an audience with theseus (a soul for a soul)
The night is cold and crisp for the summer - but it has nothing to do with weather.
Overhead, the stars twinkle innocently in the dark sky, but a thin, creeping fog slowly moves forward as though below, the darker event occurring is too much for witnesses.
Nico di Angelo is in a graveyard, surrounded by large, looming willow trees. Their branches sway in the breeze, like arms dancing in tune. But none of them seem daring enough to interrupt.
The nymphs are asleep tonight.
(Or they're too afraid to speak up.)
By his feet is a rumpled Wal-Mart bag.
Before him is a deep rectangular shape dug into the ground. Within it is the chink! and fwomp!-ing sounds of shovels digging into dirt. Every once in a while, a clump of soil flies out, landing neatly in the pile to the left.
Irritatedly, "Is it deep enough yet?"
"Nearly, my lord," replies the ghost of Minos. "But - my lord, I must tell you again: this is unnecessary. You already have me for advice."
Nico turns his dark eyes to the ghost before snapping his fingers. "I want a second opinion!"
Below them, the sounds of digging stop and two skeletons (garbed in tattered clothing) crawl out from the hole to stand at attention by Nico.
"You are dismissed," he says. "Thank you."
The two skeletons immediately collapse into a pile of bones and rags.
"You might as well thank the shovels," Minos grumbles. "They have as much sense."
Ignoring him, Nico reaches for the Wal-Mart bag and pulls out a twelve-pack of Coca Cola. With a breath, he pops open the first can and takes a step towards the dug out grave, his arm outstretched, hovering over the hole.
Then he tilts the spout down and watches the dark, fizzy liquid pour into the grave.
"Let the dead taste again," he murmurs. "Let them rise and take this offering. Let them remember."
Empty of its contents now, he repeats the process until all twelve cans are identical. Afterward, he pulls out a white paper bag emblazoned with the familiar bright red and yellow 'M' and empties that too. Several thin french fries and a Cheeseburger - bun, pickles, cheese - tumble into the grave.
"In my day, we used animal blood," Minos mutters, almost grumpily. "It's perfectly good enough. They can't taste the difference."
"I will treat them with respect," he snaps, pulling out another twelve-pack of coke cans and three more McDonalds bags, identical to the first.
"... at least let me keep the toy."
"Be quiet!" The last coke can and Happy Meal bag are discarded with the rest before Nico takes a breath and begins to chant a ritual. Since his 'lessons' with King Minos, he has become far more fluent, and a lot more confident in his abilities.
Ancient Greek curses and rituals? No problem.
They don't scare him the way they used to.
This is who he is.
He is Nico di Angelo, son of Hades.
The Coca Cola in the grave hole begins to bubble and froth, as though coming alive. Around them, the fog thickens and the silence grows thicker. Deeper. Minos edges a little closer towards Nico (and from the corner of his eye, he notes closer to the grave). From the gravestones, several tendrils of bluish, wispy smoke begin to rise before they take the loose forms of people.
"There are too many," Minos says, glancing around them nervously. "You don't know your own powers."
"I've got it under control," he retorts, but as he swallows, he suddenly isn't so sure.
There are a lot of them. Maybe he put too much Coke. Maybe ...
"One at a time," Nico commands, reaching for the Stygian blade by his side, a sword blacker than the darkest night and shadow itself. The mass of ghostly spectres slowly begin to retreat at the sight of the weapon obediently.
Then he waves the first one forward.
The first ghost kneels by the pool, scooping coke and french fries into its mouth, its form growing more and more clear with each passing moment: a young man, green eyes, curly hair, a seashell clasp at his neck, fastening his cloak.
"Who are you?" Nico asks. "Speak."
For a moment, the ghost hesitates, as though the question is too difficult to answer.
Then, "I am Theseus."
Only the slightest change in expression - recognition for who this guy really is - crosses Nico's face before he asks, "How can I retrieve my sister?"
With a voice like dried paper, Theseus answers, "Do not try. It is madness."
"Just tell me!"
"My stepfather died. He threw himself into the sea because he thought I was dead in the Labyrinth. I wanted to bring him back, but ... I could not."
The faintest movement starts up beside Nico; Minos glances between him and Theseus' ghost. "My lord - the soul exchange," he says, "Ask him about that!"
"That voice ..." Theseus begins. "I know that voice."
"No you don't, fool!" Minos argues. "Just answer the lord's questions and nothing more."
"- I know you."
"I want to hear about my sister," Nico interrupts, almost desperately this time. "Is it true? About the Labyrinth? Will a quest to the Labyrinth help me win her back?"
Slightly preoccupied, Theseus casts his glance for the familiar ghost until he hears Nico's question. Slowly, he turns back to the young boy. "The Labyrinth is a treacherous place. Only one thing saw me through: the love of a mortal girl. The string was only part of the answer. It was the princess who guided me."
"We don't need any of that," Minos argues, "I will guide you well enough, my lord. Ask if it is true about the exchange of souls - he will tell you."
"Is it true?" Nico asks. "A soul for a soul."
"I - I must say ... yes. But the spectre -"
"Just answer the questions, knave!" Minos snaps.
With the tension in the air - and something else entirely (Nico can feel it, but he refuses to do anything else until he has some answers), the other ghosts begin to shift restlessly. Almost nervously.
"I want to see my sister!" Nico demands, desperation rising in his voice. "Where is she?"
Theseus ignores him, glancing up and beyond the hill of the graveyard. "He is coming," he says slowly. "He has sensed your summons. He is coming."
"Who?"
