Denver
A legendary establishment that defies conventional time. It is said that once you enter, the revelry within can last for an eternity. Olympians gather here to share tales, engage in merriment, and revel in the timeless spirit of Dionysus.
Doris
Niklas wore his past lives with a likeness to the scars along his abdomen. Freestanding, distinctive in their length and origin. Hotel rooms became a false sanctuary, and he swam in the current of city streets as if he could navigate them blind. If the sentiment of his life had not been dimmed so early, perhaps it would have been a beautiful thing, to have seen so much of the world. If the portions of the world that he was so well–versed in were not doused in malfeasance, perhaps he could speak of them freely. In his years of experience, he decided that all places were the same. Olympian, however, was sculpted by a product larger than himself. It held an influence that he could not place, and he felt it in each step that he took, heavy on his chest like a burden.
⠀
The city was not like those of Germany's. Gothic castles and timeless cathedrals were exchanged for assorted districts, pledged to the callings of gods that did not show their faces. Niklas had not yet decided if the inhabitants here were as blind to their faith as those in other wedges of the world. The dedication, however, was animated and impassioned. He saw things that mortals did not, and heard the voice that occupied the halls of his mind with more clarity. The voice of a woman, a *Mother*, who spoke to him in whispered puzzled to him since boyhood. He was not so withdrawn here, but he had still been alone.
⠀

No matter the city's differences, the fondness of fun was a human trait, and one that could not be ignored. Nor could it be satiated, it seemed— they drank with the madness of Dionysus, and indulged in sin as if their mortality was saintly. He felt less separated from Germany here, in the dullness of a pub. It was easy work. In fact, it nearly felt futile. His arms would often stiffen from remaining crossed over his chest through the hours of the night, eyes dark and tired. Performers, that of which varied in talent and charisma, came and went like the monotony of a revolving door. Niklas put drunkards in their deserving place, and returned to the place by the door which he claimed. On his breaks, he smoked a cigarette in the alley, and drank a glass of lukewarm water to keep his voice.
⠀
It was a night like any other. He observed the regulars of the pub, who tended to sit in their same spots. There were some that stood out as complications, as feasible trouble. Alcohol undid the structure of their smiles and made them frenzied grins. His jaw clenched in their indulgence.
⠀
When the performer appeared, she stood with a luminosity greater than the pub's dimness. His gaze did not waver, but he acknowledged her differences. Niklas did not know her, but he did not believe that black suited her. It was nearly the only color that he wore, but he was sure that she was destined for brighter, prettier things. For black was a thing of despair, and her eyes were softer than his had ever been. Prettier, too.
⠀

Entertainers often struggled to rouse a crowd, and trembled beneath its judgment. She made it look like child's play, to get them to love her. Men with beer on their breath knelt to the authority of a woman with beauty, after all. Eyes of muted hazel looked over their faces, and though he was merely observing them, he outwardly appeared menacing. Furthest from the crowds of patrons, he should have been out of the crossfire of their gaze. He expectedly wore black, with a t–shirt that clung to the arch of his biceps. Tattoos crept from the hems, and his skin was surprisingly sunlit. Niklas predicted his concealed presence, until she looked at him. He kept her gaze.
⠀
He blinked, and the tension in his arms absentmindedly weakened. *Was war das?*
⠀
The bar–goers thrived in her joviality. He felt unveiled, but he put the cloak of privacy over his shoulders with stealth. When she began her performance, men and women alike were charmed. Tipsier men stood in the lull of her voice and the shine of her dress, and he became aware of them with the tension of a watchdog.
⠀
Abruptly, a lady who was theatrically inebriated approached him. Her dress was a deep purple, and her arms were decorated in floral tattoos. When he glared at her, she smiled. Her lipstick was smeared. "She's pretty, huh? Do you think that I could be a performer next time, big guy?" Her arms loosely folded in and pointed to herself. Niklas stared at her with eyes like nails. She frowned before he even spoke.
⠀
"... Try to get home safely, ma'am." His voice was foreign and gravelly. It was almost kind, questionably noble, but he cruelly implied the way that her drunkenness was shown in her disheveled appearance. Her frown accentuated, and she returned to the haven of the bar. Niklas returned his gaze to the singer.
Josephine
By the time the most recent number had finally come to an end, the bar was positively humming with energy. Gone was the quiet atmosphere that had plagued the room before, the deflated vibes of a group of socially-shy people now swept clean. With one hand parked on the curve of her hip, Aurora surveyed the lively bunch with an air of subtle pride. This was no party and yet she felt as if the night deserved to be danced away on an open floor, pretty glasses of sparkling champagne included. Loud chatter filled her ears, different snippets of conversations entering one and exiting the other. All she knew was that she'd managed to get the people up and engaged, and that was all that mattered to her. 

The hand that held the mic weakened its grip, fingers loosening as she set it back into its stand and took a step away to plop down onto her stool. New faces had entered the establishment at some point during her performance, but she hadn't noticed them at all before. Now, it was a game to try and pick out who had managed to slip in and who had left. Memorizing the audience wasn't a part of her job; but finding potential faces to seek out during a lighthearted segment of the act most definitely was. It was hard to find people who would well-receive playful banter at first glance, but over the months, she'd managed to perfect the skill that came with reading people in a multitude. Somewhat, anyway.
_ _

"I have to say, you guys are an amazing crowd! Cheers!" Leaning down, Aurora picked up her bottle of water and raised it high, a delighted laugh flying from her mouth as the audience went ahead and mimicked her action. An ecstatic *Whoop* Of approval arose from a thick clump of people sitting nearest to the stage, their own glasses dancing in the air like beacons. Standing up, Aurora made her way back to the microphone, her water still held in one hand. Its contents sloshed, the few pieces of ice she'd managed to shove inside now swaying pitifully in their low numbers. 

