pixieledmemes | Test Drive Meme #4

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Test Drive Meme #4

TDM #4 - July/August 2025

🦋 Introduction

Welcome to the Pixie Led Test Drive Meme!

The prompts will always be game canon, provided both characters who participate in a thread are either already in the game, or get accepted in the next application round.

You do not need an invitation to join the Test Drive Meme, it's open for anyone!

Please indicate character name and canon in the subject line of your top-level. For current characters, you may also indicate your character's court.

For prospective players, Invites open on the 18th, Reserves on the 20th, and Applications on the 22nd. Thanks for checking us out and we hope you'll join us!

🦋 The Party

You wake up at a party.

You're not sure how, exactly, you got here. You may have just been walking in the woods or at a meeting for work or doing any other normal activity for you. But you know you weren't supposed to be at this party, you're fairly certain.

Anyone you ask about it will say the party is for you. You and the others also waking up and looking confused. Further questions will lead to the partygoers insisting you have something to eat. You're starving and others are eating the food without repercussion, so you figure there's no harm in a bite. You finish your portion.

Unlike all of the other parties the Adopted have attended thus far, this one lacks the fae's usual easy elegance and ethereal beauty. Instead of dresses drenched in shining pearls and gems or sturdy tables full of the most mouth-watering food around, this party looks... cheap.

While the chasm between the Seelie and Unseelie courts has stopped growing, it also hasn't started shrinking. But when it comes to party planning, the Day Duke and the Summer Queen have thrown out the more traditional kind of party in favor of a summer celebration that their human pets might be familiar with. A Renaissance Faire.

But this is the fae interpretation of a human Ren Faire, complete with cheap, itchy costumes, cardboard stalls in the marketplace, and soft, plastic weaponry. Even the fae themselves seem to have gotten into the spirit of the event, masquerading - poorly - as humans playing faerie creatures. Everything within this crafted townsquare is absolutely fake, except for the plentiful faire food and drink that can not be avoided. Newcomers will have massive turkey legs, steaming apple dumplings, and overflowing wooden mugs shoved into their hands as they stroll through the faire.

As the party winds down and everyone's eaten, a tall, stately elf woman stands up and speaks. You feel her voice more than hear it.

I am the Lawspeaker of the Fae, elected by Seelie and Unseelie alike, and you are all, now, subjects of Faerie. You cannot leave this realm once you have eaten our food, and even if you could, there is no saying how much time has passed back where you're from. Your loved ones are likely dead, your problems have likely played out. We require assistance in various matters, and each of you has been chosen for your talent and skill. You will be adopted by one of the Seelie or Unseelie Courts based on your strengths and personality. Your Court will decide what to do with you from there.

As suddenly as she stood, she sits back down.

🦋 We're the Rats

CW: loss of agency, character death

Between the faeries cosplaying as humans - flat, bland wigs and all - Adopted may catch a glimpse or three of strange figures slinking through the crowd, all dressed up in the same cheap robes, wearing masks made up to look like rats. If an Adopted attempts to catch one of these figures, they’ll find themselves drawn away from the lively crowd into some darkened corner of the faire, where the sound of the festival doesn’t quite reach. The rat man will say nothing if spoken to, only holding out a shining, jeweled crown that all Adopted will feel compelled to wear before they scurry away without a word.

And for most of the party, the rat men seem harmless enough, lurking around and handing out crowns, making a point to hit most of the Seelie court’s Adopted in particular. It just seems like another strange misinterpretation of human tradition by the fae, unintentionally sinister when really it’s all for fun.

But then the party goes silent.

One of the rat men descends into the market square with a cheeky little dance, pipe in hand, already playing a jaunty tune that carries from one end of the faire to the other. Any Adopted wearing a crown will be unable to resist the call of the music, dancing along to every note. And as the figure masquerading as a rat begins to step backwards away from the crowd, they'll find themselves following right after him, forced to mimic his every step.

