Chapter Text
The first thing Hermes learned about Styx Beach is that the boat guy is a goddamn asshole.
Wait, no, scratch that.
The first thing he learned, after reading a pamphlet on the plane over here, was that Styx Beach was a small town on a tiny inlet on the eastern coast of the United States, that it had been prohibiting the sale of any alcohol since 1893, and was a semi-popular tourist attraction for rich Christian families and the college kids of rich Christian families who refused to pay for their adult children to spend their spring and summer breaks getting drunk off their asses. Which come to think of it, might be why his father sent him here instead of the dozens of other properties owned by their family but-
That's not important right now.
So the second thing Hermes learned was...that uncle Hades is as much of a prick as his father always told him. He'll admit it; he'd been holding out hope on that one but even picking up Hermes from the airport was too much of a hassle for his busy schedule, and he left his poor nephew to take the squeaky rust-bucket of a bus for thirty minutes to the seaside hotel. And then Hermes had to walk from the bus station across town to the hotel for an additional twenty minutes with his luggage.
In the middle of a rainy February morning.
When Hermes arrived at the rather ostentatious, out of place, (considering the colonial aesthetic of the rest of the town's buildings) hotel, soaking wet, jet lagged, ticked off but smiling over it like he always did, his uncle rolled his eyes, actually rolled his eyes and said-
“Finally.” Hermes had only smiled wider as a twitch began under his eye.
“Finally, yes." And he made a point of ringing out the ends of his shirt on the floor that was desperately in need of re-carpeting, much to the clear ire of his refrigerator of an uncle. "Would’ve taken less time if someone had given me a ride but I suppose beggars can’t be choosers.” Hades glowered down at him, before turning away from his- his cold and drenched nephew.
“I’ll show you to your room.” Hermes made a face, but followed, nodding to the front desk girl who'd been watching with the mild interest of someone who's been staring at the weather all day.
He gets it. He really does. Hades probably hadn't wanted him here, seeing how he and Zeus hadn't talk in around five years, but to be honest, this hadn't really been Hermes choice either. He wasn't going back to college, he didn't know what to do with his life anymore, and so 'extended getaway trip to the most middle of nowhere, inoffensive beach until he finds himself so father can have his favorite guest bedroom back' was the solution they settled on.
So anyways, second thing Hermes learned was that dad was right and uncle Hades is kind of a prick. Third thing was the boat-
No, hang on. The third thing wasn’t that. He’s getting a head of himself.
The room Hades took him to was lackluster, on the bottom floor with a bed, a chair in the corner, tacky carpet, a bathroom that had seen better days, and a Bible on the bedside table. Hermes put the Bible in the drawer, fiddled with the radio alarm, found that it's broken, and then sat in the chair for a second just looking between the rattling heater, the rain slowing to a sprinkle outside, and the stain on the opposite wall.
The light fixture above him flickers for almost a minute and Hermes puts his head in his hands.
This was going to be his life for the next however many months until he feels ready to go home. He can’t tell if he regrets it or not yet. At least the view will be nice when it stops raining. At least Hera wasn't glaring at him to stop moping around her kitchen.
When he went looking for Hades after he changed into something dry, a middle-aged woman, dressed up like she was at a formal event for a charity dinner and not in the foyer of a three star beach hotel that’s seen better days, was at the front desk, harshly reprimanding the girl behind said desk in the softest monotone Hermes had ever been glad was not directed his way. The poor girl was on the verge of tears as the woman listed out her grievances in an even and unquestioning manner.
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” The desk girl simpered, cowering in most professional of manners as the woman's perfect nail polish glinted from the stuttering lights above. “But the air units can’t be fixed until the parts come in, but every time Mr. Hades goes to the shop, he says they don’t have them yet and-”
“Did he, perhaps, ask after them today?” The woman stared like a hawk, unblinking, challenging. The desk girl balked, knowing that whatever she said next may have horrible consequences and Hermes wondered if he should come back later when the fancy lady was off scolding someone else.
Preferably away from the front door.
“Oh, well, I don’t think so? He didn’t say…”
The woman must have noticed Hermes awkwardly shuffling away, as the stern tilt to her brow softened in surprise and she faces him fully. The desk girl visibly liquefied, extremely happy that the woman's attention is directed somewhere else. Hermes, for his part, was pinned to the spot, and had wanted nothing more to bolt, but if this lady was who he thought she might be, he'd have to suck it up.