"Before we near the closer for the night, I think it's only fair that we thank the staff for helping us. Mind you, you guys may not have even noticed it, but these people all came together to give you guys a good experience. The bartenders," She began, turning and waving jazz hands at the employees across the room. Under the soft glow of the overhead lamps, some waved, and others called a swift thanks before ducking out of view to return to their work. Swiveling back to her original stance, Aurora squinted, delicate features momentarily scrunched beneath the blinding lights of the stage. With mentally crossed fingers, she waved her open hand in the direction of what she sincerely hoped was the pub doors. Should she be waving in the *Wrong* Direction, she only hoped that whoever she *Was* Waving at was friendly enough to return the misplaced gesture... Even if she couldn't see them. 
_ _

"And to our bouncers! Thank you for keeping us all safe tonight." The waving hand faltered in its movements, the arm carrying it tired by now. It was *Hot* In this building, and already, Aurora's feet were killing her. The thought of kicking her heels off once this was over and jamming them into cozy house slippers was an idea that was steadily growing more and more appealing with each passing minute, but she held steady. One last segment and then she could go. Right? Right. The little burger sliders that the bar had been offering during the show were gnawing at her mind, causing her stomach to practically cave in with displeasure at the fact that she hadn't eaten much tonight beyond last night's meager leftovers. 
_ _

"To finish off, I really want you all to leave this place with at least *One* New friendship established. That's why... Drum roll, please!" Soon enough, hands began to steadily pat out a rhythm on tables as the guests peered around, eyes bright with curiosity. When she was sure that they'd had enough, Aurora held one finger up and slowly looked to her left, then her right. *Silence from the crowd.* Lips just a few inches shy of brushing the mic, the singer lightly shimmied her shoulders, dark curls shivering with the movement. And then? She loudly whispered into the microphone. "We're doing karaoke. Everyone, please locate a partner to sing a song with. It *Cannot* Be anybody that you know. This is a bonding experience! Think girls in a club bathroom, but we're all sober. Well, that was a lie. *I'm* Sober," She said, voice returning to regular volume as she watched the people begin to migrate between their tables, some shy, others bold in their quest to find their buddy for the last event of the night. 
_ _

Clasping her hands together, she stretched onto her tiptoes to scan the bunch of heads, as if searching for one face in particular. It was a tedious task now that the masses had begun to shift and move about, but in the end, she found *Exactly* Who she was looking for. Sitting on the edge of the stage, Aurora gingerly scooted off and jumped down, one hand moving to straighten her dress up while the other swept stray hair from her face. After a parade of *"Excuse me, sorry,"* She finally hauled herself from the sea, coming to a stop right in front of the bouncer she'd spotted from before. She prayed her stomach would maintain the last of its dignity and mute its growls for now. The last thing she really needed was a new *"That was so embarrassing"* Thought to dwell on whenever she couldn't sleep. "Hi! I'm Aurora. And you are?"
Doris
His shift's mundane presumptions were altered by the woman in the black dress, with her honeyed tongue and fetching individuality. The time he had spent under the pub's employment had not been expansive enough for him to faultlessly know what to expect, but there was customary routine. Humans engorged improper doses of vices as if they were expected to be gluttonous, but in recent times had there been a developing apathy. Eyes affixed upon the droning luminescence of phones, with souls that had become vacated by concrete cities and material desires. In a social space, men and women tended to often remain in the smallness of their circles. A drink or two would be had, and very little would follow. Niklas found such a fatuous attachment to it all. He did not know the taste of a life with a surplus of time.
⠀
On this night, unlike others, there were no stragglers. There was little space to be had to one's self, now. If there had ever been distance, there were drifters no longer, with groups blended into one. Each one of them were at her will. Each of them, branded with a smile, except for him.
⠀
His stance had not changed— he stood, arms crossed and still as a stone. Figures that were arched over granite countertops had slithered away to her warmth. The pub breathed and emptied its lungs with them, and there was less and less of a corner for him to brood in with the inflated crowds. Niklas had known men who berated others with curses and weaponry that did not show efforts of persuasion at this woman's level. He would have envied it, but he could not apprehend her triumph, and the heights in which is towered over him. He had been sure that it could only be discovered in the naivety of children. Hers had been pocketed and transported to adulthood.
⠀

Ignorantly, he presumed that she must not have ever acquainted pain. Her compliments to him instilled nearby glances to his sturdy figure, nodding in newfound appreciation. Drunkards reveled in her sober spirit, and their delicate feelings amplified with her direction. His eyes looked over them with disinterest, awaiting the collective scrutiny to be returned to the stage. It felt stifling, and the room smelt of perspiration and mixed drinks that often spilt and clung to the floor. He wished for the familiarity of a cigarette and the crisp night air. There was a low–cost watch attached to his wrist that he wished to gauge, but he did not. Her production was nearing its final act, and he would leave shortly after.
⠀
*"That's why... Drum roll, please!"*
⠀
Habitually, Niklas glanced from her to various doors scattered throughout the layout of the building. A guest, perhaps. The only thing worth noting had been a man stumbling out of the bathroom door, grappling with the fly of his jeans. It was silence that he preferred, yet it unnerved him here. An impermanent thing, for it was demolished with her announcement. Actively, she persisted to challenge the reservations of mankind. Niklas judged stumbling men as they confidently strode up to prettier women. Some locked arms with strangers in the confidence of booze, and he held his chin high, an untouchable thing. A prop, a weapon. Compliments, propositions, even insults slid from his shoulders in the pub's ferocity. He was not paid to engross himself in their vigor, and he was fortunate for it. Niklas was not receptive to the singer's absence upon the stage until she stood before him, bright even without proper lighting.
⠀

