askmenosecrets | Arcadian Forest Party

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Arcadian Forest Party

This was more work that he usually bothered to put in, Pan thought, especially here, at home, but everything was set.

At first glance, it appeared to be a forest clearing, beautiful and wild but nothing different than a hundred other clearings spread throughout the woods of the Arcadian mountains. But when you looked again, Pan thought, you saw something quite different. Hidden in the trees were a series of structures suspended in air, hung with ivy and dew, and through the mist-shrouded branches you could see the faint glow of light, and you could smell the scent of fire and food. There was the fire pit, a circle suspended in the arms of a large oak with a crackling golden fire, a roast, and bowls of marshmallows, chocolate and crackers waiting. There was the bar, stocked with a rich variety of wines and alcohols and staffed by two of the satyrs. And then there was the forest floor itself, bare now, but waiting for the dancing. On all sides of the floor, there were cushions on the low branches and benches of fallen logs, each accompanied with wooden buckets full of wine and beer bottles and glassed suspended with vine.

"Well," he said to Zaffre, currently wrapped around his neck, "I think we're ready." Pan flicked a leaf off his forest green turtleneck and looked around with approval before pausing. "We're almost ready," he corrected, and pulled his pan flute up to his lips.

The forest filled with music as he played, music that began as the mystical songs of the flute, but transformed as he let the instrument fall to his side - transformed into thrumming, sensual rhythms and intricate guitars that would encourage the party-goers to...well, Pan thought with a sharp grin, to be bad. Very bad.

"Let the games begin," Pan said.

[Notes: Everyone in fortuna_invicta is invited, the more the merrier in Pan's opinion. If anyone needs directions to the right section of the forest, let Pan know on the SWS post. Mingle! Get drunk! Stuff your face! Find a secluded tree and do naughty things! Pan approves highly of all these pursuits. Format = narrative third person, if you please!]

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The youth shrugged.

"When there was more company, I thought I might join in dancing." He looked sheepish. "But I might need a few more drinks for that. If I am a little intoxicated, it excuses my poor attempts to dance." He chuckled.

Apollo smiled and held out his hand. "Come, love," he encouraged, "let's get you another drink, hm? What would you like?"

Hyacinthe got to his feet. He hesitated a moment before he slid his hand into Apollo's. In the firelight, perhaps for a half second, his brow furrowed and his lips tightened. But the emotion, whatever it was, was fleeting and he squeezed the warm, familiar hand.

"I am easy to please." He chuckled. "I could go for a cold beer or two, as nice as the wine is."

Golden fingers curved gently about the boy's hand and Apollo led him over to the bar, giving the acquiescing satyr their request, asking for another whiskey for himself.

Turning back to his companion, he gazed somewhat speculatively at him, as if seeking for something. After their beverages arrived, Apollo did not immediately pick up his, but instead asked quietly, "...what is it, Hyacinthe?"

"What is what?" Hyacinthe asked, picking up the glass of beer and examining it appreciatively before he brought it to his lips, looking at Apollo over the edge of the glass.

He was surprised at the scrutiny in the god's gaze and looked, perhaps, a little guilty.

"You seem...hesitant...with me," came the quiet answer, followed by the slight dimming of bright green eyes. The tumbler at his elbow remained untouched; all focus riveted to the youth before him.

"Oh. That. It was nothing." Hyacinthe said, setting his own drink down beside Apollo's glass. "It's just been awhile, that's all." He crooked a smile, though his gaze is less sure of himself. "Please, don't think too much of it." He glanced away, into the shadows of the trees, and reached for his beer.

Somehow Apollo wasn't so convinced. Seeing the youth look away, unwilling to speak further had him drawing back a bit, reluctant to push. He'd learned not to do so; it only led to heartache in the end.

"...of course." But a bit of his old spite refused to be bitten back and he added, "...if you rather I left you to more enjoyable company, you have but to say so."

"No!" Hyacinthe said sharply, though he kept his voice lowered as his hand reached out to rest on Apollo's forearm. "Please don't. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you." He said earnestly. "Please believe me, I want you to stay if you want my company."

The negation was surprisingly vehement, causing both of Apollo's eyebrows to lift in belated surprise. He nodded, unmoving beneath the boy's touch. "As you wish, belovèd."

Oh, but he'd been alone for so long, it was almost second nature now to hesitate, to move slowly. Gone indeed were the days when he took what he wished and moved on to the next conquest. The last time he'd done such had scarred him more than he'd ever care to admit, and it was a mistake he would not make, not a second time.

Hyacinthe looked at him for a long moment, and his hand squeezed Apollo's arm gently before it went back to his beer, a gesture of mixed apology and a promise of affection unforgotten.

He drank in silence for a while, but eventually he had to speak, between running out of his rapidly imbibed beer, a need to make conversation and a need to prove to himself he could still speak easily to Apollo.

"How have you been?" He asked. A silly question, idle chatter. But it filled the silence.

Ah, it was to be this, then. At least for the moment. Very well. Apollo shrugged one shoulder, finally picking up his drink and taking a healthy sip.

"Well, for the most part. Enjoying the quiet." Which was so very true. He'd left Olympus behind with few regrets, the least of all the memories that still stirred during the deep watches of the night.

"Working, as well. Since Helios decided to disappear, I've been carrying on his duties as well as my own." Bitter irony, there. He'd neither wanted nor needed such a heavy responsibility, but now, after looking back over the rest of his relatives, belatedly realized he'd entrust it to no one else. ...damn the Fates, regardless.

