minotaurus-archive

[minotaurus-archive]

theseus.

“no,” theseus reiterated. what else was there to say? the unstoppable force of theseus’s denial met with the immovable force of mino’s certainty. “you’re wrong.” but it started to crack, that denial. his arms wrapped around himself, and he stilled in a way that was so against his nature because this conversation was so against their nature. 

“you’re wrong. i don’t know how you’ve gotten it so wrong, but you did. you see, he can’t be dead, mino.” he tried to keep his tone matter-of-fact, but he could hear the quiver enter it, the rush of knowing that he was wrong, even as he spoke, even as he tried to prove that he was right instead. “i thought of hurting him, yes. i was going to hurt him, yes. but all those ways i wanted to hurt him were meant to show him – show him that we were worth more than all the wealth, the power, the fake fucks he left us for.” it was humiliating to admit, but the words dragged themselves from him, raw and desperate. 

he did not want to flinch away from mino. he did not want to flee. he approached mino despite the anger that rolled off of him; it was the first time that theseus thought the minotaur had earned his name, so animalistic was his pain. and instead of reaching for mino, theseus dropped to his knees before him. 

“i only wanted to hurt him so that he might return to us.” begging, begging him to understand. the shame of it made his face flush. but it was mino. for mino, he would shed the gold from his crown; he already had. “so that we might all be together again. i didn’t tell anyone anything. it was our business. my business. do you think i would let anyone else have that? do you think i would end him in such a pointless way?” 

he did not say: i did not hate him. he did not say: i might have killed him, once.  

he did say one word, spoken as if it was his last: “please.” 

He can feel his breath growing ragged, faster, desperate. He tries to listen to Theseus’ words, to observe with that sharp, patient eye that had gotten him far so often, but there’s blood in his ears and salt in his eyes and — it’s becoming clear that Theseus had no hand in this, even if he might have in another world, another timeline. Theseus is on his knees, he’s speaking of plans that make no sense, that make him want to grab him by the collar and push him against a wall and shake him until he hears his bone rattle. He speaks and he registers half of it, only.

Theseus says please and this is all wrong. Mino lets out a roar and whips around. His voice is loud, a near-yell: “He was supposed to be safe here!” It’s the last gust of anger, the last bit of despair, and it unveils what lingers behind it all: powerlessness. At the end of the day, the Minotaur is not a monster, nor a machine — he’s desperately human. And loss cuts like a knife. He sinks, ends up at the same level as Theseus, not too far away. Not kneeling, but rather crouching, balled up like a fist, pressing the palms of his hands in his eyes.

“He was supposed to be fucking safe here, and I resented him for it, for finding this, for leaving us behind, but at least he was safe.” He should offer explanation, or apology. For a moment, he is back in that Arcadian hotel bathroom where Theseus and him had found Ari with a knife stuck in his body and he almost wants to reside there, in that ugly memory because at least that time he had done what he’d vowed to do. Mino in stead removes his hands from his eyes, looks at Theseus for a moment, no words past his lips. There’s a choked sob, maybe. Something stifled. He wipes at his nose, breathes out, sinks down further onto the ground. 

“I believe you.” But it’s no comfort. What comfort is there, in hearing these half-formed plans meant for someone who’s dead? Disgust curls in his stomach, distantly, but there’s mostly that stab in his chest, like a phantom pain, like a twin-shared pain, mirroring the wounds his brother had died off. “Tisiphone told me, they found his body — so even if you didn’t, someone else did.” Mino can’t listen to Theseus say it again, that Ari is alive, so he hopes the message comes across, now. He opens his mouth. Closes it. He doesn’t want to say anything else to Theseus.

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theseus.

theseus had returned to his rooms after a long, long night. there had been something sickening to seeing thanatos so neatly, so nearly destroyed; there had been something unsatisfying to it too. theseus wanted to ruin, but what had happened was not ruination, it was a pure and exploding violence. 

and then the banging at his door, the pure and exploding appearance of mino. 

at first, he thought mino was speaking of thanatos, and he was almost humored that anyone thought him capable of such a feat. as if theseus angelos would beat someone senseless and risk ruining his baby soft hands? no, thank you! and then that phrase, that damnable phrase that mino and ari had so loved, that phrase that he had loved about them in turn.

my brother.

theseus blinked, the whole world shifting to the right – as if there had been an earthquake only he felt, as if it was still going and going and going beneath him now. he saw this scene. he saw them. he saw how it might end, and he felt afraid. 

