rileyopry:

“He’s named after a color?” Natalie whispered in her ear as they settled back in their seats, an obvious clench in Riley’s jaw. Gods above, she really hoped he didn’t make a habit of it – it being that dreadful name her dad always liked to use. Of course, it wasn’t that she didn’t like it – it was just formal, and snobbish, and a phantom reminder of all the things she was meant to be one day. 

If that day ever came. Sometimes, she wished it wouldn’t. Riley would much rather spend her days swimming laps in the rec center, blissfully unaware of the responsibility that rested on her shoulders. Perhaps, even, blissfully unaware of her parentage and temperamental hydrokinesis that practically made her a bonafide superhero. But, Riley loved her dad – she was lucky she got to know him. Most demigods went unaware – most didn’t even exist –  and even though she craved the idea every now and then, she knew she wouldn’t trade it. Even with the looming promise of immortality. That with Tyler’s death – maybe even without it – she would be the next goddess of something, because there hadn’t been a gift of immortality in over three hundred years.

“You don’t think that’s mysterious?” Natalie whispered again, nudging Riley with her foot under the table. Her ocean-colored eyes snapped back to attention, sliding back to her best friend from where they had been locked on Crimson Vale in her momentary space out. Hopefully, not too long to notice. 

“I think it sounds fake.” Riley whispered back. “He probably changed it when he turned eighteen. I mean, look at his – “

“I’m interested,” Her eyes immediately rolled at the sound of Margot’s sugary sweet voice, her fake-posh accent dripping like rancid honey from her obviously fake lips. Now a sophomore like Riley, they’d been in the same “Freshmen Learning Community!” the year prior, forced to study together and learn how to e college kids. Despite the fact that it had been the most unhelpful program in the world, and that they no longer were required to take classes with the group, she still somehow managed to show up in Greek Mythos 101. 

“Speaking of fake…” Natalie drawled, holding back a grin at the sight of Riley’s nauseated expression. 

“I can’t get rid of this bitch.” Riley said a little too loudly, leaning back in her seat with a huff that sent water droplets cascading onto the floor. Natalie snorted, shaking her head back and forth as they both finally turned their attention back to the front of the room.

But even as he called role, the exhaustion of the morning’s work out was catching up with her. The minutes ticked by, and gradually, Riley’s eyes fluttered shut and her head lulled forward. 

“So you see, it’s really quite simple,” Crimson explained definitively, readjusting his rolled up sleeve and waving an pen he’d wedged between his middle and fore-finger around with casual flourish. The object wasn’t enough of a place-holder to calm the smoker in him, but it was at least something. “In fact, it’s so simple that, from our next lesson onwards, any time someone uses a Roman term instead of the Greek one, in any kind of assignment, I’m gonna chop off marks. This is a college class, so I don’t want to hear anyone calling Aphrodite Venus or Ares Mars. No Neptune. No Pluto. You can call me an asshole all you like, but if anyone refers to Cupid when they’re talking about Eros, you’re getting thrown out.”

Muffled chatter arose in the back, as some of the student shared their mixed disposition on the peeved Mr. Vale. An eager looking boy in the front blinked in alarm at the stern boundaries he’d just been set, his enormous brown eyes widening further to the size of a cartoon bear. Without skipping a beat, his bony hand scribbled the information down in his planner, lest he forget and awaken some kind of beast.

Keeping his distance, Crimson spied the nervous kid’s chicken scratch out of mild curiosity.

‘ASSHOLE, YES.

CUPID, NO.’

It almost made the god laugh, but that would ruin the whole ‘hardass’ thing he was going for. Poor kid. I won’t be too hard on you, I promise.

“I can do it,” Crim deadpanned, clicking his pen shut and lazily stalking the room like some kind of vulture, “and you better believe I will. Are we clear?” The boy, who Crimson now recalled from earlier as Beckett Cohen, nodded fervently. The chatter in the back died down as some other students grunted in acceptance of their professor’s terms. Upon getting the confirmation he needed, Crimson let a small satisfied smile soften his deliberate features and gave a nod of his own, down-casting his steely gaze. “Great. Then we’ll get along just fine.”

