#this time there's a guest appearance by Athena and Hermes eheheheh

[erinye]

Two More Times the Gods Bothered Icarus at Work

The library doesn’t actually pay, per se, but if he volunteers a given number of hours, it does give him vouchers for select items purchased at the campus shops – class supplies, food and other sundries.  Icarus did the math and determined that the value of the vouchers was nearly as good as actual money, with the added benefit of the convenient location where he could stop by between classes easily and rack up hours for the week. 

And it’s fairly peaceful work.  Running the checkout desk; entering returned books into the computer; shelving books; light cleaning.  And Icarus is free to do some of his own homework as well, as long as he gets the list of tasks done, while still earning credit for being there.  Hard to complain about it.

He enjoys the tasks, and enjoys the hush of the narrow aisles, packed with books on either side, higher than his head.  They have a good section on aviation: old and new books; practical and philosophical; aeronautical and astronautical.  Icarus likes to sneak back to steal a few browse through them whenever he can.

Icarus is on his way back to the front counter with two books in hand, when he hears a yelp of surprise, two feet to his left, where there are a couple small steps leading up to the study carrels and tables. 

He whips his head around and has enough time to register a mass of bright red hair, on a figure that is falling, armloads of books already dropping around them.  Icarus drops his own books and just barely manages to catch the figure before they bite the floor hard.

The figure is a woman, as it turns out – Icarus’s hands are wrapped around her torso, narrowly missing an accidental feelski.  The woman is gorgeous, the mounds of red hair tousled from her stumble, and bright green eyes wide with alarm.

Icarus helps her upright again.  She stands a little taller than him and has guns to rival Linda Hamilton, he notices.  The green eyes turn to him and narrow just slightly.

“Jeez – are you all right?  Did you turn your ankle?  I’m sorry about that, those steps are the most pointless safety hazard in this building, I seriously see people trip over them hourly.  Are you hurt, though?  Do you need to sit down?  Or I can get somebody.  Or a glass of water, or something?”  Icarus is aware that he’s babbling a little, but now that the woman is standing tall with the stance of someone who does not suffer bullshit lightly, and considering him with those fierce green eyes – it’s a little intimidating, okay?! 

But thankfully, the frantic babbling must have worked, because the green eyes soften and a faint smile touches her lips. 

“I’m all right.  Thank you for asking.”  She seems bemused by the concern, and amused as well.

He grins, relieved, and awkwardly sticks out his hand.  “Glad to hear it!  I’m Icarus,” he says, inwardly cursing himself for being such a huge fucking dork, but now that the danger is over he’s not sure how he’s supposed to proceed.

The woman meets his awkwardness with a queenly grace, shaking his hand.  “My name is Athena.  I’m grateful for your assistance.  I don’t often need it,” she adds, as an afterthought.

“I can tell.  Uh.  You seem like a very capable lady.”  Icarus is not very eloquent today, apparently, and decides to stoop and help her gather her books instead.  There are tons; seriously, why would she carry this many all at once?  It would surely be easier to bring them a few at a time?

She chuckles to herself.  “You risked your life, just to spare me from indignity.  I don’t often see that these days.” 

Risked his life?  A little excessive… well, maybe.  There were a lot of huge, heavy books to get smushed under.  Icarus is even more impressed by the lady’s strength, that she could carry so many of them - 

All at once it hits him.  Athena, she’d said her name was.  Was she… *that* Athena?  She had to be!  That’s why she had so many books!  Nervous again, Icarus glanced over at the possible goddess.

Athena is crouched next to him now.  She fixes her hair, in a brief, utilitarian gesture, revealing a side-shave, before she also begins gathering her books again.  The books are nearly all printed in the letters of ancient Greek, even though he’s sure this library doesn’t carry that language – yeah, it’s *that* Athena, all right.

She smiles at him, which helps him relax slightly.  “You said you see people come up against these stairs hourly – you must spend a lot of time here?”  Her books are stacking effortlessly in her hands, tall and heavy.  “I’m a little biased, but I think people who spend more of their time in libraries are cooler to be around.”

Icarus blushes a little and grins, pleased.  “Well, I can’t take that compliment completely – I work here too, but yeah, I love spending my free time here when I can.  They’ve got a great aviation collection.”

Athena pauses, her hand near one of his fallen books – both of which, of course, are about rockets and aviation and astronautical engineering.  “You can only be Icarus,” she says softly, before looking at him with recognition in her eyes.  “Am I right?  The mortal the two sun idiots keep bickering over?”

“I… they bicker over me… like, there, too?  In – in Olympia?”  It’s strange to say that sentence aloud.  All parts of it.  Apollo and Helios: acknowledging that they’re in some competition to gain his affections, which is crazy.  It’s also crazy to acknowledge that they’re immortals from another realm of existence. 

