[ they’re quiet for a while, after orpheus and eurydice leave. sure, they talk, but about lesser things. a muted conversation about the crops, whether or not they should go for a walk later - conversations to fill the otherwise silent air between them, but not anything substantive. and eventually, they stopped trying.
hades was uncertain about letting the boy go, and letting his love follow him. young orpheus was by no means the first man with stars in his eyes to come and beg for a life, and he certainly won’t be the last. husbands, wives, parents, siblings, children, blood-brothers and blood-sisters - every so often, somebody comes to make the petition. orpheus was no different.
except - he was. not enough to change his mind, perhaps, but even hades could acknowledge the grief in his voice as he sang, the sorrow, the longing. hades was fully prepared to say no, to deny the boy his wish, but then he turned to blink his tears away -
and when hades saw how his wife, his love, his queen clung to every note of the song, he knew what she would ask, and what he would grant.
”he said you have to walk in front and she has to walk in back, and if you turn around to make sure she’s coming too, then she goes back to hadestown, and there ain’t nothing you can do.”
order must be maintained. no exceptions. if he allows it once, word will spread, and he’ll have no peace. if he didn’t, his wife’s heart would break. (so would his). but if he leaves it in the boy’s hand, if he gives young orpheus the opportunity, and let him embrace or squander it as he pleases…
it’s not until they’re eating dinner that he brings the topic up, and not by his own choice. plate half-empty (truth be told, he has little appetite tonight), hades senses it. his fork slips out of his hand, clattering onto the table, and he looks up. up through the ceilings, through the stone and earth, the waters of the river styx, to where he knows the entrance to the overworld is. ]
[the natural order of things - it's a sentence she's heard her whole life, from mother, from zeus, from mortals worshipping at the altar of kore, from mothers warning their children about the harbinger of death, from even her husband - love him as she does, he is still many times wrong.
it isn't right, it isn't natural. there is no chaos in this order, and it does feel like a sentence. yes, when mortals die and end up in the underworld, there are laws and orders that must be followed. yes, when it is time for judgement there is judgement. yes, when there is time for harvest there is harvest.
but this order they've established, it allows for no warmth, no sunlight, no love.
persephone might not always love hadestown, or the underworld, but she loves its king enough to come back every year. she might try to instill life into a dead place, because it's in her nature to try to create before...all the harbingering. six months in the overworld are spent listening to lectures from gods and goddesses who think themselves more than; they're spent making fields blossom and making wheat grow, they're spent working and collecting freckles, they're spent with half her heart missing. the other six months, in the underworld, are spent missing the sun and trying to grow plants where there's no light and trying to bring a smile onto hades' solemn face.
it's not love that persephone sees, when orpheus comes down for eurydice, it's hope. it's hope for change, the chance of a change, when her husband gives them a chance. when she sets the choice in orpheus' hands, she could kiss him for it.]
What about us? Do we get another chance?
[the mortals go. eurydice follows orpheus, walking the long road back to the surface, and in the meantime, the king and queen have supper, their chairs closer together, the silent almost pleasant. maybe they both harbour that hope. maybe if the mortals can triumph here, there's a chance that the two of them can try again, and do better.
but at hades' word, she looks up from her glass of wine and sucks in a sharp breath.]
the question rolled around in his mind, turning like a bird on a spit. what has persephone offered him, if not chance after chance to court her, to win her heart, to make her smile bloom like her flowers? and it eludes him still. she accepts the gifts that he gives her - gold and silver and precious gems - because they’re from him, not for the beauty of how they sparkle. and hades has tried to plant a garden for her, oh how he’s tried. but the flowers wither and die when he walks near them, the soil grows dry, the sunlamps he’s built flicker.
and yet, he loves his wife, and she loves him. as far as he understands what that is.
he looks up, across the table to meet persephone’s eye. hades has not felt this weary in a long, long time. ] I’m sorry.
[ his shoulders slump as he leans back in his chair, a puppet with its strings cut, a tree in the last days of autumn. hades gropes for his wineglass, drains it, and pushes his plate away. ]
[the mortals, try as persephone has to put her hopes in them, have failed. it's hard to tell what it was caused by - impatience? distrust? disloyalty? - all that she knows is that it aches in her throat and makes food taste like ash.
she looks at hades, who seems to have taken this like a personal blow, and wonders if perhaps he saw the two of them in orpheus and eurydice. her heart may ache, but it also softens, and she reaches for his hand while he downs his wine.]
