Nemean Hall, during the Heteraidia festival.
@apvlllo
Less than ideal, when things turn out this way, Apollo swanning into the hall in a cloud of awe, conversations stumbling in his wake. Even among the wealthy, the powerful, you get responses like this sometimes, when it comes to the celebs– maybe because most of the bastards have less artistic ability in their whole bodies than Artemis has in her tiniest ear bones. Maybe because they aren’t used to being around beautiful people they aren’t paying for their attention. Either way, the result is the same: Apollo walks in, and the whispers travel through the crowd like skipping stones.
Whatever it is it’s not what Zeus needs, necessarily, at this moment, caught between two conversations as it is, plucking and playing at the subtext like a harp. Someone isn’t doing their job (Prometheus, probably) because this damn monorail bigwig has been hanging off him for the better part of half an hour, ignoring every polite attempt to brush him off. The Rheas haven’t needed extra influence in the monorail sector since the early days of his reign; the travel industry was one of the first to buy into the Nemean promise of greatness, particularly after they’d bought out half the industry’s magnesium mining debts. Yet the man has him trapped here, treading water, and all while the real object of Zeus’ interest looks to be fading into boredom in the corner, their eyes gone glassy like the walking dead.
What he needs is to shake the magnate off, and get back to the work that actually matters. What he gets instead is a surprise Apollo appearance; a scene.
“Son! What a pleasant surprise.” Zeus claps a hand on the back of Apollo’s head, then his shoulder. Spares a glance to his target in the corner, who has incrementally perked up, but still looks unimpressed. Directs his next thought back to the damn magnate again. “We don’t see him around Nemean Hall often, not for these sorts of events. To be honest, I didn’t even knew he knew the way in.”
