to remember they had other things to do. That is to say, the small group of assistants, journalists, & Cannons personnel hovered for a moment, quills in hand before dispersing in seven different directions. Instilling said rule was one of the smartest decisions Edison had ever implemented & arriving early enough before the match start time meant he got the owner’s box to himself for a good quarter hour before others trickled in for the game between Chudley & Puddlemere. Normally it might’ve been forty-five minutes, but seeing as it was a rivalry game, folks tended to arrive earlier, driven by their own internal buzz of excitement. At one point in his life, Edison had suffered the same affliction, now however he moved out of routine but was regrettably anticipating something other than the start of the match. A bout against P.U. meant Selena Newf would be in attendance. Since the season had begun, the Cannons had yet to have a match with Selena’s team. This was something that Edison both looked forward to & worried over. That was probably why his first order of business was to see about getting a glass in his hand. Beating Selena even once meant constantly having to perform at a higher & higher level to best the standard that was right behind you. Even after two successful years, Edison had yet to shake the feeling that he & his Cannons didn’t belong at the top & was merely there to entice Newf & her P.U. squad like a steak left at the top of a pole for a lion. Eventually the steak would get got. In the meantime, Edison would have to go on pretending he was cocksure. Behind them, the door was beginning to open & Edison indulged himself in sip of liquid courage. “Was beginning to think I’d be the only sap to show up to this low-stakes scrimmage.”

Up until the last few years, Selena’s presence was a hit-or-miss at qualifying matches. The first few were treated as guaranteed victories, and she found herself frequently joking with the press about how tedious it was to watch the same variation of a winning match over and over again. Her disappearances could be forgiven in part due to the fact that Puddlemere was on a hot streak, but she suspected she was also given leeway because of her position in the league - imagined, though it was. The decimation of Puddlemere’s reputation, however, meant that she found herself perched in boxed seats more often than she would have normally liked. Quidditch was interesting enough -- - far more interesting than she had given it credit during her school days - -- but she found her mind wandering during particularly long games against no-name teams that could never hope to see a tournament pitch. Thankfully, games against the Cannons came with an appropriate level of fanfare. 

She had managed to dodge the press, for the most part -- - advice given by a freshly-hired publicist who was overworked enough on regular days - -- but couldn’t resist the urge to offer a few snide remarks about the Cannons on her way to the owner’s box. Whatever she gave them was enough for their papers -- - and surely would be twisted; mangled to fit the narrative of Quidditch Daily, regardless - -- which allowed her to slide through the door without much fuss. 

“I didn’t realize I was late.” A beat, “Or, I suppose it’s more likely that you’re early. Still very much a boy scout, I see.” Judging by the drink already grasped firmly in his hand, however, that wasn’t the case in the slightest. Selena followed suit, abandoning her things in favor of a bar that was scarcely considered before a flick of  her wand set a bottle of Firewhisky and a glass in motion. Once her drink was poured and the whiskey took its place back on the shelf, Selena took it upon herself to pluck up her glass and turn her attention fully to Edison Beaumont. “You look pale. I can’t imagine you’re nervous, so I’ll have to assume you’ve not gallivanted off somewhere exciting since I last saw you.”

[gailxrogers]

[gailxrogers]

[gailxrogers]

[gailxrogers]

wilderness — sawdrey

[gailxrogers]

gabrielsalinger‌:

It could’ve been on account of the sixer he’d worked on on the way out of the city limits, but Sawyer was already feeling more at ease. Amongst the trees he could breath, something he could see the irony in as his heart more often than not yearned for the city. Bentley was the boondocks after all. 

Summer hadn’t gone his way. Some variation of camping had been on his list of things to do since it had gotten too cold to give a fuck about standing outside longer than a minute. Now that temperatures were becoming more & more moderate, the appeal couldn’t be squelched. To his surprise, Audrey had appeared moderately excited by the prospect. Though he had his doubts that she knew the extent of what ‘camping’ meant to him, he’d have to double down, get her out there & then find out just how far apart their definitions were. 

Closing the lid on the cooler, Sawyer looked around. Twisting the cap off another beer, he gave his head a little shake. “Nah,” He smiled, settling himself (the best one could) into a red fold out chair. The heels of his boots drew two deep gauges in the dirt as Sawyer pushed his long legs out. “That seems fair.” Sawyer tilted his beer with some gravitas. “But I wouldn’t worry about the people so much.” He tested, eyeing Audrey. “More the mountain lions & bears you’ve gotta worry about.” He did his best to conceal the humor on his face.

She had to admit that the luxury of leaving her phone in the car was well worth the struggle to pitch a tent and get a fire going before nightfall. Though Audrey had been all for piling blankets into the back of her car and spending a few nights in the comfort of a Mercedes, they had ultimately decided that a tent was the way to go. It would be easier, she supposed, to be eaten by bears if they wrapped themselves in canvas and nylon first. Being murdered in the woods would’ve seemed a bit lackluster if there wasn’t a tent to destroy or a picturesque crime scene to leave behind. 

“Bears, huh?” Without her phone in hand, Audrey had to fight the urge to do a quick search of ‘bears in new york?’ or some variation of the phrase. Unwilling to look like a goddamn idiot in front of Mr. Seasoned Camper himself, she cracked a grin and swallowed down a comment about hibernation along with her beer. “Bears and cougars. Sounds like a great time.”