No, neither am I, on that we can agree. [she gives him a small smile, trying to test waters, hopeful despite mortal failings.
when she is down here in the underground, she can make wildflowers blossom in the most unforgiving places. fertility and spring work hand in hand, and a fertility goddess is nothing if not persistent, hopeful, and stubborn.]
Come. [she gets up, pushing her own meal to the side.] Come, we're going for a walk.
[ he’d thought that it was out of his hands, that he only wished for orpheus and eurydice to succeed in that it’d make his wife happy. but but now that it’s happened, that the boy is barred from returning again, his chest feels hollow. it was out of hades’ hands, deliberately so, yet it feels like a loss anyway.
hades has seen many things throughout his reign as king: war, famine, plague, murder, suicide, loss. he does not have the time to dwell on them. when the world was young, he was already old - and he has not felt his age in a long while.
he registers the (always warm) touch of persephone’s hand and traces his thumb along the crook of her finger. at her declaration, he glances up. ] Are we?
Yes. [she doesn't hesitate. when his hand curls toward hers, she takes a gentle grip of his hand, and brings it up to dust a kiss against his knuckles.
she is sad about the motals, she is sad about eurydice most of all, but she is not giving up fighting for this. for hades.] I have new flowers to show you.
[there is a garden she's built in the middle of the underworld, where fallen heroes and good spirits can come to rest. that is exclusively for the mortals, and it does not die, nor wither, even when she is away. but in the heart of the palace, every year she brings a private garden to life, with flowers she finds on the mortal realm. she feeds it with love and desire, she sufuses it with light and warmth, and if the blooms had a voice they would sigh persephone with it, devotedly.
but she builds it for them. not for herself, not for power, but for the two of them.]
[ when they get to the gates of the garden, hades pauses before he enters the threshold. he doesn’t come here often when persephone is up above - he loves the place, it’s filled with his queen’s warmth and love. but the flowers droop in his presence, the buds wither and turn away from his touch, and it breaks his heart, every time.
so he lets persephone enter first, a beacon in the darkness, to let her children know that she’ll keep them safe. and then, after they’ve basked in her glow, he steps inside.
for a long, long moment, there’s silence in the gardens of elysium. ]
[sometimes he forgets how long it took them to get to this point, where a look or a gesture is enough to reach each other's mind, see each other's intention. sometimes, he forgets how much damage and change being in olympus for six months can do.
she has already walked to the centre of the garden, where her newest creations are, dark green evergreens that do not care whether there is light or darkness to flourish. at his voice, she looks up and meets his gaze, confused.]
Eurydice, Hades - her name. [You know it. You know every name of every mortal that's ever been judged by your hand.]
It means wide justice, did you know? What wider justice in this case would there be, than letting her not suffer eternal torment? Please.
The deal was very simple: yes, she could hide down in the Underworld, provided she stayed out of the way of its King. It wasn't yet Persephone's time to end in front of Hades for her final judgement (would not be for a very long time), but she was not the first Olympian who came to the Underworld while still alive. Hermes showed her the way himself - well, more like she followed him down very cleverly, without his knowledge.
She hasn't exactly been honest with who she is, even if she has not lied. She was truthful about having reached the Underworld to hide from the watchful eyes of Olympus, because of the troubles born from her mother's latest agreement with Zeus - that Persephone was, indeed, of marrying age, and so a suitor had to be found immediately - which had ended with a very loud argument, and half a dozen columns in the palace strangled by vicious vines filled with thorns. She didn't, however, specify whose daughter she was, nor whom she had that argument with, nor how many days she planned to hide in the Underworld for.
Technically, today marks one month. She knows she hasn't been honest, but she is honestly very grateful to Hades for having indulged her flight this way. Even though they haven't exactly crossed more than a few words the few times they did cross paths, she thinks that the King of the Dead might have a soft centre to him, if he cares for the safety and comfort of a minor spring goddess.
Which begs for: an offering.
She has raided his palace's larder this morning, with the full determination (and stubbornness) of someone on a mission to bring an offering to one of the most dangerous gods alive.
And she brings him eggs.
"I know it's too late for breakfast, and too early for brunch, so maybe it can be considered something in between. Brunch? No, that's a silly name for it, forget that," she rambles as she sets down two plates of bread, cheese and poached eggs on the side table in his office. Not that she understands why he even has a side table, since he never seems to leave his desk. Does he sleep there? Does he sleep?
