“Hate’s a strong word, buddy. Can’t say I’ve got it out for anyone,” Hermes mused. It’s not that he didn’t have it in him, wasn’t capable of white-hot fury and ugly vengeance — it’s that he didn’t think it had much merit. He wasn’t Hera. He didn’t — couldn’t — wield the emotion like the sharpest of swords, ready to leave a trail of destruction behind without so much as a backwards glance. Hermes thought of Leto, of Semele, of Zeus’ many lovers, and sighed inwardly. Yeah, definitely not his style. He couldn’t even think of someone to dislike, let alone hate. “Uncle Poseidon’s a piece of work,” he offered, in lieu of an actual answer. His uncle is the ocean, violent and beautiful. A force of nature. And nature is an unpredictable son of a bitch. Big words for Hermes, of all people, who gets his kicks off being a trickster. But Poseidon is unsettling in his unpredictability, one of the few gods who could probably gain the upper hand over Hermes with ease — and that really grates on his nerves. Does he hate his uncle? Of course not. Is he wary of him? Absofuckinglutely. “Most revered? Pops.” Really, is that even a question? Hermes has never made his loyalties a secret. Zeus’ got commitment issues longer than the Nile, so what? He can at least count on him to make Greek mythology interesting, which oughta count for something. People really needed to cut him some slack, in Hermes’ opinion.