If they are not stopped by those without crowns, the Adopted will eventually dance themselves right into the forest with their piper, blindly following him even as the trees themselves begin to twist in around them. The further they get from the party, the more the brush becomes so thick it suffocates, vines and branches curling around limbs, trapping the Adopted long enough that they'll be swallowed up completely by the forest, returned to their dorm bedrooms by morning.

🦋 Faire Festivities

CW: loss of agency, unintentional harm, blood and gore

There is a veritable trove of activities the adopted can pick from to entertain themselves for the evening as they battle the relentless heat and scorching sun. But don't be fooled, the activities present aren't mundane and offer some thrilling options.

It should be noted that while of the other weapons to be found all over the faire are plastic, Adopted will see for themselves that there is no mistaking that the items used in these games are incredibly real.

Axe throwing & Archery

some random Adopted (be they known to you or not) will be selected and strapped to the target board

Hope you have good aim.

Jousting

impossible to dismount until you win or lose.

Do not fear, no matter what happens during this event, the horses will be perfectly safe. The Adopted however do not have that same protection.

Darts

when either of you throw, the other will be hurt in turn.

Isn't teamwork great?

🦋 GEIS

You feel a vibration in your pocket sometime after the Lawspeaker addresses everyone. When you search for the source, you will pull out your Leaf, the device the Fae use to stay in touch with each other. Anyone who's used a smart phone will easily recognize how it works.

Greetings, Adopted. This is your Lawspeaker.

To be on theme with our festivities for tonight, tell us all of a time when you saw through a facade that fooled everyone around you. Perhaps the most compelling story will receive a reward from us.

ｎａｖｉｇａｔｉｏｎ

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( CW for the fact that he is a disembodied head? )

The Party
The words hover over the revelers like a thick fog and through the duration of the announcement, most eyes remain trained on the Lawspeaker. Most does not include those of Orpheus who appears to be slumbering or, worse yet, quite dead. The color in his cheeks says otherwise but it must be an eerie sight, seeing what appears to be a disembodied head balanced atop a silk cloth on the table like it was placed with the utmost care.

Near the end of her speech, he blinks his eyes open and briefly scans the room before his mouth curves into a sympathetic smile. He knows it intimately, the agonizing burn of losing a loved one so unexpectedly and being powerless to do anything about it. His heart, despite having withered long ago, aches for each and every soul in this room.

"I'm sorry for your loss, truly," he utters. But he hopes they won't do anything rash.

Rooted to the spot, he glances out of the corner of an eye to meet the stare of anyone who sees him with a polite smile. He might be unable to bow his head, but he does close his eyes to deliver a gesture he hopes will be seen as similar.

"And for the state of me."

We're the Rats
He has no means of stopping the madness — no physical means, that is. With a cavalier hat perched atop of his crown, he studies the throngs of people before he opens his mouth and begins to sing. The words that fill the space are soulful and earnest, a plea to lull them free from their temporary stupors brought about by their crowns and return them to the present. Remove the crown, cursed, that ails you. His voice dances through those in attendance with the ease of a summer's breeze.

Should he catch the eye of the masked piper, he greets them with unabashed determination. He knows nothing of the other Adopted, nor they of him, yet he feels compelled to fight for them all the same. If his voice is somehow unable to reach them, he can at least sleep at night knowing that an attempt was made.

Hopefully, no one thinks he is on the side of the villains of this tale.

Axe throwing & Archery
The Adopted in question isn't partaking in the games, he is a target who is dangling precariously from his tether. Jarring though the sight may be, especially with the jagged wounds at the base of what remains of his neck, his eyes are bright, kind and flickering with a hint of anxiety he attempts to smother.

"I trust your aim. As one can plainly see, I have very little left to lose. Strike true."

He never closes his eyes, he simply stares ahead at the other Adopted with their weapon in tow and eventually smiles to reassure them. In this, maybe, he will find his end should the wielder of the weapon and the land itself find mercy in their hearts for him. In the depths of his soul, he knows such a mercy will never be granted to him.

