Summary:Herc and Hod talk over bottles of booze. Some NSFW language. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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The DZ is not a great place to be in the daylight, desperation causes bad decisions, and in a world where your marjin for error is razor thin to begin with, a bad decision or two can have far reaching and long lasting consequences. There are places in the DZ where the sort who can't seem to make the right call congregate, where the most lost, the most broken, matriculate into a distilled pot of hopelessness. Where else would Hodr spend his free time? In a church?
The one time God of Darkness, Winter, and Hidden Ways sits atop the crushed remnants of one of those once ubiquitous blue steel mail public mail boxes, it's frame bent in from either falling rubble or car impact or perhapse Sentinel footstep. Nestled in the sizeable impression this makes, Hod sits and plucks at the guitar set across his knee. The evening falls early in the city, the artificial horizon of the skyscrapers casting long shadows before the sun's actually set, the early darkness giving birth to an early economy driven by the things most shun doing in the light of day. The music is sad and lonely, and the people, few as they are that wander the streets, hardly pause in their way to listen knowing the emotions well enough they hardly need a soundtrack to remind them.
"Come down from your mountain,
And fuck your holy shoutin'
I can't bother with the sound.
I've almost lost the times when,
We'd look up to the sky's and
Climb up there a-"
his words trail off as something in the song suddenly sounds sour to the note, causing the melody to fall apart. For anyone near enough with the right senses that have nothing to to with ears, the broken glass feeling of magic gone wrong grates across their skin.
Inebriation is not an easy state for Hercules to chase, but where there's a will… granted, his bar tabs tend to be just as Olympian as he is. The god of strength ambles with a slower gait through the DZ, unconcerned by what might be there; he's spent more than a few days helping clean it up. The sound of song draws him, and he amiably shambles up to the edge of the crater. "Ho there, skald. Why'd you stop?" He takes a long pull from a very large bottle, a case of three unopened ones in his other hand as he approaches.
"Thought it was you," Herc says cheerfully. "There are blues musicians who would sell their souls to sound like that." Sitting down on a massive chunk of concrete, he pulls one of the unopened bottles of… oh dear gods, it's -grappa-… and offers it to Hod. "Still, the gift of song should be commemorated!"
Hod tilts his head at Herc's voice and offers a shaded smirk, "Because I stopped it before the Norns could force it out of me." he says with a bit of a self fulfilled snarl, "Twats. They're toying about with me again, I can feel it coming. Luckily," he reaches for the offered bottle, not having to play the charade of completely helpless blind man with his cousin, "I know the treatment for that disease." and his thumb works the cork free with a pop before he raises the bottle to his lips shamelessly. Four HEAVY swallows later he offers a tiny cough and a raised brow, "That's not half bad." he murmurs. "Been awhile." he admits before continuing, "As for gifts from the Norns, they can fuckin' keep 'em." he doesn't mention what he sold to sound like that, or what he had to endure to be able fuel that sort of music. There's a reason he doesn't do pop songs.
Hercules cocks his head, then hehs. "Do you ever think the Norns and the Fates get together…" He takes a pull off his bottle, before continuing, "…and… and… think about ways to screw with people. Mortals, gods, the whole thing?" He furrows his brow. "It's like… sure, heroes rise from mortals, but… seems like they overdo it just to be jerks." He sighs heavily. "… Reminds me of Linus. My old music teacher. Back in the old days. We… we didn't get along so well."
Hod shrugs, "May be the same three bitches for all I know, it's not like they're the sorts to publisize truth and I try really really hard not to think about that shit." Because Hod has a knack for discovering things other people don't want discovered, policing his thoughts is often the best course of action in his mind. He takes another hit of the bottle, "Linus was before my time." he points out, offering a Herc a snort, "Jesus, I forgot how much older you are. Dollars to doughnuts time's treated you better then it has me." Ain't that the truth, not that Hod can see of course, he's just making the obvious assumption. "What pulled you to the DZ in the early evening? It's not exactly your scene."
