All The Precious Souls

Multitasking: Screwing multiple things up at once

Phoebe

I watch as the other two of the dumbest trio in history march my third of it out the gates of the underworld. Must be a bitch, Oldman. I chuckle at the sight of the Almighty Bad Man ( All rights strictly reserved, or so he says. *insert massive eye roll*) taken in like a child gripped under the arm by a parent. My amusement retreats the second a sharp tip hits the small of my back.
"Ares, it's been a while darling. Do you need a reminder of the last time you did this?" A heavy grunt from the over juiced idiot has me smiling again. I like violence as an answer. It's simple and effective. 
"Don't move. Father sees you and I'll have no choice but to march you down there too. And then 'Ditters would have my balls in a vice. She misses you Phoebs." The blade retracts once he's sure I won't be moving from my spot in the treeline. War is brewing, if Ares is this tense. One bad bloodbath and he's painted as this ruthless, dick for brains. Ares is many things, dick for brains included, but not ruthless. The God of War doesn't actually enjoy War. Hades below- Well, I guess it's above now- poor son of a bitch barely likes to fight. War and fighting makes the Adonis of a god behind me twitchy. Twitchy entertains me. It's really a win win situation.
"I'm assuming you have something to say besides that." I huff as I retreat further into the forest. Ares scans the forest before nodding quickly. Damn eavesdroppers, fucking Nyphs. While the rest of the "Mythical" world knows to steer fucking clear of me, Ares is the definition of stop and stare.
  Tossled, chocolate colored hair hangs in his steel grey eyes. His hard lined jaw ticks, and I can tell he's clenching his teeth. A soft grey v neck clings to his chest and shoulders while a pair of light wash jeans cling to his hips and thighs. Tattoos cover every inch of Ares arms and neck, diving below the shirt. I take a mental snap shot of every war, sometimes its in the middle of battle and sometimes its when everything stops and bodies liter the battlefield. Thats what he'd said when I asked about the horror show of a back piece. The battle of Somme is inked there in black, grey and red. Lots and lots of red, showcasing one of the bloodiest battles in history.
"Phoebe, is there anyone you can trust that wouldn't come across my fathers radar?" He says on a whisper.
"I trust no one. Ever." I spit back at him. Earning an annoyed eyeroll from Ares, the God of War presses forward.
"Well, find someone to bully into helping your ass survive, because you're gonna need it, Makaria." He growls at me, narrowing his eyes to slits at a name I know nothing about. My Scythe presses against his throat, while the tip of my sword points directly at the family jewels.
"Call me anything besides Phoebe again and Ditters won't get the chance to use a vice grip before I castrate you." A deadly tone comes with the words I speak. Annoyed with this conversation and the fact that I won't be getting answers from Hades, I turn my back on War himself, middle fingers to the sky, for Zeus and his son.
 

By the time I get to the hotel I've decided to stay in, my run in with Ares is now almost a week ago. Some planning and packing then off to Vegas it was. Busy city, more bodies to hide amongst. Plus what's not to like in Vegas? The Bellagio is beautiful, but it's also the only hotel with a casino not own by Hermes. (Bet you didn't know he's also the God of gambling.) Hiding in plain sight works most of the time and I'm hopeing it works long enough for me to gain information on who I actually am.
"You need an alphabet plan." I say into the mirrored reflection of myself. I notice the dye is fading from my hair quicker than usual. Maybe plan A should be to dye your hair, red sticks out. I play with a few straids, thinking maybe black would suit me just as red does. I close my eyes to wash my face and cold blue eyes flash in my mind. I hate the color blue I think even as half of my brain can't seem to understand why. The masochist in me, however, finds herself extremely curious. A quick search of facebook shows me almost nothing, surprising by Joseph standards.
Joseph loved himself fiercely enough to almost rival Narcissus. He liked to post everything about his life. If he shit, thousands of followers knew about it. It was somewhat unnerving to be a witness to it. He'd built up every aspect of his life to be perfect to hide the monster he truly was, but what I currently stare at is the complete opposite of narcissism.
Than Bennett. Age twenty eight. Birthdate is off by a year, four months and twelve days. Joseph had been born on Easter day. His father called him God's gift, if only he knew "God" liked to partake in every sin in the damn book. EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. Than posts car photo every couple of weeks, shares a meme once in a while. Dark humor, fitting. Other than that, nothing. A notification pops up on my phone as I go to exit the app in exchange for Tiktok. My jaw hits the floor when I open it. I don't think I'm the only one glutton for punishment. Than Bennett sent you a friend request. My thumb hovers over the deny button, while a small voice in my head whispers you're still curious.
I sigh softly, "When in Vegas" and grab a deck of cards. I remove the odd numbers and  shuffle them thoroughly, setting them in a nice stack in front of me. Face or Ace, Accept. Even deny. I flip over the top card. A king stares back at me. The King of Hearts. of fucking course. I hit the accept button, since I don't make it a habit to lie to myself or fuck with the Fates decisions. Not thirty seconds later, a message pops across my screen.