⇢ downtown.

@seukhye k. › selene。 He herd her quiet footsteps before her voice chimed in, making a small smile spread on his lips. "My dear Selene. I'll always be tired. It's part of the 'job', as the humans would say," Hypnos laughed, raising his hands and making quotationmarks with his fingers. "But I guess it is better to not tire myself out completely. "Of course the night is beautiful." He was quick to agree with her, but kept enough restraint not to follow it up with his reason. Though he was sure a woman like her probably knew why he thought so already. It wasn't exactly a secret that he admired the beauty of the moon, and even more so the woman that represented its will.

@soohyun k. › hypnos。 Of course, Selene was worried about Hypnos but there wasn't much that she could do other than suggesting something and hoped that he would listen. So when she saw him in the park, a small smirk played on her face as she came out from her hiding place and approached him. "I am glad you are finally listening to me. If you don't take the proper time to rest then your human body is going to hate you and make you feel worse then you already are you know that right," she said with a slight smile, humming happily at this point. "Come on, the night is beautiful and the air is good."

@seukhye k. › selene。 Hypnos knew that Selene was right. He had been working too much lately, and it was starting to show on his health. Unlike his immortal form, he too was prone to getting affected by human ailments. Like the cough he was currently suffering. He managed to subdue it during his classes and appointments due to ingesting inhuman amounts of medicine. If ever there was a time for him to take some time off, it was now. So her suggestion to go out to the park for a nighttime walk was much appreciated.
Even if he had played coy to begin with.

@taekwoon j. › achilles。 Men were pathetic. Inadequate. Completely undeserving of the gifts her brothers and sisters would willingly give to them. Some are graced with strengths, others with beauty; two qualities in which were substantial to a great number - a career spawning from useless characteristics. A prodigious number were allowed wealth, and from it spawned greed, a sin present within the entirety of their species. Only a handful were exceptional, possessing enough intelligence to earn themselves prosperity without the assistance of a god's touch. Just a handful. Such were exceptional beings who stood out amongst their insolent brothers, deemed leaders as they governed through order and a system adopted by her own people. But even then, did this woman believe their reign to be imbecilic, small and imperfect judgements only leading to purposeless militant action. From such hypocrisy precipitated years of war, petty arguments between representatives of differing countries risking millions of lives to bleed before their polished feet. Justified leaders were proved to be tyrannical, their falsely claimed righteousness resulting in the downfall of an already debauched and dilapidated empire.

They had the nerve to claim themselves to stand above the rest for the greater good.

She had to resist the temptation to destroy every single one of them, starting with that damned Austrian racist. (She was a tad disappointed to find out he committed suicide after consuming a cyanide capsule. But at the same time the goddess was relieved of the news, considering she wasn't about to interfere with human affairs after years of withdrawal.) It was no doubt she hated men. Loathed them, even. And yet she chose to live amongst said creatures, blending in with their kind for centuries upon centuries. Time and time again did she keep herself from murdering every single idiot that crossed her path, because of the simple reminder that she came to observe, not act like her repulsive brother. He relished in war. She did not. She preferred to be the control center of every battle, however there are times were she too, would like to lash out like he does. Thankfully she had enough self-control to restrain herself from doing so.

But it was difficult to keep her head leveled, especially when surrounded by a mass of the kind of mortals she despised. The stench of irrationality made her exhale in frustration. Their sadistic chants of his name echoed within the confined space, and the more he struck the male, the louder their voices became. She is livid, her left-hand balling into a fist, blanched knuckles aching to strike the man next to her for reeking of rotten eggs and alcohol. She inhaled (much to her nose's distaste), and briefly shut her eyes to regain the bit of composure she had left.

In a second, she is obscured by a sonorousness of two words. Jung Taekwoon. Jung Taekwoon. Jung Taekwoon. A three-syllabled name now engraved into the back of her mind, and she wondered why it sounded so familiar. But she's never heard it before - how could that make any sense?