He was not used to this.
⠀
With a delayed pause, Niklas stared down at her. She stood only a fraction below his shoulders, and he was sure that her heels were granting her advantages. Her skin was more radiant than his own, and her hair bounced with her step, glossy in the light. In doubt, he had not yet processed why she came to him. Her introduction lingered in the air unattended for longer than it should have. "Niklas." His arms fell from their closed position to imply engagement, but he did not extend a hand for her. The tone of his voice was kinder than it had been to the woman prior, but he lacked mirth.
⠀
He would remember her name, but kept social distance. "Miss, you should return to the stage. Men do not always keep their hands to themselves here. Do you need..." Niklas saw it, now. The blended crowds, still meshed and miscellaneous, appeared more uniform by her request. In pairs of two, with some of those pairs glancing to them. Some became stricken with amusement, as if his reservations were an addition to Aurora's theatrics. Men looked at him with envy.
⠀
"*No*," He spoke it instinctively, peering down at her. "Ah... I cannot sing. On the clock." Two excuses into one, how convenient. He blinked down at her, as if her wrath of sweetness was more alarming than acts of violence. Niklas felt that it would not be enough to deter her.
Josephine
*Niklas.*

** ** The name hung in the air like a heavy storm cloud, and for a heartbeat, Aurora considered entertaining the idea of a little umbrella just in case the pub ceiling cracked in half and allowed punishing rains to pelt the people below. Each raindrop would be a syllable of his name. *Nik-las.* But alas, the place remained as it was, missing any ominous rumbles of thunder. Aurora stuck her hand out, then quickly put it back down and nodded, puckered awkwardly as she continued to stare at Niklas.
_ _

** ** "Right, right! I-uhmm..." Just behind the two, the people who were participating had already finished pairing themselves up, now mingling with the groups closest to them as they waited for their wayward host to get their show back onto the road. Tossing a swift look at the messily aligned duos, then back at the bouncer, Aurora rapidly fluttered her lashes, startled as he immediately blurted out the word *No.* Her mouth opened, then shut, before the corners slowly tilted downwards in the beginnings of a frown. "Wait, sir, you didn't even let me finish!" Doe eyes softened past their typical roundness as Aurora pressed both hands together in a pleading gesture. What fun was karaoke if you didn't have a buddy? She'd already sang solo! 

"Please, please, *Please,* It's just *One* Song!" For absolute emphasis, she put up one finger, wide eyes still beseeching in their quest. The people were waiting. She could feel the burn of staring eyes, searing right through her back like laser beams the longer she stood there in front of Niklas. She needed to do something to diminish his excuse, and *Quick.* But what was there to do? She was working on limited time with even more limited resources. All there was to do was to think, think, *Think.* 
_ _

** ** "You can even pick the song, but I don't mind choosing if you don't want to!" Leaning past Niklas, Aurora flashed a bright smile at the muscled man parked just a few feet over from him, his head held high as he watched the crowd shuffle about. He didn't quite seem to notice her until the very last second, hooded eyes slowly trailing down to fix her with an expected look of confusion. The arms he'd crossed over his chest visibly tightened their barrier as the girl continued to stare, hugging himself as Aurora slid up beside him and rose onto her tiptoes. Cupping a hand at the side of her mouth, she whispered something into his ear, hasty glances tossed back at Niklas here and there. Whatever the conversation was, after a few loose nods from the receiving guard, Aurora squealed a delighted *"Thank you, you're awesome!"* And spun back to Niklas. Trouble had finally arrived in the form of confirmation from his unknowing coworker. Without even knowing it, he'd managed to set Niklas up. 

** ** "Your friend said that he would cover the doors for you for exactly ten minutes, and that's enough time for two songs! But we're only doing one, so it's okay! That means you'd have five more minutes and some change to have a water break and you know..." Her hands flailed, as if the answer was just out of their reach. "... You know... Guarding! Bouncer work! And I promise to talk to your boss if things hit the fan. I pinky promise."
_ _

** ** And with those words, Aurora did just that. Sticking out her little finger, she tilted her head, smile ever present as she watched Niklas, peeked down at her finger, then back up at him. It was at that moment that she realized that he may not have even known what a pinky promise was. Or maybe he'd been taught, but had forgotten. Either way, that all didn't matter. "You hook your pinky with mine and then it's a promise!" She cheerily explained. In the recesses of her mind, she'd already begun to browse through her mental catalog of songs that fell just under five minutes. Plenty were three minutes. Four at the most. They could do this!

** ** ( ||
Doris
The rejection to her proposal came from him harshly, like a justified verdict. It came as no revelation when others were discouraged from speaking to him. His eyes were sharp and stiff, and his body habitually retreated to walls and corners, even when he was out recreationally. Niklas seldom spoke unless he was directly addressed, and when he did, there was very little to say. The man's tone held the tips of daggers, and his mind felt placed in a foreign, outlying land. It would be a trek to unearth his truths, and in such a material world, people found complexities to be distasteful. It did not pain him to be alone, or to be unforthcoming. If that was the way of life, then he would settle for it.
⠀
She gaped up at him with a delicacy that made him second–guess himself. The woman had not been fazed by the mere frigidity of his facade. Her frown, one thing he might have predicted, was passing just as he eyed it. Niklas looked at her hands, planted together in the urgency of her plea, then back to her face. He did not show any sign of feeling other than his average reticence, but the winding cogs of his mind sped. Had she not been disheartened by his refusal? It would be simpler for her to turn on her heels, to retreat to a sociable face. Would it not? She stood in his space without faltering, and he was both irked and stumped.
⠀
Her persuasion was doing little for him, even with the individual finger shoved his way. If he chose to deny her a second time, he could not be certain that she would surrender. Her eyes held the sugared sweetness of an animal's, without corruption or ill–intent. It felt unkind to tarnish it— even for a man such as himself, with gargoyles and phantoms that perched on his shoulders. The eyes of patrons were unsure and heavy, and he ghosted over them carelessly.
⠀

