[hr][color=787b81][sup][h1] [center][img]https://imgur.com/ntQp3dT.gif[/img][/center] [b][center][color=787b81]PLUTO[/color][/center][/b] [/h1][/sup][/color][indent][sub][COLOR=787b81][I]KING COUNTY CORRECTIONAL FACILITY → THE BALL[/I][/COLOR][/sub][/indent][indent][sup][right][COLOR=787b81][b]feat. fear [@smarty0114] & terror [@Icy Hot][/b][/color][/right][/sup][/indent][hr] [i]“Up and at 'em Kingsbury!”[/I] A demanding voice abruptly pulled one sleeping roman from his stupor, before being followed by a loud series of bangs on the outside of the steel door. The noise reverberated through the room like bullets, stopping any chance of slipping back into unconsciousness. This rude awakening alerted him to the more familiar noises of the prison. The opening of doors like clockwork, guards barking orders, laughter mingled with shouting. For a man who had spent most of his life in the dreariness of the underworld, it had taken him a while to get used to the organised chaos. But now the customary cacophony was little more than soothing background noise. Unfortunately today there was a guard pushing back at him, stopping any further sleep, and the god was unable to help the hand that came down to rake lethargically over his face. [color=#787b81]“Why the fuck are you waking me so early?”[/color] Pluto bit back, his voice little more than a languorous growl. Giving the guards lip normally was a guaranteed recipe for disaster. But he firstly, didn’t give a shit, and secondly, had known this particular guard for near on five years now. Steely blues moved to glance back at the slither of face he could see through the small opening in the door. LaVance was young but worth his salt, and had been the one to persuade Pluto that maybe, just maybe, beating the shit out of other inmates wasn’t in his best interest. He couldn’t help but feel a little pissed off at the guy for being so damn likeable. [color=#787b81][sub]Fucking dickwad.[/sub][/color] “Pax, don’t test my patience today. My asshole of a toddler vomited on me this morning and I’ve already had to break up two fights.” The latino guard made a noise of disgust when he spoke of the former and it was clear that this was the more undesirable of said events. Pluto couldn’t help but let out a humorless laugh, eyes rolling at the idea. [color=#787b81]“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise I was your personal therapist. Remind me again why I should care?”[/color] He knew he was pushing it but he was barely awake and testing the boundaries of mortals was something that he had always found endlessly amusing. Luckily LeVance didn’t seem to care, just letting out his own booming bark of a laugh in response. “Therapist my ass. I don’t need someone else talking at me...wife does enough of that herself.” LeVance paused for a moment, still chuckling at his own substandard joke. “God, you really are such an asshole that you’ve forgotten what day it is?” Hearing a snicker from the bunk above him, a well-aimed foot came up to kick the mattress where he knew the head of his cellmate would be comfortably situated. The asshole, otherwise known as Benny The Blowhard (it was a damn creative nickname that had a multitude of connotations), still had six years left to serve...so Pluto wasn’t entirely sure what he had to be so fucking happy about. Probably gotten his hands on some crack sticks again. [color=#787b81]“It’s tuesday. Fuckin’ Tuesday. Why the hell does it matter?”[/color] He muttered indifferently as he moved to prop himself up on his elbow, fingers raking through the dishevelled hair atop his head. “Right you are.” LeVare replied with a small sigh as if he were contemplating whether dealing with the shit stains that were the inmates of King County, was really worth it. “Your times up bud. Unless you wanna volunteer for another twenty years in this shithole.” [color=#787b81]“...So it is.”[/color] After a moment's silence the words slipped apathetically from the gods lips. A small part of him had assumed he wouldn’t get this far. The pressure of having to behave was heavy and one that the god would often rather fight against. But somehow, he’d done it. Sitting up, Pluto smoothly ducked his body so that his head didn’t hit against the wrought iron bars. A hand came up to rest against the cold metal, gaze roving over the cramped cell that he shared with the jumped-up thief above him. Five years in what barely could be classed as a broom closet. The one at max had been even more abysmal, though at least he’d been alone there. “Damn, try to look more enthusiastic Kingsbury! Most guys are chomping at the bit to get outta here.” The steel door had slammed open at the guards words and LeVance curtly nodded at the God of Wealth. Pluto was well accustomed to this rigmarole. Standing up, he held out his wrists, allowing the cold bite of metal as it bit down against his skin. [color=#787b81]“I’m excited on the inside.”[/color] He countered dryly, although he was unable to help the smirk that pulled at the corner of his lips, revealing a hint of his true emotions. As he was led out of the door the god, after a moment's thought, turned to glance back into the room. [color=#787b81]“Oi, Blowhard.”[/color] His voice cut through the air, causing the man the namesake belonged to to sling his gangly legs over the edge of his well-worn mattress. [color=#787b81]"I meant what I said.”