While Sawyer settled himself into a chair, Audrey rifled through her belongings until she managed to produce a half-empty pack of cigarettes. Shaken nerves could be quelled with a smoke and a bit of re-framing, which is what Audrey set out to do as she dragged the only other camping chair in Sawyer’s direction and made herself as comfortable as possible. A menagerie of snarky comments about the excitement of the wilderness had to be bit back, hidden behind lips tightly clamped around the filter of a cigarette that was lit behind a cupped hand. Without bothering to ask whether he was interested, Audrey held the pack and lighter in Sawyer’s direction while she deflated with that first jet of smoke. 

“Debra thinks this place is haunted.” She didn’t quite regret blurting the admission without so much as a segue, but she did feel uncharacteristically foolish for even mentioning her secretary’s delusions. It felt as though she’d somehow indulged in wild theories, or -- - worse yet - -- that she sounded less skeptical and more open-minded about Bentley’s rumor mill. “She says the same thing about the office, though. Very spooky stuff.” The ghost of a grin pressed shallow dimples into her cheeks, “She’s set a high bar, though. I’m gonna be very disappointed if we don’t end up in a Blair Witch kind of situation.”

[gailxrogers]

wilderness — sawdrey

The closest she’d ever come to camping was the tiny forest of pine-shaped air fresheners hanging on the rear-view mirror of her G-wagon. Four pieces of perfume-soaked cardboard dangled precariously in front of her windshield when she picked Sawyer up, and she’d be damned if she didn’t add two more by the end of the month. It was the most outdoorsy thing she had done -- - buying chemically scented trees - -- since she was a teenager, but all that changed at the mention of a camping trip. 

Stupid Audrey. Stupid fucking Audrey. 

The idea had excited her -- - a few days away from the office and away from cellphone service was a miracle in and of itself - -- but the reality was another matter entirely. If she’d known that camping was as simple as driving a couple dozen miles within the county line, Audrey would’ve thought twice before mumbling something about how she loved camping and how they should go at some point. 

“This looks like the kind of place we’d get murdered.” The sentiment had been voiced at least half a dozen times, but Audrey still poked at their meager fire with all the skepticism she could muster. Sarcasm was easier than insisting that something about the forest seemed wrong, so she fell back onto her natural defense and wrapped herself in that comforting security blanket. “Just so you know, I am pushing you out in front of whatever redneck hops out at us first.” 

[gailxrogers]

uninvited guests— pantheon

[gailxrogers]

gabrielsalinger‌:

Flicking a hand across his chest, Anderson watched with a double chin as an almond flew into the pool. With a quiet little plunk, it sank out of his line of vision & the man carelessly let his head fall back onto the float. It was hardly eleven, but the glass sitting on the edge of the pool was filled with Prosecco & the sunglasses over Poseidon’s blue eyes said more about the night before than it did of the blue skies he was staring up at. 

“Hm?” Pos hummed a moment after Owen’s confusion was voiced. He dipped his hand in the pool, letting his wrist & forearm slowly slip beneath the surface of the water as he paddled lazily with one hand in Owen’s direction. 

Already maintaining a tan that could be envied all year long, Pos’ current mood was further balmed by the fact that he was still able to lay out the day before September. He’d woken up earlier than intended, but was able to fall asleep for a short period, flat on his stomach in the heart of the pool. Without so much as a care in the world, he’d barely begun to stir again when he’d flagged down Dylan for a drink that didn’t involve orange juice or champagne. 

“What?” Pos prodded, jaw stretching open in a yawn before he pulled his paddling hand out of the water only to let it drip across the angry skin on his abdomen & chest. Peeking over the rim of his sunglasses, he splashed a bit more over himself before turning his head onto his ear so he could face Owen. Where his hand had actually propelled him was actually to the edge of the pool where he could easily grab the wine glass waiting for him. He was mid reach for it when he recognized the irritation in Owen’s face. Pos’ own jaw slacked. “You’re joking.” Plucking up his husband’s phone with his dry hand, Pos’ lip rose in despondent sort of disgust. His eyes skimmed the text again searching for signs of a joke. “This fucking bitch.” Pos sat up with a mild amount of effort, his ass sinking with the float further under the water as his legs dangled from either side of it. Craning his neck over the phone, Pos’ fingers were already moving over the stubborn keys of Owen’s ridiculous phone. BITCH he typed back as quickly as he could manage before Owen could yank his phone back. “Can I call Demeter? Or text her?” Pos pleaded. “Fucking bitch. – It’s fine. No one will go to hers. Don’t even worry about it. I still want to tell her to fuck off though…”

Poseidon was found exactly where Oceanus expected him to be, lounging on a float with a drink in hand. A sharp comment about skin cancer or alcoholism would’ve found its way across the pool if Owen didn’t have a Bloody Mary in one hand and a towel gripped firmly in the other. He’d never been in the habit of tossing out jokes that could so easily be used against him, so Owen focused instead on tossing his towel onto the nearest chair and siphoning off a healthy drink of tomato juice and vodka as if it was the ambrosia he needed to cure his hangover. 

Hera’s message would have went unread for hours if Owen hadn’t checked his phone in an effort to avoid repeating the previous night’s mistakes. His watch was a loss and left somewhere on the kitchen counter, but he checked his wrist and made sure every non-waterproof device was removed from his person before he stepped toward the pool. As soon as he read his sister in law’s words, he wished he hadn’t. 

