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Zagreus makes it a whole twenty feet into the room before announcing “hold on a moment,” and immediately falling to the ground, flopping to lie on his back. His own blood is mixed with that of the shades, splattered haphazardly over himself. It's been a long time since he came across a fountain, and the only thing going for him now is that he knows Charon's claimed rooms enforce a strict no-violence policy.
If Zagreus had to attach a numerical value to how well he felt, it’d be a solid one-out-of-whatever. In a more medically accurate sense, he’s ‘having a very bad time’. Zagreus turns his head and spits blood on the floor. It stands out stark red against the soft grass. “Charon, mate, you wouldn’t happen to have some discount food, would you?”
“Kkkkhhhh.” That’s a no. He can see the wares from here, which are tools and a line to Artemis. Useful for when he doesn’t feel like he just got his ass handed to him by a cadre of dead charioteers and Asterius in quick succession.
Unfortunately, that’s been his day. Zagreus groans back at Charon and closes his eyes. “Fair enough.”
He hears Charon floating over through the sound of his adornments, a gentle clinking of metal. Zagreus gives it a moment to see if the boatman is coming towards him or attending some shade -- it’s the former, and he sincerely hopes Charon isn’t going to actually ask anything of him. “Lemme just take a breather here.”
The sound of movement stops once just next to him. A muted grumble in response from Charon, offering both permission and some slight concern. Zagreus gives him a vague thumbs up without looking at him.
The ground is softer than he expected, and now that he’s closed his eyes, he really doesn’t want to open them or get back up… it’ll just be a minute or two, to see if any of his injuries miraculously knit themselves back together in a moment of downtime, or maybe Charon will procure a snack or something from wherever he gets his supplies on display if he’s given a minute…
Sure, yeah….
There’s a hand taking his face, careful, and while Zagreus would love to question or say he’s doing just peachy mate no need to worry, he is, unfortunately, slightly incapable of forming words. The ability to form an awareness of his surroundings disappears shortly after.
He’s lying on his side when he wakes up. It’s warmer now, the smell of smoke and char in the air. Dark wood greets him, then the sound of lava bubbling, a slow-moving sludge. The boat rocks just enough for it to be perceptible.
Zagreus inhales deeply, then sighs through his nose. He’s still, unfortunately, decidedly banged up. Something is heavy in his mouth, metal in a different way than blood. He lifts a hand, stiff with exhaustion, and spits - an obol. Bleh.
But, reasonable, given the usual rules. This is how his pocket change will manifest if he’s going to give it back via boat ride rather than getting kicked into whatever river he happens to die closest to. The coin turns over in his fingers and Zagreus lets his arm fall back down. “Wrong way, Charon. I’m trying to go upriver, not down.”
“Hhhhnn. Hrm, khhh.”
“You sure?”
It’s fair. He was going to kick the bucket next time anyone sneezed at him. This is the easier way back. But, there’s his pride to consider… “I could have made it past Theseus. An underdog victory.” Absolute bullshit. He hears Charon laughing behind him, a weird choking inhale. Sure, sure.
Zagreus tilts his head back to look at Charon. The angle isn’t great, but he can barely see the purple glow of his features and a skeptical cast to his expression. The boatman floats a half-step forward and raises his oar from the fire of Phlegethon. “Hhoh?” The oar drips flame just barely over the edge of the boat, a short distance from Zagreus’s head.
Meaning, if he’s really intent on heading back to the Hall the deadly way, Charon’s perfectly fine with turning the finishing blow into an admonishing bop upside Zagreus’s skull. If he really wants. “Alright, point taken, I’m good.”
With a pained grunt, Zagreus hauls himself up to sit cross-legged on the floor of the boat, and Charon returns to his spot standing at the back. Oar slices through the water once more, almost absentmindedly batting away any burning hands that try to reach in and hitch a ride uninvited.
Zagreus could sit in the boat properly, but it’s easier to slouch against the fore seat, pay vague mind to the itch of blood drying on his skin, and watch the islands of Asphodel drift by. A fair bit quieter than the other boats he’s been on down here.
The concept of having a peaceful time that lasts more than about two minutes is strangely novel. Not the kind of thing he would sit with for long (far too antsy for that, the flames nipping at the soles of his feet a physical refusal to stand still), but maybe it’s about time he took a few minutes to not perform or be victim to acts of violence.
