Chapter Text
March 21st, 1933.
Where do we begin?
-Hermès and “Agriope”
Sunbeams were beginning to flood through the windows that Orpheus was wiping down. Spring had started yesterday and Lady Persephone had finally returned to the world above. Flowers began to bloom and the grass started to show through the melting snow. It had been a harsh winter and the tavern had been a safe haven for many townspeople and travelers. With its sturdy walls and fireplace which bore an ever-burning flame, it was a second home to most of the town. Such a town was worn-looking, caught somewhere between the forest and a railroad line with millions of years of history. Every time a storm tried to tear it down, the town stood and whatever fell was picked up again. Buildings could crumble and fall to the ground, but they were always pairs of hands to restore it back to its former glory. Life seemed to calm for a moment there like it was a place between the regular overworld and the underworld. Everyone tried to do what they could to keep each other safe, though sometimes it wasn’t enough. Sometimes residents faded to just their souls and other times, travelers would end up at the train station, ready to carry on the myth of where the train led.
Some said the town was blessed by the Gods and perhaps it was, what with a few hiding in plain sight. People were torn between believing that Gods were living there or that there were Gods at all, nevertheless, they were treated the same as those who did believe. Never was anyone cast aside for less than a heinous crime and the owner of the tavern made sure of it. The owner was a kind man who claimed to be Hermes, God of trickery and travel. He was clever and quick, often coming up with witty responses to patrons. Everyone in town knew him, yet the question of why such a God would be settling in a town like this, bore no answer. With the Gods came the stories and what some thought to be myths. Myths of a train that carried souls into the underworld, to Hadestown, where they would become shades to live in the mysteries after life. No one knew for sure what happened once you died, but there were rumors spanning from total bliss and peace to forever working in Hades’ mines.
Buried in the many legends of the town, was the legend of a waiter who was rumored to be the son of an unknown suitor and a Muse. A steady start to his work day was making sure the tavern looked its best; at least as best as it could look with its decades of history. Countless years of providing shelter, helping community, and sharing love, filled these walls.
Yet, there was hate remaining, and it, unfortunately, lay in the young waiter who resided and worked at the tavern. Usually, he was kind and ever so gentle, but a certain person in town seemed to just get under his skin; Eurydice.
Eurydice was a complicated character that never let another get too close to her. They were distant, almost disconnected from the vast society around them. If you asked a stranger what she was closest to, as far as personality, they would respond with a name.
“Hades. They’re like their father.”
But for someone who was lucky enough to get a conversation out of her, which was mostly workers under the ground, they would reply with a different name.
“Persephone. She’s like the Queen of the Underworld.”
See, she was different from others. Much like my own boy and no, I didn’t compliment myself earlier because I’m arrogant, someone else wanted to write it in. Though, you’ll have to see for yourself who did it, of course. I’m not writing all of this myself either, you know. I must continue.
As far as her looks goes, she was described by others as having coal-black hair, such as though it might leave coal streaks if another touched it. With eyes the color of acorns, you’d see the similarities between them and her mother.
When I first met her, she was no doubt similar to Persephone.
Though, she wasn’t as tall; her height was just barely resting above her fathers.
To this day, I’ve never seen her without boots, so I can’t tell you if she’s actually shorter than him.
Despite being the goddess of flowers, they always wore dark clothing along with dark eyeshadow and such, of course. Maybe that’s why many thought that she was like her father.
I have to hand it to her for keeping up such an intimidating attitude everywhere she went.
Underground, in the overworld, and Olympus; they always stood out even though all they wanted was to blend in.
That might be the very thing that brought her to my tavern and that might be why this story started.
I haven’t even described my boy yet, have I?
Orpheus.
I didn’t choose the name. Some thought it meant “darkness of the night,” but he was, and is, more than a simple definition of a name. He was no title either; he was a light at the end of a dark tunnel. My confession, which I hope he reads some day, is that I wish he had been mine. Biologically, you know? Things didn’t work out in the way and he was Apollo’s, but Calliope always said he was mine.