"That seems like a tremendous burden to bear." Hyacinthe said. "Surely his replacement could have been a god without so many other aspects to oversee." He said, quietly. "So you would not be charged with such an important task. I hope he comes out of hiding, if some cruel fate has not befallen him."

Apollo snorted again, becoming more saturnine, if possible. He downed the rest of his whiskey and slid the glass back for another.

"Oh, he has. And quite frankly told me he wanted no part of it anymore." That conversation had gone rather well, considering. Apollo's power was a force with which to be reckoned, but even he wasn't foolish enough to clash wills with a Titan.

Besides, he did love his uncle, even if he'd like to drop kick him across a few hemispheres sometimes.

"I am sorry to hear that." Hyacinthe said. "He should be ashamed, neglecting his duties." He slid his glass across the bar as well. "Entirely unfair that you alone saw fit to take care of his mess." He shook his head. Everything was going a little fuzzy at the edges of his left eye and that was fine with him. He accepted another beer and drank deeply.

"I didn't," the deity admitted ruefully, leaning an elbow on the counter. "Father saw fit to saddle me with it just after Helios disappeared."

And that conversation had gone over splendidly, hadn't it? It was on record as one of the most titanic arguments that had ever taken place on Olympus. But it'd ended with Apollo biting back his rage and coldly removing both himself and everything else affiliated with his presence from the ancestral "home of the gods". And he'd not been back since.

Sighing, he shrugged again. "Helios has lost his ability to care, it seems. He's content to roam the world at will, doing whatever comes to him. He won't take the chariot again, not willingly."

"And I suppose your father cannot force him--" Hyacinthe bit back his words and hid behind his beer glass. "I am sorry, it is not my place to question the will of the gods."

That earned a sarcastic snort, but a grin followed. "Ohh, I'd love to be the proverbial fly on that wall, to see Zeus go up against Helios."

Unable to stifle his snicker, Apollo merely shook his head, reaching out to push the beer bottle aside and stroke a thumb across the mortal's cheek. "No, my dear one. I am resigned to my duties by now. We are as the Fates have decreed, and besides, there's no other I'd trust such a great responsibility to, not in my backwards family."

Hyacinthe allowed himself a smile at that.

"I couldn't more with that, I'm afraid." He chuckled. "Better that someone who takes genuine interest in their work take up that all-important task than one whose interest would only be token and probably dangerously fleeting." A blush blossomed under Apollo's hand and he looked down again "So I suppose all of us mortals owe you a tremendous favor, looking after the Light like that."

The god's fingers trailed beneath Hyacinthe's chin, gently urging him to lift his head. "Nay, belovèd," he entreated quietly, "be not disquiet. Look upon me with joy, as I would have thee do."

Another tender touch and Apollo lowered his hand. "You owe me nothing. 'tis my duty and my right as caretaker of the Light and Patron of the Sun."

Hyacinthe shivered when Apollo lifted his chin and spoke to him as he used to, the antiquated speech a comfort, bringing with it the memory of poetry exchanged as they lay near each other. As such, the shiver was not unpleasant and his smile grew only wider. The tension went out of his shoulders and his guard seemed to drop, just enough for the youth Apollo had once loved to become visible again.

"All the same, you are due at least heartfelt thanks, though so many will not even consider what a burden it is to keep them all alive."

If Hyacinthe wanted archaism, Apollo had no problems quoting by the hour. Mercurial as ever, he could launch into iambic pentameter or harmonic ballad at the twitch of the breeze, whichever tickled his fancy at that particular moment. Hyper activity? The golden deity was one of the co-founders, oh yes.

Nevertheless, he gazed upon Hyacinthe with ageless tenderness and unfading love, willing the spirit he'd known so every long ago to come once more into the blessed light to be warmed in the golden sun. He gently reached out, enfolded one of his hands in his own and curled it against his chest, directly over his heart.

"Then I will take what thou sees fit to offer me, my sweet one. For even the smallest favor from thy pure heart would be e'en greater than all the gold 'neath the soaring mountains."

Hyacinthe's pulse jumped to feel the god's heart beneath his hand and he took a step closer, returning his glass to the bar. His cheeks were brightly blushed now, with a mix of intoxication and emotion and when Apollo mentioned favors he couldn't help that his gaze drifted and lingered on Apollo's lips before he looked away and went back on his guard, just a little, composing himself.

He wanted to urge the other to release that defense, to be uninhibited and wild, as they had of old, but patience was a lesson which Apollo had unfortunately learned the hard way. And he had no desire to cause another discomfort at the expense of his own wants.

Still, this was his Hyacinthe. His Hyacinthe. Forever would he recall that horrible day when damnable Zephyrus expunged his festering jealousy. It was only the divine hand of Zeus which kept Apollo from dismantling the wind god in his blinding rage, and the breach between sun and wind had yet to heal.

Yet, to have his belovèd here, standing flushed before him, was a temptation almost to cruel to contemplate. Thus Apollo slid from the barstool, stepped forward and, carefully placing both hands against Hyacinthe's blushed cheeks, lowered his head and brushed a soft kiss against his lips, a bare breath of caress.

Hyacinthe made a sound, a half-stifled, half-mad laugh of relief and joy before he leaned up and pressed a more urgent kiss to the lips of the god.

"Beloved..." He whispered against Apollo's lips. In this moment, he didn't care that millennia had separated that, that they had both perhaps known others in that long time since Hyacinthe had died at his lover's feet, his last thoughts confusion and pain. If he received nothing more than a kiss, it would be enough.

Arcadian Forest Party

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