“what are you talking about?” but it was there, in every piece of mino. the burning heartache, the spilling pain. the anger. and it was directed at theseus. had this been ariadne’s goal then? but that did not make sense. nothing about this made sense. “ariadne isn’t dead. he’s too stubborn to die, dear. it’s thanatos. someone had enough of him and seems to have taken their fists to every inch of his body – horrible, really, although i’m not entirely sure i blame them. and i can say that because thanatos is, for better or for worse, also still alive.” the words seemed to fall to the floor, meaningless. even he could hear how wrong they sounded. 

for there had been rumors of a body found, hadn’t there? a quiet rumor, spilling through the hallways of pontius, sending them all scattering back to hide. 

and so he repeated, “ariadne isn’t dead.”

There’s a said about grief, about the initial response to death — but there seems to be a consensus is that denial is what people tend to go for first. Mino had gone through it, had surpassed it already: had accepted the cold, hard fact that death had finally sunk its teeth in one of them and had moved onto the next logical step. Anger. Or rather, rage. A willingness to rip the universe apart with fury. To undo the very foundation of existence, because existence had ceased to be for someone he loved.

But Theseus offers denial. He denies the claims laid at his feet, even if they are laid there through angry impulse and desperation, and responds with denial. Mino can’t help it, when he starts to shake. What is it, that makes his muscles tremble? He can’t tell you. It could be the wish to drown in that denial, in the words that Ariadne isn’t dead and accept it as reality. It could also be the distrust he feels towards the man in front of him, the idea that this denial is feigned, that Theseus knows full well that Ari is dead because of yet another plan of his.

He takes a step back. His fists are balled, skin stretched to its full extent, the white of bone showing — but they hang by his body, as powerless as he feels. “It’s nothing to do with Than, whatever the fuck happened to him. Nothing with whatever fucking body I dragged from the ocean earlier, either. He’s dead, he’s dead.” He has to repeat it. He has to remind himself of this truth because he wants to flee in the reality where it isn’t true. My brother is dead, my brother is dead, someone killed him and I didn’t stop it, he’s dead. It is the cruellest mantra of all. “He’s dead. Someone killed him, and I don’t know who.”

And whoever did would pay, even if it was Theseus. He skirts away and he thinks he might cry and maybe he wants it to have been Theseus because then, at least, this anger has a direction to head in. In stead, it lingers, it simmers, it festers and rots. “So, did you? Did you do anything, did you tell — did you tell anyone on this fucking boat that Ariadne isn’t Ariadne, that he’s not Kalion, either, that he’s someone else entirely? Did you, Theseus? Did you?” 

He needs something to blame, because if there’s nothing there’s just him, and Mino doesn’t know how to redirect this rage onto himself without ripping himself apart at the seams. There’s tears again, and he whips back to look at Theseus. He wants a punching bag, he wants the cruelty that’s been allowed to grow and blossom in the depths of Tartarus. But — to unleash that on Theseus who says Ariadne isn’t dead, with a certain conviction? It’s never really been about righteousness, but still. One of the people he vowed to protect was dead, and now another stood in front of him. Who was he, if he were the one to cause harm, now? So he doesn’t. In stead he just reiterates the truth he’s still trying to grasp: “He’s dead.”

[minotaurus-archive]

Natalie Diaz, from The Hand Has Twenty-Seven Bones — : These Hands If Not Gods 

[Text ID: “Without the hand, the lamp would remain cold.

Without the hands–my unfortunate Antigones–the brother would remain unburied.”]

[minotaurus-archive]

where — theseus’ quarters when — red dawn rising, middle of the night with — @goldentheseus

He can hear it in his ears, his heart beating, his blood pumping and he almost has to wonder if his eyes are red. They might be — he’s been crying, he thinks. He can’t quite the confines of his body at present, when he shoves a Pontius security team member aside to keep walking when they’re supposed to be on lockdown the sound is hard. This is primal, familial rage. It’s not denial: that step has been moved on from long ago, abandoned in his own room. 

Death was always on their heels. He just always expected it to get to him first.

