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“I hope that the world didn’t fall apart whilst I was away,” Juliana mused, casting a breezy smile at the person opposite her. Her fingers danced around the rim of her empty espresso cup, her mind calculating...as it often did. 

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"Your father was his own man. Harvey may have encouraged his actions, but he was not the cause of your lover’s death. I did not monitor his every move, and I already had a young girl to worry over, I’m sorry I overlooked you. But I was never cruel and maybe you just are, and all you needed was a little push,” she responded calmly, pushing aside her cup of coffee. Her mood had been dampened by a girl she’d once thought of with fondness. Selene was pushing all the wrong buttons, and Juliana simply had less patience than usual. “Get out of my sight.”

“I understand loss, Juliana. The first man I ever loved was murdered by my own father, a man who had followed your husband’s footsteps because he worshipped him so I may feel sympathy for you but I don’t have to listen to you praise him.“ Selene retorted, the lines of her face hardening as she recalled the death of her first love. There were three culprits of that crime in her eyes, the henchman who had wielded the gun, her father who had ordered the murder and then Harvey for pushing her father to do so. She could not forgive either of these men nor the people who had stood idly by and let it happen. “You were not there when I grieved. Why should I be kind to you now?”

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“I don’t care if you, every good Samaritan or the bloody Pope hated him. He was the man that I loved and this is the first anniversary that I have to spend alone. So spare me you hatred for one day. I have more than enough to deal with, without adding your bitterness,” she spat, words cold as they ran from her mouth before she could control them. Juliana prided herself on control, and grace, she was the one to keep him from following his darker instincts. “For both Yasmin and myself, he was family. So if you want to spout vile words about how terrible a person he was, don’t do it in my presence.”

“No, Juliana. Don’t you dare. Your husband spilled more blood than all of us combined. He got what was coming to him.” Selene insisted, bitterness and anger unwavering. She felt compassion for the woman who had once mentored her but not enough to forgive her blind love for a man who had been for all intent and purposes an abuser to all but his wife. “He destroyed anything he touched, except for you. He was not a good man, not the sort of man you sit around and tell stories about.” She continued, as she wiped the tears from her face.

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“Don’t you dare,” she warned, head turning sharply towards the blonde. The ripest apple turned rotten with the girls words, a spear piercing through Juliana’s flesh. “Not today, Selene.” The girl had her problems, but the memories of Harvey were cherished within her mind, every laugh and smile shared between the two of them, all the love that she was granted and gave. He may have been someone’s enemy, but he was her lover. 

Juliana’s golden features could be distinguished not too far from where Selene was sitting and she felt a pang of nostalgia deep within her soul. She had always admired the older woman and even in her most desperate moments imagined how different life might have been if she had been her daughter rather than a Watson. As Juliana spoke -perhaps she did not recognize her after all these years away- Selene could feel the prickling of tears in her eyes. While the painted picture was alluring Selene knew better. Harvey had been a cruel and ruthless man, one she had been encouraged by her own father to look up to. With every fiber in her being she had felt nothing but disdain for him while he was alive. “I guess even monsters can be gentle.” She finally let out, a tear rolling down her cheek. She had gotten at least one thing from her mother after all, when she was wounded Selene was never merciful.

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             A smile painted her features golden, memories comforting the day which she’d been dreading. Juliana smiled to hide her pain, “On our seventh anniversary we got drenched in the rain and rushed into a crappy little dinner. I’ve never seen someone secretly enjoy cheesy fries the way Harvey did.”

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Sharing a drink with Syrus, difficult words for Juliana to swallow as she stared at the pair, face betraying no emotion. A feeling deep in the pit of her stomach settled...dread. It was the same feeling she’d gotten moments before a call had vibrated through her phone to tell her of Harvey’s death, as though she knew something bad had happened. “I’ll take a glass of rose if you’re offering,” Juliana responded with a clipped town, eyes falling on her god-daughter. “I thought we had plans my daffodil, I must have gotten the days mixed up.” The blonde laughed off the comment as foolishness on her part, but she never made a mistake. The harvest queen had not planned to seek out her daughter, it was only when she spotted her with the devil that action was required. “This place is so lovely and new, but I don’t think I’ll come again. My style is far more classic.”

