All I can think as I stare at the right of the duo is Karen.
Because with that haircut and the I want to talk to your manager look on her face, she looks exactly like a middle aged mom. Not one of those cool moms, but one of the moms that complains to the teacher when their child doesn't do their homework and fails the class.
The one of the left is much worse. The beer belly and muscle tank that accentuates all the wrong curves do not do him any favors, but it's the MAGA hat that puts the nail in the coffin.
But there's something about them that suggests an age older than what appears on the surface, and considering the last person that visited me, I think I know why.
My lethargy dissipates, replaced by irritation.
"My door is not a voicemail inbox to Apollo," I say, but something in the man's expression stops me from closing the door. Like I have to prove something to him.
"I want to talk to him," the woman says in a commanding tone. The man just sneers at me like he's better than I am.
"Since you dipshits clearly didn't get the memo, we mortals use words like please instead of demanding to be let into a stranger's home."
But they don't even pay heed to my words, brushing right past me to sit in the couch. Rolling my eyes, I walk over to take a seat on the opposite couch, and the coffee table between us is the only thing making me feel less vulnerable.
"I have to ask for your names, because I sure as hell don't remember a god of middle aged crises."
"I am Hera. And this is Ares," Hera says, placing a calming hand on Ares's leg, which has begun to shake furiously. "I won't waste any words," she continues. "It is imperative that you disclose Apollo's location to us."
Putting an indignant expression on my face doesn't take much effort. "I don't fucking know where he is, and I don't know why you shitheads think that I know."
"Oh, I think the hyacinths sitting on your coffee table render your denial quite unfounded."
Those hyacinths have betrayed me twice over. First to tell Phoebus that he didn't mean nothing to me, and now this. I knew I should have thrown them away, but I don't have that kind of strength.
Ares leans forward with a goading expression his face and says, "Look, pussycat. You don't tell us, and he dies with the rest of us. The titans are already gone."
Die?
The gods may be rendered obsolete, but they can't die, at least to my knowledge. Something about the way we always remember them keeps them alive. Still, I try not to let my concern show as I say, "Then good fucking riddance. Maybe you can reincarnate as a garden gnome."
"We don't require you to betray his location. All we request is that you convince him to at least let us present our case. We believe that we are due that much."
"You're not even due any more time in my home. Get the fuck out."
"Silly little girl, do you have no fear of the gods?"
I should be scared. The queen of the gods and the god of war are threatening me with my life. But I'm not.
"If you had any capacity to hurt me, you would have done so already. Just accept that your reign is over and try to find something meaningful to do with your existences already," I say flatly, gesturing at them to leave.
Ares, whose face has been getting redder and redder throughout our whole exchange, rises with pure fury on his face. Before I have time to even flinch before his raised hand, I'm on the floor, reeling from his blow to my cheek.
"Leave." We all turn in surprise to see Phoebus. And it's just now that I realize that I've never seen him angry. The unadulterated rage on his face puts Ares to shame. All of a sudden, I understand why the ancient Greeks were so bent on appeasing him.
"Apollo. Listen to what we could like to say," Hera says, her expression softening as she takes a step toward the winged avenger.
"I said get the fuck out."
"Brother. you'll regret it if you don't do this."
"I don't answer to either of you."
I watch the two gods against one, neither side willing to show any sign of caving. It's what you would call a stalemate in chess, but this time, there's no shaking hands and conceding that neither side won.
Except there is leverage and I roll out of the way just as Ares and I realize it at the same time. I'm sure the terror on my face is evident to all four of us when Ares pulls out what looks like a hunting knife.
I instinctively look to Phoebus for reassurance, but the look on his face makes my heart stop. Fury but also...fear.
What could make a god feel fear like that?
"If you harm her in any way, I swear on my soul that I will perform the Ritual of Mortality."
I don't know what the Ritual of Mortality is, but judging by its name and the stricken looks on Hera and Ares, they do not want him to do it. And since Phoebus can't lie, this threat isn't an empty one.
"You would not. You love mortals far too much to give up your power to aid them," Hera breathes, although she and Ares have both frozen.
"You can believe me. Or we can find out if can lie or not."
Ares looks to Hera, who nods and says, "Fine. You've stolen the victory, but do not delude yourself into believing that eleven Olympians will be an easy opponent."
And with one last glance of hatred at me, they just leave. And it's like nothing happened in the first place except for the cushions being a little bit crooked.
Striding over, Phoebus kneels down to where I'm lying in a daze and holds out his hand the same way he did six years ago. And like that time six years ago, I take it.
And then we're standing almost chest to chest as his eyes rove my face, taking in the handprint that has surely begun to form on my cheek from Ares's hand. I can't help but wince from the sting when he places his uncalloused palm on my cheek even though I know he's just checking for its severity.
"El, I'm so sorry."
"Don't be," I say, a bit too breathlessly than I would like. "But I think we need to talk."
Perhaps sensing that we're too close for comfort, he releases me and falls back onto the couch and retracts his wings. He looks far more like a normal boy, but I remind myself that it doesn't mean he's any less unreachable.
I sink on the opposite couch. "What the fuck do those jackasses want with you anyway?" I ask, knowing that I should've asked this the moment he came back. But I was too absorbed in what it meant for me and didn't think about what it meant for him. For us.
There is no us. Stop deluding yourself.
"The million dollar question, isn't it? Simply put, they want to erase centuries of human progress and bring back the era of the gods. And they need me as the twelfth to complete the Olympian Circle."
I expected as much. We don't need them anymore, but rulers seldom like to give up their power to the masses and deities are no exception. They don't love us, they love to remind themselves that our lives are a game they can play.
A wry smile plays on my face as I say, "You don't want to rule Earth again?"
"No. I could never ascend Olympus to watch the Earth for all of eternity. I love mortals. You're lives are beautiful in a way that ours never can be. Our feats are greatly diminished by the fact that we have infinite chances to fuck up."
"I didn't know gods fucked up."
"I fuck up. All the time. Only, when I do it, people starve and empires fall."
He looks so vulnerable in that instant, with his eyes fluttered shut in defeat that I abandon all my rational thoughts screaming to prevent myself from getting hurt and cross the divide to curl up next to him.
I feel his eyes on me, but I stare ahead at the pot of hyacinths on my coffee table. Maybe I'm too afraid to meet his gaze because I know it won't have what I'm looking for. And just the fact that I'm looking for love from an immortal god really puts into perspective how far removed from reality I am.
Because the sun never moves for the earth.