Jake
A desolate and foreboding prison located deep within the Underworld. Here, the most wicked souls and rebellious titans are bound in chains and subjected to eternal torment. The air is thick with despair, and the cavernous chambers echo with the anguished cries of the condemned.
Kerri
♪♪♪ "Saaaaandy, baaaaaby. I'm in miseryyy." ♪♪♪ 

The voice, purposely higher pitched than normal and cracking at all of the difficult notes, bobbed through the darkness like hobbits in a barrel. The lyrics appeared on air surrounded by distorted music notes, each one rippling through the dungeon before fading away as quick as the words were sung. Still out of sight, the source of the strange display continued to sing loud and clear for all to hear. 

♪♪♪ "We made a start, now we're apart. There's nothing left for me." ♪♪♪

A swift moving silhouette followed after the disappearing lyrics, microphone in hand as he dramatically gyrated his hips in front of the cell of his favorite prisoner. A spotlight suddenly turned on from above, shining down on Momus who was dressed in blue jeans, a tight plain white shirt and leather jacket. A perfect cosplay of Danny Zuko - greasy hair and all. 

♪♪♪ "LOVE HAS FLOWN ALLLLLL ALONE! I sit . . . And wonder why-y-y-oh why. You left me. Oooh Sandy." ♪♪♪

He paused for dramatic effect, frozen in place and staring at Cronus inside of the cage, waiting for the grand applause he expected from his audience - willing or not. When it didn't come, the whole scene changed. The spotlight began flashing red and blue, the microphone was dropped, and Momus's outfit changed from greaser to police uniform as he jammed his body against the bars of Cronus's cell and gripped them tight in both hands. 

"Excuse me, sir, but you are under arrest for not having a sense of humor." He pulled an air horn out of his pocket and blew it twice in quick succession right into the cell. "Why the long face, buddy? I was gonna let you out to stretch your legs." He tilted his head to the side curiously. "Was it my song? I should finish it, shouldn't I?" 

The spotlight went white again and he stepped back into it, resuming where he left off. 

♪♪♪ "Someday, when high school is done . . . Somehow, someway, our two worlds will be one . . ." ♪♪♪
Michael
Cronus was sick and tired. Eyes closed, head raised to the cold roof of his barely liveable cell; he had near enough given up. But he had persevered; through the absolutely devastating mix of horrific tunes and the wisecracks, the insults, the sarcasm, the pranks and of course the silly outfits. He had pushed through everything; not through a desire for something in the future but out of pure unrefined hated, spite of those children who had defied him and continued to defy him. He was King of All, the rightful ruler of this cesspit. They had stripped him of rank, of respect, of legend and even of his people. The titans were no longer seen as masters of the world; slayers of the primordials but instead as some pitiful servants of the man who had ate his children in his own paranoia.

His cell was liveable. Liveable was a strong word. Beyond the jet black steel bars and the cold exterior of Tartarus; a realm formed from the dead remains of a long gone primordial. It had a mahogany table with a slight tilt, a red cushioned rocking chair which he now found himself upon and a bookshelf of severely out of date novels. Truly hell to his titanic desire for order. It was chaotic, just as chaotic as the buffoon god that now serenaded him.

The Harvest's eyes opened in a glare as cold as ice as he stared back at Momus as he paused for effect. The pause was too long, it upset Cronus greatly that Momus couldn't even keep a proper beat. The applause didn't come, it never did.

The outfit change. The lighting. The whole fucking spectacle. It didn't amuse Cronus, it tortured him with disappointment. This was what the world had come to. Fucking Momus.

As Momus seemed to begin anew with his doomed song; Cronus finally reacted, a pristinely perfect hand lifted a moderate distance into the air. Measured with titanic precision. **"Imp. Perhaps there is a different way you could torture me this time? I tire of your song and dance. These past hundred years have been..."**
.

Cronus' nose screwed up in a look of pure disgust as he finished with a grumbling, **"Grating"**. **"Your material has gotten dry. Hast the well to your creativity truly withered away?"** It was Cronus' own attempt at torture, his rightful retribution that he had brought upon his torturer, his *Hated* Torturer. **"At least Hades permits the god of sleep to come play his games with me; you just seem to practice this... Pointless stand-up routine"** Cronus continued to grumble his hand fiddling absentmindedly with a lone drachmae.

**"If only Hades knew of your actions, he would positively throw you in here with me for how** ***Pointless*** **Your methods are"** His rant continued to spill out, Cronus emphasising the word pointless to try to bring understanding to Momus on how little he truly saw the god before him; not even to Zeus would Cronus despise someone as such but he had to remain careful. Phrasing his words more like actual criticism than as the insults they were; he would need that deniability to protect his continued existence if Momus was to ever run to Hades with desires for revenge.
Kerri
The performance went from a reenactment of the movie to a vague interpretation which continued to devolve until it was nothing but a song and dance that Momus was making up as he went. He shook his ass as he turned around and stopped with his back to the cell just to make sure Cronus received the best view of the *Cake* He was packing in those skinny jeans. There wasn't much, but he made sure to grow his cheeks and bubble them up to perfection. 

All of Cronus's complaints and criticisms went unnoticed - or ignored, no one could really tell - until the old man called his act *Pointless.* That made Momus pause, his backside still facing the cage. He turned his head to look over his shoulder, but it didn't stop until it was at a full one-eighty degree angle. 

His eyes met Cronus's, but he did a quick glance down at his own ass before looking up again. "Not hungry for cake?" He asked, jutting out his bottom lip to make a pouty face. "It's been centuries for you! Does it *Really* Matter whose cake it is?" 

A dark grin spread across his lips as he approached the bars and pressed his face between two of them. "If you don't like my singing, I can always tell you jokes." The tone of his voice made it sound more like a threat than a fun alternative. While he spoke, his hands reached up and back to grip the cell bars in each hand, further adding to the unnatural look of his body with his head on backwards.

"OR! . . . *Or* We can try poetry." He gasped as if the idea was the best in the world. "That's *Exactly* What you need." He pulled away from the bars and pressed his head between both hands to turn it back around. He took a moment to adjust it, the sound of a loud pop and a resounding *Aaaah* Afterward signifying that everything was back to normal. 

Or as normal as it could be in that situation. 

Turning his whole body around, Momus was suddenly dressed in old Shakespearean garb, a skull in his hand that he held up high. 

"There was once a god named Cronus
Who was kept locked up by Momus. 
He had to go pee
But couldn't get free
So he begged and begged for a Jonas . . . Brother. Hm. No that didn't work." 

Tapping his chin thoughtfully, Momus tried to think of a better ending, seeming to completely forget that Cronus was there.