liar, liar

[icarusfclling]

achillespithia​:

Achilles’ coffee arrives. He covers the way his mouth curves down in alarm at the mention of Patroclus by taking a sip, and oh, that… that’s not bad. His brows lift, just so, in mild surprise. It’s a welcome relief from whatever they were peddling on Olympe, insta-coffee from grounds to serve the massive crowds. He’s thought many things of Pontius, so far, but whoever they’ve got working in the sustenance department is doing an excellent job. He’s had a few drinks from the bar, too, on his downtime. They’re not bad either. Over the rim of the cup he stares Icarus down, just to see if it’ll actually do anything.

Does Icarus sweat when they’re nervous? He sets the coffee down. “I haven’t, yet. But I’ve heard plenty of praise for them, the past few days. The little blurb on the guide pamphlet, very helpful.” Could Icarus know? There’s little possibility. Achilles’ paranoia has got to him before. There’s also the urge to lecture, though he wishes there wasn’t. How easy it would be, he thinks, to say What would you know of Patroclus Cirillo, what would you know of who Patroclus is, but it’d be unjustified for a number of reasons. He tilts further back in his chair and allows his body to relax a little more, to lounge. A half-spinning motion with his hand. “Do you go to many of these? I can’t imagine what it’s like, in Arcadia, doing what you do.”

There’s an art to studying someone without making it obvious, but Achilles Pithia clearly has no use nor need for subtlety. His gaze is direct and unflinching even over a mug of coffee ( the contents of which seem to be better than he was expecting ) and Icarus knows this is some kind of test. For a moment they consider rising to the challenge, staring him down in return, but that doesn’t feel right so instead they simply meet Achilles’ eyes for a brief moment before turning their attention to the neglected plate in front of them.

“Oh certainly — the pamphlet piqued my interest, but in my experience there’s nothing like listening to someone talk about their passion projects. It’s so much easier to understand something when you get someone who loves it to explain it to you, you know?” Icarus thinks of Hephaestus, so many years ago, watching him brainstorm speeches and asking all the right questions whenever the words ran dry. He thinks of long evenings in the apartment that was his on paper but theirs in practice, nudging Heph into a one-sided debate just to revel in the way his eyes lit up when he was sharing information like it was a piece of himself.

Icarus stabs their fork into a piece of melon with only slightly more force than necessary, pops it in their mouth and buys a moment to suppress the shiver their memories had tried to instigate before answering Achilles’ question. “Nothing quite this large, but it does sometimes feel like all I do is attend slideshows and Q&A sessions for one thing or another.” It’s impossible to keep from tensing at the mention of home; like being elbowed in a day-old bruise, the hit is accidental but direct and the ache is too sharp to truly ignore.

“The parts of my job that happen in Arcadia are all open to the public — spectating isn’t the same as participating, but if you’re ever in the city around the solstice you’re welcome to visit.”

[icarusfclling]

athenarhea​:

The tone was distinctly different from the last time she’d seen Icarus. Now, there was no delighted hugs, no laughter, no gifts to be exchanged. There was just Icarus, professional as a stranger, as a statue. And Athena, who thought she might unravel at the slightest touch. She’d tried to cover it with makeup and neatly ironed clothes, but peering in the mirror this morning, she’d still worried her stress was somehow visible.

She smiled back at Icarus regardless, almost as bright as ever. “Of course, you don’t have to thank me.” That was it? They were jumping right into work? Normally, she might approve, but right then she wanted to take Icarus by the shoulders and demand to know how he was managing. She set her manila folder down on Icarus’s desk and pulled up a chair.

“Just so you’re aware, this isn’t all of my notes - I want to have a few surprise questions, just to make sure that this doesn’t look rehearsed, you know? But feel free to look through them and then we can do a practice run.” She clasped her hands together in her lap. “I’m trying to keep it all very straightforward, nothing too complicated. It shouldn’t take that long to go through. Though - if you wanted to get lunch anyway, I wouldn’t mind. I don’t know about you, but I could use the break.” That was the closest she’d stoop to outright asking him to have a real conversation with her.

Athena may not be a performer in the same way that Artemis and Apollo are but she’s putting on a fantastic show of normality that would almost have fooled Icarus, were it not for the nearly fifteen years of history between them. It’s almost mathematical to note the differences between this smile and the one he’d seen just a few short weeks ago, the way her eyes don’t light up like they should and her shoulders are set with a degree of tension she only gets when she’s on the verge of breaking. 