“All the time,” she assures him, eyes twinkling.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Icarus.”  They carry the books over to the table where she’s set up camp.  Another strange thing: a tiny, seriously adorable little tabby kitten, black stripes on brown fur, is batting pencils off the table.  It goes without saying that the cat shouldn’t be in here.  Literally, it goes without saying – Icarus isn’t going to mention it.

“So, uh… who’s this little guy?” is all he says, unable to keep from reaching out to pet the kitten.  It pounces on his hand.

“She,” Athena corrects.  “This is Nike.”  She says this matter-of-factly, and Icarus can’t remember if Nike was supposed to be a god or if she really named her cat after a shoe or something.

“Can I ask what you’re researching here?  You’ve got a lot of books,” Icarus says politely, as Nike shreds the cuff of his shirt.

“Oh, a little bit of everything,” Athena says brightly.  “I couldn’t decide which project I wanted to work on today, so I brought all the books over – though, I was leaning towards toreutics.”

“Toreutics? That’s… the study of artistic metal?”  Icarus has been stocking shelves in the library for a while now; he can’t believe he remembers that title from a book.

Athena claps her hands together and beams at him.  “Right!  It’s not my usual area of focus – I generally dealt with womens’ crafts, and toreutics would have been Hephaestus’ area – but of course, nowadays, women are much more able to create anything they please.  As they should have been from the beginning.”  She sniffs; clearly this has been a sore point for her for centuries. 

Icarus smiles.  “For sure.  I took a shop class a few years ago… one of the girls there was better than anyone else.”

“You don’t look like much of a metalsmith sort of guy.”

He shrugs sheepishly.  “Nah.  I mean, I was curious, so I tried it out.  Never know when I’ll find something new that I’ll enjoy learning… but yeah, I’m kind of a one-obsession sort of guy.  I guess – I guess you already what that is,” he says, gesturing to the aviation books on the table.  “Though I also follow cynology pretty closely,” he says with a grin. 

“The study of dogs,” she laughs.  “Yes, I heard about Cerberus.  Oh, but you know –“ she begins digging in her bag, laid on the table and also filled with books.  “Here’s one you might find interesting.”

She removes and sets aside random books – more than should fit in her bag – about the most random assortment of topics, all with slips of paper printed with notes in Greek letters.  After a moment she says “Aha!” triumphantly and presents Icarus with a slim hardcover book.  As he takes it, the Greek letters transform into English:

“Heliology with Special Focus on Helioseismology,” he reads.  He looks up at her.  “I guess – the study of the sun?”  He can’t quite keep a blush off his face. 

Athena looks amused.  “Yes.  And helioseismology is the study of the interior of the sun, as ascertained by studying its surface.”  She says that with a faint tease to her voice, and Icarus clears his throat.

“’Heliology’ I guess they got the name from Helios?”

“Right.  The original sun god.”

“Original doesn’t mean best,” comes a familiar voice unexpectedly from directly behind Icarus.  Icarus jumps approximately ten feet into the air with a startled gasp, and whips around to see Apollo coolly glaring at Athena.

“Oh, hello, Apollo.  I didn’t see you there.”  Athena smiles at him.  “And of course, original doesn’t mean best.  Just that he was first.  And he’s been doing it the longest.”

“Ahh, you mean the way that Hephaestus, God of Crafts, was born earlier than you?  Legend says he was the one who helped you spring from Our Father’s divine skull,” Apollo suggests sweetly.

“He was first?  But wasn’t Hera the third wife…?”  Icarus asks tentatively, mostly to himself, trying to remember.  Of course, from what he remembers of Zeus, the matter of who he was married to when he had his children was irrelevant.  Case in point: Apollo himself, child of an illicit affair, and one who is currently leveling a glare at Icarus.

Icarus swiftly holds up his hands placatingly, trying to think of how to backpedal.  Athena looks smug. 

“Yes.  I am the firstborn of Our Father, Lord Zeus, and the original Goddess of Crafts, as well as the original Goddess of Knowledge, for that matter.”

Apollo, the second-generation god of the sun and knowledge, glowers.  Nike the cat is wiggling its butt while staring up at Apollo; clearly ready to try to jump for his temptingly swaying locks of hair.  Icarus has a feeling that wouldn’t end well for the cat.

He intervenes, shooing Nike away and taking Apollo’s hand in his own.  “I know I’m biased, and I don’t know what makes a better God or Goddess of Knowledge, but I do know which one is my favorite – even though I’m really glad to have met you, Athena!”

Icarus smiles up at Apollo, and is shocked to see that the sun god is blushing.  Blushing!!  Discreetly, of course, and looking no less stoic than usual, but yes, his face is definitely heating up.

