meraki.

Interlude - Young God

August 29th, 2018

White marble, coin-gold , quicksilver, shiny black, bright green, canary yellow, ocean blue, blood red, fluorescent orange...

Every color seems brighter in this place. 

But then again, everything seems brighter and better and more perfect and faultless and shiny and meant to last forever in this place.

It's the Olympus.

Home of the Gods, heavenly paradise, safe and untouchable land for its inhabitants: nymphs, dryads, muses, demigods, minor gods and of course the twelve Olympians. 

Eleven, if we remember that Hades has been banished and recluse inside of his own Kingdom, underground. He's only ever allowed on the Olympus during the Summer Solstice, and after that he gets kicked out again. People really speak about him, and if they do it's only to say bad and unpleasant things.

The Young God walks through the paved and shiny streets, waving at some muses who smile as they see them; they widen their eyes as they see some handmaidens tune their instruments together, realizing there'll be a concert later that day in one of the many immortal gardens of Olympia. 

They hope to be able to attend it, because the concerts in Olympia are known for being the best ones to ever exist: the music is angelic and thanks to some sort of magic it sounds just like what you want it to sound. Even if what you want it to sound is modern jazz or 70s bands that have no place to be in the Olympus, whatsoever. 

The Young God's step is brisk, yet a little hesitant as they climb their way up the street, smiling and waving at everyone they know: there is that newly anointed demigod turned minor God just a couple weeks prior because he has been particularly brilliant - the King of the Olympians will never openly say it, but it's getting harder to find something to assign to a minor God, which is one of the reasons he's handing out the longed-for-entrusting with an eyedropper. 

There's the other nymph that is always so nice to them, whenever they meet amongst the woods. There's the muse that visits them from time to time, without a word of their meetings to their King, to avoid any problem. There's a Satyrus playing their instrument and making some plants grow out of the concrete asphalt. 

Everyone is nice, as always. But there's something different today: everyone's stares towards the Young God are clouded with something they can't fully mask. 

The Young God recognizes it as barely concealed envy. Sure, it's not the bad kind, but it's still there. 

The King of the Olympians himself has invited the Young God to join him at the Olympus, "to talk", the message delivered that morning from Hermes, the winged God, said. 

The Young God is about to have a chat face-to-face with Zeus. 

They're wearing their best clothes: a white short tunic, made of the finest silk, polished sandals that hug their long and toned legs with smooth laces and a small laurel wreth - hoping the almighty Zeus won't take that as a personal offense. 

They know it's a huge honour - and a huge deal - to be invited to speak face-to-face with the King himself. Zeus rarely wastes his time to speak to the citizens of Olympia, he's far too busy to even grace them with their presence, most of the time - and after all, he has spokespersons and ambassadors for that purpose. 

His citizens understand and respect that: he's their King and savior. His word is law. No one ever goes against him. And if they try and do so, the consequences to their actions are loud and terrifying.