#patroclusc

[goldentheseus]

@patroclusc​​​ location: chaos ball.  time: mid-evening.

“here’s my guess,” theseus began, sliding up to the man as if they were dear old friends and not two strangers at a ball. but what was a stranger, if not a future connection? “either you’re waiting for a specific someone to beg you to dance -- which, if that’s the case, you’re legally obligated to tell me so that i can make wild conjectures -- or... you’re waiting for anyone to ask you to dance -- which, if that’s the case, here i am.” he looked at the man expectantly. “i mean, i suppose there’s the boring answer, which is that you don’t like to dance. but i refuse to believe anyone here is so lackluster.” 

[achillespithia]

Patroclus & Achilles breakupcore ft. @patroclusc

Headless John The Baptist Hitchhiking, C.T. Salazar / Looking Blue, Jeffrey Catherine Jones & Omega Blaster, The Mountain Goats / Editors Pages: The Long and Short Of It, Richard Siken / “You Have No Form,” Leonard Cohen / Should’ve Been Me, Mitski / Complaint of Achilles’ Heel, Charles Jensen / “An Iliad”, Denis O’Hare & Lisa Peterson

[alectocarrion]

with: @patroclusc​ when: february, 2130 (week one - before everyone’s arrival) where: pontius, helicon 

When Alecto is told that everyone from Arcadia, Olympe, and Tartarus will be joining them aboard Pontius, Alecto’s heart sinks. It’s only been two weeks, and though the time had gone by quickly, it felt like years. Whether that was dramatic or not, Alecto cared very little. She hadn’t taken into account, or realized, that there was a possibility of seeing them again so soon. She’d been reassured that she’d be protected, and though she had nothing to fear ( other than the wrath of those she’d left behind with no real consequence other than a cold shoulder ), the anxiety of the situation continued to pummel her up until the night before everyone’s arrival. 

Patroclus stands by their side, and Alecto bites their tongue to keep from telling him that the company is not needed. Out of everyone -- despite the kindness of those who welcomed them onto Pontius, Patroclus had been the most welcoming. There was a certain edge to him, Alecto thought -- smothered in something, worry, maybe. Was he afraid for her on Pontius, or did the worry stem from what Tartarus could do to her? 

“You can really see for miles here, huh?” It’s a dull observation, they think. “Tartarus isn’t like this.” When they landed, Alecto had tried their best to map out the parts she remembered, but the development in the surrounding areas had created this environment anew -- or rather, constructed something entirely different of it. “It’s strange, too. I figured it’d be brighter here than in Olympe with, well,” they motion towards the sun, “but it’s not like that.” 

[apvlllo]

@patroclusc​

WHEN: Week one Kalavria WHERE: The Ballroom

He’s been buzzing for the last forty-eight hours. There hasn’t been a single come down. At this point, Apollo’s getting a little fearful of what the comedown might look like, but there’s other terrifying things he’s trying to avoid so what’s one more?

He’s in his glamour and his shimmer and he’s making his way through the one spot he is in no way qualified to be in but fuck it! Daddy doesn’t want to hear his ideas and he’s off dealing with his own mess, who’s going to stop Apollo from trying to do things his own way?

He’s busy talking to some random investor he thinks he met once when he was twelve, about some potential tech where you could replace your kidney with some balloon-type device. “So then it doesn’t matter how much Somnus you take, like, you can just ride that shit forever, and then like, swap out your kidney bag for a new one every few years.” He scans around him, only to find whom he considers to be his new best friend. “Just hear me out--- hey!” He’s leaving the conversation without a goodbye, chasing after Patroclus whose tall figure seems to be going elsewhere. “Bestie, where have you been? I’ve been trying to get you to hang.” His hand attach to Pat’s, giving a squeeze.

[herarhearp]

Who: Patroclus ( @patroclusc​​ )

When: February, 2130 - After the News & Tech in 2130 panel during the Kalavria Summit.

Where: Pontius

The entire situation was a mess. Hera had no intention of missing the panel, not when all lights would be shining on Aphrodite, but she couldn’t ignore the person sharing the stage with her friend. Public and press expected her to either avoid Zeus or attack him somehow. Instead, Hera wanted to solidify the image of a betrayed wife who knew how to keep her elegancy. The challenge there was that, before retiring, Hera had never had to play a role with the instructions “Just be yourself”.

