Chapter Text
“You ain’t drinkin’, sister.”
Persephone glanced upwards from the bare surface of the table she’d chosen to sit herself at. Things weren’t as hectic as they were when she came up, she’d been on the surface a few days, maybe a week, over one month by now, so she had the free space, but still; it was very unlike her not to want to be front and centre where she could grab at whatever she wanted with ease, and if anybody knew that, it was the god stood before her. She didn’t look at him long before waving a hand dismissively - something she didn’t realise she’d picked up from her husband along the lengthy road of marriage somewhere - and directing her attention back to the table’s wooden surface uncluttered by countless empty glasses, or bottles on a bad day. Which was most of them.
“Had myself enough at mama’s.”
Bold faced lie, that, hadn’t been a time in centuries when she’d been able to down enough of whatever into her system, it didn’t take a genius to know. Hermes raised an eyebrow at her, and she could tell the exact look he was giving her without needing to see it. No point in keeping up the lie, no, but she never had liked admitting to his victory in anything.
“Since when you started having enough?”
Persephone’s dark eyes shot up, glaring at her half-sibling in a way that told him it wasn’t the time for this, better back down while you still can. He did just that, raising his hands in surrender before turning away to tend to someone on the other side of the room. It was late, thankfully, there weren’t many guests and the one table they occupied didn’t appear to be paying her too much mind. She didn’t like mortals seeing her unfavourable sides. They saw a very specific Persephone. They saw her happy-drunk - or high, depends on what substance she favoured more in that moment, but alcohol was always easier - dancing and laughing and really livin’ it up like all the problems on top weren’t half her doing. If - no, when - her husband came early, they got a glimpse of angry-drunk Persephone. The beginnings of what would turn into screaming matches, snarls and glared directed at her husband as he took her by the hand onto that train. From then on, they had nothing but storms to judge her emotions on. Now, this? This feeling was unidentifiable. She was sober; bad start already. She was stressed, to put it lightly, but she was good at keeping her face fixed at just annoyed. This was new, this brand of nervousness, if indeed that was what it was, and she wasn’t too partial to it. This was a new situation, as well, and it wasn’t one she could drink away. Well, it was, but... not yet. Not unless it really went south, then she could think about that possibility. Hopefully she wouldn’t have to. But still, it was there.
When she first came back for spring, something didn’t feel right. Not wrong, per day, but not right. Not normal. Her energy was high, she had a good time with the mortals, including Orpheus and his fiery new girl who was as small and feisty as they come, and danced the night away to celebrate her return, but she couldn’t bring herself to finish off more than half a bottle of her favourite wine. Her stomach twisted at the thought, opting to pass it around and fill and refill the cups of her people. Orpheus made a toast in her honour and her drink burned more than what she expected. A couple days later when nothing improved, Persephone found herself lying wide awake wracking her painfully sober mind to try and think of any excuse for this that wasn’t what she knew was undoubtedly the case. Despite how unkind she could be to it, she was greatly in tune with her own body. Nothing had outwardly presented itself yet, but she didn’t need it to. This was an easy thing to identify for a goddess of her abilities.
She stayed staring at that table for what could have been all six months she was allotted for all she cared, off in her own world somewhere between realms above and below trying to fathom how on her mother’s burning earth to deal with this. She had to tell him. Even if it wasn’t definite yet, he deserved to know. It was about the only thing he still deserved from her after all he’d put her through. All of that, and now this? She couldn’t catch a break if it landed itself nice and pretty in her arms.
When the bar door swung closed, Persephone straightened her back and glanced around, over her lacy green sleeves to see if she was alone. Even Hermes’ muse boy was gone. He hadn’t been around as much, now that he had his little soon-to-be wife at his side to keep him occupied rather than opting to hang around an empty bar with his kind-of-aunt Persephone drinking herself to - were she a mere mortal like him - a certain death.
Helping Hermes out in raising that kid was the closest she’d gotten to being a parent previously. He’d been handed over unexpectedly at a painfully young age, and Persephone wouldn’t be her mother’s daughter if something in her hadn’t been inclined to comfort the poor thing when he eventually did grasp what was going on. He was a man now, technically, but Orpheus never had grown out of his boyish ways. The way he saw things, the way he spoke about the world, made Persephone want to believe it all too. But she’d lived in the world, the real world, far longer than he so far had and would go on to outlive him when his time did come to take his place in the mines with the rest of the shades down below. She’d lived in two worlds, even, the double lives she lead could not possibly be more different than one another. Nature and industrialism, daughter and wife, secondary goddess and powerful queen. She knew what it was like, in a world unguarded by song and surrounded by walls. She’d been like Orpheus once too, but love doesn’t blind you forever, brother. Eventually, you learn.
One hand withdrew from the table and fell to her lap, fingers brushing against her stomach in as inconspicuous a way she could manage. She’d expected this would happen eventually. They never planned it, no, but neither she nor her husband were opposed to having children. It would be helpful to have an heir, it might ease the ache of their arrangement in the long run. But this wasn’t how she wanted it. This wasn’t when she wanted it, either, not when the couple could hardly stand to be in the same room as one another without starting some kind of quarrel. But here it was. Not much that could be done now.