Thunk.

His blurry vision didn’t even have time to focus from momentarily lowering it, when he instinctively snapped his head back up at the sound, like a dog that just caught wind of a cat. Fortunately for him, the turned heads of several students tipped him off fairly easily, betraying the source of the thud. Dark brows furrowed in a frown and his focused eyes narrowed dangerously. Long, wet waves spilled across a wooden student desktop, a sunkissed arm curled around a face that was somewhere far away… certainly not his classroom.

Gods. That Rhode girl, again.

She was going to be a piece of work-- Crimson knew it very well. The realisation that he’d have to deal with whatever antics she got up to dawned on him when, during roll call, he’d finally zeroed in on the very reason he was even teaching this class. The very reason he was even on Earth, in fact… at least for the time being.

Her name was Natalie Flyer and she was his homework; his assignment for the term. Thus far, it had gone exactly how he expected and very meticulously planned. He had a name and then, in practically record time, a face to go with it. It was a virtually perfect setting-- he’d be able to monitor her on a regular basis without her thinking anything strange of it, and since he was in a position of trusted authority, he had some leeway with the rules to get extra tid-bits of information which might’ve taken him ages to acquire otherwise.

Finding soulmates for people was tricky work indeed, but the charming and intuitive Crimson Vale had it down to a streamlined fine art.

The only variable he hadn’t anticipated in his well oiled gears was that Natalie Flyer was the timid blonde that Riley O’Pry had plopped down next to. Sure, Crimson had dealt with ‘the best friend’ before. There was nothing in the world a smile and some sweet nothings straight from a silver tongue couldn’t soothe; it’s not like any of them would remember him after he’d successfully hitch the pair anyway, so he could literally get away with saying (and on occassion doing) some pretty bizarre stuff.

During his wilder days, he wouldn’t think twice about engaging in a three-way with a pair of lovebirds-to-be, just to get them to loosen up around each other. By the end of the night, they’d forget who he even was and there would be no harm done… Well, apart from him never getting offered any breakfast. It would be nice if, just once, he’d get thanked for his priceless services with a lousy pancake. It was no matter, though-- he’d made up for that with plenty of solo missions.

But alas. Crimson was on the mend. He’d arranged for this project to go off like a perfect domino. If his father could match people without any shenanigans, then damn it all to Tartarus-- so could he! He was a good god now. He was going to be a good god.

Gods, I need a smoke so badly.

If I don’t get a cigarette in the next twenty minutes, I’m gonna inhale this fucking pen.

All Crim needed was to take one look at Riley O’Pry to know that she was going to be a troublesome little shit-- a pain in the ass, jamming up the works and making his work that much harder. The love god folded his arms, pinching the bridge of his nose as he did so. A stifled but unmistakably exasperated sigh emerged and he swallowed his nicotine craving with much difficulty.

“...Ahem. Natalie, would you mind rousing Miss O’Pry out of her slumber so she can rejoin us?” he asked hotly, simultaneously finding a small opportunity to directly talk to his oblivious client and perhaps establish some sort vague acquaintance, however distant.

rileyopry:

Well, good morning to you, too. Riley had to hold back a snort. He most certainly didn’t look happy to be here, let alone excited to be standing before a bunch of college kids and spewing useless information. How the hell do I look like a ghost? Can ghosts even drown? She might have looked drowned, what with how several droplets of water still clung to her hair as it began to curl in summer waves around her shoulders. 

But a ghost? With a sun-kissed completion and a smattering of freckles across her cheeks and shoulders, she couldn’t grasp the comparison. He looked more like a ghost, if anybody did. His skin was a creamy white, and his hair an almost startling black. ‘Startling’ in the sense that she couldn’t believe he’d walked out of his home and into a classroom with what looked like a bad case of bed head. 