“Good afternoon,” She gave him a small bow of the head and despite the fact that there were boots tracks on the worn carpet and there was a crack on the wall by the front desk right to her left, her entire immaculate ensemble had Hermes feeling five degrees out of place. There was some niggling in the back of his head that he should have been apologizing for something. “You must be Hades’ nephew.”
He was immediately sweating. Hermes has met more important people, businessmen, coaches, athletes, politicians, ambassadors, than he count on his fingers, his toes, and the next thirty peoples digits, not that they’d let him, and never had he wanted to shrink down into the scratchy fibers of the flooring and become the fleck of dust he felt like as he did in that moment.
“Yeah, yes, that’s-” Oh god, what was he supposed to do? Shake her hand? She seems above it, but Hermes brain in that exact instant was scrambling to remember etiquette let alone his own name as he raised his arm and held his hand out. “Hermes.”
She regarded his hand, her crow’s feet wrinkling just the tiniest amount as his own smile faltered and Hermes let his arm flop lamely to his side. Right, yeah, worst decision he made that day, if not ever. Glad to see she was absolute going to think he’s an idiot for the rest of forever.
It was only inevitable after she introduced herself as Nyx, the original owner of the hotel and the attached private beach and the only woman he’s ever heard his father talk about with any notion of fear, that he would agree to go down to the shop and looks for Hades' package for her after that. Anything to get the hell out of the hotel and away from that judging knowing look she kept giving him. Plus, a quick walk down the road and back might give him time to figure out how to fix that absolute banger of a first introduction.
So, yeah, third thing he learned about Styx Beach is that Nyx scares the hell out of him.
‘Down the road’ isn’t a lie as the convenience store Nyx describes is maybe three blocks away, past the well black topped parking lot of the hotel sharply contrasted by the gray sandy lane leading into the town proper. Located at the corner of a long string of knick-knack and specialty swimming/diving/fishing shops, almost all closed for the season, and across the street from a diner, the place is just in front of the docks in a two story brick building that looks like it’s seen at least seven hurricanes.
And won.
The bell above the door chimed as Hermes entered the cozy shop, eyes immediately getting lost to contrast between the chipped dry wooden floors and walls and the space between stuffed full of reasonably new metal shelves and coolers lined with product. It's rustic in the sense that it’s in need of a severe amount of varnish or even just new floors altogether. Hermes would even reason that the place is either going out of business or the owner has no sense for aesthetic, and considering the several wet shoe tracks of varying sizes leading around the place, it’s most likely the latter.
Immediately to his left as Hermes took it all in was a glass counter where a stout man with a hunch and a severely receding hairline sat, ignoring him for the magazine he’s apparently engrossed in. Hermes stood there for a moment, tapping his foot, but when the worker didn't even flinch, he approached.
“Uh, hi, I’m-”
“Look pal,” The man started, not looking up from the tabloid. Somewhere, a wall clock's second hand ticked a staccato beat. “If you ain’t even gunna look around before you come asking me for shit then we’re gunna have problems, dig?” Hermes blinked. And blinked again. And then a third and a tenth time.
“Sorry,” He shifted on his feet, the unique frustration of being halted in his tracks having dawned on him. He hates waiting. “I think you may have the wrong idea; I’m picking something up for Hades?” The guy rolled his eyes, which was a theme that day Hermes guesses, standing up from his stool and hobbling round the corner to a back room.
He’s was back there for a good minute, shuffling around and Hermes could already feel the impatient exhaustion trying to drag him down every second that ticked by, punctuated by that damn clock. Outside, waves crashed against the dockside and in here, the constant hum of the freezer assaulted his ears, sparking the fire under that frustration he'd been ignoring all morning and now, afternoon.
“Not seeing nothing here for the big guy.” The worker said, coming back and Hermes could breath again. “Might wanna ask the bossman if he’s hiding it or something.” He took his place back on his stool, back to his rag, and back to ignoring Hermes.
Hermes just stared after that, hopeful that more information would be forthcoming, but as the man flipped another page with all the passive aggression of someone who thought their time is being wasted, which is ironic-
“And where might he-” A scoff interrupted his prodding and finally, finally, the guy actually looked at Hermes from behind his massive glasses, sniffing as he gave Hermes the once over. It was only to further his picture of annoyance, but it was progress.