Her eyes fluttered open, and in an instant did they meet with his cerulean seas. They were enchanting. Entrancing. They were almost as inviting as they were questioning, and she knew he wanted the same thing she did.

But what exactly did she want to know? His name is resonating in her brain in the same manner as chants of victory that surrounded her. She knew his name. Was that not enough?

Only minutes of investigation was enough to tell her that he was exactly the type of man he despised; a yearn for victory in a meaningless fight degrading him to be just like the rest. But yet his eyes said something else, though she could not exactly decipher without a proper exchange of words.

And so, Athena tilted her head, her eyes never leaving his as she allowed a crimson simper to grace her porcelain features. She nodded her head once towards the door, before spinning upon her heels and sauntering the battered door frame. For a second did she allow herself to look over her shoulder to have one look at the man again, before disappearing into the empty hall to her right.

@seungwan s. › athena。 The synergy of everything that creates the night weights like an anchor around his ankle. It’s a sight he’s all too familiar with, after half a lifetime of blending between the overlapping tones of grey in this city— a congregation of susurrations, where each sound is punctuated with clamor. As if the wind itself whistles through the mottled synthesis. Spilled in-between is the story of how he ended up here in the first place, told in too many commas, but he’s in no place to deny that it wrought pleasures in the constellations of his body. It’s almost like a shrine for violence, with everything legalized in the hushed tone, and the pretty-lipped season only adds onto the heady atmosphere. He loves it, housing too many beasts in his marrows, with their howls beckoning for more. After all, it has resided within for too long, too often. Still, it still feels brand new every time – the continuous cheering, the dysphoric exposures. The long-lost anthem of frenzy, suppressed by the days of normal jaunts. They always let loose on weekends, watching as the cattle turned themselves into gladiators in the ring.

His blood runs boiling from his fingers to his toes—not warm—but demanding, pounding--it thrashes against his ribcage and encloses everything that he tries not to linger on: the little details. Her eyes, her lips, her nose, her hair. Something about her that leaves a sweet familiarity on his tongue—electric blue at his veins that soaks up the heat from his skin the way embers are smothered to haze. Radiating. Debilitating

His attention however, was brought back to his opponent when the other attempted to swung a weapon at him. And Achilles was quick to step back; only then he manages to get a good look at this man: a male twice his size, slightly taller. Heartbeats pound, he approximates the rate in which he can toy around for the audience’s entertainment until he has to take the man down – which depends entirely on how the man takes punches and kicks. He is agile by nature, force coming a close second. Quite a deal, according to the betters, but Achilles is driven to prove that he’s more than that— a source of entertainment, a fistful of victories.

His opponent seems to collect more dust of anger compared to his calmer demeanor. And when he takes the first punch, people cheer for his opponent. But this is just the beginning. Synopsis: the rest of the first round is just him moving around, baiting the man to waste his energy on trying to hit him. There’s also nothing like watching his foe squander their force on nothing.

Nearing the end of the first round, he wastes no more time: jabs planted on his opponent’s sides, then the face – trickier to hit, but he manages eventually. The other’s energy is drained, after all, and it’s easy to place more kicks, punches. This time, he lands jabs but the guy fights back. And then another. and then another. The crowd holds their breaths in anticipation – growing quieter with the minutes that roll down with their sweat. Vice-induced rapture, schadenfreude abound. And with the sequential moves, he eventually gives the other a final kick, sending him to stay grounded —almost immobile in terms of the fluctuation—until the count is over.

(Everything is simple. There’s almost no trouble ignited from the entire task, just a little struggle hither and thither.)

Erupting applause hauls him away from his personal sphere, away from the fight. It’s over, and he only realizes once the surge of cacophonies slaps him awake. Adrenaline is still fresh in veins, aggressively streaming. He heaves a sigh, arm lifted by the judge as the crowd grows more euphoric.

But then his eyes are back on her.