Riley held his gaze, peering into the liquid silver of his eyes. She couldn’t help feeling the little flicker of victory as they shyed away from her own to look down at the roll, even if it was a small one. One she hoped he’d notice. 

“Alright, Sherlock.” Riley said with a roll of her eyes, leaning forward to set her elbow down on the desk and set her chin in her hand in something of an imitation of his own lazy gesture. She heard a small cluster of students behind her laugh, and it spurred another victorious grin. Back in high school, she was used to not having to tell a teacher her preferred name every time. In a small, private school, everybody just ended up knowing her one way or another. 

But, she was comfortable, and a nap was calling her name, so she’d play his game in preference of getting kicked out. Not that she’d actually leave. 

“Check for O’Pry.” Gods, the last thing she wanted was to say her first name today. She always had to stop herself from cringing at the sound of it. It was something that rarely came out of her mouth. It sounded so… foreign. “My middle name is Leilani, in case you need to know that too. I can show you my driver’s license, my school ID…” Natalie kicked her in the leg, causing her to trail off with a small grunt.

She smiled again, but shot her friend a glare before she turned back to the professor and tapped her fingers on her cheek. “Are you gonna tell us your name? We’re dying to know.” At least, she could tell Nat was. 

“Alright, Sherlock,” the girl droned, making a show of her annoyance. Crimson had to stop himself from rolling his eyes right back at her and making them both look like a bunch of angsty eleven year-olds.

I did call her Nancy Drew. I guess I deserved that.

“Check for O’Pry,” the beryl-eyed girl huffed. “My middle name is Leilani, in case you need to know that too. I can show you my driver’s license, my school ID...”

Crimson glanced at her flustered blonde companion out of the corner of his eye, and he couldn’t help but notice her progressively deepening complexion, which was steadily approaching vermillion. At first he had thought that it was just abashment—after all, it wasn’t uncommon for him— but he was slowly beginning to suspect that he might’ve unknowingly aggravated some kind of respiratory problem within her with his smoke.  Then he saw her kick the brunette under the table and it was all he could do to stop himself from chortling.

“Not necessary, Miss O’Pry,” he reassured. “You’re good for now.”

“Are you gonna tell us your name? We’re dying to know.”

…My name?

Oh, shit.

Crimson had to suppress a small mandible twitch as he let out a humourless laugh of self-reproach. His right hand flew to his face instantly, rubbing the itch in his jaw almost bashfully and loosening an inky lock from the confines of his ever-disheveled sable black hair. The strand fell into his perusing gaze just as he’d been blinking away the fatigue of his minor misconduct.  

He hadn’t introduced himself-- for all these people knew, he was just some random idiot who’d wandered into the first instructorless room he found so he could finish his cigarette in peace. Great start, moron.

“Ha, yes…” the man chuckled under his breath, lazily scruffing his dark convoluted bedhead. “I almost… forgot about that.”

Please. You definitely forgot.

“I’m… uh...,” he began, trailing off as he looked back down at the class registry.  It was already beginning to become crinkled and Crimson entertained the thought of laminating it to smooth out the unpleasant wrinkles. He curiously scouted its contents for an O’Pry, dark brows furrowing as his cool gaze swept over the paper. It didn’t take him long to find two out of the three hints she had given him. He paused momentarily, mulling over the familiar characters that made up her elaborate name.

He instantly recognised it as Greek. Perhaps she was embarrassed to use it, given the context, and he was more than understanding to her plight-- especially considering his own Greek given name.

The entirety of Olympus had heard of him at some point: Erythrós; the infamous god of unadulterated passion. Of uncontrollable obsession and going over the edge.

He would never be rid of Erythrós. His scandalous reputation and vexing compulsions would follow him for the rest of his eternal life. But being Crimson was a fresh start. Erythrós’ past could be tolerated if his memory was to be stifled and overwritten by the slightly improved Crimson Vale.