"Don't." It's softly spoken, so soft it might even be misconstrued as an attempt at soothing. But there is nothing calming about Dream's presence in this moment. He is utterly rigid with an overwhelming grief that threatens to drown him. If nothing else, this is a welcome respite from the rage he'd felt at being drawn here. But only just. "You need not apologize," Dream continues, and after another moment of lingering on the periphery of his son's gaze, he steps closer, slowly, almost tentative if such a thing were possible for one of the Endless.

When he stops, it is to stand before Orpheus very briefly before he chooses to sit. This allows them to be at eye level. It is no small thing for Dream to offer, but he wishes to all the same. "Has anyone disturbed your peace?" There's a thinly veiled threat in the seemingly innocent question. If anyone has upset Orpheus, it will take little provocation for Dream to disturb them in turn. For all his relationship with his son is complex, he is still under his protection. At least he hopes. That, too, could be contested here.

Don't.

Even before he sees him, he knows who graces him with his presence now and it hits him with such force that were he in possession of a body, he would have staggered as if struck. As it stands, all he can do is look up into the face of one he never thought he would see again. The bitterness of thousands of years ago means nothing in this moment and has no place here.

"They may not share your sentiments," he begins gently, as if he is meant to be the one consoling him. "It is an odd thing to be beholden to, though someone was kind enough to ensure I found comfort." Is it the silks beneath him that he speaks of or the current company? He hesitates a moment, unsure if this is truly happening or another figment of his imagination.

"No, they have been kind. You—" He cuts himself off with a quiet laugh, eyebrows furrowing briefly. "You look well, Father."

There is no one else alive with a gaze that can cut Dream to his core. He feels flayed, utterly at Orpheus' mercy, and he would ask for nothing less. These are the eyes that must judge him. These are the eyes that demand all the Dream King's attention.

At the mention of comfort, Dream looks almost rueful. "If that is your will." Because what his son believes and wishes matters more than anything else. And he doesn't for a moment believe Orpheus might be referring to him of all people. The father who abandoned him in his greatest hour of need.

This time, when he frowns, it's severe. "My son," he murmurs, his voice cracking, full of all the emotion he so rarely allows anyone to see. "I am sorry you must now endure this as your mother and I have." It's unspeakably wrong. It's perverse. Dream turns his face away a moment, struggling. "I will make this right." There is steel in his voice. This is a threat.

"I am no stranger to unchanged scenery," he admits, humbly, without an edge to his voice. "Recklessness is what tainted my life, I would ask that you not make the same mistake." When he looks at him it isn't with the eyes of a child scorned but those of understanding. Whereas Dream did not stop him, he intends to do the opposite, knowing just what grief can make people do.

"This was a design of my own making, you gave me all the guidance I ever needed, and I chose to ignore it in favor of forging my own path. No matter how well-intentioned, I was wrong. My words were spoken in grief, not hatred." For he could never hate him, they are blood. "You owe me nothing, it is I who owe you."

This, he believes, is an escape in some small measure, but something pries him from his thoughts before he can properly latch onto them.

"Endure? What has happened?" Try though he may, he can't hide the alarm in his tone. Whatever the explanation, he knows he will not enjoy it. "Tell me, please."

He'd expected scorn, if nothing else. Grief, above all. But this? Kindness was not an emotion may bestowed upon Dream. It was humbling, to say the least, to look upon someone he so deeply and profoundly wronged and to know they are not twisted by it. Perhaps there was some comfort to be found in the fact that Orpheus had clearly inherited his mother's grace. If he were more like Calliope than Dream, there was hope yet.

"Perhaps you were wrong," he rasps, "But you were young, and that does not condone what I did to you. I should never have turned away." Dream was unrelenting at the best of times, stubbornly unwilling to be moved even when he was clearly in the wrong. But this was Orpheus. His one and only child. If he could bend for no one, could he not bend for him? Even a little?

