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[color=gray][indent][indent]The cheap carpet is a mottled gray inlaid with coffee stains and donut crumbs. The Morrigan wrinkles her nose, toeing the floor with her black heels as if she could magically conjure a better room to hold the Conclave. Once upon a time, she could’ve. She could’ve blinked a sprawling mansion into existence for the Gods to gather in. Unfortunately, those times have passed and they are stuck with this rented conference room.

[color=91A6B4][b]“This will do, I suppose.”[/b][/color] She sighs to herself, glad that the university let her rent out the room in the first place. The Morrigan looks at her watch, waiting for the arrival of the others.

There hasn’t been a Conclave since World War II, when the Morrigan had called them all together to ask if any of them were responsible for it (turns out, mortals really [i]are[/i] that bad). She doesn’t know how this Conclave will go, as none of the others know what has happened yet, except for her. The death of one of their own will surely shock them all, and she doesn’t even want to think of how Loki will react. Not only that, but they need to talk about the missing Colossus. They have spent the past five years ignoring it, and now their ignorance has cost the life of Hephaestus. 

The Morrigan took one more look around the room, the cheap plastic folding table and the uncomfortable chairs situated around the room in a circle – one for each God that RSVP’d. It’s time they get their act together and end this all once more.

[color=91A6B4][b]“They should be arriving any moment now…”[/b][/color]
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