Her sweet drink immediately went down the wrong pipe, prompting her choke unglamorously as she attempted to get over her shock of seeing her godmother at a night club. Yasmin wasn’t sure what to feel at that moment, all the activity in her brain seemed to shut down. She suddenly felt like a child, terrified of getting grounded. “Why have you’ve been looking for me?” she finally asked, because that was a kinder thing to say than What the hell are you doing here? “I was sharing a drink with… Syrus,” she said carefully, uncertain of how her godmother would react to calling him her friend, even though she had used the term so affectionately moments early. She glanced over Juliana’s shoulder to get a glimpse of him, silently wondering what it meant to have Old Olympus’ consigliere at New Olympus’ domain.

So, Old Olympus had managed to infiltrate Club Nyra. Although Syrus was rather vexed that Medusa and Hypnos had failed to be a hindrance on whatever plans Zeus had concocted, Demeter was the only sign of Old Olympus activity and seeing as she was currently preoccupied with her goddaughter, he chose to delay further investigation until later. Now, he had two options: rid Demeter of the scene and further upset Zeus or be alarmingly tranquil and later have someone escort Demeter away if she did not choose to vacate on her own terms. Being that she was at the moment an innocuous presence and any other sightings of Old Olympus would be blatant and quickly reported to him, the latter was chosen. “Yes, Juliana,” he hummed, drink in hand, “Only a drink. Would you like something before someone from New Olympus catches you?” The final phrase was a joke, yes, but it certainly was spoken far too calmly to register as one.

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A blood-hound, a watchful protector, the mother, Juliana had been called many things since her gingham clad body hit the concrete jungle, and the farm-girl turned into an empress of power and beauty, a grand figure beside her gilt in grandeur. What stuck with her most, the duty which fulfilled her, was the role of god-mother, and she swore to Yasmin’s parents when they named her such, that she’d never fail them. So as her eyes cast over the club, the familiar blond locks swishing by the devil, Juliana was suddenly moving swiftly over, watching as glasses raised and her insides churned --- “ darling!” she exclaimed, wedging herself between the two. “I’ve been looking all over for you.” 

At her assurance that she was well entertained, joy inundated his being. “And if there’s anything I can do it make it better, don’t be afraid to ask.” He worked so meticulously to ensure absolute perfection at Club Nyra and any sort of praise was well-received, especially from a first time guest, especially from her. “Chances are I’ll be somewhere around here when you do visit. I live upstairs, work downstairs, this is sort of my own realm of sorts,” he shrugged, trusting that she would not reveal all of this to the Old Olympians she frequently interacted with. She was certainly clever if she was able to connect the two tabs, so a meager task such as not revealing the enemy boss’s home should be rather logical. Besides, he had already deemed her to be an intelligent person. “Yes, it is technically my tab,” he admitted with a light laugh, “But I don’t drink often so I suppose the drinks I should be drinking should go somewhere.” Ah, his excuse was rather pathetic but he didn’t quite know how to phrase that he wanted to buy her drinks, and, well, wanted to buy her anything else she wanted for that matter. “Are you trying to get me drunk on a pivotal night for me?” He jested, soon after sighing, “Fine, fine, I’ll give in.” He waved down a bartender and his ordered his River of Acheron. Now, as club owner he had the perk of his drink being quickly crafted and soon it was in between his fingers. “Now, what should we toast to, Yasmin? You and your safety and your happiness?”

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Dark were the days, and she yearned for the light. What had once been a place of grandeur and magnificence, had decayed into something else entirely. Olympus was no longer seen the way it had always been, it was different, everyone was different.  She’d pressed upon everyone the importance of surviving, or winning the war. 

When she looked over at Caiden, the all powerful Zeus, Juliana felt both duty and a care for the man. She knew he’d not expected to be where he was so early, and neither of them had been ready for the change as it came. But she stood by him because that’s what was needed. 

“They can’t win,” she whispered sharply, fingers clinging together. “You need to have a meeting with our investors, they need to know that’s still a good idea to trust us. Then, you hit the rebels where it hurts, you attack from within and watch as it explodes inside out. Metaphorically of course, I can’t condone mass murder for the sake of a shipment.”