It is I who owe you is met with the sort of stony, weighty silence that can only mean Dream is already set on a decision. And he is. Once he'd ensured Orpheus' comfort and safety, he would approach the court leaders. This was a matter best settled between them alone.

Dream doesn't realize his mistake until he witnesses his son's distress. Frowning, but unable to lie, he gazes upon Orpheus' face as he delivers the tale. "She and I were held against our will by those who sought to use our power," he explains. "We are whole again, Orpheus. You need not fear for us." It was their burden to fear for him.

"There were no victors here, Father, trying to pin the blame now serves neither of us. Our time would be better spent reconnecting, if you would have me." There is still a lingering sense of doubt there, where he expects him to stand up and walk away again. He would not stop him not simply because he is physically unable to do so. Even this moment is precious, he won't let it go to waste.

Orpheus is quiet for a moment, solemn in knowing they were kidnapped with him unable to do anything more than take in a sunset he has since memorized. Fortunately, his own words echo back to him in his mind, and he finds he would give anything to be able to reach out and give comfort even in its smallest measure. The years have been kind in that he can scarcely remember what if feels like to touch another person, yearning for it fades with the changing of the seasons.

In a few more centuries, he may not even recall it at all.

"Were I able, I would have scoured the Earth. I could have persuaded them to free the both of you." He diverts his attention to someone else nearby, one overtly staring at him but nonjudgmentally, just to give himself a moment of peace. If the circumstances were different, if he had only listened to him, none of that may have transpired. Finally, after they turn their back to him, he returns to the conversation.

He was right. Dream tilts his head very slightly, the smallest of smiles tugging at his mouth. Orpheus was so like his mother in this moment, and it twists something inside him, a stirring that yearns for a time long past. That was better left untouched. "True," he murmurs, because anything less is a lie. "Tell me of your time at the temple. Were you appropriately attended?" Dream had sent messengers occasionally, if only to ensure his command was still being carried out. But ravens were not always the best judges of mortal character. And he wished to hear about Orpheus' experience from his own recounting.

Just as his son falls silent, so too does Dream. He could sit here forever like this, if only to be near to him. This is a greater gift than he ever thought possible, and Dream is content to do whatever Orpheus might ask of him. What he doesn't quite realize is the fact that they look so similar in this moment. Father and son.

"I do not doubt it," Dream replies, and there is pride in his voice. Following the direction of Orpheus' gaze, he eyes the newcomer with suspicion before they move on. It's another moment before he offers, "Perhaps here, you might share your gifts. Many are troubled by their circumstances." Dream knew well what the Fae were like — and he also knew there would be no circumventing their will. But that didn't mean others felt the same.

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Blitzø's holding an axe, but he hesitates, giving the decapitated head a sympathetic look, or at least, the closest he gets to one.

"Aw, don't be like that buddy! I'm sure you've got plenty to live for. Like, um...."

What can someone with only a body do?? He brightens.

"You probably give great head!"

"I was referring to the state of my being, life is something I have in abundance."

Blitzø's enthusiasm causes his smile to become more genuine, and he lowers his guard. Yet another stranger here aiming to raise his spirits, not knowing he is as content as he will ever be.

Somehow, without the means to do so, he exhales a laugh through his nose.

"Surely, you have more at your disposal than that."

"I hope you can forgive this liberty taken with your person, sir."

Earnest as ever, Isabel grasps the bodiless guy as gently as she can by the sides of his neck, lifting him so that he's over her head--so that his freakin' amazing voice can spread. She's aware it's an instrument in and of itself--better than anything she's got right now. If it can break others out of their mental imprisonment? It's time to go for it.

Nor does she have any issue with using a minor Forces effect of her own to act as a speaker, so that his voice can reach farther than just his immediate area. That's teamwork, holmes.