It helps, in some ways, to know that they are not the only one feeling like the world has shifted under their feet, but as they take a seat in their own chair and pick up the folder Icarus almost wishes they were. As it is there are too many casualties of this explosion, too many wounded and no one strong enough to help anyone else staunch the bleeding. He can’t ask Athena to share the weight of his grief when he knows he cannot shoulder any of hers in return; it’s why he hasn’t spoken to Apollo since the news broke, why he’s been ignoring texts and emails about anything other than work, why he refuses to leave his apartment or office unless absolutely necessary.

Her voice is cautious, treading the narrow middle ground between personal and professional. Icarus listens and nods as they glance over the hard copies she’s given them, marking the places where her notes and their own overlap and sternly reprimanding the part of their heart that aches to give in to her carefully encrypted offer of comfort. You have to get yourself under control. Just get it together, shove it all down. You can do that. If he has to add anything else to this pile of secrets hidden away in his heart, Icarus thinks he might collapse under the weight of it all.

“Of course, we’d hate to give any impression of bias.” As if they’re capable of anything else; like it or not, one way or another he’ll always be biased towards the Rheas. At least with Athena, Icarus is confident that the bias is both positive and reciprocal. “Straightforward is good; I’d like to keep this accessible to as many people as possible. Would you like to start with digital voting or industry regulations?” He makes no mention of lunch, can’t lie and say he wants any kind of break from the work that’s holding him together.

[icarusfclling]

herarhearp​:

Knowing that they are all on this boat, Hera can’t sleep. The three kings, all the murder conspirators, the children. And Zeus. Her Zeus. It is hard to exist in this limbo where she wants to reach for him, but the world is betting she will never find her way back to Olympe. She isn’t sure if she wants to be his again, but that doubt is better than the certainty of the end, isn’t it? She walks around the Helicon deck, welcoming the salty air that has become familiar. The sounds of the sea help her ignore the mess inside her head.

Hera is surprised to find Icarus there, looking as alone as she feels. How long has it been since she talked to them? Longer than she had been on Pontius, probably. Their words hit her like a furious wave, though Icarus themself sounds soft, a friend that shares her pain. That only makes it harder for her. Icarus believes the affair happened, probably wondering if Hephaestus was with Zeus during the entirety of their relationship. 

Hera is familiar with that anguish, even if hers isn’t real this time. She knows the feeling of shame, betrayal and anger when someone promises you their heart and then shares it with another, as if their bond to you meant nothing. She can easily imagine what it would do to her if this horror story was true, if Zeus had loved someone else for even longer than he has loved her. The mere thought makes her sick. “The sea has never made me sleep, but it helps me clear my mind.” 

Hera wishes she could ease their pain, but the truth must remain sealed away, regardless of who the lie hurts. All the honesty she can offer is this, based on her own past experiences. “It does get easier, but not less infuriating. After a while, it is not at the center of your thoughts anymore. Only hurts when you think about it, and you’re eventually able to think about it less often, to dwell on it for shorter periods of time.”

The hurt she feels is different from their own, Icarus knows, yet at the same time she is the closest anyone he knows can possibly come to understanding both the entirety of the situation and the depth of his hurt. They can’t bear to look at her when she joins them at the railing, too afraid of what they might see in her eyes — pity is one thing, but kindness? Genuine concern? Icarus hates how much the thought of it makes him sick, especially when it comes to the members of the Rhea family whose affection for him he has never had reason to doubt. Hera, Athena, Apollo... Fates, Apollo.

Hera interrupts that train of thought with an answer to the question they’d tried, however poorly, to disguise, and Icarus feels a stab of unwelcome nostalgia. “The uh... the grief counselor I saw, after...” He stops, throat abruptly tight at the memory of a different kind of loss entirely, and has to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment to keep the tears from beginning to fall. “Anyway, she said the same thing. That the hurt doesn’t get smaller but our lives get bigger around it, until it isn’t taking up so much space.” 

It was Althea who’d encouraged him to go back to pen and paper journaling in order to process the loss and the emptiness by making them physical, by giving them shape and texture and weight that he can see and feel and hold. Icarus thinks of the notebook again, of the ashtray on their desk that holds the charred remains of a half dozen inkstained pages, and wonders if he should try throwing his written-down feelings into the ocean instead.