“Look at this!” Drink in one hand and phone in the other, Owen sought the comfort of the only other person he knew who would be irrationally angry in light of Demeter’s recent stunt. “The same day. Most people would at least try not to look like an asshole. And she wonders why she isn’t invited!” As justified as he was, Owen couldn’t shake the feeling of being the kid whose birthday party was being overshadowed by a more popular prospect. It was petulant and immature to care so much about a dinner party that had been conceived over too many drinks after a much larger party, but Owen indulged himself nevertheless; at least Poseidon would take his side, or perhaps feed the flames of his bad temper. 

It was easier to viciously stab at his drink with the accompanying stick of celery than it was to admit that he felt foolish for being angry. Poseidon’s reaction, however, bolstered his confidence and allowed him to consider that maybe -- - just maybe - -- he was right to be annoyed. With doubt sufficiently replaced by righteous anger, Owen opted to climb atop his high horse rather than entertaining the prospect of rescheduling or calling Demeter to clear the situation up. “Does she think this isn’t transparent? Why bother?” 

He halted the progression of his fury long enough to take his phone back from Poseidon before they could be roped into an hours-long conversation that would amount to little more than bitching and gossip. If left unchecked, Owen was sure Pos and Hera would orchestrate a second Trojan War just to prove a point about the sanctity of dinner parties and etiquette. “Give that back -- - Gods, no. Text her from your phone, if you want. I don’t want her blowing up my inbox.” The five letters were erased, replaced with That’s fine. She can have everyone who isn’t invited to Kykuit. and sent off without any care for what Hera would come up with in response. Once his phone was pushed out of Poseidon’s reach, Owen allowed his drink to rest on the lip of the pool and sank into the water with a considerable amount of grumbling. 

“I get one day off work -- - one day - -- and Hera’s gotta throw this at me.” Ever the fair sport, he wouldn’t ignore Hera’s role in the mess. He’d been part of Poseidon’s family long enough to know that Hera had probably rolled up to Demeter’s office with her invitation in hand and some rehearsed apology planned for an enraged Demeter. It wasn’t nearly as bad as Demeter’s subsequent tantrum -- - and that’s what it was, as far as Owen was concerned - -- but it certainly hadn’t been necessary. Then again, he supposed it was better than having Demeter show up uninvited. 

Owen pulled his hands over his face, dragging his mouth downward into the deepest possible frown. “Who did we invite? Aphrodite, Hephaestus, Apollo, Hades, Hera, Zeus... Gods, at least this means Hades won’t be bringing her as a plus-one.” Small victories. Small victories that didn’t quite amount to the kind of blow Owen found himself wanting to strike.

He pivoted, fingers skimming the top of disturbed water while he watched his husband for any indication of what they should do next,  “I think you were right about a string quartet. We should find out who she gets to cater her parties and hire them.” It was an irrational idea -- - they had Dylan, after all - -- but Owen flung himself headlong into his hatred with little regard as to what did and didn’t make sense, “Who does she have to invite, anyway? Her daughter? Artemis? That’ll be great. A cunt, an alcoholic, and an idiot have a dinner party.” 

[gailxrogers]

uninvited guests— pantheon

[gailxrogers]

gabrielsalinger‌:

“Are you sure?” Anderson asked, face going all suspicious. He could definitely remember there being a calendar. While he could clearly see the calendar on the wall of his memory, he could not for the life of him put a image to anyone named Brenda. Maybe there wasn’t even a Brenda. Pos’ eyes narrowed, but he kept the disbelief to himself to save himself the mild inconvenience of Owen proving him wrong. 

This was Owen’s p- gathering. “We don’t.” He could hardly believe himself. “Silence & slash or polite but enthralling conversation it is. I wasn’t anticipating something with bass, but more of a string quartet but,” Anderson lifted his chin. “That would mean four more people. Which… is the opposite of the intimate setting your going for right?” He was still only picturing himself seated at a long table outside, napkin tucked into his shirt, being able to hear nothing but his own gnawing on his piece of steak of fish or whatever the hell Owen was going to put on a menu for the evening. He wouldn’t touch that facet. 

As his next course of action was politely shot down, Poseidon groaned. “When on earth did we – no. You. When did you get so boring?” Pos whined through an itching smile. He waved his husband off. “Then there will just be crumbs.” He rolled his eyes, giving his head a small shake. “I’ll pass.” No, sitting in the garage didn’t seem like a better setting at all. Droll, droll, droll. “Oh ho ho. Don’t even get into this with me. They are for damned sure toaster strudels.” It was an ongoing argument; one that Pos walked away feeling like he’d won every time. “Toaster Strudels, the brand is one thing & yes, I’ll admit to the icing thing. It’s the best fucking part. What’s the point of the dry flakey bit? It’s like the corners of Pop Ta-” Pos stopped himself, physically shaking his head to focus himself. “Kleenex is the brand, facial tissue is the product. Pop Tarts are the brand, toaster strudel is the product. God damn it.” Throughout the entire explanation, Pos’ nasty habit of using his hands to denote emphasis were brought out in all of their bony glory. How many more times would he have to explain this distinction? 