Meanwhile, she'll keep an eye out for anyone trying to stifle him. Isabel couldn't be too surprised if the Fae decided they didn't like their little prank being routed.

He is surprised but, as she seems to be encouraging rather than thwarting his efforts, Orpheus never misses a beat. Even if he does try as he might to look down and see the woman who means to be his partner in crime.

Very few seem to hear him, something he attributes to his heart not being in the song rather than the efforts of the Fae to hinder him. Only when efforts are made by other Adopted does he finally let his song reach its inevitable crescendo, ending on a drawn out note that seems to make even the trees dance.

"I thank you," he calls down to her, his brows knitted together in thought. "Whatever is at play here is stronger than what I've faced before. We may not have stopped it but saving a few is better than none at all." Once they have become better acquainted, he intends to ask about her gifts.

From his vantage point, all he can really see is, likely this. Long auburn hair (more a burgundy auburn than true red). An odd sort of tunic in a vibrant green, and blue trews when she walks (jeans and a tee shirt).

Once his song ends, he probably gets a better view, because she lowers him carefully--this is a person, not a basketball! Isabel finds a pile of multicolored scarves--probably just cotton, not silk, but it's a soft spot, so that's where she lays him to rest, before taking a step back so she's not all up in his grill.

"You're welcome. I'm not sure what else I could've done, and you seemed to have it on lockdown, so I figured helping you was better than standing around and looking pretty, but also like I was pretty empty between the ears, you know?"

She digs a toe of her sneaker in the dirt, because talking to a disembodied head was not on her bingo card this year.

"Anyway, I'm Isabel. Isabel Knight. Which...probably means nothing, but hey, still an introduction, right?"

"I wouldn't say that, you took initiative and came to the aid of those you've never met. I do not believe there is anything empty about you, especially when it pertains to your head." As charming as ever, she is treated to an almost boyish smile the second they are level with one another.

Beautiful though she may be, it is her quick thinking that catches his attention first and foremost. "However, lockdown," he says it awkwardly as if he's never spoken the word before, because he hasn't. The idea is there, enough for him to figure it out, "That implies that I know exactly what it is I am doing, and I don't. Not in this instance."

"It means everything, I now know the name of my accomplice. However, should they ask me, I will take it to the grave." A playful jest, not that she knows his life is an immortal one. "My name is Orpheus, the pleasure is mine."

"Youuuu could've just let it happen, though! But you saw a problem, and you had the skills to try to fix it! It's not our fault we only got so far!" They'd tried. One of her history teachers had mentioned something about how striving was the important part, but Isabel didn't really remember more than that snippet. And she's not leaving herself out, because she did help.

"There's not always a perfect solution with weird stuff like this. And this whole thing is weird. Even for you, probably." Delicately not mentioning that he is a head. It's weird, it's unfortunate for him, but it's pretty clear he's not letting it dissuade him. Well. Not moving is probably pretty difficult, as these things go, but while she doesn't specifically speak up about it, Isabel was already his trusty steed once, and another round wouldn't be that awful.

"I'm not that worried about it," she said, shrugging. "But...Orpheus, huh? Neat."

It's the best thing she can think of to say, without blurting out something dumb like "aren't you a myth?", or worse. Isabel can practically hear her parents' scolding, that she should know better. And she probably should, those stories had to come from somewhere!

"I could have, yes, but it wouldn't have been the right course of action." Orpheus does not elaborate, she doesn't need to know that because his heart wasn't behind the words that maybe his power waivered. He hasn't felt the joy of singing in so long that it has essentially become a stranger to him. With encouragement, maybe, he can find the love for it once more.

"For a head, you mean? There's no need to avoid it, you won't hurt my feelings. I have been for quite some time." But her thoughtfulness is touching to say the least. What a strange thing, enjoying a casual conversation where she seems to want nothing from him save for his company. In fact, that may be the most unusual aspect of it for him, not his current state.