Well, that, and the fact that it would require a certain degree of concentration to pronounce-- at least for any non-Greek speaker.

Of course, she didn’t know that. And he had a feeling she wasn’t the type of girl who appreciated sympathy.

“Ah. Rhode, is it?” he smirked coolly. “You sure like to complicate things, don’t you?”

For a moment, the professor found himself speculating why she’d choose to go by Riley when Rhode was clearly so much more becoming. Another jostle from her friend immediately snapped him out of his thoughts and the smallest nudge of amusement flickered on the edge of his lip, disappearing just as quickly as it came.

“I,” he eventually said, “am Professor Crimson Vale.” He cleared his throat and cast another long glance back down at the paper in his hands, all the while continuing his own introduction with liquid ease. “I’m a grad student and this is my class on Greek mythos. In case anyone is interested, I also tutor Modern Greek language on the side, but more on that later. Any questions so far?”

Almost instantaneously, an auburn haired girl in the back, wearing enormous hoop earrings and a smile with an agenda, thrust her arm in the air and leaned forward ever so slightly. Crimson leisurely withdrew his attention from the document, quirked eyebrow first and blank stare second.

“I’m interested,” she drawled suggestively.  Crimson blinked, meeting her remark with a stoic pause, and then promptly lowered his mirror-like gaze back to list of names again.

“Right. Not a question,” he quipped dryly, “but anyway…  Name?”

“Oh, um. Margot?”

“Margot... Cassano? Right. Here you are,” he muttered, leaning over to fish a pen out of his book bag and start checking boxes. “O-kay, so far we’ve got… Cassano… aaand… O’Pry... You two aside, I have no idea who’s who so we should probably remedy that first. Just gonna do a standard roll call; I’ll call your name, you raise your hand. Let me know if I completely butcher it. Jason Abbott?”

rileyopry:

“Wha– ?” Riley said around the pen, the word sounding muffled and only a little bored as her other eyebrow jutting up in surprise. Huh. That was a new one – generally speaking, she hadn’t had a professor yet who’d actually given enough of a damn to call her out for being late to class. It was a long time coming, she guessed. A little bit of educational karma creeping up to bite her in the ass. Her mother would’ve been happy to hear it. 

Riley immediately felt several pairs of eyes on her, including Natalie, who looked as if she was going to faint. She would be getting hell for this later, she was sure of it – it would be in the form of her best friend trying to ignore her for a couple of ours before moaning about how her grade was ruined. Regardless, the gazes were hot on her skin. Unable to help her self, Riley turned to look behind her, before slowly turning back to face the front of the room and straight back into molten silver eyes, 

She pointed her finger at herself, using her other hand to take the pen from her teeth. His blank expression was enough of an answer for her. “I’m Riley.” She said with an innocent yet obviously faking-it smile, pausing only to run a hand through her drying hair as she pursed her lips and gave him another once over. 

“Are you new, teach? Because you should know you’re not really supposed to smoke in here and all that. Pretty sure thats been the case for the past couple decades. ”

"Why yes, Nancy Drew. Yes, I am," Crimson deadpanned, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to inspect her as meticulously as she seemed to be examining him. He pressed his lips together in a crooked line, feeling one side twitch impatiently. "And like I already said two seconds before you waltzed in here like a drowned ghost, don't get used to it. It's been a long day, so don't try to get cute with me." The blonde girl beside her promptly reduced herself to a fuchsia implosion waiting to happen. More specifically, she appeared just about ready to throw herself into a puddle of quicksand to escape the vicarious mortification she felt through her friend, but the damp brunette held no such chagrin.

Tearing his cautious stare away from her taunting smirk, Crimson did a lazy scan of any name starting with 'R' on the registry.