[/color] This vague statement was simply met with a nod and content with this silent communication, Pluto responded with an equally stoic gesture before being led away from this life of slamming doors and ceaseless predictability. [centre][color=#787b81]◢✥◣[/color][/centre] After being strip-searched, given his clothes, and made to complete a near endless amount of paperwork, they were finally done. The god found himself desperately craving a cigarette, only that sharp hit of nicotine being able to soothe him after such a drawn-out process of bullshit. Unfortunately murder was something that mortals didn’t take lightly and he’d had to answer an endless stream of questions, several of which he’d had to bite back a laugh as he blurted out bare faced lies. The correctional officer, this one was known as Sanderson, had triple checked everything before she’d [i]finally[/i] gave him a content nod. “Looks like we’re all done here.” She said as she handed him a folder of useless contact details for ‘support services’. “You behave now Kingsbury.” Sanderson quipped, gaze steely as she stared the god down, eyebrows raised in questioning disbelief. She obviously felt the same way as him - surprised that the billionaire had managed to keep his composure long enough to wait out his sentence. [color=#787b81]“Don’t I always?”[/color] Pluto muttered with a crooked smile as he slipped a Bregeut timepiece onto his wrist. He’d offered it to the officer but apparently taking gifts from convicts, or former convicts as it would now be, wasn’t allowed. Her loss. It was a strange feeling to be back in the same place he had been decades before, though he was unable to deny the familiar wash of freedom, one he had felt a thousand times more intensely when he'd finally been released from the hell that was the Underworld. It was by no means unwelcomed and without looking back, the god had strolled out of the prison, doors slamming behind him with an air of finality until he was greeted by the hustle & bustle of Downtown Seattle. [color=#787b81][sub]He was out.[/sub][/color] The drizzle of the morning had just cleared away when Metus pulled the black [url=https://topcar-design.com/gallery/show/331#&gid=1&pid=1]Porsche[/url] into the visitor parking lot. Fear was ripe in the air that morning, almost wafting from the building a few hundred yards away, providing a warm welcome to Metus as he exited the suv. A deep inhale abated the growing hunger from the past uneventful week, had his uncle been needing a ride from anywhere else he probably would have said no. [color=b84221] “Do you remember what he looks like?”[/color] The question was asked without any serious interest in the answer but his listless eyes did turn their chilled gaze onto his better half (as per the consensus of everyone that knew the twins). Timor met his brother's gaze with his own dark eyes, pale features expressionless as small drops of rain collected in his hair. [color=4221b8]“Dark hair. Strong chin. Decent fashion sense. Prison couldn’t have changed him that much,”[/color] Timor said with a noncommittal shrug. He was better at remembering the various visages of fear. [color=b84221] “You’d be both a terrible and wonderful witness with that description.”[/color] Metus’ response was flat and he turned his attention away from his brother. Intel gathering was a specialty of his, testing the human limits of loyalty against terror had become a favorite past time of his in this life among weaker creatures. He was good at his day job and even better at his night time hobbies. Luckily, it wasn’t necessary for him to comb through the many dark-haired and strong-chinned faces of his memory, because alone stood a man, outside the detention center, exuding a casual confidence. Wordlessly the tall man crossed the parking lot, eyes darkening as he drew closer to the building, [color=b84221] “Accurate description.”[/color] There was a hint of smirk on his stoic features as they approached their long lost uncle. Plutos hand reached towards his pocket, the male letting out a disgruntled ‘fuck’ when he realised that he, obviously, did not have any cigarettes on him. Hoping that the twins had decided to take up the problematic habit of smoking, he lifted his head to see one unnervingly impassive god strolling towards him. Though it had been a couple of decades, he recognised Metus instantly, an eyebrow cocking up in amusement at the bitter mix of terror and trepidation that radiated off him. Having no interest in soppy greetings or emotional embraces — which had been part of the reason he’d asked the twins to pick him up in the first place — he simply offered his nephew a small nod before slipping his hands gently into the pockets of his black chinos. [color=#787b81]“Got a smoke?”[/color] Metus offered Pluto a single raised eyebrow at the question, patting himself down as if to ask himself the same question. An infuriating silent type of sarcasm he had nailed down in the past few decades, when no such smokes announced their presence on his body he offered a palms up gesture of ‘oops’ before finally speaking. [color=b84221] “I prefer to take the edge off with something that’s easier to [i]wash[/i] away, and smoking doesn’t quite attract the [i]ladies[/i] like it did back in the day, old man.”