Showing some sort of agony and frustration while she watched Zeus speak wasn’t difficult, because the irony was eating her alive. She was still hurt by his actions, but the pain was softened by his sacrifice. And his sacrifice was the very reason why she couldn’t show forgiveness in public. When the panel was almost ended, she discreetly left the crowd to disappear into a staff-only area, walking faster than necessary to give the impression that she was running away. 

She kept the pace after the door closed behind her - all of Pontius was her public now - and, in her hurry, she bumped into someone. “Patroclus, hi. I am so sorry, I didn’t really see where I was going, I just... Was trying to get away, I guess.” The fix in her posture was automatic, a woman reminded to keep herself together. Hera herself couldn’t see the line between fact and fiction anymore.

[prcmethevs]

CLOSED STARTER || patroclus cirillo ( @patroclusc​​​ ) LOCATION: some random hallways, kalavria TIMESTAMP: the kalavria summit – first week ; nighttime

It was getting late and, in all the excitement of arriving at Pontius, they might have ordered a cocktail that was a tad bit too strong. They’d walked along the unfamiliar hallway to get to their quarter, not realizing they were heading further away rather than towards, had lingered in front of a door for a little too long, completely missing the sign that spelled out “restricted” in bold capital letters in a state of disorientation.

Out of those chain of events, only three points were remotely true:  The first night of the kalavria was indeed growing old, Prometheus did order a cocktail as their closing drink of the night (and they were really damn good), and they had been standing around in that part of the hallway for quite some time now. The fact of the matter was this: it wasn’t alcohol that influenced their action, but rather the intoxicating curiosity that demanded indulgence the moment they laid their eyes on this majestic vessel. After all, Pontius was Poseidon Rhea’s his very own empire, and now the King was generous enough to open up his gates for the public. Everyone would be buzzing to roam the halls and ballrooms, admiring the riches and beauty on display. But Prometheus was more intrigued by the kinds treasures and skeletons that might be stowed away in his crypt, waiting to be unearthed. And really, when would be a better time to play detective if not on the first night, when all the charms and wonders of the empire should still feel fresh?

But Pontius was a kingdom guarded as securely as Olympe was. A part of them had figured out that the likelihood of them getting through any secure doors were close to zero and the chances of being found was fairly high. Hence the need to weave a web of lies– one that would held up with plenty of poking and probing– and Prometheus liked to think they did a pretty good job. Here’s the moment of truth, they thought as they turned around to face the direction where the approaching footsteps had come for. A little wave of relief washed over them when they recognize who it was. There was a chance he’d extend some benefit of the doubt. “Oh Patroclus, thank the Fates,” Prometheus breathed out a small chuckle, sporting a sheepish smile to boot. “I have no idea where I am– I swear, this feels like trying to memorize all the right turns in the labyrinth all over again.”

[deathsknife]

Location: The Agora; end of the first week if festivities Status: for @patroclusc​

Days of pacing the outer limits of this city and Thanatos is ready, finally, to bite down on something. Give chase, claw at the ground, anything but trace the lines of his cage. He comes to the Agora for as much finding as wanting to be found, and Fate twists its knife in him as it is want to do.

Sun streams down on the chiseled silhouette of Patroclus Cirillo. When their eyes meet, Thanatos sees the simplest of questions, feels it drop in his stomach like a stone.

“M – Patroclus.” Thanatos steps up beside him. Better to get it front of it. See what he knows, see how to twist it their fist like those precious vines. “Have you started to miss your gardens yet?”

[athenarhea]

WITH: @patroclusc  WHEN: September, 2113 WHERE: Arcadian University

Athena Rhea, 18 year-old child of the most powerful man in Gaia (in her estimation, though really one of three), was leaning against a brick building in an Arcadian alleyway, smoking a cigarette. It was a nasty habit, she knew, but she’d picked it up in boarding school and it was, to this day, the only thing that could calm her down when she was nervous. 

What was she nervous about? Everything, she’d tell you. Making a good impression on her professors, finding classmates that didn’t just want to hang around her for money and status - starting university was hard. Who knew?!

Just then, though, she was starting to calm down. And as she did, she noticed a man walk by her for what had to be the third time in fifteen minutes. He looked considerably more frantic this time than he had the first time, she noted. She tilted her head. A fellow new student, perhaps?

