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[color=#458a88][sub]ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴀɪɴ ɴʏᴍ'ꜱ ʙᴀʀ & ɢʀɪʟʟ » ꜱᴇᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀꜱɪᴛʏ[/sub] [sub][right]ᴍᴏᴏᴅ: ᴡᴇᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ɢʀᴇᴀꜱʏ? ʜɪɢʜʟʏ ɴᴇʀᴠᴏᴜꜱ[/right][/sub][/color]
[sup][sup][sup][sup][sup][sup][hr][/sup][/sup][/sup][/sup][/sup][/sup]

[color=#cecece][right][sup]𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑖 𝑠𝑎𝑤 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠 𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑝𝑡 𝑖𝑛 𝑎 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑚
𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑒—
𝑠𝑢𝑛 𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑡ℎ
𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑏𝑢𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑠𝑒𝑎𝑠

𝑑𝑜 𝑖 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑖𝑡 𝑠𝑤𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑚𝑒?
[color=#458a88]———————[/color][/sup][/right][sup][color=#458a88]———————[/color][/sup]
"'Ey! Cabrón" Poseidon blinked. Once. Twice.

He looked around with foggy intent before his eyes settled on the dirty apron'd man calling to him over the divider between kitchen and diner. Clinking and clattering hit his ears next, then the small din of quiet conversation and laughter. Poseidon tilted his head, then widened his eyes as he moved toward the swinging doors.

"Why'd you got your dick in your hands, dude?" the chef who'd called him asked.

[color=#458a88]"Sorry, Danny, I just fell out of it for a moment,"[/color] Poseidon responded. He scratched at the back of his head and gave a cough. His shift was just about over, yet he still had two orders to slide to the row of two chefs blazing seafood and dunking fries into hot oil. [color=#458a88]"Oh, how's the studies going, by the way?"[/color] Poseidon asked with a pull to his lips.

"What're you my dad?" Danny scoffed, head pulling back with a cringe.

"Ha, you wish he was your [i]papi[/i]," a young woman piped up, slapping her coworker's ass with the back of her spatula.

[color=#458a88]"Please, put that in the—"[/color] Poseidon started and she shut him up with a purse of her lips and withering look. The spatula clattered as it fell into the sink. He began walking toward the back, untying his server's apron while he popped the crick in his neck. A light laugh escaped Poseidon's lips as he listened to the bickering behind him.

"Why the hell would you say that, just because..." Danny quickly divulged a deluge of stammering Spanish while his coworker tossed him more ingredients.

"Oooh, duro! Papi Peter!!!"

"Shut the fuck up, the customers are gonna hear you."

Poseidon shook his head, sliding into the back room to hang his apron and unbutton his shirt slightly. When the door swung shut everything drowned out to the quiet buzz of the A/C. He let his back hit the cool brick wall and tilted his head up. How could losing all that godhood suddenly make bones creak and muscles ache more over a long, hard day at work? Even centuries later, Poseidon still didn't understand why mortals would allow turmoil to rule their lives so readily.

Yet, he grinned. Perhaps it wasn't the turmoil that ruled their lives, but the chase of those moment to moment drips of glee. That seemed more optimistic, no doubt.

Gods, was that smell him? Poseidon lifted his arm to press his shirt to his nose. Deep-fried fish with a hint of milk and lots of grease. He cut it close already with his shift today, though. If he went back home for a shower and a nap he'd miss the Conclave entirely.

Poseidon's lips turned up into a contemplating frown. Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad — nope. No. No, no.

[i][color=#458a88]Push through it you fucking pansy.[/color][/i] Poseidon thought hard, eyes squeezed shut and fist clenched. Every part of him tensed and revolted.

He shrugged as much of it off as he could, grabbed his phone and keys from his small locker and barged out of the back room. Danny tossed a look over his shoulder, eyeing the bag and cup on the counter nearest to Poseidon. With a nod of his head, the old god swiped the bag of food and milkshake.