Internally, Niklas was concocting a rejection of her offer in a way that was as gallant as he knew how. To place blame on his responsibilities as a bouncer felt appropriate, but he knew that it was his spirit to blame, a soul which lacked vibrancy. Her smile kept a devoted consistency, and he questioned if her cheeks ever ached from her own exhilaration. He felt it moving away from him, pulled to another— his head turned to the fellow bouncer to his right. There was a relief that lightened the overcast of his eyes. She decided on her own that she might have better chances with the other man that remained, he thought. From what Niklas judged from the man, he agreed.
⠀
Her hand curled over the man's ear, and their eyes infrequently glanced in Niklas's direction. Yet again, she was overstepping and disarming him. Her delighted squeal was his war–horn, and his arms went slack at his sides, as if he knew what was to come. His defeat.
 ⠀
"My *Friend*, huh..." Niklas looked to the bouncer who was feigning a dimming smile, avoiding the glare that was putting a hole through his flesh. He would remember to humble the bouncer the following day, or reciprocate the gesture with an act of retribution; whichever came first. The mention of two songs reeled his head back to her direction, and he was hushed before he could speak. To imagine himself belting out a single song felt like an entire production, and his displeasure was visible in a grimace. She had produced a solid claim, one that he could not shove aside. There were no excuses.
⠀
If he disliked the job for other reasons, he might have submitted his resignation in the form of a bruised blow to the bouncer's jaw. Niklas grinded his teeth, unclenched his hands, and submitted.
⠀

"One song. That's it," He spoke carefully, as if he was a father ridiculing his cunning child. Niklas took a small step forward, withdrawing from the familiarity of the wall. A pinky promise felt stuck in time, wrapped in a veil of guileless sentiment. It reminded him of the little purities of his past, and he blinked the memories away. Slowly, his hand came up, and his pinky finger looped around hers. Her skin was warmer than his, and much softer. Once it was done, he tore from her touch.
⠀
"Pick a short one, then." He nodded to the stage, encouraging her to lead. An ingrained need to protect still hovered over his ambiance, watching the movements of others and their distance from her.
⠀
||
Josephine
** ** For a short time, Aurora wondered if her efforts would be fruitless, vain in their work. The hand that hovered between she and Niklas remained in place, pinky slowly beginning to tremble in its endeavor to keep still. Her arm had begun to ache, and again, her stomach rolled itself over in its displeasure at the utter lack of attention that'd been paid to it. Eyes falling back to her shared half of the promise, Aurora pursed her lips. Just how severe of a blow would it be should she be sent back to the stage empty-handed? She didn't want to think about the idea, but it was one that was steadily surfacing. Already, she'd begun to scribble on the mental drawing board in the back of her mind, jotting down major Plan B, C, and D. Each included jumping ship in one way or another, but each with different degrees of their own. She could strap her life jacket on, walk the plank, and-

** ** His finger hooked itself around her own with a reluctant tug. However, reluctant or not, the action had been made. *The promise was done.*
_ _

** ** "Oh, yay!" Aurora exclaimed, her hand diving down to take the one Niklas had wasted no time dropping. Before he knew it, the two of them were marching their way through the scattering of tables and guests, the stage their shiny beacon just on the horizon of swiveling heads. Only once did they stop, and it was merely for Aurora to request the speakers be open for connection from her phone. From then on, the whole way to their destination, she chattered away, conversation flowing from her end as if the two were best buds who hadn't seen each other in months. *"Do you like your job? How long have you been working here? Do you know Katy Perry? I think we should do a Nicki Minaj song. Can you rap?"* Social anxiety, big as it was in the eyes of others, cowered in a sad little pile at the feet of a girl who spoke as if she knew the world from its sparkling new face to the old age it stood at now. She need not fear the silence when she could fill it on her own. If Niklas had somehow managed to find an appropriate time to slip in a response to Aurora during one of her short breaths, it fell on deaf ears, wasted in the gentle instrumentals of the pub as both came to a stop. 

** ** Releasing Niklas' hand, Aurora reached for the rails of the staircase and cleared the entire thing at a brisk pace that shouted *Enthusiasm.* She'd secured a karaoke partner; one that was willing to let her choose what they would sing. One song, he'd said. One said, she'd promised. The deal would be upheld. So the song itself didn't matter, right? 