"He comes to find the source of this power," Theseus continues. He snaps his head back towards Nico, startling him. "You must release us."
Overhead, the stars twinkle innocently in the dark sky, but a thin, creeping fog slowly moves forward as though below, the darker event occurring is too much for witnesses.
Nico di Angelo is in a graveyard, surrounded by large, looming willow trees. Their branches sway in the breeze, like arms dancing in tune. But none of them seem daring enough to interrupt.
The nymphs are asleep tonight.
(Or they're too afraid to speak up.)
By his feet is a rumpled Wal-Mart bag.
Before him is a deep rectangular shape dug into the ground. Within it is the chink! and fwomp!-ing sounds of shovels digging into dirt. Every once in a while, a clump of soil flies out, landing neatly in the pile to the left.
Irritatedly, "Is it deep enough yet?"
"Nearly, my lord," replies the ghost of Minos. "But - my lord, I must tell you again: this is unnecessary. You already have me for advice."
Nico turns his dark eyes to the ghost before snapping his fingers. "I want a second opinion!"
Below them, the sounds of digging stop and two skeletons (garbed in tattered clothing) crawl out from the hole to stand at attention by Nico.
"You are dismissed," he says. "Thank you."
The two skeletons immediately collapse into a pile of bones and rags.
"You might as well thank the shovels," Minos grumbles. "They have as much sense."
Ignoring him, Nico reaches for the Wal-Mart bag and pulls out a twelve-pack of Coca Cola. With a breath, he pops open the first can and takes a step towards the dug out grave, his arm outstretched, hovering over the hole.
Then he tilts the spout down and watches the dark, fizzy liquid pour into the grave.
"Let the dead taste again," he murmurs. "Let them rise and take this offering. Let them remember."
Empty of its contents now, he repeats the process until all twelve cans are identical. Afterward, he pulls out a white paper bag emblazoned with the familiar bright red and yellow 'M' and empties that too. Several thin french fries and a Cheeseburger - bun, pickles, cheese - tumble into the grave.
"In my day, we used animal blood," Minos mutters, almost grumpily. "It's perfectly good enough. They can't taste the difference."
"I will treat them with respect," he snaps, pulling out another twelve-pack of coke cans and three more McDonalds bags, identical to the first.
"... at least let me keep the toy."
"Be quiet!" The last coke can and Happy Meal bag are discarded with the rest before Nico takes a breath and begins to chant a ritual. Since his 'lessons' with King Minos, he has become far more fluent, and a lot more confident in his abilities.
Ancient Greek curses and rituals? No problem.
They don't scare him the way they used to.
This is who he is.
He is Nico di Angelo, son of Hades.
The Coca Cola in the grave hole begins to bubble and froth, as though coming alive. Around them, the fog thickens and the silence grows thicker. Deeper. Minos edges a little closer towards Nico (and from the corner of his eye, he notes closer to the grave). From the gravestones, several tendrils of bluish, wispy smoke begin to rise before they take the loose forms of people.
"There are too many," Minos says, glancing around them nervously. "You don't know your own powers."
"I've got it under control," he retorts, but as he swallows, he suddenly isn't so sure.
There are a lot of them. Maybe he put too much Coke. Maybe ...
"One at a time," Nico commands, reaching for the Stygian blade by his side, a sword blacker than the darkest night and shadow itself. The mass of ghostly spectres slowly begin to retreat at the sight of the weapon obediently.
Then he waves the first one forward.
The first ghost kneels by the pool, scooping coke and french fries into its mouth, its form growing more and more clear with each passing moment: a young man, green eyes, curly hair, a seashell clasp at his neck, fastening his cloak.
"Who are you?" Nico asks. "Speak."
For a moment, the ghost hesitates, as though the question is too difficult to answer.
Then, "I am Theseus."
Only the slightest change in expression - recognition for who this guy really is - crosses Nico's face before he asks, "How can I retrieve my sister?"
With a voice like dried paper, Theseus answers, "Do not try. It is madness."
"Just tell me!"
"My stepfather died. He threw himself into the sea because he thought I was dead in the Labyrinth. I wanted to bring him back, but ... I could not."
The faintest movement starts up beside Nico; Minos glances between him and Theseus' ghost. "My lord - the soul exchange," he says, "Ask him about that!"
"That voice ..." Theseus begins. "I know that voice."
"No you don't, fool!" Minos argues. "Just answer the lord's questions and nothing more."
"- I know you."
"I want to hear about my sister," Nico interrupts, almost desperately this time. "Is it true? About the Labyrinth? Will a quest to the Labyrinth help me win her back?"
Slightly preoccupied, Theseus casts his glance for the familiar ghost until he hears Nico's question. Slowly, he turns back to the young boy. "The Labyrinth is a treacherous place. Only one thing saw me through: the love of a mortal girl. The string was only part of the answer. It was the princess who guided me."
"We don't need any of that," Minos argues, "I will guide you well enough, my lord. Ask if it is true about the exchange of souls - he will tell you."
"Is it true?" Nico asks. "A soul for a soul."
"I - I must say ... yes. But the spectre -"
"Just answer the questions, knave!" Minos snaps.
With the tension in the air - and something else entirely (Nico can feel it, but he refuses to do anything else until he has some answers), the other ghosts begin to shift restlessly. Almost nervously.
"I want to see my sister!" Nico demands, desperation rising in his voice. "Where is she?"
Theseus ignores him, glancing up and beyond the hill of the graveyard. "He is coming," he says slowly. "He has sensed your summons. He is coming."
"Who?"
"He comes to find the source of this power," Theseus continues. He snaps his head back towards Nico, startling him. "You must release us."