Poseidon’s eye twitched involuntarily as Owen, under Pos’ scrupulous gaze, rushed about the kitchen, doubling down on his own bullshit. Clamping his lip between his teeth, Poseidon tried not to believe the act. “I call bullshit.” Poseidon did his best impression of a thoroughly convinced individual. Picking up his glass, he was shaking his head again as Owen’s phone screen was jerked out of his line of sight. “Har dee har.” He took a drink, still wagging his head back & forth. “You know, if you didn’t have the whole river & fresh water thing, theatrics could’ve been your bag.” Pos crossed an arm across his chest. “Then again maybe not. I guess we’ll know for sure when you crawl that ass into bed. – You’re really going to act committed to this aren’t you?” Pos inquired, taking the steps required to get to the sink & see Owen’s glass filled with water at the bottom of the sink.

Compromise, Owen reminded himself, is the foundation of a happy marriage. Music was a small bump in the road toward a successful dinner party, so he backtracked with raised palms, “A string quartet’s fine. Nothing obnoxious, though.” Like it or not, Oceanus had to admit that a bit of background music would make the affair feel like a dinner party rather than an idea that was hastily thrown together over a bag of pretzels and a few too many drinks. “I’ll leave that part to you.” With such clear lines drawn in the sand, there was no way Poseidon could step too far from the boundaries of Owen’s stipulations. It was better that he picked the music than the meal, being that Owen wasn’t exactly planning for some kind of feast. 

Time spent on his pedestal of fairness and compromise was tragically scarce as Poseidon knocked him down to size by outright calling him boring. “Safe,” Owen corrected, a single finger lifted to indicate that they were venturing into shark-infested waters. “It’s not boring, it’s safe. Last thing we need is to kill a bunch of mortals on a drunk driving spree.” There was some joke about chariots and horsepower playing at the edges of his mind, but it was dashed when an age old argument about freezer pastries was brought to the forefront. This time, however, Anderson came armed with an analogy that would’ve stumped Owen if the river god wasn’t such a stickler for details. 

“Okay, no...” His fingers steepled, drawing downward to slice through the air in an effort to assert his point and keep his husband’s attention, “They aren’t even the same brand. Kellogg's makes pop tarts. Pillsbury makes toaster strudels. You’re comparing tissues to paper towels here -- - not even the same.” To bring his point home, he repeated the same mantra he had uttered time and time again, “Pop tarts can be eaten cold, but toaster strudels have to be heated up.” As soon as the ‘point of the dry flaky bit’ was brought into question, Owen adopted a strategy similar to Anderson’s -- - his hands cut through the air on every syllable, driving his point further home, “The. Flaky. Bit. Is. The. God. Damn. Strudel.” 

Perhaps his retreat was simply a way to stick to his bullshit story, or perhaps Owen sensed that they would be bickering back and forth about pastries for the rest of the night. Maybe a combination of the factors led him to rushing around the kitchen, but it didn’t change the fact that he made it all the way to the entrance before he stopped to stand his ground. 

“I might call a meeting right now,” he threatened, slipping up just enough to prove that he had initially lied about a morning meeting. The clack-clack-clack of the aging keys on his Blackberry -- - ‘I don’t need a new one if this still works, Anderson, fuck off!’- -- could’ve been a string of unintelligible letters or it might’ve been a summons for the rest of the office. “I wouldn’t wanna get into theatrics; might step on your toes too much.” Unwilling to go over the night’s earlier fight, Owen continued tapping away at his phone, biting down the urge to return Anderson’s barb with a comment about how one of them needed to understand the meaning of commitment. 

The problem was, of course, that Owen wasn’t so vindictive that he would willingly sabotage his future self in order to save face. Sending out an email about a morning meeting would mean that he absolutely had to be at the office, which would also mean he would be dragging his hungover ass out of bed and straight into a room full of complaints that could be handled with proper delegation. Still, he’d backed himself into a corner already; if he kept up the charade, he’d end up waking up at eight in the morning just to go to the office and sleep one off behind his desk. There was no winning. He’d seen to that. 

“Wait, what?” It took a matter of seconds after pulling up his inbox to read over a quick message from Hera. “I can’t believe this.” His teeth could’ve shattered from the pressure building behind his jaw, trapping any response with the force of his rage. His phone was tossed on the counter, skidding to a stop within reach of Poseidon, “Guess who’s conveniently having a party on the same day we are?”

A single message floated at the top of the screen: Just saw Demeter. Says she’s having a big party that day too. I’d say you hurt her feelings if she had any. 

[gailxrogers]

persephone + demeter

“Are you screening my calls?”

“No?”

“This is the third time I’ve called.”

“I know -- - I’m just a little swamped here. I called you back, didn’t I?”

“Swamped in September?” Gail didn’t have to see Demeter to picture the over-dramatic, skeptical eye-roll that must’ve accompanied the question. “This is about work anyway. Is your brother there?”

Knowing better than to answer outright, Gail waved to the boy at the counter until she had captured his attention. Her covered phone was held at arm's length just long enough to mouth ‘are you here?’ as if the woman on the other end would somehow sense the movement of her lips if the receiver was too close. A panicked mop of blonde curls shaking a violent negative was all Gail needed; she pulled the phone back to her face and chirped a practiced lie, “Nope! Sure isn’t!”

“Right.” A pause, a chance for Gail to redeem herself. When her daughter didn’t speak, Demeter picked up the pace, “Anyway, I need some flowers.”