It takes an effort for Hercules to drag himself out of the melancholy of memories. The grappa helps. "This was back before, Hod. Before I was even Heracles, they called me Alcides." He smiles, warmer memories bubbling to the surface, and then Hod's question drags him back to the present. "Well," he says slowly, "I've been helping out here." He hiccups, looks embarrassed, then continues. "Moving rubble, unsticking bulldozers. Punching giant automatons is fun, but this is worth doing too." He drains off his bottle, and carefully puts it back in the carrying case. "Even if I think we should divert a couple rivers through it…"
Hod snorts again, "The shit that drops here doesn't come from the asses of horses cousin. To many would drown." he pauses, "Maybe get my little brother to summon a hefty storm, help clear some of the waste out. Minor flooding. Not sure the city would like it…" he trails off as if considering this. "I can't break cover for that sort of thing, besides, I'm clearly not capable anymore. But these are my people, so I offer what succor I can. Music, food, justice, wine, small things when small things matter most. I never had followers, not like you or Thor or-" he waves a hand as if to indicate all of the gods, "spent to much time wiping all mention of me from their histories. But what's mine is mine, even if they don't know it." he takes another hit from the bottle and then glances down at it, "Why's this stuff making me talk? I don't talk." he frowns from behind his mirrored shades, "This… is /to/ good, isn't it?" he sounds vaugly suspicious.
Hercules lets out a belch. "Eh, they're clever now. I watch them, you know. Pick through the rubble, salvage amazing amounts of iron and stone. It's like watching ants work." He shakes his head. "No, I think they're better off without the river or the storm. All they need is… is… encouragement." He sounds the word out slowly. "I do my best, but you can do it too." At Hod's question about the drink, Herc gives a big, slightly sloppy drunken grin. "It's grappa. S'good, isn't it? Probably have a hangover like continents colliding tomorrow, but screw it."
Hod shakes his head, "You don't get hangovers you big jackass." he points out, "That's for us fragile people." and he hits the bottle once more as if daring his head to cause him pain on the morrow. "They were always clever, sadly their morality never keeps pace with their ingenuity. More then half again as savage as they are creative. Like children with an understanding of quantum tunneling states. Never know what'll happen."
Hercules just shakes his head. "And yet they'll surprise us, Hod." There's a surprising clarity in his eyes. "They always do. That's what so many of our brethren miss — well, I think Thor gets it, though he doesn't know how to say it." He chuckles. "Maybe I'll ply him with grappa next and ask him. Anyways…" He pauses, trying to order his sodden thoughts. "There's a point… somewhere between us, and the animals, and that's where they are. Sometimes they fall… but oh, when they rise, it's glorious."
Hod reaches over to begin putting away the metal guitar, the motions making the string jostle and filling the air with a tinny moan, "So optimisitc." he says sourly, "You sound like-" he stops talking and eyes the grapa again accusingly, "Maybe. Maybe." he says after a long moment, "But I've been with them longer then any of you, and it gets harder and harder to see the grace in them."
Hercules snorts. "You look at them with the eyes of an outcast, Hod. It's not your fault… but it colors your view all the same." He leans back. "And if there's no grace… what's the point? What's left? Grim darkness, and the laughter of gods like Loki or Ares?" He hawks and spits. "Not for me, thanks. The wine is good, the women are warm…" He pauses, trailing off, and eyes Hod with a drunk-calculating expression.
Hod is quiet for a long moment, "Loki and Ares were kinder to me then the rest of you were." he says as the silence draws out long and slow. "Not traditionally perhaps, but in their own way. Loki is a the worlds worst joke, but he's always been honest with me. Maybe he thought I'd know," again, Hidden Ways, "or it was funny to never lie to /one/ of us, just to keep them off guard. But he doesn't lie. To me. And Ares, when Father cast me out, stripped from me all that I was and left me to die, it wasn't Thor or Hercules who came to see me on the feild at Amphipolis. He was cruel, as is his way, but fair. When all abandoned me, when the only friend I had ever known lay dead, his brain leaking out onto my lap, it was Ares that saw fit to let me earn Brasidas' passage to the fields of Elysium."