"Would it be too much to ask about your gift, Isabel?" While he knows his voice can carry, he also knows whatever that occurrence was was not of his doing alone.

They are in agreement on that, it would not have been the right course of action to just sit back and let it happen. Heck, he'd probably end up more frustrated than she would have. Orpheus was stuck where he was, unless some kind soul picked him up and helped him out.

Like Isabel had. Not that she'd really thought about it too hard. She does have the grace to blush, though, when he brings it up.

"Well. Yeah, the Maenads." But Isabel makes a face, then, because while she's read about it, that is definitely rude on her part. "Um. Sorry!"

Her expression changes from embarrassment to shock, and she clasps her hands together behind her, looking like she had her hands caught somewhere they shouldn't be. But she ducks her head, and tries to explain, anyway.

"If we were on Earth, I couldn't talk about it. It's taboo to do it there." He'd probably understand that. "I'm what's called a mage, I do something called magick, obviously, and that's what I did when you were singing. A super simple Forces rote, so simple it doesn't have a name. But I used it to amplify your voice, so more people could hear it."

And then she shrugs.

"My loss? What have I lost?" Hob frowned over the glass in his hand, leaning back in his chair in an attempt to get comfortable. "You, my friend, have lost more than I have." Which was an understatement, really. Comically so, and yet here he was, speaking to a head. By far the least alarming thing he'd come into contact with in the years since he shed his mortality for a wager between the Endless. At least he's better at conversation than Hettie, though that is a rather low bar to meet.

Shifting in his chair, Hob looked over at him, studying his face. There was something distantly familiar about it, like a face from a dream, one he couldn't quite place. He'd heard once that a mind can't make up a face it hasn't seen, and he'd joked with the King of Dreams about whether or not that was truth or simply laziness on his part. Hob can't recall having gotten an answer though, which was just as well.

"Can I get you anything? Short of a body, of course. I can't work wonders, alas."

Edited 2025-07-16 23:40 (UTC)

"If what the Lawspeaker says is true, you have lost loved ones. Cherished friends." What a curious man, to concern himself with him rather than his own situation. Perhaps to ease some of the nonexistent tension, he smiles at him and jokes. "Perhaps those in attendance should be thankful for it, I'm a terrible dancer. Though I'm told my sense of humor is often even less desirable."

At least to the priests who take his jests to heart, though it's more likely that they are wary of his father slipping into their nightmares like a slithering serpent than anything else. Not that he would know should something go wrong, he thinks, as he has never once attempted to visit him on the island.

"Alas. No, thank you," he begins, giving a thoughtful pause after. "But as we seem to have an abundance of time here, I wouldn't turn away your company. If you would have mine, that is."

"Loss is a part of life." Hob has loved and lost many times over the years, buried two children, mourned a spouse. "Absence and fondness," he half quotes, though the poem surely hadn't meant for the absence to be death, variable interpretations not withstanding. Hob laughs. "A dancer is only as terrible as their partner. Clearly you have never had the right one. And for what it's worth, your sense of humour seems amiable to me, but that might not be a compliment considering how odd mine is."

Setting his glass on the cheap tablecloth, Hob relaxes back into the folding chair, one leg crossed over the other, ankle at the knee.

"Considering neither of us are going anywhere any time soon, I think I can manage that." Hob lets his gaze wander over the crowds for a moment, taking in the scene. He had lived through the Renaissance and it had certainly not looked like this, though he can't help but smile at the thought of it. "Hod Gadling," he offers then, turning back to the other man. "At your service."

"Surely there is someone you must miss, loneliness is a terrible burden to bear. Though, you are currently enjoying a conversation with a disembodied head. Perhaps you are not lonely at all, at least for the moment." His amusement dwindles, smile a touch on the somber side, though the warmth is still there. "I did once, I think often of the dance we never danced. But that is not a tale for a first meeting. I thank you for your candor."

