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[center][img]https://64.media.tumblr.com/0ac837dae3323a8cd221d28f96f47abd/tumblr_inline_p35gkqe7zU1s7fx81_400.gifv[/img][/center]
[b][center][color=ABABAB]ZEUS[/color][/center][/b]
[/h1][/sup][/color][indent][sub][COLOR=ABABAB][b][I]𝚁𝙰𝙸𝙽𝙸𝙴𝚁 𝙶𝙾𝙻𝙵 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙽𝚃𝚁𝚈 𝙲𝙻𝚄𝙱  » 𝚂𝙴𝙰𝚃𝚃𝙻𝙴 𝚄𝙽𝙸𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙸𝚃𝚈[/I][/b][/COLOR][/sub][/indent][indent][sup][right][COLOR=ABABAB][b][i]𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙶𝙾𝙳𝚂[/i][/b][/color][/right][/sup][/indent][hr]
[indent][indent]Alright, Zeus…

[i]Focus[/i].

Eyes on the [i]fucking[/i] prize.

No way you screw this up now.

Squinting against the glow of the sun, he casts a critical eye over the sight laid out before him, like Leonidas or Alexander the Great surveying the field before battle. It’s early morning, so the air is still blanketed with a light layer of mist, and there’s a gentle breeze rustling through the trees.

[i]Gods, this is almost too easy[/i], Zeus thinks, feeling the corner of his lips curl up into a smirk.

[i]Bastards won’t know what hit him ‘em.[/i]

Instinctively, his fingers tighten around the grip, patent leather feeling warm, rough and familiar against his palms. By now, it’s almost become something of an extra limb. It moves exactly how it wants it to move, and does exactly what he wants it to do. With a single shot, he could annihilate his enemies, crush them until there’s nothing left but dust.

Drawing in a deep breath, Zeus makes some final readjustments. Knees slightly bent. Feet shoulder-width apart. Spine straight. When it comes to these things, posture is key.

Now, all that’s left to do is take the shot.

With one final glance towards his target, he lets his lungs empty of air, pulls back his arms, and [i]swings[/i].

[b][i]WH-THOCK![/i][/b]

The ball goes sailing through the air, following its designated trajectory until suddenly, a gust of wind knocks it off course.

[i]Shit[/i].

Without taking his eyes off the ball, Zeus allows his consciousness to expand beyond its mortal confines. His powers may have been neutered by the Colossus, but if he listens, really try to, he can still hear the wind speaking to him.

So he reaches out to it, coaxing the wind to whip up another gust to put the ball back on its original trajectory. It’s been awhile since Zeus has done this, though —– influencing the weather. Safe to say he’s a little rusty, and for a long moment, it seemed as if nothing was going to happen at all. But then, he feels the air currents shift, a breeze coming in from the northeast, and watches as the ball veers back on course to tumble gracefully to the green, less than a yard away from the hole.

[i]Still got it[/i].

“Whoa. Nice shot.”

[b][color=ABABAB]“I try. So who’s up next? Bill?”[/color][/b]

“Are you kidding? At this rate, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to catch up. How about throwing the next two holes? You know. For an old friend.”

[b][color=ABABAB]“[i]Nooot[/i] a chance. You were the one who wanted to make it a competition, remember?”[/color][/b]

“He’s right.”

“Shut up, Vic. You know what, Dean? You’re just too damned good. And what the hell was that [i]zig-zag[/i] shit you were doing with the ball just now?”

[b][color=ABABAB]“Just the wind, Bill. You know how it gets in Seattle this time of year.”[/color][/b]

“Some kinda wind…”

[b][color=ABABAB]“You can say that again. Speaking of which: I hope you didn’t forget about our agreement. [i]Loser buys drinks[/i] —– isn’t that right, Vic?”[/color][/b]

“Yup.”

“Shut up, Vic.”

[b][color=ABABAB]“Hey, at least [i]somebody[/i] remembers. But, uh, fair warning, Bill: I’ve got expensive taste, and that ‘94 Screaming Eagle we saw on the way in? It’s looking pretty good right about now.”[/color][/b]

[hr]
To Zeus, there really is no better way to spend your morning than getting [i]trashed[/i].

I mean, come on —– he’s the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar company. Sipping [i]Black Label[/i] and [i]Sauvignon Blanc[/i] with executives at brunch is just part of the job, just like slogging through inch-thick contracts for acquisitions, or doing lines off your expensive mahogany desk.

Or taking on that pretty, blonde intern from California as your personal assistant and protégé after a totally fair and unbiased screening.