"Riley... Riley... Riley..." he tasted the sound under his breath, scavenging for any sign of it. Ramona... Ryan... Remy.... "Riley... Riley..." Rhode... Renata... It was either she was slinking into the lesson without having signed up for it-- although why in Tartaros someone would try to sneak into a Greek History morning class was absolutely beyond him-- or 'Riley' was, in fact, not her real name and she was doing that thing that children in schools do to prank their teachers, where they tell them a completely random alias at the start of the year and drag out the joke as far as it'll go, so that everyone can laugh at the instructor's obliviousness. Trolling, the millennials call it. He'd done it once in an AA meeting, and discovered it was a downright snooze if no one else knew his actual name. But she definitely seemed like the type. Her grin was far too complex. "There's no ‘Riley’ in this class, kid," Crimson uttered, leaning easily on the edge of his desk and crossing one leg over another. He swept his focused gaze over the list of names on the sheet once more, before finally folding his taut arms over his chest and letting his attention drift back to the strange girl in the second row. "Explain, or I'm kicking you out."

rileyopry:

Tapping into her combat boots, Riley heaved one more wistful breath of chlorinated air before she stepped out of the swim team’s locker room. Gods, that workout had been grueling – even her advantage in the water hadn’t done much to stop the strain, and she knew damn well she was going to be sore tomorrow. So, so sore, and if her mother had anything to do with it, she’d still have to go on a run or something before she passed out for the night. There were ups and downs to having an Olympian swimmer as her parent – and she wasn’t talking about her dad. That was another story entirely. 

“Ri!” A boyish voice echoed into her ears from across the pool just as she made to leave the university’s aquatic center. Riley grinned as she turned, looking over her shoulder to find ¼th of her childhood friend group. Specifically, it was Ethan, whom she’d just creamed in a relay by tapping into a little bit of that Greek Olympian strength she’d gotten. “That clock was off, and I want a re– ”

“No time! It’s Monday, I’ve got class.” She called back, tapping an imaginary watch on her wrist as she heaved her bag onto her shoulder. 

“Before 12? And I thought waking you up for practice was hard enough.”

“Blame Natalie. She wanted a course together, and the one thing we could agree on only had a 10am.” Riley shot him a look that could only be described as utter horror, earning her a bark of laughter as she turned to leave with a casual good-bye flick of her hand. At least it was a 10am where she could get a decent grade. A Greek history class focused on mythos – that was her entire life. There was no way she could get anything less than an A- if she actually turned everything in on time. And that was a big if. 

As she headed for the lecture hall, Riley pulled her damp hair from it’s messy bun and let it fall around her shoulders. Natalie was sure to get onto her for dripping everywhere, but Riley thought of it was a little bit of revenge. Normally, she could wake up for early Monday practice and immediately after pass out on a table in the library until her classes, but this semester was about to be the biggest pain in the ass. 10am. What was she, an honor role student?

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz buzz buzz buzz –

“Jesus, Nat!” Riley huffed as she yanked her phone from her pocket and shoved it against her ear. “I’m literally two seconds away, will you quit calling me?”

“Riley, you’re late! Class started at nine forty-five!!” Her best friend’s voice was hushed, and if Riley was right, laced with panic. 

“I’m one-hundred percent I agreed to sign up for a ten, not a nine forty-fucking-five–”

“The professor is already here. He just walked in, but like, still! You can’t be late the first day of your sophomore year. Plus, I can tell he’s about to start taking role. You’ll have a bad rep if you start off late.”

“Practice doesn’t end until nine forty-five on Mondays and Wednesdays. I’m literally going to be late every day.”

“Just get here. He’s actually hot. And if you end up working with me on group projects, which I know you will, I don’t want him to think of me as – ”

Riley hung up the phone with a roll of her eyes, shoving it back into her pocket as she all but strut up on door 503. And when she walked in – caring little for the noice the door made, nor the looks from the entirely filled hall –  she nearly gagged. The whole room smelled like smoke – toxic, disgusting clouds of tar like the cigs that her ex used to smoke and thought she wouldn’t notice, or the kind high schoolers used to gloat about at parties. It made her head hurt for a moment, but instead, she rolled her eyes as she headed down the steps. The smell of cigs wasn’t the bad part – it was just the person. Andrius, with his asshole temperament and cheating antics. Though broken-up for nearly two years now, the smell still reminded her of the time she’d walked in on him with a light perched between his fingers and a blonde running a fingernail over his naked chest. That’s what happens when your dad set you up with older guys. 

