(Untitled)

[phobos_dot_com]

He stands on the cliff where the stream of fierce, pure water pours from the stone, and plummets into the pool, far below. At this height, the river seems a tiny thread of silver snaking its way through the earth, but he knows the true depth of it cannot be seen from this earthly vantage -- not until one is dead, or amoung them, can the volume

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[styx_dot_com]

She'd been gone a long time.

She saw the poppies fall, and the note.

She'd missed him.

She had little use for Olympians, or deities in general, or their foibles.

But him, she'd missed.

She arrives at his temple with little fanfare, beating him there. She apparates inside, uninvited, but hopeful.

There, she sits, with unusual quiet, hands folded, and waits.

[phobos_dot_com]

Phobos was not at home when Styx appeared, but riding in the limo of an aging, addicted, washed up human wreckage who was having trouble with the newspapers. He kept trying to break it to the man gently that yes, they really were all laughing at him, and no he wasn't the king of any kind of music anymore, but the damn fool kept dragging him back night after night, till Phobos was just about ready to strangle every newspaper reporter who ever typed a word. He didn't like the man, he didn't like the music, and he really didn't like the chimpanzee, so it was with mingled relief and delight that he sensed Styx's appearance in his home

[phobos_dot_com]

(OOC) sorry for the post barrage. LJ is being retarded again.

[styx_dot_com]

She smiled back, his enthusiasm putting her at her ease, his presence overwhelming and replacing any previous distress.

"Yeah," she said, her voice a little subdued, but warm. "Figured it'd be bad form to leave a guy waiting."

With no warning, she leapt up from her seat and threw herself at him, latching arms around his neck, and hanging there, feet off the ground.

"Damn, I missed you," she breathed into his neck, grinning.