a turning coin hurdles through the air, spinning over and over —— heads then tails and then over again. the sides are distinct, but have far more in common which each other than anything else. it lands in his palm, and he flips it again. he seems almost comfortable leaning against the plexiglass interior of the bus stop, one leg bent and resting on the metal bench, another sprawled out, weight resting on his heel against the concrete of the sidewalk. he’s content to watch the object hurdle through the air and always land on heads. it was a paltry use of his power, a party trick, but he was waiting for something interesting to come along. he liked to help travelers, they were his people even if they didn’t realize it. there the ones who had that itch inside of them to keep moving, who felt stifled by one place ; that was enough for him to mark them as interesting —— but the ones who then acted on that itch ? those were his. the coin turned in the air again, but this time it landed on tails.
he looked up, raising an eyebrow. he did not have to think about who it was. she was the other side of his coin: standing at the crossroads he wandered down, breaking down the gate that he acted as the hinge of, another who guided souls to hades. the thing about coins ? neither face ever spends much time with the other. hermes and hecate were perhaps an illustration of why. they had tried once, long before, made an attempt at something that brought similar forces too close together. the result was unpleasant and, though time heals all things, both were left certain that they were better as something more platonic. yet, she was still the other side of that coin.
‘ does this count as a crossroad ? ’ he asks with feigned curiosity, as if he didn’t know and was not just teasing. ‘ i usually picture something more … secluded. dusty places and swamps mostly, though i don’t know where i got that idea. ’ he hums, leaning his head back against the plexiglass. ‘ been a while, hecate. ’ @wickedsmiles