“How many?”

“Enough for a dinner party.”

“A party, huh?” No attempt was made to temper her excitement or curiosity as Gail made a beeline for the back of the store, “Am I invited?”

Demeter didn’t miss a beat, playing the part of the all-too-enthusiastic mother with a honeyed sweetness that a much younger Gail might’ve believed,  “Of course you are!”

Once upon a time, they would’ve gone back and forth about how it would be terrible of Demeter to leave her own daughter off the guest list, but Gail recognized the song and dance for what it was. By the time the dinner party rolled around, there would be some sort of emergency that would keep Persephone from attending. An oversight that would have once left her ego fatally wounded was now just a fact of life, which was to say that Gail brushed off any ill-will and decided instead to bury herself in the prospect of impressing her mother. “So, what’s the occasion?”

“Oceanus is having a dinner party.”

“But I thought-- -”

“I’m not finished.” Demeter gave a few beats of silence for a rebuttal that she knew wouldn’t come. “Oceanus is having a dinner party and I wasn’t invited.”

“I see…” The hand that hovered over her keyboard was drawn to the phone pinned between her jaw and shoulder. Fully expecting that this conversation, like many others, would end up with cancelled plans and changed minds, Gail leaned back in her seat and resigned herself to a long and fruitless hour. “How’d you find out if you’re not invited, anyway?”

“Hera told me. She comes in my fucking office and sits down just to ask ‘Did you get an invitation to Owen’s party?’ like she didn’t already know the answer.” A bit of shuffling in the background was all Gail needed to hear to determine that Demeter was also leaning back, and that she’d probably cleared a good chunk of her schedule to complain about this newest slight. Given a few seconds of silence, the harvest goddess continued, “So I’m having a party that day, too. And I need it to look like it’s been in the works for a while, because I already told Hera that I couldn’t go even if I wanted to.”

It was good news, Gail supposed, that a dinner party was actually happening. Bad news that she’d be profiting off her mother’s pettiness. “Okay, but what would you be having a party for?”

“Labor Day? I don’t know. Who the fuck cares? That’s not the point, Persephone.” Demeter’s speech slowed, each word clearly enunciated in a way that would’ve been insulting if Gail hadn’t grown accustomed to it over the course of a few centuries, “The point is that I’m having a party and I need flower arrangements. Can you handle that or do I need to call somewhere else?”

“No, no! I’ve got it! No big deal! Just lemme -- - I’m gonna put you on speaker so I can write down what you need, okay?”

“I knew you’d do this. Don’t you check your e-mail? I already sent you what I want.”

“I don’t sit on my phone while I’m at work.”

“Maybe you should keep up with it so I don’t have to call you three times before I get an answer.”

“Maybe you should call the shop if you want flowers.”

“So your brother can screen my calls, too? No fucking thank you.”

“He isn’t even here right now!”

“I don’t believe that for a goddamn second.”

“Can’t you just thank me? I’m already falling behind trying to look up what you’re askin’ for.”

“Asking.”

“What?”

“It’s asking.”

“That isn’t even -- - Whatever, asking, okay? I’m pulling up your email right now.” As if to prove as much, Gail slid the phone closer to her laptop and began to type as loudly as possible. She made a show of leaning close to the phone, muttering something about junk mail, and tut-tut-tut’ing until she came across the message in question. “Need flowers ASAP. Real emergency here, huh?”

Demeter had evidently taken a similar approach, shuffling papers and muttering about how she could only afford to take so much time for lunch. After a great many sighs and half-assed remarks, she addressed the problem directly. “Can you just tell me what it’s gonna cost?”

Bravado abandoned, Gail scrolled through the message and finally raked her hands through her hair. “Gods…”

“What?”

“Mom, this is a lot.”

“Well, obviously, it’s just an idea. But something like that -- - centerpieces, invitations, the usual. You can just send me an estimate.” Demeter wouldn’t put a price on petty revenge; she’d spend herself into bankruptcy if it meant  throwing a party that was better than Owen’s by leaps and bounds. “The guest list is on the bottom.”

“Oh, I see it.” Gail sucked a breath through her teeth, “I don’t even know half these people. Are these all from Olympus?”

“Who  else would I invite? Farmers? I’d rather throw myself in front of a fucking tractor.” With a humorless laugh, Demeter added, “Although that’d really upstage Oceanus and Poseidon. Have my funeral when they’re trying to have a party that doesn’t involve Hot Cops or whatever the fuck they’re into these days.”

“You’re gonna invite Hecate to a dinner party?” More than accustomed to tuning her mother out, Gail continued scrolling while Demeter thought up other avenues of enacting revenge. “And Eris? You’re really tryin’ to fill seats, huh? You hate Hippolyta. And…” Her cursor hovered over one of the few familiar names on the list, contemplating the dual syllables with both curiosity and a pang of suspicion.

“And?”

“Do you actually think Hades is gonna come to your party instead of Poseidon’s?”

“Why not? Last I heard, he’s not exactly into Poseidon’s kind of parties, anyway.” Though Demeter’s dismissiveness would’ve warranted suspicion, Gail put her thoughts aside in time for her mother to circle back to the problem at hand, “So, can you actually handle this?”

Standing at the crossroads of what was decent and what she wanted, Gail stalled for time by asking the only question that genuinely mattered,  “Am I still invited?”

