Dealing with Drama

A Brutal Beatdown

AN: I'm dying of boredom. The end.

Time: A Few Days Later

A storm was coming. It was in the air, a tantalizing feeling for the thirsty world, petrichor that could almost be tasted on one's tongue.

The grey skies swirled with misty clouds that hid the sun behind them, barely allowing anything to pass through and shrouding the world in shadow that gave a grey tinge to everything. The air was cool and invigorating, with a thick palpable tension that just added to the day's charm, an anticipation shared by everybody on Olympus, eager for the sweet promise of a refreshing rainstorm. The dark green leaves of the trees rustled with mysterious whisperings that left a gentle shiver down one's spine, a sense of nostalgia for the simple bench in the tree's protective shade that looked out into the grey world beyond. Perhaps it was a long lost memory of being a child, sitting under a tree in the rain, enjoying the warm comfort while watching the world getting cleansed of all hurt.

Was it just that, though?

The population of Olympus thought so at least, they couldn't be bothered less by all that was going on in the world, or the Council Meeting scheduled for that day, the fifteen strongest gods to convene and decide on the world's fate.....

Like they had been doing for the last four millennia.

Yes, the almighty, no less arrogant and self-centred, minor gods of Olympus couldn't be bothered less, they had better things to do. Such as....... such as.....?

Such as?

You recommend something please, dear reader. Help out a poor god here, it's only charitable. After all, they have done soooo much for you. They have sat on their asses and looked after the world. It's not like the world is ending anytime soon or anything, right? There is no global pandemic ravaging the world, no bushfires, trigger happy Korean dictators or anything about to nuke the world, right? They are good at their job, they deserve a pay raise.

Or so you would be led to believe, going by their own words, not mine.

They are so lazy that they can't think of anything to do. Even sleeping, eating or fucking is a chore for them.

Oof, if only they knew....

The sound of impatient tapping, the hard sole of combat boots against the metal floor of the elevator to the gods, reverberated through the elevator that Percy had been forced to take to the Council Meeting, since the protections around Olympus did not allow people with hostile intentions towards its king from flashing in. Even that, that the laws protected Zeus, and Zeus alone, was not lost on him. This has gone on for far too long.

Shit has hit the fucking fan.

Hestia had long ago abandoned her attempts at dissuading the group of violent, bloodthirsty gods from turning her misguided, shitty little brother into a bloody pulp. Well, she wouldn't mind it per se, she just couldn't stomach the violence. Couldn't Percy just chop his head off and be done with it?

She seemed to be the only one out of the lot to uphold the virtue of quick and clean, painless death. Nobody deserved to be tortured, no matter what they had done.

It was just in Hestia's nature to be kind and forgiving, and she knew Zeus took advantage of that. She had been hurt in the past because her nature prevented her from retaliating to corruption, but now, she had someone fighting for her. Someone bloodthirsty, who did not mind getting his hands dirty.

Her lips moved in a silent prayer to all the deities that would listen, for Percy's wellbeing. Zeus was a piece of shit, but he was strong himself and politically adept, otherwise he wouldn't have held the throne for so long. It wouldn't surprise her at all if he had some sort of guards at hand, or blackmailed one of the others into helping. He had already displayed the sway he held over the population of Olympus, through a vile, repelling combination of underhanded deals, lying smiles and two-faced words.