There was a nightmare that frequented him - two feet, standing firmly against a rough mountain surface as he looked down at the city from the top. But it never lasted long, as the mountain would begin to rumble and split into two, and he’d always fall into the crack, into the abyss, jolting him awake. Even now, though he was awake and sitting across Juliana, he felt that same dread clouding over him.

There was nothing he wanted to do more than to pick up the vase of flowers near him and throw it against the wall, but this was Juliana. Demeter. Someone he was supposed to be respectful towards, someone who Cronus had believed in.

 “I believe you. I do.” Caiden murmured, an almost-hysterical laugh escaping him as he sunk further into his chair. “I need you to tell me what to do, Juliana. I can’t - we’re going to see losses if we don’t maintain our clientele and we’re already down four percent this year.” 

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Behind her composed figure, deep inside, beyond sincere smiles and still hands, was a shaking woman. Around that figure of fear and loss, Juliana had built a fortress in place of skin and bone, becoming something stronger than she ever was before, Harvey’s death had made her that way. So as looked at her dear little flower, she felt the closest to home that she knew she ever would. Without Yasmin, Juliana might not have been so strong or willing to carry on

“I have a few ideas, my dear,” she advised, tone growing darker as her her eyes stormed and her classic smile remained etched upon her features. Those who claimed to have a better claim to the business, did not care for Harvey or his company, they cared only for the money and the power it granted. Juliana knew what it was like to touch such power, she knew the way people looked at her when she was stood beside Harvey, it had been an indescribable feeling of greatness which was grounded by the things which truly mattered. She’d have given it all in a heartbeat, for more moments with him. She’d always known that he’d die before her, but she’d expected another 20 years out of him at least. 

“It will come swiftly, sharp and precise, we can’t make any errors. We must be seen to have the control to do what is necessary to keep this alive.”

The touch of a mother ( and Juliana was her mother, her last shred of family, all that she has left ) made it so easy to slip into the comfort of childhood, to pretend they were still in the past. Yasmin thought she’d discarded her girlness underneath the artificial stars of the city, but with her godmother she was little girl once again, her world no longer ravaged by violence, her godmother’s hands guiding her to safety like Ariadne’s thread. It’d be so easy, to just close her eyes and rest her head in Juliana’s lap, allow her godmother to fill her ears with soft promises of better days. 

But Yasmin was not a child, and knew life could never be that simple again.

“Who would do this?” Yasmin asked, her voice softer than whisper, even though already knew Juliana’s answer before voicing her question. Occam’s Razor decreed that the simplest explanation was the most likely, but even if New Olympus had most to gain from Old Olympus’ downfall, Yasmin wasn’t entirely sure if the answer was that simple. Perhaps it was naive of her think that a gang would be above such senseless violence, but Yasmin did not like to think he worst of people. “How will you move from here?” The question wasn’t if Old Olympus would reatliate, but when and how. Yet Yasmin wasn’t sure if she wanted to know what role her godmother would play when it came time to enact revenge.

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“Perhaps,” she responded, casting her eyes over him. “But others shouldn’t test me, even my kindness and love has limits. They should know by now that I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Harvey’s legacy safe.”

“Mumsy,” Adam crooned affectionately from behind a pillar before he left it, his easy gait clopping over the tile like a drunken horse as he approached her. “You shouldn’t be loitering about and saying ominous things in the dark like that. It’s quite concerning.”

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I keep going to the river to pray ‘Cause I need something that can wash all the pain And at most I’m sleeping all these demons away But your ghost, the ghost of you It keeps me awake

Ella Henderson (via herzmasochismus)

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“If it comes to that,” she responded in a clipped tone, pushing away her dish. The duck before her is barely eaten, forgotten and unwanted, whilst her fingers can barely force themselves to clasp around the abandoned glass of wine. Despite the opulence of the room, a poorness has begun to cloud the place since Harvey’s death, as though a glow is all but got. 

“War can make enemies of us all,” she warns, despite the care she possesses for the woman. It feels as though they are walking on thin glass, hairline cracks exposed like open wounds. When they inevitability run to safety, in opposite directions they’ll flee, the distance ever-growing. She takes Katrina’s hand in her own softly, “You’ll always be my friend, so long as my conscious allows it. I’ll do what is best for Olympus, what Harvey would’ve wanted, but should that in someway rupture us, then so be it.” Until then, she’ll nurture what she has with Aphrodite, for loss is the hardest burden to bear. 

