Ichor and Bone

Vesta groaned the way any sane woman would groan when their alarm cloak shoots off at an ungodly hour after a night of staying up reading poetry blogs. It was always just one more page, one more poem, one more epic, earth shattering kernel of lyrical truth that landed her in the foulest of moods right before the sunrise. 

“Because owning a coffee shop is my dream,” she groaned aloud in sarcasm, popping her shoulders and dangling her legs off the edge of her bed.  

Still not quite awake, she began the daily ritual of waking up that started with a shower, and ended with a warm cup of herbal tea. As ironic as it sounded, Vesta wasn’t a big fan of coffee, or at least not to the point where she drank it every day. Once in a while was a nice treat, but her real weakness was in the teas and herbal remedies. 

The main reason behind her owning a coffee shop, was no more complex than her desire to remain stationary. She was a watcher, a wallflower, a fixture in the room that knew everything going on and was rarely ever the reason for gossip herself. It was safer that way, and just more honest to her deepest nature.

It wasn’t any more complex than that, but the others liked to tease her and claim there were other reasons behind her choice to set up shop and take root. Chief among their theories was her desire to remain connected to the old ones, those who had tasted the forbidden fruit of Ambrosia, and were forced to live out an immortal existence till their blood ran dry, as it had with all the old gods.  

 When she emerge from her room, she found Eos, goddess of the dawn, at the bottom of her stairs. She was holding her hands in front of her lap and smiling cheerily up  at her friend.  

“Glorious morning, isn’t it?” Eos chimed, her bright smile a shade too bright for Vesta to be comfortable with just yet. 

“All your mornings are glorious, aren’t they?” Vesta asked around a yawn, descending the stars two at a time till she was at the bottom landing. Looking around she took inventory of the shop and nodded approvingly. The pastries were warm and fragrant, scenting the whole shop with the aroma of honey and sugary goodness. 

 “It was a good idea to just give you a key. It’s nice to come down and find things so neat. Are we ready to open?”

.

It was late in the afternoon before anyone she recognized stopped by. When she came to pour the coffee made sure the rim was just barely visible before setting the pot into its warmer and sitting herself down across from Deimos. 

“Phobos isn’t with you today.”

“He hardly ever is, haven’t you noticed?” the sullen youth huffed, flicking away the crumbs left behind on his table. 

“No, I haven’t. Neither of you have visited my establishment in twelve years. I know it doesn’t seem like a lot anymore, but, that’s a good deal longer than many of the others.”

Deimos wouldn’t meet her eyes, but she could tell they twitched. He was a being of panic, infused with the impulse emotion the moment he consumed his cursed drink.  It was the way they were all remade, as was their fate, as was their curse. 

Aside from being a nervous twit of a man, Deimos was moderately sized with dirty blond hair and pale eyes that liked to roam about the room when they weren’t staring intently into the grooves between floorboards. Most of the other gods didn’t think he was worth looking twice at, but that was more so because of their ridiculously high standards and not any of Deimos’ short comings. To say it simply, he was plain, and he preferred it that way. 

“I haven’t seen my brother in a while. I though he might stop in here, since its your place, you know,” he said with a shrug.

“It’s rare to see the two of you apart. The gods of panic and fear sort of are a set, right?” she joked. It eared her a half hearted grin from male who embodied panic.