[ yeah, well, myths get a lot wrong. shit gets distorted after a few hundred years, let alone a few thousand. she doesn’t look divine, not in the inhuman way of khonshu or ammit, and not in the thousand megawatt-smile that thor glistens on camera. rather than ceremonial rags or armor, hades wears surprisingly modern clothes: sturdy boots, dark jeans, dark tank top that exposes her arms, and the tattoos crawling up them. cerberus’ heads, bricks and gears, the branches of a tree on her shoulderblade. she looks tired, worn, like she’s been hit by several cars. ]

Olympians. [ it’s a quick, automatic correction. they don’t think of themselves as greek in particular, just as the ennead aren’t necessarily egyptian. just gods. ] He’s pissed off everybody, but that’s just because he’s an ornery fucking asshole. And that’s coming from me.

[ she knocks back about half of her impromptu jack-and-coke in one go. ]

Tell him I haven’t forgotten about the drachma he owes me.