“With brute force and a smile made for war?” Her voice is seafoam and pearl, consolatory despite the topic of their discussion. The lunch before them is half-eaten; and even the crystal chandeliers abovehead are not enough to lighten the despair which seems to permeate all of Olympus - but then again, these dining clubs, with their golden tablecloths and lace napkins, are never truly remedial. 

Demeter, mother to all, has occupied that precise role in Aphrodite’s life ever since that fateful night she found herself in Cronus’ hospitality. Even with the newfound chasm between them, there will never come a day when Katrina does not see the woman before her as caretaker, adviser (now, for a different team) – the cornerstone of a once-great empire. There is something terrible to what this war is doing, to threaten what should never be torn apart. And though they sit across from one another, the anger in Demeter’s tone worries her. She has to secure what exists here, tie it down before it too flutters away. “Juliana…” she says quietly, reaching a hand out over the table, “I don’t want us to be enemies.” 

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 After her time of mourning, when the bags around her eyes disappeared, or reduced enough for her to conceal them, Juliana had taken it upon herself to be a protector, adviser and continued source of support to Maximus. She appreciated the recognition she received from him, in becoming the Consigliere, but that came with responsibilities; one of which being the shouldering of burdens, even ones which greatly impacted her own heart. Any attack against Olympus was an attack to Harvey’s legacy. 

“I do apologise. With the rise of the rebels, simple minds can become confused. I’ve gotten used to simplifying it for them.” In times of crisis, Juliana relied heavily on her own ability to stay cool minded, and controlled. She wouldn’t blame her negligence on the shock, she’d simply move on from it. 

“They need a lesson in control, since they’ve executed very little.It can be used to our advantage.  Although I’m not counting on a messy job, everything has a footprint and they’ll have let theirs.”

Maximus knew the attack – why yes, he was calling it that – would hit Juliana harder than anyone else, perhaps even harder than it did him. Which is exactly why Maximus had told her himself, in hopes it’d soften the news if it came from him and not some stranger over the phone. After all, he was the closest she had to her late Cronus, and she was the same for him.

“Beautiful words as always, Juliana,” he said. “Though, you know I don’t like the term Old Olympus.” The disdain was palpable through his tone. “There’s only one Olympus. We’re it.” 

Her determination inspired him. If only all others had the drive that Juliana – rightfully named Demeter – did. “Yes, they will.”

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Her dearest daffodil, the most pure and constant light in her life.  She’d been her guardian, her godmother for so long, it was easy to forget that the girl had not come from her own womb. At the age of sixteen, all the pieces of her life slotted together one by one. By then she’d left home and joined the hotel, a friendship already formed with Harvey. And there had been the girl they called Persephone, a two year old with deep eyes and a beautiful smile. With Yasmin and Harvey, she’d felt the closest to happiness that she’d ever been, family surrounding her. They were who she loved, who she needed and when one fell, she vowed to protect the other at all costs. 

“No, dearest, it shall not,” Juliana responded, clutching the girls hands tightly with confidence and assurance. It was the hold which said, I’ll kept it safe for us. It was a night, when the rest of the city fell asleep and she lay awake, thinking of her lost love, that she’d allow the tears to fall. No longer did she cry in public, put she’d sobbed into her pillows plenty of times, each time muffled by the expensive fabrics. The harvester, the grower of things, never had a problem in allowing her emotions to bloom, as long as they enforced strength in her own being. But with Yasmin, she’d allow more gentleness to seep through, the type that she’d grown accustomed to acknowledging the danger of.  No one took advantage of her because they knew she was strong and wise, her gentle heart protected by such things. “Likely a precaution on their part, it’s all tactical. But even so, I can’t say that I’m sorry they were cautious about that. Death is unnecessary until it’s eventuality.”

They called her Persephone, the queen who was first another goddess’ daughter. Ichor did not flow through Yasmin’s veins, but she believed that Juliana was made of something more than mere flesh and bone. The ash still hadn’t yet settled, yet the fire burning within her godmother still raged; the red flower bloomed, the heat of its petals reaching the deep confines of Yasmin’s very being. In the midst of chaos and bloodshed, Juliana remained stood tall, steady as a grand oak tree. Gazing at her godmother, Yasmin felt a mix of awe and concern, wondering how someone could box up their worries, their hurt, and replace it with such steel determination. Perhaps it was a skill all women learned once they finally shred their last remains of girlhood, but Yasmin suspected that Juliana’s resilience was a something entirely her own.