If there's anything that Hades has decided about the Goddess Persephone, it's that she lives to startle him. If there's anything he knows about himself, it's that he hates to be surprised. Needless to say, it's been a very interesting month since she had invited herself down into his domain. Hades had never had to live with being so constantly on his guard.
True, it had been their deal that she'd stay out of his way, but it soon became apparent to him that they had very different ideas of what that meant. Hades had expected to never see her again. There were many places in the Underworld where one could be lost and never found, and if she wished to go there to avoid...whoever it was she was avoiding, so be it. To condemn such a beautiful Goddess to a fate like that seemed like a waste, but it wasn't his place to intervene, especially not in the convoluted, childish politics of the upper world.
From day 1 though, it'd become clear that that type of life had not been her intent, and since then, he's been having to endure the constant reminders of her presence. He truly believes she is trying to uphold her part of the bargain, she just underestimates what a presence she is; how much her bright colors stand out in the monochromatic world of the Underworld; how distracting the soft smell of florals is; how unheard of it is for anyone to interrupt him while he's working, let alone with food. It's becoming a problem, and one that Hades has no idea on how to solve just yet.
To his credit, at least he's gotten a little better at tempering his reactions to her sudden presences -- to be more mindful of just how often he stares down his nose at her. Her unexpected arrival this morning, for example, is met with a slow blink, a wrinkle in his brow, and a small huff instead of his customary glower. He doesn't need breakfast (or brunch) he thinks, but when he opens his mouth, at least he's able to offer her a jilted: "Thank you" instead of a snarl.
He may be a little rusty on kindness, but at least he recognizes its form. His suspicious mind isn't entirely sure what she hopes to get out of him, but perhaps its merely gratitude for getting her out of her equally suspicious situation. The second plate is met with a little puzzlement, but he decides perhaps it had been simpler to feed both of them at once. It motivates him to wave her off towards the food. She should eat if she's hungry. Especially since the larder had been stocked with food from above. (And she must be missing those comforts.)
"You should eat. I don't know how long it will take me to finish this."
He's not being deliberately distant, he owes her nothing - this must just be part of his winsome personality, that makes him have that perpetual frown and the rasp in his voice. It's not like he knows that she committed property damage before running away, why would he?
The best part about being in the Underworld (there is such a thing, yes) is that she hasn't had to force a single tree into blooming before its time, and she is not tired. Unfortunately for him, this means a strange burst of energy, which gets focused on making him take a break.
"Yes well, that's the beauty of not-brunch, you can definitely interrupt your busy schedule to have some." She waves one hand dismissively. "I'm working out the rules as I go, but regardless - please. I have been your guest for a month now, and you've shown me nothing but courtesy and kindness. Let me at least feed you."
She bites the inside of her cheek, and shifts her weight from one foot to the other, then adds: "It's either this or I end up obliged to make all the trees in the Asphodel meadow blossom."
One distinctive eyebrow rises towards his hairline. Hades isn't sure what he finds more novel: that she presumes to boss him around, or that she's mistaken whatever this is for kindness. Still....Still. That slight waiver in her otherwise flawless confidence gets to him more than he would have expected, especially when she asks for so reasonably little. Before he knows it, Hades finds himself finishing up with little more than a huff and a shake of his head. He can do brunch, if only to placate her worries she she needs to thank him further.
Removing himself from his desk though, feels more like a insurmountable task; like a tree trying to pull its own roots. Hades has to wonder how long he has been sitting there. The crackling sound that comes when he rolls his shoulders is not a promising sign. Had it been a night? Two? Does it matter? The influx of new souls into the realm is endless. The dissertations of their lives is endless. The need for judgement and placements: endless. No wonder he's become immune to the passage of time. He could probably have sat there forever without little distractions -- not that he would tell his new houseguest that. The last thing he needs is her thinking she's responsible for his poor habits, for feeding him...
Especially if she was going to bring poached eggs.
Fuck. He had not noticed at first what her proposed offering had been, or he would have come up with a better excuse to refuse it. Now he's already standing, a half step forward, and staring at those pale gelatinous mounds with what he hopes is only mild contempt. How embedded in his work he must have been to not notice the smell of eggs. His gaze flickers up from the plate to her as he searches desperately for a stall.
"Could you really make Asphodel bloom?"
The omnipresent gruff undertones of his voice make near everything he says sound rougher than he intends, but there's no denying he's truly curious to her answer, regardless of if he's stalling. The Land of the Dead does not take kindly to attempts at new life, and such a feat should be beyond the reach of such a 'minor' Goddess (as she claims to be.) He wonders why she thinks it'd be easy as to offer it as a flippant threat.
