( a spa on the Kalavria deck, long after-hours / February 2130 / @hadesrhea )
Sisyphus picks the spa as a meeting spot because it’s one of the few places he can guarantee no one will have snuck off to in the wee hours of the morning, not for any possible purpose he can imagine. After hours, the spa is about as alluring as a hollowed-out preybot, all flash and no skeleton, not without the attendants that flit through the halls during the daylight hours with their moving trays of sparkling silver tools, or stacks of plush towels in pastel shades he wants to lick off a spoon.
No, there’s no reason to be here, not unless you’re up to something you don’t want anyone to see. Empty, the place has an almost mausoleum-like air, the sound of running water bouncing off the tile walls, the knee- and chest-high fountains scattered around the room like sentries. The only light in the room coming from the glowing pebbles scattered on each flowing fountain tier.
Sisyphus sits next to of one of these fountains, legs stretched in front of him, ankles crossed, dipping his fingers in the water– well, what he hopes is water. He thinks if it were a damaging sort of chemical it might smell more astringent, whereas this one smells mostly like peaches, but how would he know?
It’s what he’s thinking about as he swirls his fingertips through the water anyway, his face lit up from below in shades of pink and mint green, and waits for his boss to arrive.
When he hears the door slide open he attempts to further compose himself, but as he’s essentially sitting on the floor, there’s not much he can do. He sits up straighter. Pulls his legs back in towards himself, then awkwardly tucks them to the side, then crosses them instead. “Hi. Welcome to Pontius,” he calls, as the figure of Hades Rhea approaches. The words sound– fucking stupid, to his ears, but he’s not sure what else to say. Hard to know the appropriate small-talk to parrot when faced with the man who both destroyed and spared one’s life in unequal measure. “Glad you found the place. The spa, I mean. Can’t imagine you come here often?” He lets out the driest, worst chuckle possible.