“How can you even bear to look at him?” They turn to face Hera properly for the first time — Icarus suspects her face will tell them far more than her words even if she chooses to answer honestly. “I can’t—I can’t imagine—” There are the tears, slipping hot and silent down their cheeks, and they can only hope she will do them the courtesy of not mentioning the way they keep choking on the lump in their throat. Zeus is my employer, he wants to say, but Hephaestus was your friend. It’s devastating enough to have been betrayed by one man I trusted — how are you still standing when you’ve been stabbed in the back by two of them at once?

[icarusfclling]

patroclusc​:

Patroclus smiled, he was sure people will talk plenty about Pontius technology during this summit, since they cannot simply ignore the greenery that Pontius had, but then again Patroclus was part it, which for him was more comfort than disappointment. “I’ll have Poseidon look into it next time, but I do encourage you to go listen to some of our panels, they’ll answer plenty of questions you didn’t know you even had.” Was he pampering the summit? Just a bit, they worked hard getting it ready in such short time.

He was quiet for a moment, counting and thinking how many years it has been since he went to school. “I studied in Arcadia about seven years ago for around ten years give or take.” He always looked at his time in Arcadia fondly, new friends and studying kept him busy after leaving Tartarus, which he’s glad for, he didn’t know what he would’ve done without burying himself in books and spending time together with Athena. 

“Yes, we do!” Patroclus walked closer to the plant, it looked exactly like it did before it got extinct, as if nothing has happened to it. “We have plenty of success stories and we’re still working on more and other projects.” Some that had no connections to plants whatsoever.

If he were to think about it, Icarus would realize that this is perhaps the best he’s felt since the news of the affair broke — but he’s not thinking about it. Instead he’s watching Patroclus beam with pride, he’s breathing in the delicate scent of the flowers that surround them, he’s doing the math in his head to figure out when their school years had overlapped. “It’s a wonder we never ran into each other — I was at Arcadia University for three of those years, then law school at Propylaea for three more.” 

Icarus tries to picture Patroclus with his group of university friends and breaks into a wide grin at the thought. “I admit I was a bit wild back then, so maybe it’s better that you didn’t meet me until I grew up a little.” They look at the ghost orchid, at its resurrected brethren, at trees and shrubs and vines in all stages of life, and Icarus listens with genuine fascination and delight as Patroclus tells the story of how each one came to be under his care. The smile that lingers on his face as he follows Patroclus through the garden is more real than any he’s worn for the entirety of the last three weeks.

// FIN.

[icarusfclling]

a softer gaia: pontius edition

1198. Forewarned is only forearmed if you give a shit.  ||  984. what’re you, new?   ||  1022. I EXPLAINED THAT.  ||  916. what use beauty, sans ugmos?  ||  1000. I wish I didn’t need to know.  ||  1042. What’re you doing with that length of lead pipe?!  ||  1188. you have to make the impossible shiver with antici-  ||  824. confiscate that shit.  ||  835. cleaning up g-d’s mess.

[icarusfclling]

mcyme​:

FOR: @icarusfclling ​WHERE: the KALAVRIA DECK; ICARUS’ ROOM WHEN: 2130.02; WEEK TWO; POST-MIDNIGHT

This is not how he imagined the end of the summit going for him—tired, restless, just about out of good-will and hauling the dead-weight of one Icarus Volati across Pontius. What in Chaos they were doing to end up passed out in one of the lounge chairs on the main deck, he doesn’t want to know, but past altercations aside, they are still from Olympe, and he has a job to do. He hadn’t smelled any alcohol on them at least, but it’s hard to tell with other substances. Hopefully, all they need is to sleep off whatever it is that’s put them in this stupor.

It’s with substantial relief that he finally makes it into Caro’s room. At some point after leaving the bustle of the deck area, he’d switched from lugging them over his shoulder to carrying them in both arms, both for convenience—he’s not about to go digging through their pockets for the key—and for a sentimentality he’d rather not place. Perhaps it’s a lingering pity for what all they’ve had to put up with since the new year began.

Setting them down on the bed, he pulls up a chair and sits back to monitor the situation. If they still don’t stir in the next ten minutes or so, he’s going to have to go looking for help. “Fates you make things complicated don’t you? All the same, you’d better not be dead..”

They’ve had this dream before. It's a classic, really: trapped in a burning building, saved by a hot firefighter, carried away somewhere quiet... Icarus smiles up at their rescuer as he sets them down but the touch against their cheek doesn’t feel quite right, feels like knuckles instead of fingertips or a palm, and when they blink they realize they can’t make out his face anymore. In the span of a breath, the solidly muscled chest they’d been held against dissolves into smoke and Icarus realizes that the hand against their cheek is the back of their own, that they’re lying on their side in a bed that smells like Pontius’ housekeeping detergent.