She catches that look, and the creaking of his bones, and resolves that she's right - he does sleep here, which is terrible work hygiene. Not that she'd know any better about work hygiene. Work-life balance - all those things. Outside of the past month, her days are filled with Make this bloom, Kore. Make that bear fruit, goddess. Grow me more grain, maiden.
For however powerful gods are, they do seem to follow the demands of mortals. Look at Hades, stuck behind his desk for days to count his dead. And Persephone, with her powers so instinctive that she wakes up with flowers in her hair or her pillow every morning, even in this land.
Which makes his statement curious, too. "Are you sure? Because there's something in that land that's practically begging to burst to the surface." She feels it, anytime she's near them. Like souls reaching out of the river Styx for mercy, only these are not souls, and they don't ask for mercy. They ask for a chance.
Regardless.
She wants to backtrack her poorly executed threat when she notices his expression. He's glaring, but not at her. Her gaze traces the direction, and lands on the plates of food, and she pauses.
"Do you..." She should probably not be amused by this. "Hate eggs?"
"I'm sure, my Lady," Hades responds mildly. "If there's anything here looking to 'burst out,' I assure you it's not going to be anything you want to set free."
He has restless dead in spades, a few true zombies, and goddamn Charon who finds it funny to pop up where he's not wanted, but what he doesn't have is life. If she is looking for sprouts and saplings here, she is most certainly looking in the wrong place. He knows better than anyone how little survives down in the Underworld. Even the flowers of Asphodel are ghostly; barely there in a way that makes him wonder sometimes if they are real. What she thinks she senses is likely a similar mirage -- perhaps a sign she misses her home, or perhaps simply her mistaking miasmic energy for something she had known.
Still, he can't say the Goddess before him isn't observant, much to his own' woe. He had hoped she would write off his disdain as his usual countenance, but she seems quicker than he had initially given her credit for. That, and his face is probably less subtle than he imagines. He really does hate the smell.
"They're fine."
They are decidedly not, but Hades is confident in his ability to choke down a few eggs for the sake of...what? Not offending the Goddess before him? It's not his usual irk to care about what the other Gods think, but she did go through the trouble of trying tot make something of what little they had, and he's not about to turn down the first offering he's gotten in...well, forever.
Lessons have been imparted since Persephone was created, about proper behaviour among other gods, about her standing in the hierarchy, about the expectations of her. Lessons about worship, about accepting it from mortals, about paying respects to other gods, about where she stands in the grand scheme of things. As far as Demeter has told her, she is not that close to the top.
So, her reaction is not the best one:
"No way," she says, pulling the plate back with some level of outrage on her face. "I'm not having my offering to the King of the Underworld be one of a dish he hates, even if he is objectively wrong about hating eggs."
Her foot just keeps jamming its way into her mouth there, doesn't it? She hesitates for a moment, and then piles the eggs onto her own plate. The ground here is far enough into the palace that it's buried in layers of stone, but the ground remembers. Much like all the lost souls wandering the realm remember fragments of who they were when they were alive, there are ghosts and memories of...life. Seeds. All over the place.
"Here, take my cheese," she mutters, and piles that onto his plate and pushes it over, and then frowns. "That's not enough - alright, hold on, I can fix this."
She's not going to get kicked out of the Underworld because her poached eggs were terrible.
Though not exactly desperate, she gets on her knees on the ground, and plants her hands onto it and feels. Calls them. Begs them. Sinks her fingers into stone and dirt until she feels them, and then pulls. When she opens her eyes, there is a very small tangle of roots and leaves, grown through the cracks and swirling around her wrists, and on them modest strawberries.
She collects her breath, thanks the ground for helping her out, and picks the strawberries quickly. The rest of the plant withers away to dust as soon as she stands, but the fruit does not. She holds it to him, ripe and red, her wrist only barely scratched. The earth takes tithe for what it gives, too.
"Here, these - they need to be washed, but you don't hate - surely you don't hate strawberries, do you?"
Hades is not the most verbose of Gods, but he finds himself all but speechless in the wake of her whirlwind actions. The eggs are gone before he can further protest, the plate pushed into his hands before he can offer anything more than a low 'hn,' and he's left standing to watch as she drops to her knees with barely enough time to furrow his brow.
