[center][color=pink][h2]Tyler Hartley[/h2][/color][/center]
[center]Successor of Aphrodite | Loc: Tyler’s Room, Los Angeles, > San Francisco California USA | Tags: Azalea [@ShankySpice][/center]

Tyler fixed himself up before answering the call of destiny.

He knew there were monsters, gods, Titans, and whatever else waiting for him apparently, and he had enough self-awareness to know that spending forty minutes getting ready would be a little much.

So, he spent twenty-five. For him, that was restraint.

By the time he left his apartment, Tyler had changed out of yesterday’s outfit, shoved a few things into an overnight bag, and sent a text to one of his friends who had called him the most.

[quote][color=pink]Alive. Not ready to talk. Don’t be dramatic.[/color][/quote]

Then, because he knew that message would only make them more dramatic, he turned his phone on silent and dropped it into the cupholder.

The mirror sat on the passenger seat. Pink. Gold. Ornate. Fabulous. A lot like himself, actually… Tyler glanced at it as he pulled onto the road. [color=pink]“For the record, I still think this is terrible advice.”[/color]

The mirror said nothing. Of course it didn’t.

[color=pink]“Right. Great. Love the communication.”[/color]

He had considered flying. Briefly. But then figured he’d have to get through TSA, and that would be a pain in the ass.

So that was how Tyler Hartley ended up making the choice to take a road trip. He had no clue where he was going. Not a voice. Not a vision. Just a pull.

He hated it. He hated it more around hour two, when the traffic thinned and there was nothing to distract him except music, road signs, and the increasingly horrifying realization that he was actually doing this. Following divine intuition. Trusting his gut. Taking a goddess at her word. He laughed at the absurdity of it.

The pull sharpened the closer he got to San Francisco.

By the time he reached the city, Tyler was tired, irritated, and running on Starbucks. The streets felt unfamiliar, but the direction didn’t. Every turn seemed to happen before he had time to question it. Left here. Keep going. Not that street. This one. It was deeply annoying.

Eventually, the feeling led him to a flower shop.

Tyler sat in the car for a long moment, staring through the windshield.

[color=pink]“A flower shop,”[/color] he said flatly. He looked at the mirror. [color=pink]“Of course. You couldn’t have taken me to a boutique, or a gay bar, or something fun? Divine intuition drags me to a random flower shop.”[/color] The pull did not fade. If anything, it grew stronger.

Tyler got out of the car, mirror in hand, and immediately noticed that something was wrong. For one thing, there was water where water probably should not have been. For another, the remains of what looked like a very expensive fountain statue were smashed across the ground. And standing nearby was a red-haired woman holding a sickle like she was still deciding whether the day could possibly get worse.

Tyler stopped. He looked at the broken fountain. Then at the sickle. Then at the woman. [color=pink]“Okay,”[/color] he said slowly, raising one hand in what he hoped was a non-threatening gesture. [color=pink]“I’m going to guess you’re either one of the people I’m supposed to find, or San Francisco florists are much more intense than I was led to believe.”[/color] He glanced at the sickle again. [color=pink]“For everyone’s comfort, I’m really hoping it’s the first one.”[/color] 

Then because Tyler is Tyler, and he cares about his outer appearance, he looked at his reflection in the mirror, and fixed up his hair with a comb he kept in his pocket. Priorities.