They let out a groan, irritated at having woken up when they’re sure they hadn’t been asleep for all that long, but when they open their eyes they notice two things simultaneously: first that they’re fully dressed, still wearing shoes, and on top of the blankets; and second, that Ares Rhea is sitting in a chair watching them from a few feet away. What the fuck. 

“What the fuck?” It slips out before their exhausted mind can stop it, and Icarus scrambles to sit up as they try to make some kind of sense of the situation. What were they doing last? There was some kind of commotion at the open bar, maybe, and they’d been walking the upper deck to get away from the noise. Then there was a row of deck chairs, and they’d been walking for a while so sitting down hadn’t seemed like a bad idea, and after that...

“Oh, fucking fates.” Icarus rubs a hand over their eyes, blinks a few times, shakes their head a little, but Ares doesn’t disappear. “How did you... actually, don’t answer that, I’m not sure I want to know. You did though, right? I fell asleep in a deck chair and you... brought me back here. You did not break into my room and just sit there watching me sleep for no reason.” Not that they’d put it past him, really.

[icarusfclling]

prcmethevs​:

Prometheus hummed thoughtfully at the question. “You know, I’m not so sure,” he said as he took out the bottle, closing the door with the back of his feet. “I grabbed one at random the last time I visit my dad’s. Let me see.” By this point, he had a corkscrew and two glasses in his hand, and he was making his way to join Caro as he peered to check the label. “It’s red– 2100 Xinomarvo. Arcadia’s finest, or so it claims to be.” Prometheus shifted his attention to Caro, a small grin on his face. “Well,” the bottle opened with an audible pop, poured out the drinks, “As a pair of Arcadian Finest, I think we can be the judge of that.” He offered a glass to his friend and raised his own for a toast, schooling a serious look on his face. “To our very last battle together,” he said, carrying the bravado of a soldier that was only betrayed by the flicker of mirth in his eyes, “May we come on top victorious, as we usually do.”

He pops a strawberry in his mouth as Theus crosses the room, sighing in quiet satisfaction at the burst of sweetness on his tongue. It’s gotten so easy to lose himself in studying these days, and on more than one occasion he’s woken up still sitting at his desk, creases in his face from where he’d slept on one book or another. Without Prometheus he’d probably be doing the same thing tonight but instead he’s here, sitting in the fresh night air with a glass of red wine and his best friend, and Icarus wonders if science will discover a way to bottle this feeling within their lifetimes.

“To honor, and valor, and glory, and our inevitable triumph.” They try, but it’s impossible to keep a straight face as they clink the glasses together, and by the time he’s set his down Icarus is dissolving into unrestrained laughter. “You’re ridiculous, you know that? I know we’ve talked about working together but that’s never gonna work — you’ll make a face in a courtroom and I’ll get removed for laughing in the middle of a cross-examination.”

[icarusfclling]

achillespithia​:

As a general rule, Achilles’ opinions of politicians don’t run high. He thinks he’s seen too many of them barge into Tartarus over the years with grand plans and ulterior motives but no real love for the dark. There’s also the fact that Achilles has strangled a few politicians in his time. It doesn’t matter how high up they are on the ladder, or how much of the big picture they make up: their legs still kick the same way during death throes.

Zagreus (unfortunately) likes Icarus. This means that in all the years they’ve spent inhabiting the same frayed edges of existence, Achilles can’t do much about any of it. He enters the dining room with the intention of getting some coffee and trying to get a grasp on just who Icarus Volati proclaims himself to be, before the day really starts.

Lucky him, Icarus invites him to join them. Achilles does, but doesn’t bother matching the pleasant smile that lights up Icarus’ entire face. “Thank you.” Someone comes by to get him the caffeine he desperately wants, and then they’re alone again. Achilles watches Icarus’ face. “Enjoying the summit, so far?”

The expression Achilles is wearing, Icarus thinks, could be described as either ‘mildly disgruntled’ or ‘contemplating extreme violence’. For all they know it could be both; they’ve spent enough time in Tartarus to have heard things about Hades’ head of security, not to mention the bits and pieces Zag has mentioned over the years — the ones they actually remember, anyway. Icarus takes another sip of his coffee and dims the smile to a mere uptick at one corner of their lips as Achilles asks a question they’re certain he doesn’t actually care to have answered.