** ** *Right.*
_ _

** ** "This is such a good turnout," She said, bringing the mic closer to herself again as she resituated herself on the stage. She needed to do this and do it *Fast* Before her ten minutes were up. Eyes raking their way through the partners as if she were shopping, Aurora did a speedy head count, then waved at the audience. "So how this will work is two teams will come up to the stage and have their sing-offs, then rotate with the next round of participants. The people who aren't actively singing will place their votes on a tally, and we'll count them all at the end. Can I get a yeah?" Tucking her hand just behind the shell of her ear, Aurora canted her head to the side to listen. Her requested *Yeah* Was thrown back at her in a flurry of volumes, and she nodded vigorously. Pointing out to the first pair nearest the stage, she waved for them to join she and Niklas. "My name is Aurora, and this is my karaoke partner, Niklas. We're singing Starships." The proverbial band aid ripped off, there was no room for any argument from Niklas as the crowd erupted into applause as the chosen pair mounted the stage to join them. Tonight, *They were rappers.*

** ** ( ||
Doris
Niklas did not go without her warmth for long— as if she had done it times before, she took his hand, guiding him with the ferocity of a beacon. He was stricken by uncaring waves, thrashed about in the proximity of the cliffside, and she would be his beaming watchtower. Aurora strode with purpose and distinctive strength. At the wonder of her being, he found himself meandering away from his vigilant gaze of the surrounding crowds and only to her. It was an unspoken, undetermined thing, why he did not allow his hand to fall from hers. He could anticipate the presence of her smile even as he stared at the back of her head. Niklas was teetering between the dread of his circumstance and the perplexing nature of her spirit.
⠀
The high–spirited questions pelted a wall of stone. There was little opportunity to answer them, for she spoke with her ongoing thoughts, and he kept his mouth shut. The two of them stood among a plethora of varied clatter, and it was only her voice that felt comprehensible. The steps taken were stirring the scent of her perfume, and it seized his nostrils viciously. Her hand was comparable to the sleekness of satin— was it feasible, for a woman to be so deprived of physical fault?
⠀
Not many took interest in him. Not in ways of such normalcy, he thought. His mysteries brought questions to those that looked closer, and they were met with his mental stronghold. It overwhelmed him, to be fascinated by her relentless curiosities. He thought of his brother, and how he might have liked her. If his brother were here, perhaps Niklas would be graced with a smile. The thought nauseated him, and it fell away as they halted.
⠀

He, in exaggerated leisure, took the stairs after her. She uttered to the microphone as he stood upon the stage, and his eyes observed adrenalized patrons with reticence. He was not debilitated by anxieties, rather a resting face of disinterest. Still, he was not immune to the excess of attention that stifled him. Niklas inhaled, holding it for one, two, three, four— until it ached, and he was compelled to accept his disposition. With stiff steps, he crept closer to her, yet the shadows were more fond of him than her. Replicating the stance of a bodyguard, he crossed his arms, listening.
⠀
His name felt unfitting to be shouted, and his stature felt misplaced at the attention of a stage. *Starships*. Of course, he would not know it. The man paid little mind to the pair that were occupied with the stairs to join them, and he kept to Aurora, hoping for her ability to overshadow him. The moon was no match for the glow of the sun.
⠀
"Du bist ein narr, Nik." He whispered in a gritty murmur to himself, and accepted his fate.
Josephine
** ** From start to finish, Aurora couldn't help but to wonder just how she'd managed to rope herself into this type of situation. It was as entertaining as it was perplexing, and when the music finally finished, both pairings grinning at one another from opposite ends of the stage, she finally took the time to look over at Niklas. Throughout the majority of the song, he'd mumbled his way through, staring down the words on the pub's backlit screen as if they were a sacred text of some sort. She hadn't expected him to know any of it. Not the name, not the artist, not the words, *Nothing.* But with any luck, nobody in the audience would've noticed the slur of unintelligible words. Not the mumbles, not the random, inconsistent pauses. 

** ** Amid the smatter of applause, the hoots and the cheers of mouths worked by drunken brains, Aurora waved at the remainder of the audience below, then took a single step back. Back into the soft shadows that crowded the edges of the stage; back into the minors. Her hand reached for Niklas' again; tentative this time, the eager demands of her tugging arm gone as it'd been previously. No longer was it their turn to brave the group of faces and their thousands of wide, watching eyes. 
 _ _

** ** "Thank you for singing with me," She began, throwing one final peek over her shoulder at the center of the stage as a new pairing mounted from the sides. Waving as a duo slipped past she and Niklas, Aurora nodded towards the stairs that the others had just climbed. It was a silent invite; a question, unvoiced, that asked for his own input. "I didn't want to do that by myself. I could've asked for someone from the crowd, but I saw you and you just looked like you could use some cheering up." A hand waved towards the strip of a bar, dimly lit and partially active and guests continued to trickle in and out of the establishment. Some were drawn by the promise of food, good drinks, and fine company. Others were there and then they were not, swiping their cards, collecting their drinks, and disappearing just as quickly as they'd come. The food that she'd so badly craved earlier waited over there, just out of sight behind the uneven line of turned backs. The food, a reward that she was absolutely *Positive* That they'd earned, and yet, the time didn't seem to permit. Job restrictions didn't seem to permit. She'd begged for ten minutes; had clung with fierce determination to the request. To the small escape of interacting with someone who didn't care how she looked onstage. Ten minutes that still stood, but had begun to dwindle faster than she'd been ready for. The sand in the hourglass was reducing itself to mere grains. *How much more time did they have?*
_ _

** ** "I just wanted to see you smile because it's a Friday and it's supposed to be a good day for everyone." Aurora clasped her hands together, large eyes darting back at the stage as the next round of guests began to sing. From what she could hear, the Backstreet Boys had made a clean comeback via a new modern take. *'I Want It That Way.'* She would listen if she had half a mind to dwell on the song. Instead, she was counting down in her head. Was the man in front of her keeping track too? She didn't know; wasn't sure if she *Wanted* To know. There was a split fork of a path of choices on what Niklas keeping time could've possibly meant. One: he valued his job and strived to do it right. He was keeping track of the invisible clock to make sure he didn't overdo his brief relief from guarding the doors. Two: karaoke had been the worst moment in his life, and the more cycles the minute hand did, the closer he was to being able to call it quits within bounds of their pinky promise.
 
