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This will not stand. I should have killed all your children, Gaia. And you, Father. You should be in pieces, washed up on the shore with Ouranus. Like father, like son. You'll know the truth of it, soon enough.
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[Zeus is restless but as still as stone. Only those who know him well might sense that he is all uncoiled,
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So you won't be alone!
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Uncle Hades and Uncle PoPo are here.
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Ah. Hades and PoPo. I can only assume they remain ... unchanged?
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How's it hanging? You know, other than the whole meatsuit thing - which, dude, if you don't mind me saying? Fucking nice, man. You're sorta hot shit. I mean, the ruggedly handsome thing's totally working for you.
Right. Rundown. This place is Manhattan. Big Fucking Apple. Doesn't sleep. Has a shit ton of fucked up mortals with serious daddy-issues that may or may not end up selling themselves on street corners as a poor substitute for fame, fortune, and genuine affection. It's pretty fucking excellent, as far as locations go. I mean, no thrones and shit, but not terrible.
And we're sort of like a particularly sadistic game of the Sims for Cronus and his cronies. (Which, fuck. Would totally make an excellent band name, by the way.)
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I do hope you haven't had too many run-ins with my father.
I am glad that you are not too cast down by this strange place.
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Ruggedly handsome. Yes, quite the way with words.
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I totally died once. It was tingly and shit. Like some fucked up full-body Orajel treatment or something.
Seriously, Boss. It suits you. It's scruffy and awesome and sorta like you should be wielding an axe. With optional forceful cranial insertion.
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No, you are right. Being here and being reduced to this cannot be good for anyone.
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But the only brighter thing I have seen here then back home is my son.
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That is good news. That's Apollo's boytoy Hyacinth, yes?
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