“I am, yes. Have you been to see the gardens?” If he wants small talk, he’ll get small talk, but if he’s after something else Icarus has every intention of making him work for it. “I was lucky enough to catch Doctor Cirillo in my free time yesterday, and we had a fascinating discussion about the terraforming project and its environmental implications. He’s a brilliant man, really; I’m surprised he’s not presenting at the expo, but perhaps another time.”

[icarusfclling]

ohartemis​:

He holds himself together admirably and for a moment, Artemis wonders if he really does not care. Admirable, if true, and a good sign that he fits right in in Olympe, where things as fickle as deep human emotion tend to get in the way of business. But even she, poised in her appearances, aptly skilled in compartmentalisation and detachment to a certain degree, is stirred by the news. So, she thinks that rather than Icarus feeling nothing on the matter, he’s just good at concealing it.

A challenge, then.

She watches his cheeks flush, takes back her phone and leans her elbows on her knees. “That’s very healthy. Maybe I miscalculated.” It’s easy to admit that you were wrong when you have little intention of being right. “He is your ex, and all. But still, you know. It is quite a strange situation, even for you.” Artemis lifts one shoulder. “But maybe you’re right, maybe you have no right to be upset at all.” A warning, of sorts, a cloaked way of saying that if you are in pain, know that I am too, and that I am more deserving of it than you.

He turns the table on her, or at least tries to. Artemis feels something stir, deep inside, but she can’t say she’s entirely surprised. She stares at her fingers and it’s more performance than truth. Right now, she’s cooped up her emotions too far to get in touch with them. But she sounds sincere as she answers, as if wanting to show that she can meet a (former) friend’s concern with something real. Unlike him. “I’ve read horrible things about my father and family in the press for years. It’s no fun, especially when it pertains to subjects as this. So am I alright? I am coping, Icarus. Upset, as I’m sure you can imagine. Wishing we could deal with this in private, most of all, as that would make it all easier.” None of it is a lie, and yet she feels dishonest. “It’s kind of you to ask, or at least, I hope you’re just being kind, and not like those vultures, hungry for an incendiary quote they can put in all caps on their front pages.”

Maybe you have no right, she says, and Icarus wants to laugh and sob at the same time. Hadn’t he said the same thing to Hephaestus a month ago, standing in that alcove with a hand hovering over the imprint of Ares’ teeth in his neck? I have no right, they’d said, and maybe it’s true. No right to see him, no right to touch him, no right to care. No right to love him still, not when it was Icarus who’d driven Hephaestus away. They think of his departure for Pontius and remember with piercing clarity how they’d blamed themself for that too, how they’d wondered if he would have stayed for them. If he would have asked them to go with him.

They feel sick. Artemis’ voice barely registers when she continues, words falling on ears that cannot hear — do not want to hear — what he’s sure is some kind of falsehood. It’s not that the words themselves are untrue, that’s never been their problem. The problem he has with Artemis is that even her truths have strings attached, even honesty is only given if there is something to be gained by it. 

( The irony of this particular observation won’t hit them until later, when it moves from mind to hand to ink to paper in the privacy of their room. When it does they tear the page from its binding and crush it in their fist with a quiet scream, spend the next two hours shifting restlessly from chair to bed to empty bathtub to floor with hot tears streaming down their cheeks, then finally locate a lighter meant for the suite’s numerous candles and burn the torn-out page to nothing in a souvenir ashtray on the desk. )

She says she hopes he’s being kind and now he does laugh, blank expression melting into bitter amusement. “I don’t work for a gossip page, Artemis, I work for your father — or have you forgotten?” If only it were that easy to forget. “And sometimes, people are capable of continuing to care about someone who’s hurt them.” Is he talking about her, or Hephaestus, or himself? Everyone he knows is full of cuts and everyone he knows is holding a knife, each of them at once both the blood and the blade. Icarus can feel himself slipping into the space beyond pain where his emotions belong to actors on a screen, too far separated from his physical self to touch. He turns, looks out at the horizon, wonders if she’ll go away if he just ignores her long enough. Probably not, but at this point he’s willing to try almost anything.

[icarusfclling]

patroclusc​:

“Maybe Circe could help you, she’s our head of technology.” Patroclus offered without having to make Icarus wait until the end of their little tour.

