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[b][center][color=eed853]APOLLO[/color][/center][/b]
[/h1][/sup][/color][indent][sub][COLOR=eed853][I]CASA DE ACROPOLIS, SEATTLE[/I][/COLOR][/sub][/indent][indent][sup][right][COLOR=eed853][b]GOD OF THE SUN[/b][/color][/right][/sup][/indent][hr]

[i]He opens his eyes to the sound of a young man’s laugh. Golden light cascading across sun-kissed skin, an ornate goblet filled to the brim with red wine. They’re alone, him and this man, in a bed of clouds, laughing and drinking in the sight of one another. A lyre plays it’s tune softly, and for a moment, he is at peace, until the young man drapes himself across his bare chest, and whispers in his ear, [color=gray]“Wake up…”[/color][/i]

[hr]

Apollo sat up in bed, breathing heavily. Outside, clouds reigned supreme in the sky, another overcast day in Seattle. He lifted a hand, but before he could snap his fingers, a voice reached his ears. [color=gray][b]“Finally, you sleep like the dead.”[/b][/color] The once great god spun around, half-expecting the voice to belong to the man in his dream. When his eyes fell on a blonde woman, naked save for his bedsheets, he reminded himself that Hyacinth was long dead. 

Waking up next to someone beautiful wasn’t uncommon for Apollo. Waking up to multiple beautiful people wasn’t even uncommon anymore. Most mornings, this would be a pleasant surprise, followed by rounds four and five, and homemade breakfast with some fallen gods. On mornings like this, when Hyacinth came to visit him in his dreams, the men and women who found themselves in Apollo’s bed were in for much less fun. 

[color=eed853][b]“Sorry, what’s your name again?”[/b][/color] he asked, running a hand through his dirty blonde hair and rubbing the sleep from his tired face. That line usually worked, as long as he coupled it with just the right amount of confusion and exasperation. Given that his memory of the night before certainly didn’t include this girl, it was a fairly easy sell.

[color=gray][b]“Are you fucking kidding me?”[/b][/color] The blonde threw the sheets from her body, revealing a sight that made Apollo reconsider his decision. She put on her clothes like a girl who was used to storming out the next morning, silently but with a certain anger that could be felt without words. By the time he had his boxers on, she was grabbing her wallet, and flipping him off. [color=gray][b]“It’s Brenda, asshole!”[/b][/color] The sound of her heels clicking on the floor and the front door slamming told him she was gone.

Apollo sighed, and got out of bed, stepping in front of the mirror for a moment. Even though he’d looked more or less the same for the past two centuries, it still hurt to remember what he’d once looked like. Golden hair had faded to this dishwater color, and his once luminous skin was just like any other mortals. Eyes that had shone like the sun were now deep pools of brown sludge. He was painfully mortal.

Painfully mortal or not, the Conclave was still ahead of them, and his head was pounding. One thing he missed about nectar: no hangovers. His bare feet padded against the cold tile of the apartment he shared with Herc, stepping over clothes that he was certain weren’t either of theirs. 

In the kitchen, he set to work with his usual morning routine, doing his best to push through the lethargy that still gripped him tight. [color=eed853][b]“Don’t yack in the blender Pollo, please,”[/b][/color] he mumbled to himself as he filled the blender in question with ginger, orange juice, some ice, and three, five hundred milligram pills of Ibuprofen. The blender turned on, an obnoxious noise that could be heard throughout the condo, and while it ran, Apollo set to work preparing breakfast for whoever the hell had spent the night at his house. If the blender didn’t get them up, then the clanging of metal pans surely would. He snapped his fingers, and the sun slowly began peeking out from behind the clouds, until the kitchen was bathed in light pouring through the windows. If he was going to this family reunion, the least it could be is sunny.