“Is this a 50s teacher’s lounge or what?” The demigod asked a little loudly, sliding into her seat next to Natalie. Of course, she’d picked the second row, so it was hardly unnoticed how Riley had walked in nearly twenty minutes late. Natalie gave her a dude, shut up look as Riley pulled a pen from her bag and grinned back in response. 

“I told you he was hot,” Natalie whispered, her mouth barley moving as she did so. She’d always been good at that, somehow. “And your hair is dripping.”

“And I’m just here to sleep and copy your notes,” Riley responded, then looked over at the professor with a curious quirk of her eyebrow. He was cute, she guessed, and obviously the smoker if the smoke curling from his nose and lips was any hint. But he looked only a little older than the guys – Ethan, and the twins, Ryder and Calvin. Riley gave him a long look, not bothering to hide her gaze as she dragged it up his body in a lazy motion, stopping on his face, head tilting and damp hair spilling onto the desk.  

Riley put the pen between her teeth, almost daring him to say something. 

Crimson momentarily overlooked the fact that he had walked in eighteen minutes late to a classroom full of students awaiting his teachings with lukewarm enthusiasm. In fact, they seemed more eager to gawk at him quite literally fuming in leftover irritation as he meditated over the final few drags that remained in the stolen roll-up. He'd royally botched the first impression already; he knew that best of all-- surprisingly, he cared very little. For a moment, he wondered what lengths he'd have to go to to get fired around here. His guess would be a whole lot. Granted, Eros' powers of persuasion were undeniably more potent and well channeled than his own, but Crimson had managed to wedge his 'glamour' claws in the administration quite deep. Though his own influence was significantly messier and more sporadic than his father's, it was still divine and, therefore, unquestionable. Thus, the young god was more than confident in his margin for unintentional, mild, violations that would otherwise offend a whole lot of people and unnecessarily slow down the progress of his entire assignment. It helped, however, that the messy-and-sporadic intervention had struck a Mr. Thomas Multon quite generously in particular, effectively rendering the prickly dean entirely submissive to any of Crimson's demands. He was only a tad too flirty in his compliance, but it was all to the god's sheepish mirth. Still-- if he'd allowed himself to light up in the classroom even half as much as he'd like to, more than two-thirds of the 503 kids would end up as asthmatics before the end of semester. He'd already made several mental notes to refrain from excessive swearing; he didn't think he had to make himself a ‘No Smoking’ memo, especially after chastising his sister for it not even a minute earlier. He liked to think he had somewhat of a clue. With another long pull of the cigarette, his nose crinkled as a frown etched itself on his handsome features and he released the processed smoke. "Argh, this tastes like shit..." he muttered under his breath, cursing Hedone as he eyed the cheap tobacco in his hand. He ran his free hand down one half of his face, as if trying to physically shed and peel off his own exasperation in the form of discarded snake-skin, and then he flicked his smoking hand in the eventual acknowledgement of his thirsty, fascinated audience. "Look, it's... it's been a long day, okay? This... Don't get used to this." The room remained so silent that Crimson was half expecting cartoon crickets to start sounding in the back. He huffed lowly and brought the nasty tobacco to his lips for the last time, as a last ditch attempt at gaining even a semblance of temporary composure. "Right." The door to 503 suddenly flew open, ripping everyone's attention away from the unorthodox professor. Crimson's metallic eyes narrowed at the sudden disturbance as he exhaled the last of his temporary fix and scrutinized the trail of puddles that the sauntering intruder left in her wake. He absent-mindedly put out his stub on the iron leg of his desk as he pointedly watched her make her way past him; she eventually plopped down at an empty space that was apparently reserved for her by the agitated blonde perched beside it.