Truth be told, option two was sour in comparison to one.
 
** ** "I don't want to keep you if you have to go now. I know I asked your friend to cover for ten minutes. But did you at least smile? Once, maybe?" A hint of hopefulness colored the brunette's words as she asked the question. She'd tried her best. Perhaps he would look back on this moment and realize that he'd forever hate Nicki Minaj, but Starships were meant to fly, despised or not.
 
** ** ( ||
Doris
It would not be his most favored memory, but there had been worse.
⠀
Niklas knew of too much misfortune to voice irritation into the exposure of the microphone, and his ears were not capable of burning sheepishly. The music, chirpy and zealous, did not suit him. No matter the unlikely appearance of it, it was occurring. Eyes of brown followed quick–moving words, and his tone remained a neutral mumble tucked beneath his lips. Her voice acted as his guide, and it eclipsed the darkness of his shadow. She was as soothing as the mourning dove, perched near one's bedroom window. It must have been a treat, to be gifted in the ways that she was. Surely she could hum her own lullabies and put herself to sleep.
⠀
It ended, to Niklas's surprise, abruptly— he anticipated that it would feel longer, yet it did not. His brow was fixed in a stiff, unamused furrow, yet the cogs of his mind turned with softer emotion. He preferred the hideout of the corner, the crutch of a wall, but in her company did he feel alarmingly mundane. The approval of the pub's patrons did nothing to him, but they waned into a blur. It was only her touch that took him to the darkness that he was most acquainted with, his head lowering to look at her. Even here, she was shining. He did not let go of her hand, but did not do much to hold it, either. A sign of indifference. He cared more than he knew how to show.
⠀

``"... You just looked like you could use some cheering up."``
⠀
It was another tally to the record of remarks regarding his low spirits, and yet it struck him. Niklas gave her thanks a quiet 'mmh', but the deep reverberation of his voice caused it to remain noticeable. He followed her, and his hands fell by his side, thinking. Why did she care? For a man that was adept in detecting the worst in others, he could not find it within her. She spoke with a cadence that was not so enlivened— softer, a little intimate. The somber after–party with few attendees. Out of habit, he had been keeping time. He promised her a fleeting fraction of it, as if his time was such a valuable thing to barter. He knew that it was not. Tick, tock. The seconds were slipping by him. He felt aware of it now, more than before, more than he had been on that damned stage.
⠀
He was listening to her words, and carefully. There was a focus in his eye that did not always show itself to others, and it quietly translated to a genuine concern. Aurora spoke and filled the silence, but Niklas relished in it, unsure of what to say. With her gesture, he was attentive, and stood by the bar alongside her. He was familiar with the smell of the food and the taste of the drinks. The clinking of glasses was a monotonous sound, and he was falling into it.
⠀
``"Did you at least smile?"``
⠀
His face threatened to break from its placid restraints and glow with tender nobility. Who, other than the seraphs of god, spoke in such a way? He blinked, and he was sure that his uncertainty was visible to her, lips twitching.
⠀

"It is fine. My 'friend' can wait." His lips lifted into a dying half–smile. It was all that he could give her, but it lasted for enough time to see— it was the silent approval, the fulfillment of her hopes. Niklas partially leaned into the countertop of the bar, nodding for her to request something for herself. He did not know what this was, the way that he was looking at her; the way that he looked to crowds as if they could steal her away.
⠀
The silence felt comfortable. The stage's music was not so perceptible when it was not her's, and now that it was still, there was a fatigue resting below his eyes.
⠀
"I'd been thinking it was a Thursday," He spoke, and his initial tone of strictness faltered. The statement was delayed, but it meant something. "It is a better day, now." Niklas edged it with the subtlest of wit, hoping to please her; his hands folded over one another, eyes peering to the calluses of his knuckles. The man looked up at her, searching her face.
⠀
||
Josephine
** ** At his words, Aurora's hands interlaced themselves in front of her, finding a cozy resting spot against the lower half of her torso. There came a flutter of relief, and she fought down the urge to crack a big smile. After all, she didn't want to spook him back onto the strict time limit that had once existed before. A part of her didn't know *What* To do with the new time. She'd planned everything beforehand when she'd been running off of limited minutes, restricted seconds, but now? An open expanse loomed. Possibilities, opportunities, ideas. "Do you want something too? There's..." Aurora cleared her throat, pointing at the overhanging television screen of the bar. Digital, it slowly streamed each option, focusing on tonight's burger and fries specialty before it inevitably hopped back to the football game that had been playing. The scores were greatly unbalanced, and she had a feeling that by the next time the menu had cycled around and came back, the game would be over. "They're selling these really good burgers tonight! I could smell them from the stage and I was literally *Starving.* I'd feel weird if I was the only one eating." 
_ _

** ** Aurora's honeyed voice trailed off as she eyed Niklas with a look of hope. All the words in her head had managed to fizzle themselves up into dry shells, weighing heavy on a clumsy tongue as she twisted to glance at the bar, then brought her attention back again to the blond. It was far easier to see him here where the light cast a gentle glow on his stern face. Features, hard and fixed, and yet, she was glad that their brief round of karaoke had managed to draw a smile, even if she hadn't been able to see it. Now, shadows lightly washed over his jaw, the strong hint of a five o'clock shadow adding to the depth of his face. Serious eyes, dark and stormy, set just beneath brows that'd been furrowed not too long ago. He was an enigma, but a pretty one at that. Pretty like the night sky when rain had finally cleared, leaving behind the scent of fresh grass and the clarity of bright stars. Another flutter — surely, still brought on by relief's shot — and she untangled her hands, leaving them on the edge of the countertop as she listened to the sound of hoots and cheers for just a heartbeat. Yet still, her eyes lingered, and she wondered for a time if this was what it felt like to watch a shooting star split the clouds.

