"Walking With a Ghost" Chapter One: City Girl
Title: Walking With a Ghost
Author: sistergrimmel
Pairing(s): Apollo/Artemis, Artemis/Zoë.
Rating/Warnings: Rated T. Non-graphic implied incest, and mild violence.
Summary: In April 1952, a monster thought long vanquished roams free, and Apollo, Artemis, and Zoë have no choice but to hunt it. But will they be able to sort out their own tangled feelings enough to cooperate as a team and finally lay peace to their old ghosts?
Notes: Involves cute '50s clothes, anti-film noir film noir, Zoë in a blue pinstripe suit with fedora, a disgruntled heiress, and a divorced goddess of youth. Feedback greatly appreciated!
Walking With a Ghost
Text by Sister Grimm Erin
for Neko Kuroban
Chapter One:
City Girl
A kiss can be a comma, a question mark or an exclamation point. That's basic spelling every woman ought to know.
April 1952:
The girl hanging on Apollo's arm was wealthy, somewhere in between beautiful and stunning, relatively charming, and not in the least impressed with her surroundings.
"Oh, Sam," whined Charity Louise Roselyn-Astor. "I know the food's great here, but the music is so ordinary." Charity had weighed the word ordinary on her tongue with the consideration someone else would have given a swear word.
The god of music concealed a cringe. Charity was what he usually referred to as a lyrics snob. She hated anything but jazz, classical music, instrumentals, and the occasional blues singer, most likely due to the finishing schools she'd attended. The restaurant they were walking into, one of the trendy places near Central Park, happened to favor bands, singers, and acts that were much more to his taste- rebellious, angry young man music. Apollo hated taking her here- he loved the place on his own, but her upper-class, rounded vowel complaints were annoying- but somehow, he could always get reservations here, and one could not escort the wealthiest heiress in New York City to anywhere less. As it was, this beautiful place with the hand-blown glass chandeliers from Austria was only appropriate for brunch or a late lunch at most.
Charity was dressed as ladylike as anyone could have wished for a formal brunch; she might be her family's secret embarrassment, but you'd never know about her clubbing, drug use, and promiscuity to look at her. Her strawberry-blonde hair was in an artfully casual bun under a floppy sunhat with a white silk ribbon, her dress was crisp and creamy-colored, in an A-line, trim style. The only outside hint to her frivolous nature were her highly impractical shoes: custom-designed leather soles were held together by nothing but white silk ribbons. Her ruby-red Cupid's-bow lips parted as she gazed up at him, and for a moment Apollo imagined she was Clara Bow, gazing innocent sex up at him from a movie screen, and then she looked him in the eye, dispelling the illusion. The one thing Apollo could have wished to change in her physique was for her to be shorter. It wasn't her fault, but Charity in heels had a good two inches on him; Charity in flats was only an inch shorter.
Apollo smiled at her nonetheless as she kissed his cheek. The girl was thoroughly besotted with her escort, and she never asked awkward questions- the best recipe for a long-term relationship, as far as he was concerned. He adjusted the lapels of his tweed and replied to her comment, "I'm sorry, Charity. If you like, we can find someplace else," He offered as he helped her out of the white BMW.
She shook her head, smiling a bit at him as he lit her cigarette. "No, it's quite all right. The brunch will make up for the dreadful noise," she assured him, blowing smoke.
He murmured polite thanks as they went up to the maitre d'. The man was very quiet, and accustomed to seeing them there. "Your usual table, Master Renbrooke?" he asked quietly.
The god smiled reflexively. "Yes."
Charity spoke to him in between bites. He gave polite, easy lies in response to her monologue; it would be made up for when he took her to his penthouse, he assured himself. Charity was essentially a human magpie; drawn to bright, gaudy things and with no real loyalties to anyone. Their arrangement was thus perfect; public appearances to please her family, lovemaking behind closed doors, and no planned future.
As a turntable began to play a song about how the singer was going to tell his mama about what she'd been doing to him, a clouded mist overtook his eyes. A vision? wondered the god. Usually the glimpses of the future came to him only in dreams; when the Sight (so to speak) overtook him while he was awake, it was something important.
The vision hit him like a punch in the stomach, and all he knew was exactly where he had to be.
"I'm so sorry, darling," said Apollo in his most charming voice, "but I have forgotten that I have a family meeting in an hour. Could you possibly do without me for the rest of the evening?" He gritted his teeth silently in anticipation of her reaction.
Charity's outrage did not disappoint.
X X X X X
An hour later, Apollo convinced his hysterical date to get back into the limo without him. He would have been faster if it had not been too public a place to manhandle her. The girl he had been fond of scant momets before now seemed a cumbersome burden.
"I truly am sorry, Charity," he lied over her protests. "You may telephone me if you can ever bring yourself to forgive me."
Her rude reply was cut off by the closing of the car door. Apollo swore. He shouldn't have used telekinesis for that. But, the god thought as he locked the limo, he did have business to attend to...
The god, reminded of his purpose, walked away, a frown creasing his handsome features. She hadn't asked for his help in millennia.
And he had promised her once he would always be there when she called him.
Apollo turned down a cobblestone New York City street and waited for the wind to sweep him away to his sister's home.
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