[/color] As if he cared about any of that, but his ease of slipping into the casual tone and nonchalant mannerisms of a young, attractive 20-something male was the very thing that made him respected and feared amongst both the Police Department and the Mob. [color=b84221]“We can pick some up on the way, but no smoking in the Cayenne.”[/color] Timor fixed his uncle with his trademark unnerving stare, and shrugged. [color=4221b8]“He likes his car,”[/color] he said, before hopping in shotgun. [color=#787b81]“Well that’s a load of bullshit.”[/color] A deep and biting laugh escaped his lips at the idea that people didn’t smoke anymore. Pluto liked to assume that any decisions mortals made were generally stupid ones, and the notion that tobacco was now dangerous was little more than humorous to the immortal being. Eyes narrowed at the thought that he would have to wait even longer until he could have a hit but he bit back any retorts that came to mind. [color=#787b81]“Fine, fine. I won’t smoke in your…”[/color] The romans voice trailed off as they made their way over to the Porsche, a hand lingering on the handle. It wasn’t exactly what he would’ve chosen but he supposed it’d have to do. [color=#787b81]“They all out of Spyder’s?”[/color] He said with a sardonic smile before begrudgingly taking his place in the back. Metus cast his unreadable gaze to Pluto through the rear view mirror once he was behind the wheel. The Cayenne purred to life and the engine revved at the behest of its owner, [color=b84221] “I’ll make a note to ask next time I’m in the factory.”[/color] There was a silence that fell in the car, Metus wasn’t a fan of modern music, and much preferred the sound of Italian performance and bustle of the city to accompany on his drives. There were many corner stores and smoke shops on their way from the prison to Pluto’s opulent five-star hotel and three of them passed by with no signs of Metus slowing down. [color=b84221] “So, a crime of passion?”[/color] As much as Metus tried to remain neutral the idea of murdering someone in such a way seemed unpleasant and menial to him. [color=#787b81]“Mm?”[/color] Plutos gaze had moved to glance out of the window, a frown knitting his eyebrows together at both the fact that it was forever fucking raining in this city and because Metus was clearly [I]not[/I] stopping for smokes. Apparently the guy really did love his car... It was because of this distraction that it took him a moment too long to acknowledge the question, his sharp blue eyes narrowing when he finally did. Yet this quickly faded and the god instead leant nonchalantly back in his seat, cupping his mouth to stifle a yawn. [color=#787b81]“Not particularly.”[/color] Came his deadpan response. Pluto had absolutely no desire to share anything close to his true feelings with his fellow Romans, especially the ones so aptly labelled as fear and terror. [color=#787b81]“I just have a particular distaste for stalkers. Especially ones of the mortal persuasion.”[/color] He shrugged his shoulders. Pluto had never once regretted his decision and he wasn’t about to start now. [color=#787b81]“I’m sure you have some [i]far[/i] more interesting stories anyway…”[/color] He quipped, arms reaching up to languidly stretch away some of the fatigue he still felt. Metus shrugged his shoulders, the shred of interest he had in Pluto’s murder vanishing as the older god deflected the question, [color=b84221]“Timor’s the writer, could probably tell you a [i]great[/i] story.”[/color] Fear turned around so that he could look at his uncle. Of course, he had stories galore, filled with details that only his brother and uncle could truly appreciate. [color=4221b8]“Hephaestus is dead.”[/color] Now was not the time though. Who knew what they were taking Pluto back to? A light chuckle escaped Pluto's lips at the mention of the recently deceased Grecian god. [color=#787b81]“I heard about that.”[/color] He said with a small shake of his head. [color=#787b81]“Well, if anyone was going to get themselves murdered, it was always going to be a Greek. I’m surprised there’s so many of them still alive to be honest.”[/color] That particular pantheon really did have their own brand of stupidity that was unmatched by any of the others. [color=#787b81]“I heard the conclave was a shitshow…as usual.”[/color] He added, feeling a thousand times grateful that he had been unable to attend. Those so called ‘meetings’ were usually something he avoided like the Black Plague…less he be subjected to the eternal follies and dramatics of the greeks. [color=#787b81]“Do you boys know what happened?”[/color] [color=b84221] “Not a clue.[/color] Metus answered followed by a small yawn, a final corner store appeared on the horizon and opulence just a few hundred feet behind it,[color=b84221] “only Mars attends the conclaves and we weren’t invited to brunch. Ask your king when you see him.”[/color] At the mention of his brother the mild amusement melted from Pluto’s expression, replaced instead by disgruntled irritation. Jupiter had [i]once[/i] befitted that title but the Roman was now as much a King as he was Lord of the underworld. [color=#787b81]“If I knew any Kings I would.”