Mino knocks on Theseus’ door, or perhaps bangs is the better word. If Pontius was made of anything less strong, the hinges would creak, the wood would budge, he might even consider breaking the thing completely. But soon enough he’s there, whipping the door open and Mino stares at him, then pushes through, past him, shoulder blade against shoulder blade. There’s none of the usual warmth in this touch, . The door’s kicked shut, eyes trailing through the room and then he looks at Theseus when he knows they’re alone. “Did you do this? Theseus, I swear to Chaos, tell me you didn’t do this, that you didn’t go this fucking far —” What would he say? That Ari killed them, in a way, because Ari had taken their futures? What would he say to justify his own greed, this time? Mino inches close, his height used to its full advantage. (He knows how to intimidate, after all: that’s what he does best.) “You kill him? Did you kill my brother?” Maybe, distantly, he wonders if this is a miscalculation — but Mino has cooped up his anger for half a decade and now it is white hot, blinding, nothing else he is able to see.

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achilles​.

with: mino ( @minotaurus​)

when: after the after party

where: pontius 

There’s a headache building steadily behind his eyes, owing to the lack of sleep and the amount of alcohol he had consumed since he had stepped foot on Pontius. He keeps it at bay through sheer force of will — and his third cup of coffee, reminding himself that they were one day closer to leaving this place. Alcohol blurred the edge of his surroundings but he had found himself wanting that very thing over and over again on the visit. He is well aware of the cracks in his armour; he just can’t bring himself to care.

He is far more distracted than he usually is. He has always been able to throw himself in his work with unceasing focus. It is only one of the ways he knows to deal with Patroclus’ absence all these years but Patroclus is everywhere in this place and it picks him apart at the seams. He is never neglectful of his duties but his team is strong; he doesn’t need to direct every single task. He trusts them and he trusts Mino who had proven himself to be dependable time and time again.

He spots him at a table in the corner and heads over, clapping his shoulder. “Rough night, huh?” Achilles asks, raising an eyebrow as he takes a look at him. “I need you awake,” he sets down a cup of coffee infront of him before taking a seat across from him, “Anything I need to know?”

Mino is blinking at the reflection of the sun on the water in front of him, the spots dancing blearily in his hungover vision. It’s kind of funny, really — he feels younger than he has all of this Summit, sitting at breakfast with a hangover, holding himself together as his head pounds. At least a solution comes, a cup of coffee placed in front of him even if it comes with a rather rude slap on the back. “Fun night. Rough morning. What ‘bout you?” 

He takes in Achilles, wonders if his head pounds as his does, and Mino takes a long sip from his coffee. “Am awake, no worries. This helps. Will shovel down some scrambled eggs whenever a waiter decides to stop by and then —” He grins, puts a thumb up. Another hefty sip is taken. “Right, Thanatos got in a fight. Don’t know if it’s a security issue or just a personal one, but it seems more the latter. All else was alright at the villa. Hermes acquired a pretty secure spot so, props to him.” Another sip. “So, nothing new since we last spoke beside that.”

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patroclus.

Patroclus shouldn’t. It was a selfish question that he didn’t have the right to ask, Tartarus was it’s own kingdom and secrets and they couldn’t forget the fact the two of them were on opposite sides and are only standing here together because they met in Arcadia few years back and they share a love for nature. “I think I do. Mind that is.” Patroclus let out a deeper sigh than he would’ve liked to admit. 

Did you know I used to live-  The man you probably work under- Are you here to hurt Alecto-  Do you also have blood on your-

All the things that Patroclus wanted to talk about but couldn’t, their friendship shouldn’t go above their little shared hobby of plants, as much as there’s this pull to get closer to Mino for reasons that he wish he knew, but even the Fates won’t have an answer for him, they stopped answering his prays a long time ago or maybe they’re still keeping some in their own twisted ways. “I’m sorry.” What for? Patroclus didn’t know, but still thought that he needed to apologize anyway.

“It’s okay, I’ll gift you with a plant I’m sure you won’t kill.” Patroclus managed to smile, despite feeling like it wasn’t his usual one, but rather a sadder one. “Thank you, we worked very hard on them.” It’s all that he had after all, his work. After years of washing blood off his hands, he now washes dirt, driven by the need to forget the past and the guilt.

A boundary is set, clear as day, and Mino would not be himself if he didn’t respect it. It feels like there is something here, something crawling under Patroclus’ skin wanting to make its way out but — it’s not his job, it’s not his main objective. He’s worn out and wants simple distraction, so he nods. “Then don’t worry ‘bout it.”

Then, Patroclus offers an apology and his eyebrows knit together. Something like paranoia curls in the pit of his being, a wariness born from previously not being wary enough — was he missing something again? He takes in Patroclus, eyes moving to his hands, to his face again. “Nothing to apologise for,” he says gruffly, giving a small nod of his head. Because maybe there is nothing at all. And just in case there is, there’s now a layer of certain wariness added to the situation.

