⋆ ; bar

@「 ᴘᴇʀsᴇᴘʜᴏɴᴇ 」flora salvatore “What if someone were to hear?” he muses, gaze seeming to trace every movement she made. simultaneously, he reaches for the glass presented to him and leans forward, closing just a wee bit of distance between the two before bringing the crystal to his lips. a subtle sip later, he rests it against the wooden bar top once more, voice much lower. ”Not that I particularly mind listening to you call for me.”

his fingertips, calloused and ragged from blisters that were healing, coated in rough skin, drum against the side of his drink as he slumps back again, nearly lounging haphazard in the stool. “Who said anything about losing? Losing yourself and letting go of whatever is troubling you are two very different things. I’m only suggesting the latter.” he pauses, the corner of his mouth twitching as he mulls over the inquiry.

his relationship with the goddess of beauty was a complicated one; they were not together, per se, and yet not apart. what they did, they did in secrecy now, much like their previous romance. only this time, all of Olympus and beyond knew their history. with a shake of his head, he looks over her shoulder, towards a drunk man stumbling into the bathroom. “You would ask such an absurd question,” he starts, a glimmer of amusement over his features. “I’ve sat down to have a drink with you, Persephone. Isn’t it obvious that I’m doing nothing else?”

@「 ᴀʀᴇs 」magnus wolfe "why not?" she mused, more so a conversation goer than a curious question. in all her lifetime, she'd learned to call the gods and goddesses as their names, their true ones- somehow a mundane one was never fitting. the gentle pressure he'd pressed onto her heavied for just a fraction of a breath before she was finally allowed to recline back against her chair and a breath of relief slipped past her plush tiers, even as they curved into a gentle smile at the bartender. The poor lad's face was etched with shock, eyes wide at the woman who sat in front of him and for once, Persephone's curiosity didn't pry into his mind to know what he was thinking- she was far too laxed for it.

"Thank you," she murmured to the bartender as he poured her another glass of wine before placing a glass of whiskey down for the man beside her. So much for politeness- twenty drachmas would find themselves into a particular duffel bag in the locker room of the bar, she spelled with her mind, hiding the serene grin behind the rim of her glass as she took another sip. once done, she turned to the man beside her, a leg raising to cross over the other.

"i know how to not lose myself to more alcohol," she nodded, toying with the rim of the glass. maybe a few more glasses wouldn't hurt- her gaze lifted to catch his on her, the intense pair of eyes on her causing a shiver to run down her spine. her hand reached to her other arm, rubbing herself for some warmth. why was he staring at her like that? like...- "just because you see a tear or two does not mean i'm crying, ares. heading back soon to aphrodite, i presume?"

@「 ᴘᴇʀsᴇᴘʜᴏɴᴇ 」flora salvatore “You shouldn’t call me that, here.” he murmurs in response to her greeting, but it was apparent that the patrons were none the wiser; they hadn’t heard her use his true name. though she seems to flee his closeness, it’s almost as if he follows her, other arm snaking along the side of her to brace against the bar whilst he pushes the glass forward. the motion gives the god of war an opportunity for the tip of his nose to caress her silken tresses. “Besides, that’s ridiculous. Have one more-“ he pauses, nodding to the bartender who was pausing for the go ahead to take the glass and replenish it. “If you’re crying, it means you haven’t had enough.”

he finally and reluctantly releases her, slipping into the stool next to her. the side of his fist slams against the mahogany, head tilting to the side. “Whisky.” he was not in the habit of saying please, manners tend to evade him.

with his attention returning to Persephone before him, his teeth drawing the plump flesh of the lower counterpart of his couplet into his mouth, honey eyes devouring her as if she were ambrosia itself. “I was on my way back to the complex, but I saw you come in. I didn’t think I’d find you crying, though.”

@「 ᴀʀᴇs 」magnus wolfe the snow had begun melting outside, january's temperature rising and dropping like the whims of a petulant child. spring was so far away, yet it seemed so close, nipping at her cheeks in heated frostbites and making grabs at her soul per usual. she dreaded it- in all it's sunkissed warmth, cold breeze and blooming flowers, she dreaded spring. it would mean going back to a world she didn't want yet was sadly fated to. sitting at the bar, the same jive one where she was nothing but a luxurious patroness who nursed glasses after glasses of merlot, persephone began wondering the fates' intentions; were they all that good, causing her personal history to repeat itself in this human world just like it had been in olympus?

she was aloof at the bar, able to feel stares of men and women alike on her back; she was no goddess of beauty but there was no denying that she was a sight in herself with a dark dress that clung to her curves in the right places, exposing creamy skin of her shoulders and arms tickled by fiery hair that fell down her back in gentle waves. it was a wonder for most; what could a beauty like her be doing alone in a place like that?

Persephone didn’t mind— she liked being alone, more than watching the dismayed looks of nightly suitors when she turned them away. But she was still human, physically so. In a way, the loneliness made her crave touches of intimacy, of love she once shared but that was all so far gone now. Like a far forgotten dream that she was pent over, it was long gone. Rightfully so, when every spring she would have to go back to her morose mundane reality.

She didn’t realize she had begun crying until she felt moisture down her cheek, a drop of dew from her eyes landing into a splat on the wooden countertop of the bar. What once would have been a ruby was mere water. her hand began moving to wipe them away when the voice resonated in her ear, all too familiar. She froze just for a heartbeat of a moment before slowing dropping her hand to her lap.

“Ares.” She greeted in a soft sigh, pointedly ignoring how goosebumps rose on her skin at his proximity. He smelled of oud and sandalwood, like he was made of rage’s fire like his god-sake. Catching herself, she leaned a bit away, forcing her plump mouth into a serene moue. “I think I’ve had enough for the night. Fancy seeing you here.”

@「 ᴘᴇʀsᴇᴘʜᴏɴᴇ 」flora salvatore combat boots scuff against the concrete; sidewalk twinkling like the stars would against the sky had the storm not engulfed them, smothering the sentinels in a sea of dark clouds. even the moon remains subjugated. the air was thick and wet, but chilly directly following a midnight rain.

the white dove pub didn’t particularly interest him; he would visit the bar semi-frequently to pick up whatever the night’s entertainment would be (usually, a scantily clad woman that would flash bedroom eyes in his direction as he nursed a glass of whisky), but for the most part, that was it. the music was horrid, the atmosphere nonexistent. and, had he not been following the goddess that now occupied one stool at the bar, he wouldn’t have come in tonight.

what would be his goal in approaching her tonight? sure, he still felt the sting of her insults from their conversation over iMessage, but somehow the desire for her overwhelmed it. or did it feed the rage she incited? for his eternal existence, he’d never been able to tell the difference between white, hot rage and ual desire. to him, the two held hands, remaining locked in an embrace within him that tends to explode and send shards of depravity and anger to puncture whomever was unfortunate enough to be his target.

in the end, it mattered not what his reasoning for stalking her may have been, because as he swaggers to the bar, he notices something unexpected. Persephone’s head cast down. was she... crying? he hovers just over her left shoulder, reaching around to wrap his calloused digits around the cool, crystal of her wine glass as his head dips, tiers inches from her ear. blame it on the volume of the music if you must, but it offered the opportunity to inhale her scent. “Your glass is empty. You should get another.”