“People have been preserving seeds before our grandparents were born, but probably when our great grandparents were born.” He tried to joke. “And yes, we’ve been continuing the preservation process, because we believe in the future.” Adding ‘here in Pontius’ sounded very mechanical for Patroclus so he didn’t, despite the fact that indeed they believe in doing things towards a better future, he didn’t know if it was the same for the other factions around Gaia. “Plants aren’t the only thing that help the future, some flowers are depended on different species of bees for example to survive.” 

Patroclus tilted his head in deep thought as they looked at one of their newest collection their garden. “People are speaking of so many different subjects, we must have time to squeeze in a talk about how we’re going to live twenty years from now, nature is powerful and important.” And with the right care, a great resource. 

He had too much to tell and not enough time to tell it all. The mention of Arcadia made Patroclus smile. “I used to live and I’ve studied in Arcadia, so I know exactly what you mean.” He smiled at the tree. “I have several favorite stories, one of them being the Ghost Orchid, it took us several tries.” Patroclus chuckled at the memory. “We kept saying maybe it did become a real ghost.”

Ah, Circe — he should’ve known that. Icarus shakes his head at himself, at the evidence of just how distracted he’s been over the last two weeks, and makes a mental note to text her once they’re finished with the tour of the gardens. For now they simply continue listening and looking as Patroclus begins talking about bees, nodding along without interjection until he pauses for longer than a single breath.

“You’re absolutely right, we should be talking about it, especially here. What would technology be without nature? Gaia’s natural resources are what make our leaps in tech possible in the first place; maybe someone ought to suggest a panel on the subject for the next summit.”

They don’t direct the suggestion at anyone in particular, not wanting to seem as if they’re telling Patroclus that he should be the one to do it while simultaneously unwilling to commit to doing it themself. First rule of politics: don’t promise what you can’t provide. Sure, politicians say things that sound like promises all the time — the trick is sticking to implications and inferences and allowing other minds to jump to their own conclusions. Icarus hates himself, a little bit, for treating Patroclus like a junior Quorum staffer, but from where he’s standing there’s nowhere else to go without cornering himself further.

Fortunately Patroclus offers them an exit when he picks up the mention of Arcadia and shares a bit of his history. “Oh, really? When were you in school? We may have crossed paths already and not even known it!” The smile that follows is heartfelt, tinged with nostalgia, and Icarus wonders if Patroclus misses wherever he’s from as much as they miss Arcadia. “Ghost Orchid? Now that sounds like a story I want to hear. Do you have one down here now? I’d love to see it if so.”

[miraydanerarchived]

İLHAN ŞEN AŞK MANTIK İNTIKAM | 29. BÖLÜM

[valtsv]

i can't vibe with anyone who thinks icarus was an ignorant idiot for flying too close to the sun. "oh i'd never do that i would have remembered my father's warning and been fine". do you seriously think that after years of imprisonment, feeling the sun on your face and the open air beneath your wings, you would be able to focus on anything but the joy of being alive and free? do you actually think that if you were given the opportunity to go where nobody has never been before, you wouldn't want to push it to the limit? to dare to be the first to try what no one else has ever even thought possible? do you honestly think you're too good for your own human nature? look me in the eyes and tell me if i strapped a pair of wings to your back that could take you wherever you wanted to go whenever you pleased that you'd be careful and sensible about it. you are not better than icarus just because you have the benefit of his example.

[icarusfclling]

ohartemis​:

There’s something wicked about Artemis Rhea. Something destructive, something that wants to reach out and scratch the very world when she feels upset herself. Some implode, some explode and she? She just becomes mean. And she gets away with it. There are ruined friendships in her past, sure, but she does alright all the same. She shakes off the anger she’s faced with and moves on. Apologises, when she wants to, and does so with sincerity, but more often than not she expects her victims to simply forget as she tends to.

Icarus Volati is well acquainted with her tendency towards demon-like behaviour, by now. He’s one of those former friends, after all, now sometimes reeled into the warm softness she can still offer but more often met with saccharine cruelty. Like now. Icarus skirts around the topic and it’s clear he’d rather ignore it, something she understands. That does not mean she respects it. “You missed the news?” Cue fake shock. She pulls up her legs, scoots forward, pulls out her phone and taps way until she produces a screenshot of the Pandora article that had shattered the very foundations of her branch of the Rhea family.