His lips grow into a smile. “Right, that’s perfect. Give me one that needs not too much light, yeah?” Eyes are drawn to his watch, time checked quickly before he looks back up at Patroclus. “It shows. D’you wanna show me to the exit? Gotta get to work, sadly. Duty calls, and all ... you certainly know how it goes, considering all your hard work.”

END.

[minotaurus-archive]

where — kalavria deck, guest quarter wing where most of tartarus’ people reside when — late night, second week of kalavria  with — @tiziphone

Ironic, he thinks when he watches a shadow approach just as he closes the door to his quarters — he and Tisiphone are like ships in the night, while on an actual ship. A corner of his mouth quirks up at the thought and he moves in their direction, not necessarily approaching them: he’s on his way out, after all, while she seems on her way ... back? He doesn’t like to presume. A hand raises, in greeting, “Tisiphone,” he adds, before signing late night? It might end up being one for him; he can feel something crawl under his skin as the end of the Summit approaches, something disquieting he needs to sit with for a while. There’s time, now, to ponder the possibility of doing what he’d vowed to avoid: seek out Ari. But those thoughts are let go off now, slipping away like water through his hands. He halts, close to her now. Signs, with a half-smile, Snack?

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where — kalavria deck, ballroom. when — second week of kalavria, after tech & tourism panel. with — @megareus​

There’s drinks again and Mino wonders if this Summit might just be an excuse for everyone to remain perfectly tipsy for two weeks. He takes a water, sparkling, with bits of cucumber and lemon floating in it. Huffs. Keeps his eyes on Hades and Nyx, somewhere in the corner of his eye but doesn’t approach. It’s Megara’s gaze he catches next and Mino takes a hefty sip from his alcohol-less drink and wants to slip away. He doesn’t, though: he approaches in stead. Through the flames, or something like it. He wishes he’d opted for something stronger, now. “Bittersweet, isn’t it? The very last panel.” He’s glad for it, especially that this one is over — something’s quite twisted, about Ari, Nyx and Hades on that stage. “Learn anything worth your while?”

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catastrophe is next to godliness by franny choi

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athena.

Athena pouted. “It’s not about need,” she replied with a roll of her eyes. “Gifts are about want. But message received, no solar lamps. Don’t worry, I’ll come up with something else.” And if Mino wouldn’t tell her his birthday, she’d just send it at some random time of year, like with — eugh, no, she wasn’t thinking about him right then.

“Report you! I would never, I’m not a snitch!” she replied, mock-horror in her voice. Her siblings might take some offense to that particular personal assessment, but Mino didn’t need to know that. She paused. “…Although, I did post on Tala about it. I might not be a snitch, but I am a journalist. I did it on private, though! It shouldn’t have gotten out.” Of course, with Tala, things were liable to explode.

“Oh, I don’t really. All I know is that they’re one of Zagreus’s friends,” she explained. “My cousin, remember? Isn’t the resemblance striking?” She laughed under her breath. “Are you and Hypnos close?”

There’s an adamancy there, a stubbornness that he’d gotten acquainted with previously when it came to Athena. He’s endeared, a bit. Mostly unsure what to do with it, a person who wants to gift him something when he’s pretty much ghosted them. “Surprise me,” he says, in the end, “But don’t feel a need to, really. You seem busy enough.”

He grins. “Good. No one likes a snitch, after all.” Then, his head cocks, eyebrows raising and amusement gracing his features. “Posting something on private as a Rhea ... is that not public, in its own way? Athena Rhea, if I ever get in trouble for plant-theft-related reasons, I know who to point a finger at. Snitch or not.” It was the very least of his crimes, and hardly the one he’d go down for. It’s silly, and it makes him feel young again.

“Oh, yes, don’t worry. I never forget.” The Rheas, with their fingers in every pie, with their numerous family members. Athena wasn’t one often spotted in Tartarus, though, he noted. “Yeah, I suppose we’re friendly. We both like plants. Hence the, er — theft. We couldn’t help ourselves, you know. That moneyplant was in pristine condition.” He grins. “It’s found a fine home, down in Tartarus.”

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circe.