** ** Maybe, more or less.
_ _

** ** "Well, surprise, surprise! Welcome to the weekend!" Aurora offered a display of jazz hands, then quickly dropped them back onto the counter. For her, talking was as easy as A B C, and yet she'd never felt more tongue-tied in her life. Public speaking would've never left her ears burning like this. She had half a mind to believe that she'd somehow gotten a fever and was falling gravely ill, but logic proved that to not be the case. Those eyes were watching her. 

** ** Again, her stomach flip-flopped, practically turning a cartwheel around itself. Logic, logic, logic. It was simply the efforts of fighting to figure out things to say before the silence stretched for too long and he decided it was due time to take his leave. When he left, the night would go back as it was, and she'd finish her job. Routine. *Standard.* She'd clock out and hand her badge back to the manager. Wave goodbye to guests who'd long since forgotten the buzz of the night, rushing to refill their empty glasses and numb their already foggy minds. She'd drive home, and she'd kick her heels off; left in one direction, right in the other. Last minute texts would be checked, and then it would be lights out. Routine. *Standard.* Do it all again, *Repeat.* Niklas had managed to throw a wrench of change into her schedule. Something modern, something *New.* She despised mundane realities, and it was all she could do not to cling to the newfound swap with nails embedded deep. Ten minutes were no longer on the drawing board, but eventually, a time limit would be reached. She simply hadn't a clue when.

** ** *Don't be silly.*
_ _

** ** "Do you come here often?" A pause, and her words registered in her own head. Snapping finger guns at him, she nodded. Smooth, girl. *Smooth.* "I mean, of course you come here often since this is your place of work! How long have you been employed here, I meant?" Smooth as smooth could get. Aurora quickly faced forward, staring wide-eyed at the bartender across from her. The man paused, ginger hair flopping into his eyes as his expression slowly twisted into confusion at Aurora's gaze. "Is water free?"

** ** ( ||
Jeff
Dionysius. The very thought of even entering a pub dedicated to a god of excess and a lack of self-control was enough to make his skin crawl. They were half brothers. Son's of a god that made sport of tricking mortal women and leaving behind a horde of bastards they paid no mind to. Some were special, such as the pair of them, but he would not put it past their shared father to use the bacchanalia of old as a hunting ground for his next victims. Yet, if a demigod wanted answers, he could not linger in the shadows forever. 

The afternoon brought with it a typical summertime shower. Something brief yet intense that made it reasonable to dress in a way that would hopefully not draw too much attention to one's self. Then again, he had perhaps dressed down too much for such a grandiose establishment. The very look of this place felt opulent in the way he could only consider with Olympian divinity. Privately, as he had traversed the short walk from the front door to the bar, a fantasy of running through the support structure to bring down the building tickled a pleasant spot in his mind. What stopped him was the others drinking their afternoon away. He was not like them. Hercules did not believe in collateral damage. 

"Honestly," He mused, "Few here would likely recognize me." Those more knowledgeable about the children of the divine might have discerned his prominent jawline and light blue, yet intense eyes. Others might have noticed that mortal men were not typically built like him. The height, or perhaps the width of his shoulders, was just too perfectly proportioned. Everything about him hinted at divine favor, and he had hoped it could all be concealed by the application of a beaten baseball cap he'd purchased from a street vendor.

Of his many strengths, subterfuge and disguise were not among them. While he had thought centuries out of circulation would have done much, it only served to make him stand out that much more. His was the sort of face one might remember if they had seen him around town before. The brown bomber jacket he had arrived in would have helped, maybe, if he hadn't taken it off the instant he'd entered the climate-controlled room. Now, only a white linen shirt with buttons left undone and rolled sleeves kept a sense of modesty. 

The iconography in the decor made his palms itch. The walls were adorned with symbols of the gods, a stark reminder of his own lineage. His right hand grazed down the leg of his faded denim, searching to soothe as his steps carried him across the distance. The eyes his presence attracted were passed off as nothing more than idle curiosity, though it felt to him as if the room had gone silent. Perhaps he was imagining things. The sound of his own heartbeat in his ears must have faded out of the ambient noise of idle chatter in the room. Surely, he had not done anything to blow his "Cover" Within the first twenty seconds, had he?

The bartender, an older, seasoned chap, looked at the broad-shouldered brute and spoke in a reserved tone. "Good evening, sir." His voice only hinted at his age. Perhaps he was in his fifties, which might have made one underestimate him. Yet, Hercules noted a keen wit in his stare. It was the sort that said he would have already had his regular drink in the works if he had recognized him as a regular patron. Perhaps it annoyed him on some level that he could not perform such a task for a stranger. Hercules did not bother to dwell on why that might have been the case. "How may I be of service to you this ugly afternoon?"

"Bourbon." The second the words left his lips, he knew he had come across as curt. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat before adding "Please" As a form of apology. Somehow, he thought Maribel might have enjoyed that. Why his thoughts drifted to the human at this random point, he could not explain, but he decided now was not the time to dwell on a practical stranger. Instead, a leg swung over the top of the stool, allowing him to lower his weight upon the cushioned stool. His dominant hand brushed through the jet-black hair, casting stray water droplets from the summer squall to the floor behind him. 

