Hermes | Book 1

: 08 :

Once upon a time, somebody had said, the Light and Darkness were opposites. But why did they interpret opposites as enemies?

Chapter 8

THE INDIAN restaurant was very impressive, exceeding Hermes's very low expectations by more than a few hundred miles.

"Come on," said Asta, giving him a slight barely noticeable push on the small of his back. Hermes tried to stop staring noticeably as he took in the general atmosphere of the area.

It was almost as if he had transported himself into an alternate dimension, far behind his own time.

The walls were a plain yellow, but the clever red and gold lighting did the trick of making it look more regal. The chairs that Asta led them to was made out of actual wood and so were the tables.

Stifling his growing curiosity, after receiving a sharp look from Asta when he began to
rub hand on the tables (just to check if they were legit), he lowered himself on the the considerably comfortable cushions of the restaurant chair.

The portion of the table where the menu was projected lit up on their sitting and showed their days special in bold while the regulars followed in standard script.

Hermes leaned forward, trying to decipher what all the foreign words meant on the menu. The only Indian food he ever had were those round yellow sweets they called ladoos and he ate those only because he was sick of Aphrodite's constant insisting on trying something that atleast stepped out of the borderline of traditional Greek cuisine.

But on the good side, those ladoos complimented his taste buds well.

If he was still having his Godly powers right now he would have used it to understand each dish with clarity, using the diners present to understand every single thing about the dish including its taste.

But he had no powers within him for the moment and his only way to get them back was a human girl from Eta who he wasn't sure he could trust. The truth was sometimes a very harsh person to befriend.

Once Hermes decided that there was absolutely no way he could order anything without help, he sneaked a glance at his dining companion.

The woman opposite him was engrossed in her menu, her hands constantly tapping a tune that seemed to change its direction every few seconds.

"What can I do for you today, sir?"

Hermes looked up to see the waiter. The waiter was only a boy, his black floppy hair hiding half his eyes. Judging by his sullen, submissive posture, Hermes didn't have to be a God know what hid behind the black of his hair.

But he thought frustratedly that he would have to be a God to understand the reason behind Asta's sudden freezing at the waiters bored, monotonous voice or why her head bend even lower so that the top of her head could be seen.

"Well, Asta?" Hermes looked at her for help.

The woman in question slowly lifted her head to meet his gaze.

"She doesn't talk, sir," said the waiter making Hermes look in surprise.

"What?" Surprise. Incredulity.

The waiter gave an amused grin in Asta's direction before turning to him. "Oh, not like that, sir. She does talk, but she is mad."

For a second all Hermes heard was the clink of cutlery.

"She is mad?" He repeated dumbly.

The waiter smiled with an ounce of pity. Hermes didn't like that expression at all.