[color=#458a88]"Don't give the boss too much blood to mop up tonight,"[/color] Poseidon said. He tossed the two a salute as he hurried out of the diner.

[hr][hr]

Well, maybe the smell of overpriced fish food and a grease stained button up was just what he needed to come back from the dead with. That's what he told himself constantly on his drive over. And he was starting to believe it until he saw a few students give him a weird look when he passed them by. It was likely because he stepped too close to them and they wondered where exactly that smell was coming from.

Poseidon paused near a lamppost to pinch the bridge of his noise. Once he stepped foot in that conference room with a back of what was likely a fucking disgustingly smelly fish sandwich and a raspberry milkshake there was absolutely no coming back. Which was exactly why he plopped himself down on a bench and devoured his lunch, while ignoring what he assumed to be a volley of pitiful looks from professors and teachers alike. Deep down he knew no one gave even a modicum of a shit about a random stranger eating on a campus bench, but the shame still washed over him.

Every deep chew as Poseidon leaned back, head pointed upwards, throttled his reality further and further into his mind. Decades. Centuries. Millennia gone into hiding. The shadows that hung over him whispered the many lives he lived and lost to the spinning wheel of time. Poseidon had died a long, long time ago in the waters of Istanbul, shriveled up into what was left of Peter Samaras' hand.

It ached. It burned until the beverage dropped onto the bench seat next to him. Poseidon clenched his teeth as it stiffened.

From park bench to full stride, Poseidon weaved through his surroundings until they blurred into a background. The back of his head pricked like needles that road down his spine. With every heaving breath that pulsed his chest, Poseidon fell into a dark corner of the campus where he could press his forehead to the concrete wall.

Beyond the myriad thoughts that plagued his mind, there laid a door he left closed many years ago. All he had to do was step through it. Yet, what would they think of an Olympian falling prey to mortal ailments. They'd question his mental fortitude and wonder at the monumental fuck up that laid bare Poseidon's glory. Where the purpling thunderheads would rain down terror through the endless, colossal waves that speared the Grecian rock face and brought navies to their knees, the racing thought of showing his face again after spending years a ghost forgotten would seize the ocean's spirit and break panic through his mind.

He was making a big deal out of nothing again. Poseidon thudded his head against the wall. Where the was his milkshake again? Oh, in his hand. Ah, it was half spilled.

"Hey dude," a voice called from behind him, "You, uh... you lookin' to score?"

Poseidon's lips straightened and turned to push past the dumbass. He spared the man no remark. He gets his shit at the dispensaries, anyways. And if he was trying to sell him some kind of hardcore drug, he'd gladly pass. He'd leave that kind of coke induced partying to his wayward brother.

[hr][hr]

It took a solid thirty minutes of wandering before Poseidon found the conference room. He didn't need a map, but he did need a few fingers pointing him in the right direction. Looking around the hall, he puckered his lips slightly. Everything was slightly dusty or grimy with either overuse or under-use. Poseidon couldn't pinpoint it exactly. Still, at least the dress code he'd imparted upon himself matched the location. Apparently so did his smell. He still cringed at his appearance.

It took another five minutes just outside the doorway for Poseidon to psych himself up enough to enter. But first, he had to pace for another few minutes. He clenched the milkshake in his hand still, forgetting the stickiness of his fingers as he gripped it just slightly tighter. He took a long draw until the rattling slurp drew him out of his thoughts again.

[color=#458a88]"Hey urp... mmnnnn—"[/color] Poseidon announced himself, bursting through the doorway with an arm wide in greeting. Yet he stopped himself, burping slightly as something came up his gullet. His face paled quicker than the lights flickered over head and suddenly he'd turned to bend over and upchuck his fish sandwich on a pair of likely extremely expensive shoes.

[color=#458a88]"Are those genuine Armani?"[/color] was the only thing that came to mind when he looked up to stare directly into Zeus' eyes.[/color]

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