Upon closer inspection, he found he couldn't help but notice she had the bluest eyes he'd ever seen on a mortal. They were the kind of blue that would make you question their integrity-- like in a Photoshopped picture of the ocean or, similarly, of a very real ocean that would have you wonder how a hue like that isn't Photoshopped. Out of habit, Crimson often caught himself reading people's lips when speaking with them-- Psyche, his mother, always thought it was enormously rude and that eye contact is of paramount importance when engaging in conversation. Yet, he had a strong feeling that if he were to listen to anything this drenched girl would say, he would have absolutely no trouble retaining eye contact with her. In fact, if he were to be truthful, he might even find himself involuntarily ignoring what she was saying altogether. That didn't change the fact that her dripping hair was flooding the room, though. It wasn't like he had a mop handy, so the entire thing was proving to be a total nuisance. He made a note to himself to start a list of things he would need to acquire in order to survive this job, and then he made another note to add 'Buy mop' to that list. "You," he shot, pointing her out loosely with his squashed cigarette stub. He tossed the fag in a bin under his desk with a sleight of his wrist, and whipped out the class register from the front of his book bag. The stranger was now biting her pencil at him and for some unfathomable reason it irked him straight to hell. "Name."

You ask me why I’m so angry ? The truth is , when you feel sad for so long , it eventually angers you .

“I’m just saying. This is not you,” the lithe blonde purred alluringly as she sauntered along the busy corridor beside the tall raven-haired man she was pursuing. He had not turned to acknowledge anything she had said for the past five minutes, but at least he wasn’t speeding up to evade her again. That might’ve been due to the penetrative stares they were garnering from whatever percentage of the student body it was that found itself in the hallway at that particular time. The man, Crimson, was understandably on edge despite this kind of attention being fairly regular for him— he refused to have another maddening conversation with this woman, especially in the presence of these random mortals who’d need no more than one overheard word to instantly stick their nose in his business and leap to any conclusion that would suit their boring imaginations.

Not to mention that he was about to attempt to educate a class full of them for the next few months. The last thing he needed was rumours flying around about whatever trouble this ridiculous pest was trying to rope him into this time. Because that was the only reason Hedone ever actually had for getting in touch—that and needing somewhere to crash on the off night she wasn’t making a poor unfortunate soul out of some horny guy. The last time she got him to cave, it was cocaine. A lot of cocaine. Thankfully, that was four years ago, but Hedone was still determined to get him back to his former trainwreck status.

Nevertheless, Crimson liked to believe he was doing okay. Regular counselling, religious log-keeping and countless group meetings later, and somehow he’d managed to stay completely sober for four years. Well, apart from the jugs of bitter caffeinated concoctions he’d consume every few hours and enough daily nicotine to send a horse into a seizure. And the occasional intercourse, of course.

“Erythré, are you even listening to me?” Hedone whined, wisps of her smoke swirling in the air as she flicked her wrist and waved her cigarette-holding hand in annoyance. Her slow sashaying step had morphed into a begrudged treading as she began to lose her patience. Crimson sighed sharply, halting his step and turning to face her.

“You can’t smoke in here,” he grunted, and she smiled slyly, twirling her long purple fingernails in a flourish, showing off her smoke unapologetically. Her pouty red lips wrapped around the filter and she took another drag. Crimson’s eyebrow twitched in annoyance at being ignored and faced with another one of her antics. “I’m serious, Donnie. Put that out.”

“Mmm..” she hummed, letting the smoke unfurl out of her nostrils. “You’re so boring now.”

“You know, I don’t know where you get off, barging in on my life whenever you fucking feel like it and calling me boring because I don’t go along with your shit,” he hissed, his expression darkening as swirling silver eyes glowered at her in irritation. Picking up his pace again, Crimson noticed the unrelenting woman sticking to his side like glue. “Why are you even here? Just go find some random stranger to fuck. Please.”