[/color] He grumbled, disdain dripping heavily from every word. A smirk played at Metus’ lips but he didn’t offer any further commentary on the matter. Instead his gaze was locked on the quickly approaching corner store, which any sane being would consider out of reach with his current speed and position in the furthest lane from the turn. But this was easy. A screeching of rubber and blare of horns offered a symphony to the reckless move he made. The agile Porsche jerked across three lanes, the sudden turn catching the systems of the car off guard, and the rain from earlier aiding in the car’s loss of control. For the first time that morning Metus’ face cracked into something a bit wider than a smirk, it was an unnerving smile that was devoid of any joy and held only malice. The fearful reaction from the bystanders bubbled in his gut like a giddiness for something great that was coming. That buildup ended in a flat climax after the car [i]narrowly[/i] missed an elderly woman who had been crossing the entrance to the parking lot. An abrupt stop had all passengers in the car lurching forward, the eyes of mortals were filled with awestruck terror. To them it was a miracle not a car was wrecked and not a person was injured, to Metus it came with a practiced precision. Turning around with his smile toned down into a grin he faced his uncle, [color=b84221] “Almost forgot about the cigarettes. Great job practicing seatbelt safety, that could have gotten messy at the end.”[/color] The roman clenched his jaw, hooded eyes moving to stare over at the driver's seat. An eyebrow raised at the self-satisfied smirk on Metus’ face. Damn the twins. He should’ve expected that they would be up to their usual tricks, which apparently included trying to scare the shit out of him. It had taken the god more by surprise by anything and he was annoyed at even that. [color=#787b81]“You missed the old woman.”[/color] He pointed out as he opened the door, stepping out before Metus decided to try and write off his precious car again. Mortals, who seemed to have forgotten what they were doing, were gawking stupidly at the Porsche, muttered whispers passing between those who were standing in pairs or groups. The roman paid no mind to this however. Two decades had clearly done nothing to curb their dull mindset. [color=#787b81]“My hotels round the corner from here. I’ll walk the rest of the way.”[/color] Pluto offered no thanks as he strolled towards the store, hands tucked idly into his pockets. Fucking twins. [centre][color=#787b81]◢✥◣[/color][/centre] [I]The night of the ball...[/i] The last few days had, admittedly, been a bit of a blur for the roman god. He'd ignored the pull of desire which urged him insistently in one direction, instead focusing on those simple pleasures that had been out of his reach for the last twenty years. A penthouse view hadn't done anything to improve the dreary sight that was Seattle but a bottle or two of a suitably aged Lagavulin had nearly done the trick. Nearly but not quite. Ignoring any and all calls that the hotel had informed him of, the god of wealth had been unable to resist the temptation to spend. He admittedly preferred acquiring money but spending it was a pleasure that he had been bereft of for nearly two decades. It was for this reason that Pluto arrived at the ball in a [url=https://cdn.lifestyleasia.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/09/10171123/Bugatti039s-18.7-million-La-Voiture-Noire-makes-its-US-debut.jpg]car[/url] that cost more than dozens of mortals would earn over several lifetimes. Sure it was a ridiculously indulgent purchase, and sure the money could've been spent more wisely elsewhere, but Pluto frankly didn't care. Yet when the night of the ball came, Pluto did not pull the multi-million dollar car up infront of the reams of paparazzi, but instead chose to steer it down a decidedly dim and sparsely occupied side street. Biding his time by lighting up a cigarette and allowing the smoke to drift through an open window, a few minutes passed before an equally smartly dressed man approached the Bugatti. The roman offered him a small nod as he stepped out of the vehicle, tossing the man the keys before reaching into his wallet to pull out a couple of hundred dollar bills. [color=#787b81]"Make sure they don't scratch it."[/color] He muttered, dark eyes casting over the mortal before turning to glance up at the grand — if you could call it that — venue. There was only one reason he would ever deign to attend a ball, particularly one held by his brother. Luckily he was confidently certain that said reason would definitely be in attendance so, after tossing the half-lit cigarette on the ground, he'd made his way round to a back door that was only being watched by one solitary security guard. No journalists hounded this entrance. No cameras and incessant questions. Only a guard who already seemed to know that Pluto was coming and who stepped aside to allow him to pass through the sturdy fire door. Striding through hallways filled with overworked catering staff and a kitchen where hors d'oeuvre were being carefully assembled, he ignored the confused glances that were cast his way until finally he reached the ballroom. He was neither late nor early but the ball already seemed to be in full swing, pockets of mortals meandering about, some recognisable deities standing out amongst the gloom of mortality. Pluto cared little about any of this though. Now...now it was time to find his reason.