@taekwoon j. › achilles。 Ageless skin stands out in a lethargic crowd; porcelain skin and round, aquamarine hues altogether manifesting a vivid picture in a sea of blurred, rugged faces. Her scent of Jasmine is drowned out by the intoxication of alcohol and burning leaves, and amongst them a putrid cloud that hazes over the entirety of the room. A delicate stature stands between two distinctly pungent oafs, one taller than the other while the smaller male possesses a burly physique. Behind her is a ratty, evidently inebriated woman who spills out incoherent curses from smudged-red overdone lips, the tattoos decorating gaunt arms indicating that she has had one too many breakups. The porcelain female rolls her eyes at this sight, and makes yet another reminder that mortals are thoughtless when it comes to love.

And this taller woman sees this, opens to release yet another set of obscenities, this time directed at the smaller female. Her bright eyes are trained on the woman for a mere two minutes, countenance containing no emotion nor any sign of threat. But then the woman had locked up whatever she wanted to say behind shut lips, her originally smug mien now flushed with a wave of fear. No one else sees this, however her radiance and strong aura attracts those around her. She’s well-aware of the eyes that wander to her spot in the corner of the room, but pays no mind to it, for she did not come to entertain incompetent, drugged immortals.

The female inhales the rancid odor and for a second, a wave of absolute disgust washes over her face, and she briefly closes her eyes while she shakes her head in distaste. And in this small second, she senses distress, and opens her eyes again just to lock with a pair as bright and blue as her own. For the first time that night did she allow her features to hold an emotion for longer than she would normally permit. Straight, perfectly groomed brows furrowed, her statuesque skin wrinkling as her full, vermillion hues parted in disbelief. Scintillating, cerulean seas painted into orbs propped beneath strong brows gazed back at her in wonder, while she peered in wonder.

He’s familiar. Much too familiar. She becomes uncomfortable with this thought, because the goddess of wisdom herself could not pinpoint the exact individual he so disturbingly resembles. Her eyes scan his features and take in the tall build, broad shoulders and sullen expression. There’s something off-putting about him, she analyzes, and observes the male yet again. But it’s difficult to because he seems to be doing the same thing with her. She’s staring, and he’s staring too. People notice this exchange, because instead of sadistic chants of their desired victor’s name, she is enveloped in a stadium of anger and annoyance. They had flocked to this dilapidated establishment to witness this seemingly unconquerable man inflict wounds onto another. To defeat others and prove victory and power over those feeble and cowardly.

But his eyes are on her.

So they’re looking at her, too. No, they’re scrutinizing. They’re all displeased, some deeming her as an “attention-seeking ” who does not belong in a place like this. She doesn’t blame them. She’s small. Too sober. Perhaps too clean and a bit overdressed for the occasion, let alone the room they’re standing in. But she doesn’t care.

Athena’s attention remains on the male and never falters, because at this point she’s communicating through her aquamarine gaze. Granting her target with a small, coy smirk, she a brow and tilts her head. She’s challenging him, awaiting his next move when the overweening elder attempts a swing at him. And it’s not just with a fist, but a knife.

Around her, a collective gasp. But she’s expressionless though eager for what this man will do in return.

@viian w. › selene。 Despite how low her voice had been, he heard her perfectly well from his seat on the grass. Her voice was gentle, far much more so than he had ever imagined. And despite the countless hours he had spent speaking up at the moon, he had never thought to direct it at Selene herself. His lips parted with a small smile accompanied by the faintest of laughs. "I would be ashamed if I didn't," Hypnos commented, focusing his eyes back up on the heavens. He could see far, mostly because of the mortals that his powers affected, but Selene remained out of view; merely a name and a voice to attribute her.

But despite his sight, he noted the moon's slow movements coming to a minor halt. "I'm guessing you don't usually keep company," Hypnos teased. "But... you listen. Listen to the whispers of the mortal world as it slowly turns to slumber. Surely, a lady of your likes have heard many a secret in the past." If anyone where to pass in that park, they would surely think him a drugged out hobo, talking to himself as if someone was sitting right next to him.
"It must get horribly lonesome, riding across the sky like that."