She holds out her phone, “I mean this. My father and your ex, getting it on for apparently years. Did you really not know, or are you unaffected? That would be quite alright, really, I don’t expect everyone to be involved with my family’s lives.” Artemis searches his face for a reaction, for a kind of pain that can overshadow her own. Tonight, she will wonder if something inside her is rotten, as she often does, but now all she wants is a reaction. A distraction from her own sorrow. “But, then, you’re not just anyone, are you?”

      ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

They know what’s coming the minute her eyes go wide with feigned surprise, and Icarus spends the moments it takes her to find what she’s looking for wondering if he can make it from the chair to the railing and throw himself overboard before anyone can stop him. Has Artemis Rhea ever seen a wound she didn’t want to pour salt into? Her phone arrives in front of their face and their stomach churns at the sight of it, words and images far too familiar for something they barely managed to look at the first time around.

Somehow, despite knowing it won’t work, despite the white-hot fury and pain twisting like a tropical cyclone contained within their ribcage, Icarus manages to hold on to the mask a bit longer. They look at her face, rather than the screen, as they reply. “I had heard, yes, I simply don’t see how it concerns me.” An awfully bold lie, but one he’s repeated to himself just often enough that he very nearly believes it. If only belief made it hurt any less. “As you said, Hephaestus is my ex; why should I care what or who he’s doing now?” Icarus regrets the phrasing as soon as it’s out of his mouth, cheeks burning as his brain provides a vivid and deeply unwanted mental image of the two men in question locked in an intimate embrace.

From anyone else that last question might have sounded like a compliment. From Artemis, undoubtedly hurt and lashing out like a cornered animal, it seems intended to twist the knife just that much further. He wants to look away but can’t, wants to stand and turn and leave her sitting here alone with her screenshots and her perfect manicure and her bitter need to wound when she herself is wounded, but he doesn’t. Instead Icarus tries something new: he returns fire, features falling into a calm facade of concern.

“Are you alright? As you said, you’re close to them both — this can’t be an easy thing to hear about your father and such a close friend of the family, let alone to find out from a gossip column.”

[icarusfclling]

WITH: @athenarhea WHERE: nemean news tower, olympe WHEN: mid-january, a few days after the pandora article WEARING: alexander mcqueen (x)

Their panel is scheduled for the beginning of the second week of the summit and Icarus refuses to wait until they’re somewhere unfamiliar to begin preparing; perhaps a calendar invite is unnecessarily distant and formal, but Athena accepts it immediately and he breathes a sigh of relief. Their office at Nemean News is far from the first place they would ordinarily choose but it seems the safest place to be right now, firmly embedded in the veneer of professionalism that is the only thing holding them together.

It’s difficult to look at Athena when she arrives, five minutes early with a drink in each hand, but Icarus manages. Keeps managing as he forces his lips into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and clears a space on his crowded desk for her to put her things down. “Thanks for coming — I have a list of key points and potential questions if you’d like to go over those before we begin, and I’d like to review your notes as well.” 

They feel cold to the core, shut in a freezer watching her through a glass door, but he can’t let anyone else see him the way Orpheus had seen him a few days ago. He has to be ready for two weeks of Hephaestus around every corner, needs to practice keeping themself together because sooner or later Zeus is going to summon them to his office and that is going to be pure torture; Icarus hates to use Athena as a practice run for dealing with her father but... if they aren’t ready? If Zeus manages to get under their skin?

They shove the thought as far away as it will go and reach for the coffee labeled with their name. “Thank you for this, too. I’m not sure how long we’ll be here but if we run over into lunch time I’ll get something delivered.”

[icarusfclling]

WHO: @achillespithia WHERE: pontius, kalavria deck dining room WHEN: february 4th, 2130. early morning. WEARING: bottega veneta (x)

Icarus knows who Achilles Pithia is. It would be stupid not to, what with the frequency of their visits to Tartarus in recent years and the development of their friendship with Zagreus Rhea. Icarus has even seen Achilles a number of times (most recently in Olympe during the Heteraidia festival), but in the years that the two of them have existed on the edges of each other’s periphery, they’ve never actually spoken to each other. Today, it seems, is the day that changes.

He’s sitting in the dining room alone, ignoring the pastry and fresh fruit on his plate in favor of sipping on subpar machine-made coffee that’s still a little too hot, when Achilles appears in front of him. Icarus hopes the mug still half in front of his face disguises his brief moment of surprise, sets it down and swipes a napkin over his lips before offering what he hopes is a pleasant smile.