There's a flutter of relief in his chest when she doesn't start to grovel, but what she does next might be worse. He feels it before he sees it, a strange pull from somewhere deep underground that only grows stronger as she conjures up tangled vines from the cracks of his foundation. Her hands disappear into the thorny mass then emerged scratched but filled with bright red berries. This time, he has time to frown.
"They're fine," he says, though this 'fine' ends on a much lighter, and much more inquisitive note, than before.
He scoops the strawberries from her hands; careful not to touch her, and careful to take every last one. It's not greed that motivates him but an abundance of caution. The same caution that prompts him to give her an intense stare, as he contemplates the dusted bush between them.
"You shouldn't eat anything that comes from this realm," he states, then, almost as an afterthought: "But...thank you...It's been a long time since I've seen strawberries."
i don't do it because the rest of you aren't up for it i drew the short stick and i don't see why all the mortal souls for all eternity should be the ones who pay the price for zeus' ego
my brother's an asshat, you know it i know it he sometimes knows it we have a standing brawl about it every week punching him in the jaw is therapeutic af, you should try it
oh, gee, hades, i'd love to sadly tragically the queen of the underworld stepping foot topside is considered conspiracy for treason courtesy of your brother's laws
anyway, i get out plenty of the office sometimes i work in the throne room
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hades was uncertain about letting the boy go, and letting his love follow him. young orpheus was by no means the first man with stars in his eyes to come and beg for a life, and he certainly won’t be the last. husbands, wives, parents, siblings, children, blood-brothers and blood-sisters - every so often, somebody comes to make the petition. orpheus was no different.
except - he was. not enough to change his mind, perhaps, but even hades could acknowledge the grief in his voice as he sang, the sorrow, the longing. hades was fully prepared to say no, to deny the boy his wish, but then he turned to blink his tears away -
and when hades saw how his wife, his love, his queen clung to every note of the song, he knew what she would ask, and what he would grant.
”he said you have to walk in front and she has to walk in back, and if you turn around to make sure she’s coming too, then she goes back to hadestown, and there ain’t nothing you can do.”
order must be maintained. no exceptions. if he allows it once, word will spread, and he’ll have no peace. if he didn’t, his wife’s heart would break. (so would his). but if he leaves it in the boy’s hand, if he gives young orpheus the opportunity, and let him embrace or squander it as he pleases…
it’s not until they’re eating dinner that he brings the topic up, and not by his own choice. plate half-empty (truth be told, he has little appetite tonight), hades senses it. his fork slips out of his hand, clattering onto the table, and he looks up. up through the ceilings, through the stone and earth, the waters of the river styx, to where he knows the entrance to the overworld is. ]
No.
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it isn't right, it isn't natural. there is no chaos in this order, and it does feel like a sentence. yes, when mortals die and end up in the underworld, there are laws and orders that must be followed. yes, when it is time for judgement there is judgement. yes, when there is time for harvest there is harvest.
but this order they've established, it allows for no warmth, no sunlight, no love.
persephone might not always love hadestown, or the underworld, but she loves its king enough to come back every year. she might try to instill life into a dead place, because it's in her nature to try to create before...all the harbingering. six months in the overworld are spent listening to lectures from gods and goddesses who think themselves more than; they're spent making fields blossom and making wheat grow, they're spent working and collecting freckles, they're spent with half her heart missing. the other six months, in the underworld, are spent missing the sun and trying to grow plants where there's no light and trying to bring a smile onto hades' solemn face.
it's not love that persephone sees, when orpheus comes down for eurydice, it's hope. it's hope for change, the chance of a change, when her husband gives them a chance. when she sets the choice in orpheus' hands, she could kiss him for it.]
What about us? Do we get another chance?
[the mortals go. eurydice follows orpheus, walking the long road back to the surface, and in the meantime, the king and queen have supper, their chairs closer together, the silent almost pleasant. maybe they both harbour that hope. maybe if the mortals can triumph here, there's a chance that the two of them can try again, and do better.
but at hades' word, she looks up from her glass of wine and sucks in a sharp breath.]
He looked behind him?
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the question rolled around in his mind, turning like a bird on a spit. what has persephone offered him, if not chance after chance to court her, to win her heart, to make her smile bloom like her flowers? and it eludes him still. she accepts the gifts that he gives her - gold and silver and precious gems - because they’re from him, not for the beauty of how they sparkle. and hades has tried to plant a garden for her, oh how he’s tried. but the flowers wither and die when he walks near them, the soil grows dry, the sunlamps he’s built flicker.
and yet, he loves his wife, and she loves him. as far as he understands what that is.
he looks up, across the table to meet persephone’s eye. hades has not felt this weary in a long, long time. ] I’m sorry.