“What? Sure. Whatever. You’re invited. Can you fucking do this or not, Persephone?”

Unwilling to risk agitating her mother further, Persephone shot back a quick, “Can do!” Though she hoped to transition into the logistics, she was cut off by her mother’s grumbling.

“Good -- - that’s all I asked. Gods, I don’t know why everything has to be so complicated. Just let me know what you can do and then I’ll find someone else to do the rest; I think Chloris is out of work, anyway. She’ll probably be glad anyone remembers her name. I mean, I hate to have a nymph do the work, but it’s not like beggars can be choosers.” Evidently, Demeter herself was the only one who thought the sentiment was humorous.

“So,” Persephone gritted her teeth through her mother’s laughter. “I need to get back to the shop…”

“And I needed to be back to work fifteen minutes ago.” Keenly aware that she was being brushed off by her own daughter, Demeter sought the upper hand. “When you go back, tell your brother to call me.”

“I already t-- -” A singular beep alerted Gail to the fact that Demeter had terminated the call, leaving her only daughter staring at a single highlighted name and a task ahead of her that felt less like work and more like politics.

[gailxrogers]

uninvited guests— pantheon

[gailxrogers]

gabrielsalinger‌:

So dinner it was. Pos beamed at the prospect of being so useful in this particular instance. He was right to exclude him from taking the reins. It would undoubtedly go from a small get-together to a full-blown party by the time the sun set. Pos swallowed. Not this time. Not this one time out of a hundred. “Fine, fine. It’s your party. Er – dinner. Hopefully he doesn’t bring someone completely droll. I don’t have much faith in him, however.” Pos pondered the possibilities, leaning an extra bit forward on Owen, but only wound up pinching his own chin & shrugging slightly. “What’s the worst he could do?” 

“I don’t think he likes to sleep. Or he sleeps when I’m sleeping. Or sometimes in the middle of the afternoon while we’re out or I’m at the pool.” Pos’ eyes slid suspiciously from side to side as if he expected Dylan to come crawling out of an ornately carved cabinet door. When he didn’t, Pos rolled his eyes theatrically. “Fine.” 

“Parched, Owen, parched. You really need to expand your vocabulary.” He grinned incessantly. “It was the word of the day in the calendar in my office like six weeks ago.” That was probably the last time he’d stepped foot in the office & the Word of the Day Calendar in question hadn’t even been hung in his office. It had been in a cubicle of an employee he was attending a meeting. Pos had merely thought it was his “office” because there had been an unopened bottle of water set on the desk. 

“Right, right – scratch the fucking band. Who needs ‘em. I’m sure we can just play something on you iPhone set in the middle of the table.” He was only half joking. But it was something that Owen said that really caught Pos’ attention. Something having to do with going too far. Too far was something his eldest brother would do. Pos physically had to pull at the collar of his t-shirt to avoid getting carried away with outdoing Zeus. This was Owen’s gathering. That would be his mantra for the foreseeable future. “A change of pace – yeah.” This was Owen’s gathering. He couldn’t even bring himself to call it a party in the privacy of his own head. Pos came back to as Oceanus kissed his hand as he reciprocated the apology that really only needed to be uttered by one of them. Still, Pos could sit a little straighter. “I promise the next one won’t be as terrible, not including yours obviously because yours is going to be great, but I mean the next loud one. I’m really happy you stayed with me though.” Pos admitted, averting his eyes to the floor beside his husband’s feet. Though he was grateful, he thought perhaps that he wasn’t grateful enough for Owen not walking away & instead had stuck around to challenge him. Now, they could shoot the shit in the kitchen instead of facing the harsh quiet that would’ve come on the tails of a real fight. Even Poseidon wasn’t arrogant enough to assume that one day Oceanus wouldn’t just throw in the towel. Pos’ fingers curled over the ledge of the counter as Owen released his hand. Gifted a reassuring pat, Pos smiled into his glass. Moving the glass away, he inhaled sharply, giving his head a little shake. “Whatever you say.” He was still dreading that goddamn Christmas party. Fixing a pretzel stick into the corner of his mouth, Pos swished it back & forth as if he was a silent Bugsy Siegel character. “Are we seriously just going to eat this whole fucking bag?” He didn’t quite think he’d mind it much; it was doing his stomach good at the moment. “We could take them on the road.” Pos wagged his eyebrows. “Drive around going way too fast, eating way too many pretzels.” Pos’ drunk ass brain was already sorting through the cars in the garage. “Or – we could finish these,” He wagged his glass back & forth. “I could eat this whole salty bag myself & feed you a Pop Tart. I can tell that toaster strudel look in your eye from a mile away, Owen.” Pos narrowed his eyes at his husband. “Then I can take my bloated ass for a workout in the morning. Oh, fuck! Babe, we forgot about your meeting in the morning.” He was of course being a playfully facetious ass, but it didn’t stop him sliding off the top of the counter only to realize how close Owen was standing. “Don’t you need to go to bed?” He asked, cocking his head at the inquiry as he looked down at Owen sadistically.

“The worst he could do is bring Artemis, then she might bring Ares.”  Owen lifted a finger, tapping some invisible barrier in front of him around the edges of his glass. “I’d take three Demeters over one Ares at a dinner party. It’ll turn into a cockfight -- - maybe a literal cockfight. Who’s to say?” 