“Oh.” She purses her lips as the newcomer speaks, shifting slightly in her seat. Perhaps snapping was somewhat excessive – but she’s notoriously guarded when it comes to her work ( and every other aspect of her life, for that matter ), and has been more on edge than usual throughout the summit, not only because of the pressure that came with keeping the event running smoothly, but because of the product launch that would be happening during her presentation. She was always nervous right before announcing something new, working furiously to ensure there were no bugs or errors before going live. With the recent scandals endured by some of Aegean’s most senior staff, they couldn’t afford any slip-ups.

“Alright then.” She says after a moment – it was quiet here, which is precisely why she had chosen it, but if her new companion also appreciated the sanctity of silence, then who was she to send him away? Being trapped on Pontius for the better part of two weeks with as many people as were attending the summit could be overwhelming for anybody. “I don’t know if you’ll spot a seal out here.” She adds, “Perhaps some dolphins, though.”

He really is ready to leave, not wanting to impose, not wanting much of anything. Mino made careful and precise work of dulling the parts of him that wanted on this ship. Still, he is glad when Circe relents, because in the end he does want to remain here. Comfortable, seated, finding some kind of reprieve in watching waves push and pull endlessly. He works overtime, his mind runs overtime, and really, maybe, he is in need of a break — and maybe this was where he was deciding to permit himself it.

“Yeah? Alright.” He tucks one foot behind his other ankle, keeps his gaze mostly straight ahead. Circe Ephyra doesn’t seem particularly personable and that’s perfectly alright; it fits perfectly with his own introspective mood. He chuckles a little, though, at her words. “Dolphins would be as welcomed as seals. Or some seagulls, too. How likely is it to spot a whale from here?” There’s memories of the sea, the shores near Arcadia, the shores of Tartarus, but it’s different here. “I’m Mino, by the way. Seems fair, to give you my name when I know yours.” From information leaflets, of course, not his deep-dive into Pontius a few months back. “But don’t let me distract you.”

[minotaurus-archive]

Time Is a Mother, Ocean Vuong

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patroclus.

There’s a quiet on the tip of his tongue, whatever or not Mino finds his job important or even loves his job, not to try to buy him in Pontius, but rather a general interest, a wonder if he, also, feels like there’s something missing in his life despite the work. “Thank you, I hope you enjoy yours.” A soft smile appeared on Patroclus’ face.

“I’d like to say and think so, Poseidon doesn’t shy away from taking chances.” If the acquirement of Scalpel is anything to go by. Patroclus was quiet for a moment, thought of Mino’s connections to Tartarus deep in him mind despite their conversation with Hypnos back in Olympe, he still worked for them. “I have no right to ask but-” Quiet again, Patroclus changed his mind suddenly. “Never mind, forgive me.”

A nod before walking towards the sea plants section of the greenhouse, the water that these plants needs were definitely different but it makes their beauty and usefulness all the more worth it. “These ones require special care so I wish I could gift you one, but my offer stands about most of the other plants.”

Fates. Maybe he is setting himself up for heart ache or maybe everything, at the end of the day, will lead to heart ache. Either way, Mino battles his face from turning into a grimace and nods. “It’s good work.” And it is. He can use his skills. He can be reduced to his skills and disallow himself to think about what it all means. It’s good. It’s good. He can be satisfied with it, if he tries.

There is a question, nearly-posed and then swallowed and Mino knows it’s probably for the best, if it stays there. But still, he prods. “No, ask. I don’t mind,” he says. “And if I don’t want to answer, I won’t, but what was it you were gonna say?” Curiosity itches. Maybe a hunger does, too, a kind of longing he tries hard to quell but cannot kill in its entirety. Fates. He’s tired.

The plants are ample distraction, though. He dips his hand in salt water, strokes a thick leaf of a plant. “No worries. I’d hate to get a plant, only to see it to its death.” There is enough death done at his hands, isn’t there? If only he knew that was something he and Patroclus had in common. “They’re gorgeous, though.”

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alecto.

“Probably a good choice. A safe one, and I will judge you on that alone.” Alecto looks down at their hands, stares at the lines that could be scars – age, or simply the life she’s lived laid overtop like a canvas. “Mmm, when have you ever known me to be careful? But I guess this situation is a little different.” Alecto takes a deep breath, clenches their jaw. There was a lot more to this than Mino would get out of this conversation – for herself, it was familiarity, even if based upon the fact that Mino simply wasn’t aware of her half-truths. 

There’s a finality to Mino’s words, Alecto thinks. The kind that could make a heart sink if they didn’t know better. He speaks with heart, and it was one of the first things she noticed about him. Even if she’d never admit it, even in the ring, their conversations had helped subdue some of her more illogical moments. 