A bourbon on the rocks was not complicated. A single ball of ice was dropped into the glass, and the older human reached for a particular bottle. "Doesn't have to be fancy." Hercules corrected. "If it's from Kentucky, it'll be fine." This caused the man to pause and then look at him before he shifted gears to grab a bottle of Maker's Mark. Hercules nodded with approval and watched as the amber liquid was poured, two of his large fingers deep. 

"Thank you." He said, this time without forgetting his manners. His grasp curled around the glass, taking a first quick swig to steady his nerves and ease the anxiety that came from being within the den of an enemy.
Herta
His fingers tapped along the plastic of the door's armrest, moving with the beat of the music that somehow made its way out of the stereo. It was likely that Conner didn't exactly like what was playing at the moment, but to be honest, they were both in the kind of mood where the music playing didn't matter as long as it wasn't loud. That kind of introspective, negative mood that soldiers found themselves sinking into in between battles, when fate hung over them and death was only a couple hours away from striking, hanging on a nearby branch like an overstuffed raven. With a sigh, the back of Odysseus's head hit the headrest, as green eyes fluttered closed and he thought back over the last month of his life.

Things were so much more hectic on the surface than they were when he was alive. Well, perhaps that was a lie, but the downtime seemed a lot more active between the major events. Before, there would be days of literal nothing, just sitting around, dueling between soldiers' tents outside the walls of Troy. Even during his journey home, there would sometimes be days or weeks at sea with nothing to do but stare at the horizon and talk about the usual subjects. Now, in the modern world, there was so much *Stuff* To do in between the action that it felt like he wasn't even able to process the important things that were happening to him. The action itself happened, and then a million minor things happened in between, and none of it was being written down into his head, despite the new wounds and sores clearly etched onto his skin. Ody hadn't even recovered properly recovered from their last little mission before they were out and about again, cruising through Olympian and looking for something else to fuck with.

For a good moment, the ancient hero just tried to get everything *Straight*, a difficult thing to do in his head... And no, that was not a gay joke, it was certainly more a reference to his predilection to constantly jump between subjects without ever finishing one out to completion. His thoughts were always half formed, the gist enough for Odysseus's brain to have before it was bored with the process, but he needed to force himself to slow down for a moment. To actually process things that had happened.

Just a little over a month ago, he'd been in Elyisum, existing as all heroes did when they passed... In a relatively boring paradise. There were mock bottles, and sports, and feasts, and books, and whatever someone might want to pass the time with, but there weren't any stakes. It was impossible to die, to get hurt, to have anything resembling consequences to your actions. It was, to a man like Odysseus, something similar to a Sisyphean torture. But he stayed there, and chose that fate, because of his beloved's desire to be safe with all their family and to enjoy eternity together. That was, until rumors started filtering into the paradise of what was happening above. Some spirits enjoyed getting out and exploring Hades every once in a while, taking a trip through the Fields toward the Styx, shouting across at the waiting spirits for the most recent events. Ody had done it himself a couple times, though not for a while... At least, not until he heard tale of a war brewing.

That was when his tolerance for the boring was drawing close to the end of the wick. Stuck in Elysium, while the gods were fixing to put together a war that could end everything humanity had built up in their distant absence? That would absolutely not do, not do at all, but the iron grip that Hades had on the afterlife meant that that there was practically no hope of him getting out to *Help*. Help humanity survive, fight back, finally let those selfish and thoughtless fucking gods know that maybe, just maybe, they had to be fucking careful about who they were fucking with.

Thankfully, he wasn't the only one who thought he'd be helpful. A little whispered word here and a little handshaking there, and Athena had persuaded Hades to let a certain strategist out of the cage again. So, in a matter of days, he was yet again dropped into the world to find his way toward helping humanity's effort to survive. It didn't take long at all for him to figure out that he'd need to find the guy people were calling Alexios and, well, apparently the Fate's agreed, because it was very hard to ignore the man getting attacked by a very obvious supernatural threat just down the road one day. After that, helping secure supplies, weapons, safe houses, get away vehicles, all sorts of supplies and goodies before finally, finally getting involved in working directly against the gods? It had been something akin to going directly from the longest marathon in the world into an Olympic sprint race without any preparation at all.

And Odysseus was fucking loving it.

Smile spreading across his face, those bright and mischievous green eyes fluttered open as he tilted his head to look at the driver of the truck. "I know ya don't really think this a good idea and all, but trust me..." Ody began, shifting his whole body onto his side, resting a hand under his head as he stared at Conner, "If we just drive around long enough, we're bound to run into someone I know!"

Gesturing vaguely out the window, the old King of Ithaca surveyed the people walking about the streets of Olympian. "Hades is playin' the center just enough to get as much as he can outta all parties... And probably given people the reassurance that when they die, they'll be safe from the war, at the very least. The fact he let me out is pretty evident of that... And it means he's open to doin' it in the first place, which means the likelihood that some other people are already out and about is pretty high. Not to mention those that never died in the first place that I might be able to nudge and wiggle into bed with us!"

Odysseus knew that Conner wasn't particularly a fan of... Well, wishy-washy plans like this one, not to mention his own more relaxed attitude when it came to fighting gods and wars and the such. They were in different parts of the journey, so naturally they'd have different perspectives on things, that was a natural part of it. He was just happy he'd been able to convince him to give the plan a chance, even if it was just for an hour or two. "Like, for example, we have no clue where Herk could be! Any big fella, like that one maybe, cou-"

The hero stopped in his tracks at the exact middle of the word, almost leaning over Conner to look out the window, then switching to leaning over the console of the truck to stare out the back window as they passed a massive man walking into Dionysus's pub. "No, even I wouldn't be that fuckin' lucky..." Ody muttered to himself, before glancing back over his shoulder at Conner. "... You thirsty?"