Watching him, he can't help but wonder what it must feel like to relax so readily. He finds limbs he doesn't even possess anymore seem to groan with envy. He's been without them long enough that the feeling doesn't last long, it never does.

"You will forgive me, I hope, for being unable to shake your hand. You look as if you've seen this all before. Almost wistful." Not that he fashions himself a reader of minds, his gifts lie elsewhere. "My name is Orpheus."

Loneliness.

Hob turns the word over in his mind. Of course he is lonely, has been for ages. It's an old a friend as Death is, now, and her brother, so much so that sometimes Hob doesn't notice its presence. Other times, it's all he can feel. Now, it is silent, run off to bother someone else and Hob breathes easy for the moment.

"It's an enjoyable conversation," he answers with a laugh. "So no, I'm not lonely for the time being." Hob was content, in fact, for the most part anyway. Being held here against his will was unpleasant, a needling thought that lingers at the back of his mind, but it's not worth contemplating at present. It was, as all such things were, a problem for Hob in the future and he pities him, when that problem does eventually find him.

Hob laughs. "I think I can swallow my disappointment. I've never been one for formality." Enough to get by, but Hob had been born no better than the dirt beneath his feet and those he'd climbed that ridiculous ladder every once in a while, the life of nobility wasn't for him. Too boring, for one. "Oh," and he chuckles. "I remember the fifteen-hundreds quite well. Good parties back then."

That name is familiar and Hob turns to get a better look at him. "Orpheus, I do believe I know your father."

"Or you are simply being kind, I'm grateful for either reason. As you can imagine, conversations with new faces are as rare as snowfall in the summer months." Not that he bores of the conversations he has with the priests in his temple, they are engaging as they can be, and he treasures their time together. Though sometimes spontaneity strikes, and he desires talking about topics that make them uncomfortable, yet they shy away as if they were forewarned to avoid them entirely.

"Nor I. I find you can learn a great deal about someone when they have lowered their guard." Ah, he thinks, someone who is as fortunate as I am when it comes to escaping the sweet touch of Death. Good parties, yes, but also a pestilence that stuck around like a wraith, chipping away at the hopes of those it encountered. People always looked to a higher power for guidance, not knowing that they were either duty bound or unwilling to lift a hand.

He feels for this man even though they have only just met, his smile a touch somber for what he must have lost in his journey here. "Then.. Death has also refused to take you? I'm sorry, even if it brings little comfort now. I have lost, but I imagine you have lost more." Being able to traverse through the ages, making meaningful relationships only to have their mortal bodies wither away with time. Immortality is a curse, he understands now what he did not then.

"You know my father?" His smile becomes almost boyish and fond with the slightest tinge of sadness behind it. "Is he.. doing well?"

It is a vexing thing, to have been so soon freed from her captivity only to find herself caged once more. Not in the way that Calliope had been, she is not bound to a single person, but she is caged all the same. The certainty that all she knows is long dead is far less than it would be for someone not a goddess, but it doesn’t make her any less displeased at the thought. For so many of those around her were mortal. Trapped, just as she is. And if it is the truth…

Her thoughts are distracted by the sound of a familiar voice, and Calliope wastes no time in seeking it out. Until she sees him. My son.

“Orpheus.”

"Mother."

His voice is as warm and inviting as ever, eyes quickly shifting to focus on her approaching form. Orpheus has certainly seen brighter days but in this moment, nothing could dampen his spirit. Even rarer still than meeting his father again, having both of his parents in one place is something he never thought possible. Even in his dreams he could never have brought the thought to life.

He could let this moment be their own but, knowing of the hurts of the past, he adds: "Father is here. We've spoken at length."

Truthfully, he is just as shocked as she might be.

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Test Drive Meme #4

orpheus | the sandman (spoilers)

🥲 the party

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(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

axe throwing

no subject

rats

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

the party.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

The party (don't mind me, having no idea what I'm doing)

😭 MOM