He allows another silence to grow, "I don't look at them with any eyes Hercules, but for two thousand years I felt their lash upon my back, their knives in my flesh, their spit on my face." his shaded gaze turns Hercules' direction with the unerring accuracy of a man who doesn't have to pretend to be human, "I can't see it, but I know you well enough to imagine your face is doing that thing where you make a cheeky smirk before starting trouble." he leans back against his mail box, "And I am just drunk enough to let this friendly debate slide in lue of a distraction." as if to make sure of it, he takes two more pulls from the bottle, "So speak."
Hercules sighs. "And they say I'm nars… narci… self absorbed." He reaches down for another bottle, thumbing off the cork and taking a pull. "Of course they were nice to you, Hidden Master. After all… you never know when you might need to hide something away from even Heimdall's eyes." He hiccups again, and there's something darkly amused in his eyes. "A bottle of hydra's blood, or a sprig of mistletoe." Herc takes another pull. "No, I only have nightmares about what the world would be like if Ares was allowed free reign over them. Flawed as they are."
Hod makes a rude noise and sways slightly, "Master my posterior. Once upon a time, now… petty dabbler. Barely stay hidden myself, half the fucking time-" he waves his hand through the air with wriggling fingers as if to suggest it just slips away from him. "Oh. I dunno where to get a bottle of blood." he finishes the bottle in his hand, eyes it, then tosses it over his shoulder behind him. What? Like anyone will notice one more bottle out here. "But I know where to find a-" small burp and a chest pound, "hydra." he finishes. "Or did. Been long time." he then nods somberly at Herc, "Fucked." he suggests as a place they'd be if Ares could rule the world. He might respect Ares, but /like/ him? Hodr's not /stupid/.
Hercules belches. "And… that's the point. Even… as foolish as they are, the mortals deserve … heroes." He eyes Hod owlishly. "Don't litter. S'rude." He staggers to his feet. "C'mon. Let's go crash at my place. Y'can… sleep in a bed." That prods his mind again, and he peers at Hod. "When was the last time y'were with a woman?"
Hod shakes his head, "No. They don't. They deserve to /be/ heroes. We, all of us, ought to just fuck right off and leave them be." he rests his head on the neck of his guitar case as he props it up against the cracked concrete of the street, "They're not ready for what's out there. Not yet." maybe one day? Hod tries not to think about it, really really hard. Thinking about the future has consquences with him and he's in no place for that right now. "Love or a professional?" he return asks without thinking.
Hercules grunts. "I think… they're stronger than we realize. I wonder how long till… some little mortal bastard's knocking on the gates of Mount Olympus or Asgard, selling door to door vacuum cleaners." The idea seems to amuse him immensely, then he focuses on Hod again. Love or… oh. "Either."
Hod continues to lean against the case, "It will be a very short lived salseman that disturbs my father. His comedic appreciation is far more anemic then your pops'." he points out. "What would now be considered October the thirteenth, 1616, my wife." he recites as if it were burned into his mind, "1872, Cora Pearl, though I always called her Emma. Courtesan of sorts. Was big with Napoleon's brother for a time." so doing the math it's been about 150 years since Hod got laid. Give or take.
Hercules stares, then shakes his head. "Yeah. You need a woman. Badly. Several, in fact." He levers himself upright, swaying. "I don't we need to try and find some tonight though. I seem to be a little drunk." He mock-glares at the bottle. "Dionysus, you little shit, you've outwitted me again." Looking back at Hod, he rubs his face. "We can fix it tomorrow. Go to IHOP first." He hiccups again. "Rooty tooty fresh and fruity breakfast."
Hod shakes his head, "I don't do well with women." he says simply, "Cold." he reaches up and touches his own face with a palm, "Don't feel it, but they do." then he pushes himself up to his feet, sways a bit, but leans on his cane which seems to appear from the shadows almost by magic. "I don't know what those words mean." he says honestly, "But if they have waffles and sausages, I'm in."