“Hey! Hey, wait!” She dropped her cigarette to the ground and smothered it beneath her shoe, then raced to catch up with. “Hi! Are you lost? I’ve gone to school here since I was a kid - I mean, not here, I went to the academy down the street obviously,” she stopped talking to catch her breath, then continued, “ - so I might be able to help you.”

[redseek]

status:  closed  for  @patroclusc​​ !     location:  the  xenios  estate  ⸻   olympe !     date & event:  heteraidia ⸻  second evening ! 🌇

“That’s it. I don’t know what mountain parasite pissed in your drink, but I’ve had enough. If you won’t take uppers, I’ll stage-set the fucking chemistry for you.” Ari hunkers down before Patroclus. With nonchalant ease, he tries to tug him up the couch, one arm after the other. Even at the current height difference, the man could tip him over with a particularly heartfelt sigh. That he’s still going through with it proves two things: Pat’s infinite gentleness, and Ari’s years of bluff and bluster. Bullshit makes one ironclad. “We’re going clubbing.”

[minotaurus-archive]

where — the nemean hall. with — @patroclusc​

Ever since Hypnos had drawn his attention to the greenery of the Nemean Hall, Mino has found himself keeping an eye out for them himself. Not to the detriment of his job, of course, but as a healthy curiosity, a distraction tactic, just another form of escapism. He judges the pots, the choice in soil ( generally good ) and the state of the leaves, picking it apart under the scrutinous eye of security detail.

Maybe he slacks a little, but then he’s not the most passionate employee Tartarus has seen. Uncomplaining, diligent, but never overcompensating. Another thing he keeps his eye out for: familiar faces, friendly and unfriendly. Mino might tell himself he has little interest in the past, but he keeps wading in the waters of nostalgia all the same. Maybe being born to a mother who was taken by the Fates so early on has left him built this way: always yearning for what can no longer be.

So, here, a twist of fate: another familiar face. A friendly one, however. It is no surprise to Mino that Patroclus Cirillo finds his way to this place, in these weeks: he always was a promising student, whereas Mino was nothing but good at pretending to be one as he scoped out one of the universities. Oh, glory days of past: had they abandoned Patroclus, too? “So many familiar faces here,” he says, approaching him, perfectly friendly and cordial. He has no agenda, really, not yet at least. Depends where Patroclus works, these days, “It almost feels like Arcadia, rather than Olympe. Remember me?”

[pos-rhea]

common rooms within xenios | @patroclusc​

if anyone has even unpacked in their rooms it would be a miracle, the lure of things to do in this new location a heady one. they’d had their tour, the basic introductions, and yet patroclus could found in the small office space assigned for the work that couldn’t stop.

sliding in, he took a seat on the workbench, feet resting on the stools. “ clues, you determined not to have fun here either? ”

[achillespithia]

status: closed for @patroclusc​ ! location: achilles’ and patroclus’ apartment. date: 2113, 4 hours after the destruction of house peleus. trigger warnings: mentions of blood, dissociation, death.

Before he leaves the estate, he fills one of the baths and leans over the edge to dunk his upper body in. This serves two purposes. The water is cold and it should scrape off some of his shock. (This does not work. When he emerges he still feels detached from himself.) It does wash some of the blood away, but the spots close to his hairline and his hands are still a mess. He takes the time to wash his hands but cannot get the red away from his nails. Fifteen minutes more of that and he gives it up. It’s a little blood. Patroclus has seen worse. He won’t care, anyways, given what Achilles is about to do.

He walks back to the apartment. That, too, takes some time. He’s gathering up his courage as he goes. He has no idea what time it is. Patroclus could be asleep. If that’s the case, Achilles will have to wake him up. He can’t stay there a minute longer if this is going to be worth anything. He’d thought he’d feel relieved. He doesn’t. He hasn’t choked anything up yet, though, so that’s a good sign. It’s always easier to kill on an empty stomach.

He blinks and he is standing in the kitchen. Their kitchen. They’d elected to go with something small. The House of Pithia is so grand it feels like it will swallow you up. Pat is standing right there, talking. He thinks about getting a glass of water but realizes that to do so he’d have to touch Patroclus, and he can’t bear the thought of it. Achilles sits at the table instead and hides his hands by resting them on his knees. “Patroclus,” his full name, not Pat, he never calls Pat Patroclus, this is not going to work, “I’ve bought you a ‘rail ticket. To Arcadia. It leaves in two hours. You need to pack your things and go.”