“Maybe.” She doesn’t want them to leave - wants them to be right where she left them when she finally returns, but who’s to say that there’d be anything left of her once she was able to? What would Pontius make of her? A coward? A Traitor, certainly, but only to Hades’ brotherhood. It would be Poseidon she would have to stake, not the idea of what home meant and how Hades Rhea played a part in that for a very long time. Her stomach twists, and she does her best to ignore it. “We’ll see,” Alecto echos, leaning forward against the railing. “It’ll have to have been worth it, one way or another.” 

END.

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“I am not good. I am no saint. There are terrible stories in the past tense of me and only some of them I regret.”

— Mabel, Episode Twenty-Eight: Matyroshka written by Becca de la Rosa and Mabel Martin

[minotaurus-archive]

where — helicon, a hot tub  when — second week of kalavria summit with — @goldentheseus​​ & @menemycenae​​

There is something wrong about this set up. Mino is in Ariadne’s place and Theseus in his own and the place he would usually take goes unoccupied. He tries not to think of it, though, the twisted lack of a third member of their party, the way last time they conned Menelaus, his brother had still been there. There’s something wrong about it all and Mino wonders if they are testing the Fates, with this. But it’s a distraction for Theseus, something to pull him away from dark promises, and it could be a source of glee, down the line.

It has been too long, since a victory like this, after all.

So, he sits in a hot tub filled with scented oils and herbs, and there’s little distance between his own half-naked body and that of Gaia-renowned actor Menelaus Mycenae. Tonight, he is Selino Aetos, and he’s pretending to be more inebriated than he really is, some of his drinks emptied in a palm pot rather than his mouth. A line of Somnus blown away. “Now, Mene,” he says, pretending to lose his balance in the water and regaining it a few centimetres closer to him, thighs near-touching, “Tell me what it tastes of, all that fake blood. And is it a disaster to get off?”

Eyes flick to Theseus, who sits across the pair in the hot tub, and then he continues his line of questioning, “I can imagine that you might require help with it, sometimes.” He lowers his voice, as if it’s just between them, Selino and Menelaus, and no one else at all. “I thought it looked quite good on you, in that movie, is what I’m saying.” And if next time, you need someone to wash it off you ... Well, you get it.

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apollo​.

“Yes, I agree.” Apollo gives Mino a genuine nod of his head over the sentiment. He’s thankful to have the other here, considering this whole event has been a rather large struggle with him. Mino seems to take some edge off, bring some comfort. He likes that. Likes that it feels easy to talk like this. “We shall ensure it remains nice.”

Eyes glances over the other passively as he listens to him share his willingness to carry the stars. Which, of course he would, because Apollo sees the other as kind, and thoughtless in such nature. But rather than share that, Apollo decides to be playful, reaching for the man’s arm to give a squeeze. “You certainly have the arms for it, no?”

Because the next thing he knows, the question is posed back onto him and his smile drafts off the same as his mind. There’s nothing to hide from Mino, they’ve shared a great deal between each other. And Apollo’s held a lot within his own chest since things happen, it might be nice to share. “I am starting to think that perhaps I am struggling. I think I’ve been struggling for a long time. And I fear that I am struggling alone.” He turns to look over at Mino, “That’s quite a sad thought to have, isn’t it?”

Why did he decide to brand himself a fighter, all those years ago? The decades have proven that The Minotaur is much softer than his name might have you think, after all: his fists worthy weapons, but hardly all there is. There’s this, too: a quiet comfort that originated between two former strangers, once, and now blossoms still. “Good.”

The touch comes as a surprise and he does not flinch, but he does stiffen a little. But he eases soon enough, gives a soft chuckle before nodding. “I suppose so.” He does not think of it too much, not interested in thinking of his body as more than a vessel tonight. Tomorrow, again, it will be a tool, or else a weapon, or else enough to flex and intimidate where needed. Now, he just wants the stars and this strangeness.

This sadness. Apollo speaks of struggling and Mino pushes the thoughts away about how struggling can’t be a concept someone from his line of life can be too familiar with. Then, he regains his empathy and looks back at him. “That is a sad thought,” he confirms. “Why alone? Do you not have ... family, friends?” Mino is aware, of course, that what he sees in the media is fabricated, but still: it hardly seems like Apollo Rhea would be the type to be lonely. The type who had to be lonely. But then, he had to wonder, what place he had to judge. “If you want to talk about what it is you’re struggling with, it’s just the stars and us tonight.”