[ his shoulders slump as he leans back in his chair, a puppet with its strings cut, a tree in the last days of autumn. hades gropes for his wineglass, drains it, and pushes his plate away. ]
I don’t think I’m hungry.
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she looks at hades, who seems to have taken this like a personal blow, and wonders if perhaps he saw the two of them in orpheus and eurydice. her heart may ache, but it also softens, and she reaches for his hand while he downs his wine.]
No, neither am I, on that we can agree. [she gives him a small smile, trying to test waters, hopeful despite mortal failings.
when she is down here in the underground, she can make wildflowers blossom in the most unforgiving places. fertility and spring work hand in hand, and a fertility goddess is nothing if not persistent, hopeful, and stubborn.]
Come. [she gets up, pushing her own meal to the side.] Come, we're going for a walk.
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[ he’d thought that it was out of his hands, that he only wished for orpheus and eurydice to succeed in that it’d make his wife happy. but but now that it’s happened, that the boy is barred from returning again, his chest feels hollow. it was out of hades’ hands, deliberately so, yet it feels like a loss anyway.
hades has seen many things throughout his reign as king: war, famine, plague, murder, suicide, loss. he does not have the time to dwell on them. when the world was young, he was already old - and he has not felt his age in a long while.
he registers the (always warm) touch of persephone’s hand and traces his thumb along the crook of her finger. at her declaration, he glances up. ] Are we?
[ but he’s already rising to stand. ]
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she is sad about the motals, she is sad about eurydice most of all, but she is not giving up fighting for this. for hades.] I have new flowers to show you.
[there is a garden she's built in the middle of the underworld, where fallen heroes and good spirits can come to rest. that is exclusively for the mortals, and it does not die, nor wither, even when she is away. but in the heart of the palace, every year she brings a private garden to life, with flowers she finds on the mortal realm. she feeds it with love and desire, she sufuses it with light and warmth, and if the blooms had a voice they would sigh persephone with it, devotedly.
but she builds it for them. not for herself, not for power, but for the two of them.]
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so he lets persephone enter first, a beacon in the darkness, to let her children know that she’ll keep them safe. and then, after they’ve basked in her glow, he steps inside.
for a long, long moment, there’s silence in the gardens of elysium. ]
The girl.
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she has already walked to the centre of the garden, where her newest creations are, dark green evergreens that do not care whether there is light or darkness to flourish. at his voice, she looks up and meets his gaze, confused.]
Eurydice, Hades - her name. [You know it. You know every name of every mortal that's ever been judged by your hand.]
It means wide justice, did you know? What wider justice in this case would there be, than letting her not suffer eternal torment? Please.
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@waydownbelow
She hasn't exactly been honest with who she is, even if she has not lied. She was truthful about having reached the Underworld to hide from the watchful eyes of Olympus, because of the troubles born from her mother's latest agreement with Zeus - that Persephone was, indeed, of marrying age, and so a suitor had to be found immediately - which had ended with a very loud argument, and half a dozen columns in the palace strangled by vicious vines filled with thorns. She didn't, however, specify whose daughter she was, nor whom she had that argument with, nor how many days she planned to hide in the Underworld for.
Technically, today marks one month. She knows she hasn't been honest, but she is honestly very grateful to Hades for having indulged her flight this way. Even though they haven't exactly crossed more than a few words the few times they did cross paths, she thinks that the King of the Dead might have a soft centre to him, if he cares for the safety and comfort of a minor spring goddess.
Which begs for: an offering.
She has raided his palace's larder this morning, with the full determination (and stubbornness) of someone on a mission to bring an offering to one of the most dangerous gods alive.
And she brings him eggs.
"I know it's too late for breakfast, and too early for brunch, so maybe it can be considered something in between. Brunch? No, that's a silly name for it, forget that," she rambles as she sets down two plates of bread, cheese and poached eggs on the side table in his office. Not that she understands why he even has a side table, since he never seems to leave his desk. Does he sleep there? Does he sleep?
"Anyway, food, your highness."
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True, it had been their deal that she'd stay out of his way, but it soon became apparent to him that they had very different ideas of what that meant. Hades had expected to never see her again. There were many places in the Underworld where one could be lost and never found, and if she wished to go there to avoid...whoever it was she was avoiding, so be it. To condemn such a beautiful Goddess to a fate like that seemed like a waste, but it wasn't his place to intervene, especially not in the convoluted, childish politics of the upper world.