“Mr. Pithia, hello! Would you care to join me?” It’s early enough that the room is still mostly empty; Achilles wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t specifically seeking Icarus out, and the thought makes them a little nervous.

[icarusfclling]

patroclusc​:

Patroclus listen and nodded along as he reentered his office, in order to put his stuff back and then lock up the place so he can give Icarus their apparently much anticipated tour. “It’s not cheating at all.” He smiled as the door to his office was finally locked. “I cannot tell you much about how the machine works but the basic information about hydroponic systems is out there, but honestly it depends on the kind of questions you have.” Patroclus walked side by side them around the garden.

The garden itself was colorful, areas of plants were grown based on several things, the water, the sun and the general treatment they needed to make maintaining the garden easier. “We managed to recreate some plants that were have gone extinct because their seed were preserved.” He explained as they walked, stopping from time to time to look at some of the plants. 

“As I said, feel free to stop me anytime and ask any questions you might have.” The person in front of him didn’t seem like the type to like plants but neither does Patroclus, which is why he learned to never judge a book by it’s cover. 

     ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

They match his pace, watching as Patroclus points out a number of exotic plants and admiring each one accordingly. “I suppose I should speak to an engineer about the infrastructure — perhaps you could point me in the right direction when we’re finished?” It’s left open-ended, but Icarus does hope for an answer in the affirmative; the more they can cram into their brain the better, and engineers are perfect if what you want is a steady stream of information that requires your full attention in order to be anything but meaningless technobabble.

“You brought back something that was extinct? That’s incredible, Patroclus, truly. How were the seeds preserved? Is that something you think we ought to consider doing — preserving seeds, I mean — for future generations? I admit it’s not a topic I’ve given much thought, but it raises some interesting questions about how we’re approaching agriculture in the age of terraforming we’re in now.” Feet moving, mouth moving, mind moving, and the ache remains held at bay. Icarus stops in front of a tree barely taller than himself, bursting with delicate pale pink blossoms, and turns to his guide with a smile.

“I want to hear about your favorites — pet projects, success stories, the ones that took a few tries to get right. The ones you just think are pretty.” They gesture at the tree, brushing a fingertip over soft petals and glossy leaves. “This one reminds me of the cherry trees in Arcadia, though I’m surprised it’s flowering like this and still so small. Did you breed a miniature variety yourself?”

[icarusfclling]

whisperedfury​:

He didn’t comment, didn’t press when she said used to with that mournful ache. Perhaps they were as kind as their eyes hinted at, or just rather drunker than she’d originally anticipated. (Back then, she still might have hoped people could be kind, or at least a tiny part of her did. Back then she still had the tiniest spark of hope.)

“Can I tell you a secret?” Megara leaned in closer, conspiratorially. “No one is ever as interesting as they think they are. Particularly those who are quite vocal about just how interesting they think themselves.” Her drink came quicker than anyone else’s would, and she flicked her eyes towards the girl who’d brought it in silent thanks. Megara took a sip and hid her annoyance that it had not, in fact, been made without alcohol by shifting slightly closer to her companion, tucker her feet up under her on the plush seat and leaning into his arm.

“I find myself much more interested in why you don’t think you are particularly thrilling company,” it was light, almost teasing, but there was space left to both answer or ignore, depending on how he felt. Both would tell her something about them. Along with the disparaging way with which he spoke about his colleagues, she was already learning quite a lot about one Icarus Volati.

“In that case, let’s drink to Pleasure and see where we end up.”

Icarus chuckles lightly at the observation, nodding as she speaks - he’s known plenty of self-proclaimed ‘fascinating’ individuals who spend more time talking about themselves than anything else. If there had been any doubt about her intentions before there can be none when Megara moves closer, places herself in the loose arc of their arm, and Icarus takes a quiet deep breath as her hair brushes the inside of their wrist. It’s intimate, such a small thing but it sends a flutter through his chest that he refuses to believe is just the alcohol.

“I think there’s a reason the phrase ‘drinking alone’ implies grief, or at least a degree of melancholy,” they offer by way of a reply, eyes flicking away from hers for a moment to avoid having to see her reaction. Icarus has had enough pity from strangers and friends alike to last a lifetime, and suddenly he wants to seize this moment with both hands, wants to take the opportunity he’s being given to forget about the things he’s lost for a little while. Megara proposes a toast and he laughs, meets her gaze again and tips his glass toward her.

“To Pleasure then, and her sisters Bliss and Oblivion. May they grace our evening with their presence as you have chosen to grace me with yours.”