Athena has made a little squealing gasp and is grinning at them, eyes darting back and forth between them.  “Is Lord Apollo… blushing?!  Like a besotted schoolboy!  Oh, wait until I tell Artemis!”  She laughs, and any tension from before is broken.  “All right, that’s cute.  I’ll forgive the disrespect from both of you.”

“Erhm.  Yes.  Thank you for your loyalty, Icarus.”  Apollo coughs embarrassedly but doesn’t drop Icarus’ hand.  “But really, Icarus, we’ll have to address your etiquette in dealing with gods.  Choosing someone else over Athena is exactly how Troy happened.”

Athena waves her hand.  “We’ve all come a long way since then, Apollo; it’s all water under the shattered bridge of your humiliating defeat.  Anyway, Icarus is your lover, I’d hardly expect him to choose otherwise.  The really interesting thing would be to see who he picks out of the sun gods courting him.”

They both turn to look at him, and Icarus has just enough time to feel his heart stop, when the bell dings at the front counter, indicating that someone wants to check out the book, and he flees in a red-faced panic while the gods’ laughter follows him.

——————

And yup, there’s also the retail job.  Another soul-sucking position as stocker, cashier and general drudge; but it’s a consistent paycheck that he can’t turn down. 

It’s at a regional supercenter store, with groceries as well as departments for housing goods.  The place thrives off of desperate college kids to keep its business running; the management cheerfully denies promotions or pay increases on the premise that the students’ schedules will only change next semester, so there’s no use in investing in them for more than menial labor.  Icarus keeps applying for a position as a third-shift stocker, where customer service is minimal and you get overnight pay, but it’s a competitive position.  Lots of applicants.

But he gets lucky one weekend, and he’s called to help cover a shift because one of their regular guys is “in court again,” which Icarus chooses to interpret as meaning jury duty.  But, great news!  He looks forward to three shifts of mindlessly stocking shelves and racks, for slightly better than his usual pay, and with no (or at least, very few) customers to bother him.

“It’s not that great,” explains Amelia, the shift lead, when he comes in almost skipping in delight to be there.  Amelia is a gruff lumberjack sort of lady (lumberjane?), with a tattoo of Ruby on one arm and Sapphire on the other (Icarus wonders if Garnet is tattooed somewhere in the middle but it seems impolite to ask).

“It’s really hard to coordinate time to hang out with your friends and family on this shift.  Or get stuff done out in town.  Your sleep schedule is all messed up, and you have to take Vitamin D pills, which naturally isn’t covered on insurance,” she goes on, as they drag out two pallets of dry groceries to restock.

“I’ll trade you jobs,” Icarus offers.  “We can talk to Mark on Monday and do an even swap, day shift for night shift.”

“Pfft!  Nope, not that desperate,” she grins at him.

Night shift is everything Icarus hoped for.  They companionably stock shelves and chat occasionally.  Shenanigans abound on night shift, as the workers have learned by now that the video monitoring is solely concerned with theft during these hours, rather than professional behavior, as there aren’t many customers to impress.  The workers joke and chat and it’s like heaven.  Icarus would buy industrial-sized containers of Vitamin D if that’s the price of this kind of peace.

Of course, the peace doesn’t last too long. 

A guy comes in around 1am… someone that looks… familiar to Icarus.  He’s got blue hair, a cap with wings printed on the sides, and possibly the most hideous clothes Icarus has ever seen in his life, which is what tugs on his memory.  He has definitely seen this guy wearing a similarly outlandish outfit somewhere before.  On campus, maybe?  He can’t remember. 

The guy wanders around a little bit, occasionally putting clothes and accessories into his basket that match his aesthetic of “random, ugly and colorful.”  Icarus tries to ignore the red flags going up in his brain and carries on stocking.  He’s in the household goods section, stacking a few novelty coffee mugs, when the inevitable happens and the guy approaches him.

“Icarus, right?” comes the voice, inquisitive and bright.  Icarus flinches and turns.  Blue-haired guy is watching him from a few feet away, peering through the ugliest sunglasses Icarus has ever seen.  There’s a small smile on the guy’s face, and that’s what finally clues him in, where he’s seen him before.  He’d been talking to Helios, once, near the alley where he’d first run into the sun god.  He’d been smiling then, too – actually, Icarus gets the distinct impression that this guy is probably always quietly laughing to himself, at a joke that only he gets.

“Uh – yeah, that’s me.  Icarus.  Do you… know me?” he asks, a little uneasily.  He’s not sure what to expect, here.  Sure, his gods (is it all right to call them that?) seem to be generally positive towards him, but if more gods start showing up….

“Sure do!  Apollo and Helios talk a lot about you.  The rest of us are starting to get curious.”  The guy’s smile deepens a little and Icarus is sure there’s some secret joke there.  “I’m Hermes.  Everyone’s favorite.”  He winks at Icarus, who returns the smile nervously.