“His empire won’t fall that easily,” she said gently, taking her godmother’s hands in her own. It wasn’t clear whether Yasmin was referring to Harvey or Maximus; two imposing kings with different reigns, sure to leave their own novel legacies. For her godmother’s ears, she laced her words with encouragement, though the Yasmin was not sure if the fact she voiced was a positive one. Her youth was a handicap in these situations, for Yasmin viewed every terrible incident following Harvey’s untimely death as unnecessary. She wouldn’t pretend to understand the intricate workings of the gangs, but Yasmin could not come up with any reason to justify such a bloody and violent rivalry. But she did not voice these doubts, did not speak out against her godmother, growing more unsure of where they stood these days. “I heard that there were no casualties. That’s good news, isn’t it? At least no one was hurt.” This was the only thing that mattered in her eyes, unable to bear the thought of more senseless death entering their lives.

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If Harvey were here, this wouldn’t be happening. Sadness, turmoil, strength, a daily triplet of carrying on and survive. “Yes, he would’ve,” she agreed, pride swelling in her heart. Everything that she knew about the business, all the wisdom that she had, it came from one place. Harvey had taught her so much, and it was her duty to use it for a purpose. 

“You’re absolutely right,” Juliana smiled, fingers stretching out as she pulled her phone from her pocket. “If they think they’ve pushed us into a corner, then they’ve forgotten who they’re dealing with.” The mother was not just there to nurture, she was there to protect. 

“Harvey would have smiled at your words.” The more likely truth was that Harvey was rolling in his grave, spitting curses at them from down below or up above (it was probably a tossup between heaven and hell) and most likely despairing at how his legacy had been thrown into chaos. Victoria knew, more than anyone else, she hardly had the right to comment on any situation, her hands stained with Harvey’s blood, but it felt right to - the words flowing freely from her mouth. Her aversion to the continuation of Cronus’s reign had nothing to do with Demeter - the innocent bystander, the heartbroken one, in all of this.

Body leaning casually against the wooden pillar, Hera assessed the situation before them, her own heart heavy at the thought of the work to be done. Now, more than ever, the three pillars of the institution, were required to pull together - a plan of action put into place. “We need to figure out our next move. They can’t have the last laugh - sends the wrong message out about authority.”

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The past year had been kind to her, she mourned through the winter and grew stronger with spring. Her face changed with each season, growing older and wiser, each year of age lining her heart in the same way trees birthed rings on their interiors. They called her Demeter, when she plucked wilting flowers from the plant-plots and made them grow. They called her Juliana, when she was there as the mother.

The news caused a threefold reaction. Firstly, she stood horrified, the devastation invoked disruption in her as she placed down the phone, fingers shakily heavily. Then, sadness for her lost love and his legacy. Her heart yearned for the man they called Cronus, her Harvey, her strength. And then, determination, she’d sooner die then let everything be destroyed for those she cared for. 

“It’s the phoenix which rises from the ashes, and so too shall Old Olympus. Things like this will be dealt with in the way the always have been, you can be sure of that.” 

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BASICS

Name: Juliana Woodsville Age: 35 Affiliation: Old Olympus Occupation: Consigliere Faceclaim: Natalie Dormer Status: Closed

THE STORY

They call you Demeter, daughter of the land, mother nature. New York City had always been a dream of yours, but you never imagined you’d actually leave the farm behind and end up here. You began your new life as a receptionist at Mount Olympus Hotel, when you caught Cronus’ eyes and you swore it was love. Suddenly, New York City wasn’t as big as it used to seem, and through Cronus, you made friends – lifelong friends who named you their daughter’s godmother. And your heart broke every time you lost someone in your life - your friends, your lover, but you grew tougher with each blow. As one of Cronus’ most trusted confidants, it was natural for Zeus to appoint you to become his advisor, and you have made it your job to protect him. This is your family now. This is your city.

CONNECTIONS

Persephone - god-daughter. Ares - friend. Zeus - advises/protective of. Cronus (deceased) - ex-lover. 

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