There would be no convincing Poseidon that Dylan kept such a terrible sleep schedule because of his demands, so Owen pulled back and settled on the small victory of keeping Dylan in bed through the night. At least he wouldn’t have to deal with them while they were drunk and hungover; now it would just be the former, although Owen wasn’t entirely sure which was worse. At least they didn’t shamble around pathetically begging for Advil when they were drunk. 

A dig at his vocabulary could be brushed off easily enough, but the idea that Poseidon gave enough of a shit to look at his office calendar was too easy to pass up. “Okay, first of all, you don’t have a calendar in your office. I know because I gave it to Brenda, since she needed one and you’re never there. Second, you need to brush up on your pop culture.” Not that he could really hold that over his head. Owen’s most current references came in the form of Frasier or Seinfeld quotes, apparently, so he wasn’t exactly sitting atop a mountainous pile of in-jokes and phrases. 

Sitcoms aside, they still had a party to plan and were evidently going to have a bit of contention about the music. Before he even spoke, Owen knew he was walking straight into the set up of a fair amount of teasing, but he persisted nevertheless. “Why do we need music at a dinner party? It’s distracting. What do you want me to do, queue up the new Kanye to help with the digestion process? C’mon. It’ll be fine. People can talk if they want, or not; we can have a silent dinner for all I care.” Putting Audrey and Hera in a room together would prevent that, he hoped. They’d both be comparing notes by their third glass of wine -- - who was doing this, who slept with whom, which God or Goddess was in dire straights, and who needed to be reminded about the hierarchy of Olympus.  He’d have compared it to an episode of Real Housewives if he had ever watched the show. 

Contemplation over the band was waylaid for the time being as they shifted into what seemed to be the main event. Poseidon apologized, Owen reciprocated, and some unspoken equilibrium was restored enough that Oceanus believed they could push past the awkward part of the conversation and move straight into more important matters. When Anderson went as far as to insist that he was glad Owen stayed at his side, the river god brushed him off, “Don’t be dramatic. It’s fine.” Brushing any slight -- - imagined or real - -- aside was easier than explaining the reality of Owen’s precarious position. He felt foolish -- - childish, even - -- for being mad in the first place; Poseidon was having a good time and Oceanus had let a few glasses of scotch and his insecurities go to his head. A deserved apology had been given to Anderson and, as far as Owen was concerned, that was enough talk of the party for the night. Thankfully, his husband had the good sense to pick up on his deflection and offer an alternate path of conversation. 

Draining his glass, Owen pushed the pretzels aside, shaking his head to clear any confusion about his intention. “That’s all you. But neither of us are driving.” The last thing Heal the Bay needed was a fucking poster of their CEO and his husband in shitty mugshots. With Owen’s luck, Pos would cheese it the fuck up and turn himself into some sort of joke or sensation -- - it was hard to tell which way things would go, most of the time. Owen, who had a propensity for blinking at the worst moment during photos, would never be so lucky. “You’re welcome to sit in the car and eat them, though.” 

Was he really so fucking obvious? Owen would’ve denounced Pop Tarts if it wasn’t so endearing that Anderson had some bizarre sixth sense for his spouse’s cravings. “Pop Tarts aren’t even the same as a toaster strudel.” How many times had they had the exact same conversation? “We don’t have any of those, anyway, because you’d just eat the icing packets.” It was a point that was lost when Poseidon suddenly remembered Owen’s imaginary meeting. Things were made worse when Pos slid off the counter to tower over Oceanus, though the latter wouldn’t back down by any means. 

Though they both knew it was complete and utter bullshit, Owen put on airs as if he’d just remembered something incredibly vital. “Oh, shit! I do have a meeting!” In his overly dramatic rush, he went about rinsing his cup and leaving it in the basin of the sink, snatching up his phone to read -- - again, imaginary -- - messages and pointing his direction to the entryway of the kitchen. “Great save, babe. Guess you’ll have to drink alone. Look at this -- - “ The screen of his phone was flashed in Anderson’s direction briefly, holding nothing of any importance except for an email about coupons and member rewards, “Very important. I should’ve been asleep hours ago. I better take one of the guest rooms tonight -- - wouldn’t wanna wake you up when I leave, y’know?” 

[gailxrogers]

uninvited guests— pantheon

[gailxrogers]

gabrielsalinger‌:

Pos nodded enthusiastically, taking his lower lip between his teeth as he tried to re-arrange the image he’d been building in his head. Evidently Owen wasn’t joking about the scale of this potential soiree. “I could go for either or, but remember if it’s brunch, everyone will stick around all day. Which, I mean, I’m not against but I figured it’s something for you to consider.” Pos let the fridge door shut on its own. No love lost. “So no work people.” That was probably for the best. “Apollo? Yeah. Scratch Demeter. – I may need some paper.” Pos pulled open a drawer, his reflection in every variation of a fork known to man shown back up at him in blinding silver. “Fuck it.” He closed the drawer a little harder than he meant to & disappeared into the butler’s pantry. “So that’s what? Eight total, including us. That doesn’t seem too bad. Even.” 