@seungwan s. › athena。 (The night is nothing but a blueprint to him, color-coded and scheme-threaded: asphalt-tongued roads becoming the coagulated veins of the cityscape--the crux of Vegas that bustles with the cacophony of the hour.)

(Setting, however: A decrepit building. A room. A door to the right that serves an entrance. It creaks when he pushes it open.)

And flash, suddenly, the room is living, bathed in the neon afterglow. In here, Achilles is greeted by the disturbance buzzing in his ears--the spectators, their erratic heartbeats. Laughter, mockery. His foe is quick to approach and the dolt doesn’t even bother to obscure the abhorrent grin that tugs at the edges of his lips. “Taekwoon, isn’t it? Look at you. You show up here, beat everyone up. You know, it’s starting to sound like a broken record.” From compliments to insults, they all have a rather congruent resonance when reaching astute ears, and perhaps it is why a tight line sits pretty along Achilles’ lips; and he does, for a brief moment, allows interest to drown as to what seemed like useless banter.“Were the rumors true? I’d like to see for myself. Not that I would mind watching you eat the ground. It’d be quite entertaining. So give me everything you’ve got, kid. No holdin’ back.”

By now dissatisfaction is drawn through a lingering sigh that creeps past Achilles’ lips while lithe fingers are brought to rush through the dark strands as a natural manifestation of frustration. The situation is aggravating, to say the least, but also an easy job when adrenaline burns under his veins and his hand is all but bloody; blanched skin relearning how to let color in. You see, some things never change with the height of humankind’s pride. They never look down, never look underneath their feet where the basilisks slither. In tunnels, in drainages. There’s no awareness that comes with the impending atrophy, and one day, all that they know would be the discord that has already befallen them, leaving them in nothing but ruins and debris carried by the wind.

Slender fingers captured a globed shoulder, enough strength invested into the act to force the sharp structure down by a few inches; enough to maintain unbreakable eye contact.“You have a rather terrible choice of words.” The simper resting across his features dies out to a trenchant facade; amusement entangled to words that fall from the tip of a sharp tongue coated in steel, perfectly sculptured brow crooking upwards as he claimed his side of the improvised ring. “Sign your death certificate it is, then.”

-----

In this room that smells like a mixture of nicotine and alcohol, perhaps absinthe, a green glare from the glow of the jaundice lights fall through the interstices of the crowd. Achilles blinks. He’s already standing in the corner when he’s met a familiar face, dated back to the gray-scaled portions of his past--a deja vu in its most literal sense.

There’s an inclination for him to leave the place, step ahead, and ask her a few of the questions swirling his mind in tides. /Who is she?/ It almost felt like he owes himself an explanation as to why he wanted to ask--prod further--almost like he owes himself an apology as to how a certain face was holding his attention, and he’s left with the vortexes of debilitating thoughts. For years, Achilles had known a lot of people but neither of them come close to the woman across the room washing the perpetual restlessness in her face, and compared to the backdrop--like Achilles--she doesn’t seem to belong.

The instance however, proves time as an illusion in the form a game…

…which leads to something worth considering: it looks like he would have to wait.

@viian w. › selene。 It was rare for Hypnos to ever get time to himself these days. If he didn't have an appointment or yoga class he was helping some old lady with her groceries or bringing a sweet dream to a nearby sleeping child as he was walking home. The world around him was so fragile, and despite their tenacity the mortals were as easy to break as an old vase atop a pedestal. You did not even have to touch them for it all to crumble together to dust. He had found that even in the guise of a human he could wreck havoc upon the simple mortals with nothing but a glance in their direction. It was at times frightening to know just how frail they really were.

These were among the reasons for why he had decided to live amongst them as the millennia had passed. He wanted to see them up close, experience their pain and hardship. But he also wanted to be their shield and ensure that the immortals did not interfere to much in their lives.