It’s a little nice. Even if he’s mostly dead and still going back to the hall in the end, at least now Zagreus doesn’t have to listen to Hypnos chirp at him about ‘ have you tried not getting hit by a magic butterfly? ’. Probably. He has no idea what Hypnos would have to say about his younger brother tossing Zagreus back into the hall by the ankle, or whatever.
Charon doesn’t talk, which is expected, outside of the intermittent annoyed grumble if some burning shade’s hands gets too close to the boat. It’s never an issue, they’re dispatched easily by the oar (which seems more a weapon than a tool for steering, frankly, using it to avoid the even more intermittent floating rock appears to be entirely a formality). Zagreus allows it, shockingly.
Well, he allows it until the smell of char shifts to something else, something like metal and a thing Zagreus has never been able to describe outside of ‘dark’. Back into Tartarus.
Zagreus stretches, muscles still complaining sharply about the movement (there goes another downside of sitting still, gods forbid his body starts thinking it’s allowed that). Attention goes from the passing surroundings, spark of blood and magic mixing with the fire, to Charon himself.
Zagreus’s attention is evaluating, though Charon remains as completely inscrutable as most everyone finds him. “Why are you helping me, anyways? Just friendly customer loyalty?” Unlikely, considering he didn’t exactly make a habit of buying things off Charon before he decided he’d be fleeing the nest, and they were mostly friend-adjacent until Charon popped up with a menagerie of material and spare boons and an expectant skeletal expression.
It’s as blatant an endorsement and offer of help as anything Nyx gave him, but Nyx never said anything about enlisting Charon. He always felt like he was there of his own volition-- and it’s not like Zagreus is the only hero to ever try and reverse course up the Styx. They always went to Charon. Surely there’s something going on there, if he allows this much leniency…? Or a price that’ll take him up Lethe.
Charon gazes blankly down at him. “Hm.”
He’s good at getting Charon’s gist. That one didn’t even have a gist to get. Zagreus groans in exasperation. “You’re avoiding the question.”
Charon resumes acting like there’s anything at all to steer. Maybe there’s a noisy exhale underneath that belies some sort of fake-innocent tune. That’s a whole performance out of avoiding the question.
Zagreus definitely doesn’t sulk, he just grumbles to himself about no one ever wanting to give him straight answers and always being difficult because it is, objectively, an accurate assessment of his life situation. The pout and turning back to the Styx at the same time is merely incidental.
He feels better enough to start talking again once he gets closer to the Hall, though it’s largely about inanities and the mysterious machinations of the gods on Olympus and what a pain Hades is being (to which Charon occasionally makes ambivalent replies, though there’s an odd little spark of attentiveness in his voice when Zagreus mentions getting help from Hermes. Huh). Once again, the prince is back to fidgeting. He stands up properly once the Hall’s entrance is visible. The easiest entrance is via hopping in the water here.
Blood flows slowly along, never quite congealed but always looking like it’s putting idle consideration to the idea. Charon pulls the boat to turn lengthwise to the river, as close to a dead stop as it’s going to get.
Implication’s clear -- entering through the pool saves Charon the trouble of making his alliances too blatant. No need to wave it in Hades’ face that Charon’s in the exact same trouble he got into over Aenas, Odysseus, so on and so forth. “Well,” Zagreus says, leaning back. “Thanks for saving me the trouble of Theseus bragging about the great job he did putting me out of my misery, there. I’ll see you again in a bit -- try and have some centaur hearts on hand for me, will you?”
He’s got a foot on the edge of the boat before he realizes Charon’s next to him all of a sudden, the length of a boat far too easy to cross in what equates to a single step. Good for Zagreus that Charon clasps a hand to his shoulder, or he might have been startled enough to fall sideways into the Styx.
The look Charon gives him -- something that might be a smile, head canted a bit, before he pats Zagreus’s shoulder again and moves slightly back. If Zagreus didn’t know better (and does he? Probably not) he’d call it Charon actively being encouraging.
“Hah?” That time the wordless question is from Zagreus. The irony doesn’t escape Charon, though neither does an answer. Instead he simply gives his weird squinty expression of approval, then --
Then shoves Zagreus into the waters of the Styx, watches him splash with a yelp and flailing of limbs. Stay on your toes, prince, and come back to the escape attempts soon. (Charon’s allowed to have his fun where he can get it, even if it does result in Zagreus spitting bloody water back into the pool when he emerges, fully healed and just a little embarrassed at being caught off guard, into the Hall of Hades.)