You watch the caduceus as it spins through the air, turning swiftly over and over. The youth reaches out with his long fingers to grab it, but fumbles in the end, and the staff slips through and clatters to the ground. He curses slightly, then bends down to pick it up, and immediately begins fidgeting around with it once more.
"What else is there to do, you know?" he says absentmindedly, his focus on keeping the caduceus turning smoothly in his thieves' fingers. "We know that we're basically goners, no place left on the Mount for us. Have to just keep on moving, keep on moving."
Mid-spin, he suddenly whips the caduceus into standing position, and rests his cheek on the tip so that the snakes winding their way up the staff seem as if they are reaching up to devour him. He wraps his knuckles so quickly on the base of the staff that had there been any true beat, it would have been indiscernible as such.
"Me, I'm used to living on the edges to get by, zipping around from place to place, having friends in low places and all that. I know how to get by on just a little, but some of these gods?" He lets out a long whistle. "Man, I hate to see how some of them are faring out there right now. Never worked a day in their life, used to just smiting mortals and benefitting off of Daddy's favor. Funny how things work out in the end, who's still going and who lost their spark," he laughs, but it is uneasy, and you are not sure if he is trying to convince you or himself.
"All I need are these bad boys," and here he sticks a leg out a little and nods down at his heels. On them, little white wings poke out on either side, and at his indication they give a feeble quiver. Conscious of every movement, you ruffle your own heavy, dark wings in response. "They take me anywhere I need, and they'll make sure I don't end up between a rock and a hard place. Just have to keep on moving."
You pride yourself on your escapism, Hermes, yet here you stand before me, just as all the rest, you shake your head, a slight smile on your face.
He laughs, and this time it is more authentic, less complicated. "Just for a chat; sorry to disappoint, but I will be on my way before you even notice I'm gone—a trick of the trade."
He moves off of his staff, twirling it once again. His ankle wings jerk awake and start beating, propelling him a few feet off the ground. As he makes a good-natured bow to you, albeit laced in sarcasm, you notice that every few beats the wings will fail and stop, and he will fall an inch, only for the wings to resume their diligent flapping to keep him aloft.
You watch as he speeds off into the dying sun and the memory of another boy who trusted his wings and his freedom far too much flashes into your mind as you unfurl your own wings. As a goodbye, and more of one than he will ever know, he hurls back one last comment for you.
"Survival isimmortal."