Once she was sure she was alone - with the exception of Hermes, who was necessary here, she made her mind up on what to do. This, at least, would hopefully dodge one particular verbal argument. It would open the flood gates to a brand new one, of course, but there wasn’t much between them anymore that didn’t end in some sort of fight. Alternatively, he might use this as an excuse to come snatch his wife away from the mortals earlier than ever before. If he did drag her down, she’d go kicking and screaming like some of the twisted stories of a forced marriage depicted their first meeting. She loved him still, under all of the resentment, but she’d be damned if she let him get her a whole month early.
Hermes turned his head prompted by a snap of her fingers, not bothering to complain as he’d come used to his sister’s less-than-polite methods of grabbing his attention, especially when she was actually sober.
“You ready to order?”
Persephone rolled her eyes and stood from her seat, lifting her flower filled back and placing it on the chair.
“Ain’t drinkin’ tonight, brother,” she admitted, ignoring unruly curls falling over her shoulders. “You got somethin’ I can write with?”
Hermes gave her a quizzical look, she tried to keep hers stern and unwavering. She didn’t want him to catch wind of her nerves, though she was sure he could sense they were there.
“Message to the man downstairs?” Hermes asked, stepping behind the bar and pulling out a pencil and small notepad that Orpheus sometimes used to pen down orders when the place was particularly full. His sister stayed quiet, though in her usual ways she would’ve growled out something like “of course I am, who the hell else ya see me writin’ to?”, swiping the stationary from his hand and starting out simple.
‘Husband.’
Great opening line, she thought to herself, damn wordsmith you are.
“What’s he done this time?” the fellow god asked, to which Persephone shook her head without looking up.
“It ain’t like that,” she muttered, writing something that she scored out before tearing the page away and starting anew. This was a delicate matter. One wrong word and she’d set that man off.
“Ain’t like you to pay him a compliment,” Hermes remarked with a chuckle as Persephone ripped away a second page. Again, she shook her head, still not looking up from her writing.
“Ain’t that either.”
No point in trying to make this wordy. She settled for two sentences, blunt and to-the-point and nothing her stubborn bull of a husband could misread as something different despite how talented he was at doing so. She stared at it a moment, a little taken aback by her own words. This was real, huh? She signed her letter and tore the paper off again, folding it in half as he handed it to her messenger brother.
“Take this down to him soon as ya can, and don’t you dare go readin’ it,” she told him, pushing it into his hands. “It’s important, ain’t just talkin’ his ear off this time around.”
Hermes presented an expression that read “you always say it’s important”. She responded with one that told him “I really mean it this time, brother, don’t you try me”. Were she as stupidly drunk as she tended to get, his slight doubt would be a little more justified, but this was sober Persephone. Years had worn her down, years of marriage and politics and endless arguing had taken away all the fun from most elements of existence for her were there not a bottle in hand to join her for the ride. Sober Persephone was never in a right mind to joke like this.
“Aight,” Hermes agreed with a shrug, tucking the note into the pocket of his silver blazer. “I’ll take it to him come mornin’, sister, but I ain’t mediating one’a your fights again.”
That was good enough. Persephone turned on her heels, grabbing her wicker bag firmly by the handle and trying her best to ignore than metal shine of a tragically empty hip flask inside it. A drink or two or three at this point wouldn’t hurt, really it wouldn’t, but common sense she tended to ignore when it came to alcohol warned her that she’d be far better off weeding herself off of her reliances before it was too late. But fates, it was hurting already.
“Headin’ out?”
“Mhm.”
“Can I at least know what I’m deliverin’ to your man?”
“No. Ain’t your problem, brother.”
She slung her bag over her elbow, giving Hermes a wave as she left the comfortable warmth of the bar into the far less bearable humidity of a summer evening. He’d know soon enough, her mama would sooner - that was a conversation she was not looking forward to. Her mother couldn’t stand the king even after so many centuries, much less the idea that her daughter had, gods forbid, slept with her own husband. This wouldn’t be pretty. She sighed, closing the door behind her and glancing down at her still slim body before starting the trek back to her mama’s house. She better enjoy her form while she still could, she wouldn’t stay this way for much longer if her suspicions were correct. As a fertility goddess, she was far more in tune with this kind of thing than other goddesses or mortal women ever would be. Really, it was a miracle this didn’t happen sooner, but damn if it wouldn’t have been better when things weren’t so rocky between the king and queen of down below.
Hermes glanced out of a small bar window, watching his sister’s silhouette until she vanished over the horizon. Making sure he was good and safe before letting himself take a look at what she had made very clear he was not allowed to. He’d always been quite the gossip, had Hermes, taking after the branch of family Persephone was never involved with. He wouldn’t share word around, no, he was smarter than that, he knew how scary his sister could get. Didn’t get renamed The Bringer of Death for no reason. But still. Curiosity is a powerful thing.
He slipped the folded paper from his pocket, unsure of what to expect as his eyes danced across the admittedly minimal use of words. Even then, he could not have predicted what he saw.
“Husband,
I suspect that I am pregnant. Do not come for me early, I will update you when I am sure.
Yours, Persephone.”