All these thoughts and more span around in his head as he walked into the park. The place was shoddy, far less a sight for sore eyes than the gardens of Olympus, but it was as secluded and quiet as those heavenly gardens. Grass brushed between his toes, the soft earth beneath it pressing against the sole of his feet. Somewhere in the distance he could hear a crow cawing at the sky as another car honked its horn. This place was nothing like the realm of the immortals.

Except for one thing.
Hypnos spun on his heel, letting his body fall back towards the ground. The air brushed through his short dark hair and tugged at his t-shirt. It tickled somewhat as the chill set in around him. Then came the approaching ground, a punch to the back of his spine that shook his mortal body to the core. And up there... There hung the moon. As smooth and pale as it was from the top of mount Olympus. As mysterious and dark as it looked from the outer Realms.

"Hello again, friend," he whispered up at it. "Can't believe nighttime is here already. Time flies, doesn't it?" There was no one else there. The wind was his only answer, lovingly brushing through his hair. "Humans are strange, aren't they? So fragile, but always optimistic. Ready to face a world destined to one day destroy them. Each life a mere breath in the breeze. But they keep on going. How come?" Hypnos' eyes moved around the details of the moon, its pale light shining down on his face, illuminating the dark circles beneath his eyes. "You see more than me. Surely you have answers-" he continued, his dark eyes settling on a spot in the night sky just a bit west of the moon itself. "Isn't that so, Selene?"

@taekwoon j. › achilles。 Stiletto boots against cracked pavement is a mixture all too familiar; the combination of a tapered surface along solid concrete fabricating a sound much too rhythmic, much too structured compared to chaos. It is a sound of continuous, patterned beats, an entrancing reverberation if focused on long enough. Click clack, click clack. It is obnoxious, prone to grab attention to those who pick it up by chance, the rhythm resonating in their ear drum and forcing onlookers to wonder about the woman grabbing such attention.

But the music of the city is a pandemonium that could not be competed with. The pulsing of her boots is easily drowned out by an orchestra of disarray, each instrument playing a tune of their own, together creating an entire piece unique to the area. ¬Unique, because uniformity and tranquility is a concept that does not apply to Las Vegas. A ruckus, as what humans would call it, because it was a jumble of noise that did not at all create pleasant harmony. Not at all. It would have given her a migraine, if it weren’t for her distinct ability to block annoyances out through concentration. At least, this time she found it quite hard to block everything out.

It has only been about five minutes since she has stepped out of her carefully parked car, the last-minute decision to walk amongst the streets already giving her quite a migraine. Another thirty seconds in and she has become subject to the cry of mortal sin, the lust and temptation slipped into natural human instinct evident and undoubtedly terrifying. It is within a short moment did she feel an ounce of regret clouding her normally adamant nature, because even with her temper did she have difficulty with keeping a level head. And Athena rarely allows herself to let go. Rarely.

Several times did she hear what humans called “wolf-whistles” in conjunction with words she wished was not in human vocabulary, because they were anything but flattering and respectful. And several times did she suppress an urge from smiting them. Suppress because she reminded herself that these people were human, and if experience has taught her anything, they’re incompetent beings who lacked any form of proper sensitivity. Plus, they’re weak. Even her weakest blow could knock out a band of warriors. So all she could permit herself to do was roll her eyes in response. Besides, sparing even a second towards taking care of this irritation is too much time to waste. She was here on a mission, and she could not let a couple of hormonal imbeciles keep her from completing it.

The crystal, azure gemstones that decorated her alabaster skin perused the cluster of buildings before her in search for the only thing — or person — she came for. You would think she would know of his exact location, however once she received word of a man deemed undefeated and indestructible, her suspicions rose. Needless to say, she was curious, not because she wanted to see if such a human could exist. No, that is the least of her worries. What she wanted to know was why it seemed so familiar. Why it caused uneasiness in her immortal frame—

Because the legends of this human gladiator was much too similar to the one she knew by heart.

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