He returned with a bag of pretzels. He pulled a face. “Why would I eat that?” He protested, popping a pretzel into his mouth. “Wow!” Anderson’s widened his blue eyes in faux surprise. “How’d you know I was going to ask?” He grinned. Another pretzel. “Fine. Are you hungry? I’d cook you something but I don’t want to kill you. We could…” Pos tried to imagine what they could still get brought in at this ungodly hour. “We could have Dylan make us something.” He proposed. “I’m fairly certain that man doesn’t sleep.” In fact, Pos had just never seen him sleep because he was, in fact, always waiting on him. 

“A drink?” The question was barely understandable; Pos talking around a mouthful of bone dry Snyders. “Thank gods!” Pos marched himself back to Owen’s side of the kitchen & planted the bag of sticks between them, grabbing his glass only after he’d hoisted himself atop the marble countertop. “These pretzels are making me… parched.” He lifted his glass towards Owen’s. “So we know Hades, possibly his date, Hera, Zeus, Apollo, Aphrodite & Hephaestus. Right? Anybody else or that sound like a pretty solid list?” Now, what the fuck were they gonna eat, when was this happening & how many trips to how many liquor stores would need to be made by the staff? He might’ve asked if he was commandeering Oceanus’ idea had he not been so strangely taken by the idea. Reeling himself back, he remembered with some vinegar that this wasn’t going to be one for the books. That was obviously Owen’s source of yearning for such an event. No nymphs. No strangers. No one he couldn’t stand. Perhaps he shouldn’t have invited his brothers. 

Stifling a yawn with his hand, Pos rolled his wrist. “This is good.” He admitted, taking another sip from the familiar glass. “I know you just came up with this, & I may still be a little drunk, but what’re you thinking about for this thing?” Pos asked, planting his hand on his husband’s shoulder. “& you know I really hate to do it, but I should say sorry again for earlier right?” Anderson answered himself with a nod, as he thumbed Owen’s collarbone. “I’m sorry for pissing you off tonight. Give me an inch & I’ll take a mile.”

"Gotta be dinner.” Owen struck the idea of brunch down as soon as his husband pointed out the obvious issue with keeping people in the house too long. Playing host was easy enough for a few hours, but Oceanus would be slipping by the end of the night. If his nerves didn’t get to him, the need for solitude would eventually force him to toss out his guests or brood until it was incredibly obvious that it was time for them to go. The best possible option there would be to tag Poseidon in and hope for the best, though Oceanus secretly worried it would involve inviting fifty other people and making a weekend of it. “Eight’s more than enough. Nobody’s gonna end up singled out. Except...” Another check of his mental math had Owen shaking his head, “That’s nine. Hera, Zeus, Hades, his date, Aphrodite, Hephaestus, you, me, and Apollo -- - it’s all couples, except Apollo. So maybe we let him bring a plus one? Can we trust him to bring a plus one?” 

A future party was less important than the prospect of dinner. Oceanus prepared himself to grab Anderson if he decided to head toward Dylan’s quarters, but the suggestion wasn’t followed through. “Okay, no -- - Dylan does sleep, but you never see it because you’re always yelling for him to do something. Leave him alone.” Oceanus would eat cold pop-tarts before he would pull Dylan out of bed to cook whatever they could come up with while they worked on reestablishing their buzzes. 

These pretzels are making me -

“Thirsty.”

Parched. 

“Okay, well, nice job. Good one.” Sarcasm was tempered with a grin that twisted and contorted in an effort to disappear into the lines of Oceanus’ mouth. “Got me.” He could hide his chagrin in a drink and a handful of pretzels, much to his delight, so Owen munched and thought further on the guest list. “Seems solid to me. That’s more than enough for dinner. We can iron out the details later. It’s not got to be some kind of RSVP thing -- - just a small group. Dinner, drinks, desert, then a couple more drinks and everybody goes the fuck home. No need for a band, either.” Oceanus ruminated on his final point, laughing even as he pivoted, “Unless we wanna go way too far with it, like Mormon Tabernacle Choir far. No explanation for it, just nine assholes and an entire orchestra.” It would almost be as excessive as Zeus’ parties, which made it even more ridiculous to think about. 

A compliment from out of left field elicited a surprised blink from Owen, but he nodded in agreement when Poseidon tacked on an explanation by way of his intoxication. “I think it’ll be nice. A change of pace.” He, Hades, and Hera would probably appreciate the atmosphere more than the others, but Owen would consider it a successful party even if was just the three of them having a conversation like a group of fucking adults. 

His fingers eclipsed Poseidon’s wrist, pulling his hand carefully so Owen could press his lips against the hollows of his husband’s knuckles, “I’m sorry, too. I overreacted.” Owen cut himself off at the knees, falling under his own scrutiny with ease. He let go of Poseidon’s hand, deciding instead to pat the other man’s knee, “It’s difficult.” There were no adequate words to express the feeling of walking into a room and sucking the life out of conversations or wading through a sea of disparaging looks. It would’ve been easy to say that the nymphs and goddesses were laughing with Poseidon but laughing at Oceanus. All he would have to do is explain the situation, but Owen wouldn’t allow himself to sound like such a goddamn child. It was the beginning of a bad movie played on loop without any sort of resolution or heroic deed that would sway the crowd in his favor. Forsaking the Titans hadn’t worked, so what would a few weak insults at a party do to make anyone think of him as more than a coward? 

“But, it’s over now.” A more firm pat was afforded Poseidon’s knee before Owen reached for the bottle to top himself off. “And you’re going to the company Christmas party this year, so I’d say it’s an even trade.”