“Jesus pal, you new here or something?” He asked, titling his head and scratching the end of his unkempt moustache.
“I am, actually. Thank you for noticing.” Was Hermes' irritated rebuttal. The worker shrugged.
“I ain't here to keep tabs on every joe who walks through those doors, alright? He’s out on his boat probably. Out back.” He jerked his head to indicate the direction and went right back to flipping through the tabloid and Hermes might actually scream.
“And I’m supposed to know which who I’m looking for how?” The worker huffed in a laugh, shaking his head, grinning.
“Trust me, pal, you’ll know him when you see him.”
Hermes left then, certain the man wouldn't answer anymore questions, back into the foggy, chilly afternoon. His feet splashed on the wet planks of the dock, muttering to himself and kicking any loose bits of rock or sand that happen to be in his way, getting an immense childish sense of satisfaction when he heard of the debris hitting the choppy waters below. Nearing the boats, he finally started searching, potentially fruitlessly, for anyone among the crowd of white, black, and tan seaworthy vessels who might... own a store.
To the counter man’s credit, it is shockingly easy to tell who he’s looking for as there is one individual apparently dedicated or dumb enough to be out by his boat on a shitty afternoon in February like this and he is incredibly difficult to miss.
Leaning against a mid-size personal boat is a figure so exceptionally tall Hermes almost trips over himself thinking about it as he approaches. At the sound of his fumbling, the man lifts the ridiculous brim of his ridiculous hat, eyeing Hermes from behind small circular sunglasses as he comes to a halt before him, puffing out a plume of smoke from a half-spent cigarette perched between gnarled lips. Hermes tries not to stare, intrinsically understanding the need for the big hat, though it can only do so much when your nose and mouth look like it got hit with the bad end of a lawnmower.
“Uh,” Hermes helpfully started, glancing anywhere but the man’s face. If he had been sweating before, he was even worse off then as pallid arms the size of the pillars holding this dock up crossed over an equally broad black sweater-clad chest and the man waited for Hermes to get his mouth back in working order. “Sorry, just I, well, I’m looking f-for the shop owner. He’s supposed to have something for... Hades?”
For a long indefinite pause, the boat man just stared at him and Hermes could do nothing but squirm there, the distinct impression that every facet of himself was being accounted and judged. Mercifully, the guy began to move, working his scarred throat to grunt and, with all the hurry of paint drying, he took a final drag off his cigarette before plucking it from his mouth with fingers adorned with more golden rings than a jewelry shop. He dropped it to the wooden planks, crushing it under the heel of his black boot, and blew the smoke in Hermes general direction before he turned without a word and got onto his boat.
“Wait!” Hermes stepped after him, even as the man disappeared from view into the cabin. “Listen, I apologize for staring, that was rude, I'm acknowledging it, but if you could just point me in the direction of where I can get my uncle's package-”
The fact the Hermes dodged out of the way of the damp box being thrown at his head is a testament either to the boat guy’s depth perception or Hermes’ own capacity to move and he’s willing to bet money on the second. The box smacked into the dock with a jangling loud thunk, bounced once, twice, and landed on its side in a puddle with a final decisive splash. Hermes looked between it and the boat guy standing above him on his vessel, glaring down at Hermes with an amount of disdain he felt is entirely unjustified.
Which he told him.
“That was entirely unjustified. You could’ve sent me to the hospital with that!” Hermes shouted as his shock was replaced with righteous anger even as the boat guy had already disappeared and the engine came to life, cutting through Hermes’ words and the relative silence of the foggy bay with a decisive roar.
It didn’t matter how much Hermes yelled at him to come back and explain why he needed to try and give him a concussion , the man sailed off without a word or even a second glance. Which is why, when Hermes returned to the hotel ten minutes later, arms sore from lugging the twenty pound package and in need of another dry shirt, Hermes slopped the box down onto the front desk with a squelch, gave the miffed front desk girl a ‘cheers’ with a tight smile, walked right past his uncle’s questions and Nyx’s faintly amused expression, and went right to his room for a nap.
So, yeah, fourth thing he learned about this place was that the boat guy was a goddamn asshole.