Hermes appears to notice the mug still in Icarus’ hand all at once, and lights up.  “Oh, that looks great!  Let me have that!”

Icarus looks at it.  The novelty mug is hideous.  It’s a model of the ancient view of the world: a turtle forms the base, with four elephants as pillars on top of it (apparently you’re supposed to keep cookies or something in there?) and then the flat earth, which is a saucer for the actual mug which is on top of the whole mess.  “This?  Uh, yeah, here you go.” 

Hermes beams at him and places the monstrosity in his basket. Icarus discreetly peeks inside: among other things, he can see lavender hot pants, and a pastel-colored sleeveless shirt with a Peter Pan collar and large printed donuts covering the material.  God, is he really planning to go out in public wearing – oh.  No, there’s worse.  He sees a pair of… rhinestone-covered clunky-heeled boots on roller skates.  Does this store even sell those?

He blinks at the sight and gestures weakly at the wall of novelty mugs behind him, as *Hermes* admires his find (How is this Icarus’ life now?).  “Uh – well, H-hermes, I guess – I would have thought you’d like this one more?”  The mug he’s pointing at is simple, and comparatively non-ugly: it’s white, and the handle is made to look like wings, and the words “Speed Limit: ∞” are printed on the front.  “You’re the fastest god… right?” He asks, suddenly anxious that maybe he’s remembering wrong and he’s about to offend one of the gods, but Hermes only grins.

“Yup.  Objectively true,” he says, plucking this mug and putting it in his basket also. 

The sound of hushed whispering and muffled giggles reaches them, and they turn to see Amelia and Joey (the tiny-framed red-headed girl who works in grocery most of the time) watching them from the end of the aise.

“Is this your boyfriend, Icarus?”  Joey sounds breathless, probably squeeing internally.  Joey does that a lot.

“Oh.  I thought you’d be the twink,” Amelia observes with a grin.

“Ah-ha.  That’ll bring him down here,” Hermes says softly with a chuckle.

Icarus goes crimson and starts waving his hands.  “Nononono, we’re not – I’ve never met this guy before today!  We’re definitely not dating!”

“Damn right you’re not!”  Icarus tries hard not to groan at the familiar voice as it floats down the aisle towards them. 

Helios scowls mightily at all of them (eyes glowing where only Icarus and Hermes can see them) and drapes himself very possessively across Icarus.  “I’m the boyfriend, here!”  he jabs his thumb at himself before giving Icarus an aggressively demonstrative kiss and cuddle.

Both girls look impressed and make suitable aww-ing noises (Amelia also mumbles something unintelligible about a three-twink scenario).  A couple other employees are wandering over to see what’s going on.

“Well, one of them, anyway,” Hermes notes cheerfully, earning another death glare from Helios.

“The best boyfriend,” Helios asserts, latching on to Icarus with fierce jealousy.  “What are you doing here, anyway, brat?”

Hermes holds his hands up in a universal ‘Who, me?’ gesture.  “Just here shopping!  No harm, Helios!  Icarus was just recommending a product to me – ah, here it is – ”  he holds the winged mug aloft.  “Since I’m the fastest of us.  Winner of every race and so on.”

This proves to be a sufficient distraction from his jealousy, as Helios bristles at this clear challenge.  “You cheated in that race!  Everyone knows you did!  Your stupid floppy sandals wouldn’t have stood a chance against my chariot!” 

Hermes hums a little and shrugs.  “I mean, except for when I totally did win.”

Helios steams and detaches one hand from latching onto Icarus, in order to point accusationally at Hermes.  “Cheated!  You probably rigged the whole thing!”

“You up for another challenge?  For the right to drink from this mug?”

“Ohmygod,” says Joey, eyes lighting up; “We can settle this.  Supermarket Sweep!”

“NO WAY,” Icarus attempts to protest, but he’s drowned out by cheers of approval and shouted challenges from the two gods.

It’s only after several display stands have been knocked over, and the store aisles look like a hurricane blew threw, and Apollo has come down to yell at Helios for missing a solar event that was supposed to be visible in the Western European Time Zone, and Hermes wins the contest and has held his prize mug aloft in triumph and Helios is consoled by everyone (including Hermes) that at least he still has the cutest boyfriend… only after all this, that it occurs to Icarus that Hermes absolutely didn’t pay for that mug.

The mug turns up as missing on the inventory that week, along with a few random items, all unrelated to each other except for the fact that they’re all aesthetic failures. 

The video feed for that weekend shows nothing but footage of all the workers doing their jobs innocently.  None of the employees says a word about the contest, but Icarus get winks from them all for months afterwards.