(Her name’s Sheila, and [i]phew![/i] Get a load of this resume: double major from MIT in management and business analytics, minor in marketing strategy, and we can’t forget to mention her scarily in-depth understanding of consumer behavior, but we’re kind of getting off track here, so we’ll get back to her first-class credentials another time.)

What he’s [i]trying[/i] to say is that there’s nothing wrong in letting loose every once in a while. Life under the Colossus is dull enough as it is. No gods. No powers. No [i]nothing[/i]. None of his ilk really knew if and when things were going to go back to the way they were, and yeah, it’s fucking [i]terrifying[/i] to think about; but that’s just the thing!

Since they could all die at any moment, doesn’t it make sense to always live life to the fullest?

Unfortunately for Zeus, however, that meant that he was going to have to go easy on the wine. There’s been talk floating around about another Conclave for the past few weeks, and wouldn’t you know it —– an email from the Morrigan eventually found its way into his private inbox the evening prior.

Now, he doesn’t know what the Conclave was going to entail, or even [i]how[/i] the Morrigan managed to get her hands on his personal email, but one thing’s for certain: he was going to show up on time [i]and[/i] make a good impression.

…Well, he’d try to, anyway. It’s been a rough few centuries, him trying to fix things with his family. Call it a work in progress.

And that’s how Zeus ended up here, sitting in a wicker chair at some country club bar, nursing his glass of wine like it was the last one he’d [i]ever[/i] get to drink. He was unusually quiet, and Bill, perhaps sensing an opportunity to usurp Zeus’ position as the de facto leader of the trio, began to loudly recount his trip to Monte Carlo. It didn’t help that he was already three drinks in — Bill has always been a cheap drunk — and the way his voice carried across the patio earned them a few dirty looks from the staff.

Zeus wasn’t thinking about Bill, though. He was busy trying to figure out a way of smoothing over tensions with the rest of his Pantheon, [i]especially[/i] Hera. The last time they saw each other at the Conclave in ‘39, things [i]did not[/i] pan out well, and the last thing he needs is a repeat of that.

But maybe there’s something he can [i]do[/i], you know? Extend the proverbial olive branch. Show her and everybody else that he was no longer the unbalanced, megalomanic narcissist he used to be, though he’s still working on the [i]“unbalanced”[/i] and [i]“narcissist”[/i] parts.

Question is: what’s something everybody likes?

Excusing himself from Bill and Vic’s company, Zeus pulls his phone out of his pocket to dial in the number for Sheila. The call goes through after only two rings.

Atta girl. [i]So[/i] efficient.

[b][color=ABABAB]“Yeah, hi, Sheila. It’s me. Listen, I need you to —– no, I haven’t been drinking.”[/color][/b]

[i]A pause[/i].

[b][color=ABABAB]“Yes, I do remember that I have a meeting in an hour. At the university. Thank you for reminding me, by the way, even if it [i]was[/i] completely unnecessary. [i]Look[/i], I need you to run a quick errand for me. Those danishes Paul brought to the office last week… find out where he got them from, because I need to place an order.”[/color][/b]

[hr]
His drive to the university is more nerve-wracking than it has any right to be. He’s got about six or seven boxes of delicate, very flaky pastries strapped into the passenger seat of his car — no bag, because the cashier at the patisserie said they were moving towards a minimal waste policy — and with every turn he makes, he fears that they might all end up tumbling out and coat the inside of his car with powdered sugar.

But Zeus follows all the rules of traffic, uses his turn signal, stops when the light turns amber instead of stepping on the gas like he usually does, and manages to get to the university without a scratch upon his person [i]or[/i] the danishes.

Now, to find the conference room.

Easier said than done when you have your arms full of baked goods. It takes some wandering around and quite a few looks from curious students before he finds himself standing outside an unmarked door in a quieter part of campus.

Is this the place?

No, it couldn’t be. This was a glorified [i]broom closet[/i].

But behind the door, Zeus could sense the telltale buzz of magical energy, of the ichor that ran through each and every one of their veins.

[i]So this is what it’s come to[/i]… He wrinkles his nose, already imagining the stench of mothballs wafting through the air. Maybe the Morrigan could use some help with planning the next time they hold a Conclave. And a little more funding certainly couldn’t hurt.

He’s here for a reason, though. Zeus has to remind himself of that when he realizes that he’s still standing there, waiting. Now that he’s finally here, a vague sort of trepidation has come over him, like a spider creeping up his spine, but he quickly shuts out any doubts he might have before they get the chance to coalesce, and pushes open the door with his foot.

Big smile, Zeus. And remember to be [i]genuine[/i].

[b][color=ABABAB]“Hey, everyone. I brought danishes!”[/color][/b][/indent][/indent]