“Ooh, temper, love!” she chided with a playful gleam in her deep blue eyes. “Don’t forget your exercises, now—Ten… Nine…–”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“Mmm… Tease.”

Crimson released a controlled exhale, casting a side glance full of scrutiny at the amused blonde.

The embodiment of lust itself, all Hedone ever had to do was be present to get an entire room’s undivided attention. But even if it wasn’t for the fact that Crimson was her brother, he always reassured her that he still would never lay so much as a finger on her.

She didn’t really understand… Granted, incestuous relations were not as common on Olympus anymore, but she wasn’t the only god that had a hard time moving on from it. Of course, Hedone wasn’t exactly surprised that her irate brother didn’t desire her in the slightest. Just… very irked. His ferocious disposition towards everything and anything fascinated her endlessly and she always wondered how that limitless passion, whether fervent or furious, would translate into the sack. Mortals could only do so much for her unquenchable appetite after all, and it’s not like Olympus had much else to offer her in the sex god department. At least, none who were six-five and had Crimson’s sexual intensity.

He personally found the prospect of ever being with her entirely disgusting, but had long since stopped being distressed by her constant onslaught. Best to just let her go at it by herself, until she gets tired and moves on, he always thought. Kinda like a dog chasing its own tail.

“If you’ve been feeling a bit too vanilla lately, Donnie, freaking with your brother isn’t the answer,” he muttered lowly, so that only she could hear him amidst the clumps of oncoming students they were weaving through. “Now, please. I’m fucking begging you. Leave. I have work.”

“Work? Oh, is that what you’re calling this thing you’re doing now?” Hedone balked, choking on her own smoke in outrage. She let out a humourless laugh, shaking her head. “You used to drink Dionysus under the bar. You were legendary. Now dad’s got you tutoring adult infants about whatever boring crap happened eons ago. Thrilling.”

“The key phrase in there is ‘used to’. Not anymore,” Crimson enunciated,  stopping as he came to approach a door numbered 503. Turning to face his sister one last time, he looked down, his tall intimidating physique towering even over her own tall frame, and he plucked the cigarette from her, mid-drag. She frowned. “I’m here for an assignment, not to fucking teach. It’s a cover. I don’t expect you to understand. ”

“Please. I understand perfectly; matchmaking just doesn’t suit you.”

“Goodbye, Hedone. Don’t be at my apartment when I get home.”

Crimson then stuck the cigarette between his own lips, inhaling it in deeply as he ran another hand through his dark unkempt hair. He held it in for a moment, meditating on the feeling of his insides being flooded with smoke and nicotine, hiking his bag higher up on his shoulder as he did so and straightening out his black button up shirt. Turning to go, he began rolling up his right sleeve in a strangely methodical and yet negligent gesture, the cigarette still wedged between his lips tightly. Hedone found herself saying nothing as she watched him walk away from her and go through the door, and so did several other people out in the hall and in 503, who had fallen distracted by his extremely obvious presence and the nonchalance of it all.

By the time he’d gotten to rolling up his left sleeve, he’d already made his way to a desk waiting for him at the front of the room. He unceremoniously dumped his bag onto it and took the cigarette out from his mouth with his thumb and index finger—almost as if he was holding a joint and not a cigarette at all—and finally expelled the smoke from his lungs in a classroom full of students watching him, in a fashion akin to a dragon. He suddenly found himself far too fed up to care about what they’d think of the disgusting habit, or who they would tell about. Smoking was the least of it, anyway.

But no one said a word, or caused a fuss. They just watched as he finished rolling up his left sleeve, and though one could find it strange how easily people could fall into that absent mind of just watching a strange man smoke and fiddle with his shirt on his own, if one were to ever find themselves in a presence such as Crimson Vale’s, there would be no question as to why it would be next to impossible to think of much else.