From day 1 though, it'd become clear that that type of life had not been her intent, and since then, he's been having to endure the constant reminders of her presence. He truly believes she is trying to uphold her part of the bargain, she just underestimates what a presence she is; how much her bright colors stand out in the monochromatic world of the Underworld; how distracting the soft smell of florals is; how unheard of it is for anyone to interrupt him while he's working, let alone with food. It's becoming a problem, and one that Hades has no idea on how to solve just yet.
To his credit, at least he's gotten a little better at tempering his reactions to her sudden presences -- to be more mindful of just how often he stares down his nose at her. Her unexpected arrival this morning, for example, is met with a slow blink, a wrinkle in his brow, and a small huff instead of his customary glower. He doesn't need breakfast (or brunch) he thinks, but when he opens his mouth, at least he's able to offer her a jilted: "Thank you" instead of a snarl.
He may be a little rusty on kindness, but at least he recognizes its form. His suspicious mind isn't entirely sure what she hopes to get out of him, but perhaps its merely gratitude for getting her out of her equally suspicious situation. The second plate is met with a little puzzlement, but he decides perhaps it had been simpler to feed both of them at once. It motivates him to wave her off towards the food. She should eat if she's hungry. Especially since the larder had been stocked with food from above. (And she must be missing those comforts.)
"You should eat. I don't know how long it will take me to finish this."
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The best part about being in the Underworld (there is such a thing, yes) is that she hasn't had to force a single tree into blooming before its time, and she is not tired. Unfortunately for him, this means a strange burst of energy, which gets focused on making him take a break.
"Yes well, that's the beauty of not-brunch, you can definitely interrupt your busy schedule to have some." She waves one hand dismissively. "I'm working out the rules as I go, but regardless - please. I have been your guest for a month now, and you've shown me nothing but courtesy and kindness. Let me at least feed you."
She bites the inside of her cheek, and shifts her weight from one foot to the other, then adds: "It's either this or I end up obliged to make all the trees in the Asphodel meadow blossom."
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One distinctive eyebrow rises towards his hairline. Hades isn't sure what he finds more novel: that she presumes to boss him around, or that she's mistaken whatever this is for kindness. Still....Still. That slight waiver in her otherwise flawless confidence gets to him more than he would have expected, especially when she asks for so reasonably little. Before he knows it, Hades finds himself finishing up with little more than a huff and a shake of his head. He can do brunch, if only to placate her worries she she needs to thank him further.
Removing himself from his desk though, feels more like a insurmountable task; like a tree trying to pull its own roots. Hades has to wonder how long he has been sitting there. The crackling sound that comes when he rolls his shoulders is not a promising sign. Had it been a night? Two? Does it matter? The influx of new souls into the realm is endless. The dissertations of their lives is endless. The need for judgement and placements: endless. No wonder he's become immune to the passage of time. He could probably have sat there forever without little distractions -- not that he would tell his new houseguest that. The last thing he needs is her thinking she's responsible for his poor habits, for feeding him...
Especially if she was going to bring poached eggs.
Fuck. He had not noticed at first what her proposed offering had been, or he would have come up with a better excuse to refuse it. Now he's already standing, a half step forward, and staring at those pale gelatinous mounds with what he hopes is only mild contempt. How embedded in his work he must have been to not notice the smell of eggs. His gaze flickers up from the plate to her as he searches desperately for a stall.
"Could you really make Asphodel bloom?"
The omnipresent gruff undertones of his voice make near everything he says sound rougher than he intends, but there's no denying he's truly curious to her answer, regardless of if he's stalling. The Land of the Dead does not take kindly to attempts at new life, and such a feat should be beyond the reach of such a 'minor' Goddess (as she claims to be.) He wonders why she thinks it'd be easy as to offer it as a flippant threat.
"You should know nothing grows easily down here."
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For however powerful gods are, they do seem to follow the demands of mortals. Look at Hades, stuck behind his desk for days to count his dead. And Persephone, with her powers so instinctive that she wakes up with flowers in her hair or her pillow every morning, even in this land.
Which makes his statement curious, too. "Are you sure? Because there's something in that land that's practically begging to burst to the surface." She feels it, anytime she's near them. Like souls reaching out of the river Styx for mercy, only these are not souls, and they don't ask for mercy. They ask for a chance.
Regardless.
She wants to backtrack her poorly executed threat when she notices his expression. He's glaring, but not at her. Her gaze traces the direction, and lands on the plates of food, and she pauses.