[hadesrhea]

WITH: @patroclusc​ WHEN: January, 2130 WHERE: The Agora

What does one do with shades that haunt those other than themselves? The inquiry dances a riot in his head as he wordlessly watches Patroclus from afar as spectacles dance and sing around them in an eddy of circus and pageantry, motionless all the while. Near heir-killer, spared of what becomes them by virtue of his companion’s sacrifice - Hades is unsure of what the man must think of him. Villain, certainly. (But as big a villain as Peleus, is the question.) Or mercy-purveyor. They’re often one in the same and given in the same breath.

Patroclus does indeed healthy; his brother must be treating him pleasantly, feeding him well. But even from a distance, he can see there is a muted resignation burdening the scientist, perhaps a well of sadness from which he draws. He’s seen it in Achilles - feels it in himself, at times.

“Patroclus.” He approaches, silent in his steps, lips drawn into a thin line. “How are your sea legs faring upon this territory of land and more land?” He levels his gaze, too appraising to be pitying. “Homesick, yet?”

[apvlllo]

@patroclusc​

where: the agora event: near year festival

“You look drab, so I got you a drink.” Apollo reproaches his new friend, holding out something festive looking. With glitter. “Everyone looks better with a drink in their hand.” To show, Apollo brings his straw closer to his lips, but misses, creating an awkward display of a grown man sticking his tongue out to grab his straw.

[herarhearp]

Who: Patroclus ( @patroclusc​ )

When: January, 2130 - New Year Festival

Where: The Xenios State

Hera’s return to Olympe had been as eventful as she expected, and way more emotional. Hearsay from the general public couldn’t affect her, but accusations from her own family were harder to ignore. Dion was convinced that she had abandoned them, Athena was lost in her father’s troubles, Zeus himself had betrayed her trust. There was no way to avoid the facts when she was here, back home, under the spotlight.

She still presented as an elegant and regal star whenever she had company. Not a single tear would be photographed, no cracks in her smile would be witnessed. She couldn’t be seen as fragile. There were enough targets on her back as it is. Still, Hera was human, and she couldn’t hold it in forever. Instead, she did the wise thing and entered a library in Xenios, where there wasn’t a single soul on sight. She chose a cozy sofa to sit down and, for a moment, her head wasn’t held high. 

Hera allowed herself to reflect on how on earth had everything gone so wrong, and she felt a couple tears drop. She didn’t bother drying them, believing she had the privacy to look undone for once. And then, discreet steps caught her attention, and she realised she wasn’t alone. “Patroclus. Is there any chance you won’t mention this to anyone?” A lonely, crying Hera was interesting information from a political perspective, and pretty good gossip, socially speaking.

[aphrxsdite]

closed starter for @patroclusc​

location: patroclus’s room

It’s not as if Aphrodite spies on the high ranking people around her. Spying is an awful word, too heavy and poisonous on her tongue. Aphrodite merely watches, controlling the what ifs in case something happens and the rumors starting gnawing the edges of the reputations and respectability of her dear colleagues, pointed looks and tongues mumbling sharpened words.

That will not do

That absolutely will not do.

Some required more watching than others, of course, not because of their lack of ability of handling sly people, thankfully. Some were simply in a more frail position with shadows surrounding on all sides and consequently required more, let’s say, support.

Perhaps some are a bit dearer to her heart, not that she will ever admit it out loud. Patroclus brought a comforting silence to a young and alone Aphrodite, dangerously thoughts running around and around inside her mind, the sheer lack of pride and self assurance, how stupidity was ingrained inside her beside truth. So she grasped Patroclus’s quiet comfort tentatively as if she were nothing but a wild animal ready to bolt, an easily scared dove afraid to become a wolf’s dinner. She still grasps it to this day, allowing herself brief moments of naiveté when she it’s possible.

That’s why when she listens from a little bird that Patroclus went inside Achilles fucking Pithia’s room and stayed there for more than a “hello and goodbye”, things tend to become difficult.

So she enters Patroclus’s room, high heels clicking softly against the floor, closes the door and watches him work, she can feel that the texture of this silence is wrong.

❝ I didn’t know that you were capable of sabotaging the keys, love. ❞ she starts, condescencion  eyebrows furrowed with the increasingly certainty that something is wrong with him. Aphrodite sits on his bed, forgets her tablet on it, her attention fully turned towards him. ❝ You need some sunlight, a thing I know you haven’t had for hours. ❞