She was wrong, but Apollo never stood up to say otherwise, so guess who raised him? The god of travelers, trickery, the man with feathers on his feet.
Orpheus stayed under Hermès’ wings; almost literally when he was younger and more afraid of the world. When he finally stepped away from the wings, he found his voice through the strings of a guitar. He acted differently than most. Orpheus was quiet and he wasn’t good at communicating, but the town still cherished the few times they heard his voice.
They described his voice to be like nectar, a drink Persephone would bring in every once in a while.
His songs were magical, sometimes I could see gold leaves forming because of them.
His hair was near his shoulders, like Eurydice, but the color was drastically different as it was a soft hazel.
He had freckles dusted all over him, similar to his mother, and his eyes matched his hair. Although, there appeared to be gold flakes in them, but no one knew where he had got them from. And who was I to ask? I was only his god-father.
Orpheus and Eurydice.
Their personalities clashed, but not in a way that was violent. At least before that day.
March 21st, 1933.
Hermes was making drinks at the counter, swapping stories with some frequent customers. He was paying no mind to the people coming in and out of the place since he had workers who would keep track of that themselves.
They weren’t like Hades’ workers.
He could hear the door open, the creaking of it reaching over the quiet chatter and across the bar.
“Join me for a drink, birdie.” Persephone’s voice caused Hermes to look up; he’d forgotten she’d been at the bar. She had been so quiet.
She wasn’t drinking that year. I tried my best to keep it that way
Then he looked over to see the flower goddess herself standing with her arms crossed. Her hair was half up and they had something in their hands. There was an unreadable expression on her face that he couldn't tell if it was anger or her regular expression.
“Where’s Orpheus? He has something of mine.”
Hermes sat down a cup of water for Persephone and looked towards the back.
I don’t regret anything, just so you know.
“In the storage room, I think. Go ahead and see.” Persephone gave him a confused look but he shrugged it off and waved his hand towards the door.
Eurydice took one last look at him and grumbled a “thanks” before entering the room.
Minutes passed and more customers drifted their way out. It was almost quiet, with there being only a few patrons left.
Then he heard Orpheus.
“Hermes! Help!”
Now, despite my age, don’t confuse me for a slow man. What do you think the feathers on my feet are for?
Hermes and Persephone both headed for the door, wondering what exactly was going on. And as they opened it, this is what they saw.
Eurydice had Orpheus pinned against the wall. There was fear in his eyes as she held a dagger against his throat. It was like a cat against a mouse
My kid couldn’t fight for shit and even if he could, he wouldn’t hurt someone who didn’t strike first.
“Shut the hell up, would you?” Eurydice didn’t hear the door open. For some reason, there wasn’t a creak this time.
Persephone was the first to act, rushing over to pull her away from him and Hermes couldn’t help but wonder if it had happened before.
Clutching onto the knife still, they tried to break free from Persephone’s grip, but she was stronger, having been around much longer than the other.
“He stole my fucking feather! I saw him with it!”
Hermes then walked over to Orpheus, holding his son’s chin up to check to see if she had injured him. There was a slight cut, but not enough to scar. After pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and pressing it against the skin gently, he looked at the boy.
“Did you steal it?”
Orpheus blushed a little from embarrassment and fidgeted with his bandana, never having to face an accusation like this.
“Yes, but it was a dare. I didn’t mean any harm.”
The god sighed, not expecting this and frankly, not wanting to deal with it.
I told him to give it back, but I’d never punished him so I didn’t know what to do next. Luckily, Persephone gave me an idea.
Persephone mostly let go of Eurydice, still holding onto her arm tightly.
“I swear to the stars that if you don’t stop doing this, I will make you work here, Eurydice.”
His eyes lit up with an idea and he looked at Persephone.
“You know, that’s not a bad plan. I mean,” he gestured to the cut on Orpheus and grinned at her “I think it would be fair for both of them, don’t you?”
She let Eurydice go completely and grinned back at him.
“It would be.”
And the other two didn’t have time to protest, because I had a tavern to close and Eurydice and Persephone had to meet with Demeter.
Then there was March 22nd.
My favorite and least favorite day .