"Do you..." She should probably not be amused by this. "Hate eggs?"
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He has restless dead in spades, a few true zombies, and goddamn Charon who finds it funny to pop up where he's not wanted, but what he doesn't have is life. If she is looking for sprouts and saplings here, she is most certainly looking in the wrong place. He knows better than anyone how little survives down in the Underworld. Even the flowers of Asphodel are ghostly; barely there in a way that makes him wonder sometimes if they are real. What she thinks she senses is likely a similar mirage -- perhaps a sign she misses her home, or perhaps simply her mistaking miasmic energy for something she had known.
Still, he can't say the Goddess before him isn't observant, much to his own' woe. He had hoped she would write off his disdain as his usual countenance, but she seems quicker than he had initially given her credit for. That, and his face is probably less subtle than he imagines. He really does hate the smell.
"They're fine."
They are decidedly not, but Hades is confident in his ability to choke down a few eggs for the sake of...what? Not offending the Goddess before him? It's not his usual irk to care about what the other Gods think, but she did go through the trouble of trying tot make something of what little they had, and he's not about to turn down the first offering he's gotten in...well, forever.
"Give it here before it gets cold."
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So, her reaction is not the best one:
"No way," she says, pulling the plate back with some level of outrage on her face. "I'm not having my offering to the King of the Underworld be one of a dish he hates, even if he is objectively wrong about hating eggs."
Her foot just keeps jamming its way into her mouth there, doesn't it? She hesitates for a moment, and then piles the eggs onto her own plate. The ground here is far enough into the palace that it's buried in layers of stone, but the ground remembers. Much like all the lost souls wandering the realm remember fragments of who they were when they were alive, there are ghosts and memories of...life. Seeds. All over the place.
"Here, take my cheese," she mutters, and piles that onto his plate and pushes it over, and then frowns. "That's not enough - alright, hold on, I can fix this."
She's not going to get kicked out of the Underworld because her poached eggs were terrible.
Though not exactly desperate, she gets on her knees on the ground, and plants her hands onto it and feels. Calls them. Begs them. Sinks her fingers into stone and dirt until she feels them, and then pulls. When she opens her eyes, there is a very small tangle of roots and leaves, grown through the cracks and swirling around her wrists, and on them modest strawberries.
She collects her breath, thanks the ground for helping her out, and picks the strawberries quickly. The rest of the plant withers away to dust as soon as she stands, but the fruit does not. She holds it to him, ripe and red, her wrist only barely scratched. The earth takes tithe for what it gives, too.
"Here, these - they need to be washed, but you don't hate - surely you don't hate strawberries, do you?"
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Hades is not the most verbose of Gods, but he finds himself all but speechless in the wake of her whirlwind actions. The eggs are gone before he can further protest, the plate pushed into his hands before he can offer anything more than a low 'hn,' and he's left standing to watch as she drops to her knees with barely enough time to furrow his brow.
There's a flutter of relief in his chest when she doesn't start to grovel, but what she does next might be worse. He feels it before he sees it, a strange pull from somewhere deep underground that only grows stronger as she conjures up tangled vines from the cracks of his foundation. Her hands disappear into the thorny mass then emerged scratched but filled with bright red berries. This time, he has time to frown.
"They're fine," he says, though this 'fine' ends on a much lighter, and much more inquisitive note, than before.
He scoops the strawberries from her hands; careful not to touch her, and careful to take every last one. It's not greed that motivates him but an abundance of caution. The same caution that prompts him to give her an intense stare, as he contemplates the dusted bush between them.
"You shouldn't eat anything that comes from this realm," he states, then, almost as an afterthought: "But...thank you...It's been a long time since I've seen strawberries."
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roleswap au
i know you're busy
running the underworld's this massive fucking undertaking that none of the rest of us are up for
but you need to get out more
gasps darling 1/2
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i drew the short stick and i don't see why all the mortal souls for all eternity should be the ones who pay the price for zeus' ego
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i know it
he sometimes knows it
we have a standing brawl about it every week
punching him in the jaw is therapeutic af, you should try it
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sadly
tragically
the queen of the underworld stepping foot topside is considered conspiracy for treason
courtesy of your brother's laws
anyway, i get out plenty
of the office
sometimes i work in the throne room
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fucking bullshit
gimme a sec
[ 'an hour' is a bit more realistic. ]
alright i've got good news and better news
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again
for me?
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1/?
2/?
done.
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