Notes: Written for the Greco-Roman War on PJFC. Secondary prompts used are "indecisive" and "I hope you end up in Tartarus". Also, somebody dies onscreen, not that anyone notices.

Word count somewhere around 2.2k. All-OC fic, using a PJO setting. It's complicated. I swear there is an explanation for the discrepancies from LT canon of what we know of the Lotus Casino but the narrator is unaware of all of them so yeah not really much chance to explain them.

Disclaimer: Not mine, not for profit.

Alternatives

London, 1831

Miss Philippa Featherington stood in front of the establishment she had been seeking, arms crossed militantly under her breast in a fashion that would have her long-gone governess come at her with a cane.

She was here- in a somewhat disreputable part of London, escorted by nobody (penniless spinster women from scandalous families tended to not give a fig for propriety) and just asking to be assaulted by thieves or worse, because her feckless younger brother had vanished for a weekend, leaving her equally feckless mother in hysterics because she had no idea what to do without having a man of the house around. God forbid she woke up one day and realized that it was Philippa who had been keeping them afloat, not Nathaniel. It would probably result in the apocalypse.

Given that after two whole months of Nathaniel being a reckless fool and her mother doting on him and ordering her to fulfill his every desire regardless, their family finances had come down from a trickle to perhaps the hint of a drop; she would probably welcome an apocalypse. Anything better than to endure the suffocation of genteel poverty for the foreseeable future.

There surely must be something more to life than this.

No, she was using her ramblings to distract herself from how indecisive she was feeling. The street was not getting any safer, and the door loomed in front of her, clearly mocking. If she backed down now, Nathaniel would continue to spend money he did not have left to spend and she would-

There were no good prospects for an unemployed, penniless woman with no skills to speak of in the world. Whatever awaited her in there would not be worse than what she would have to face if she left.

Philippa took a deep breath, and firmly knocked on the door of the Lotus Palace.

She didn't know what she had been expecting, exactly. A dignified butler, perhaps. Maybe a muscled man fully equipped to throw out people who looked like they could not spend enough. But not a tall, sylph-like blonde sheathed in white clothing she vaguely recognized as being Grecian in design, her arms bared and her throat unadorned by jewelry. It made sense, she supposed, once she had finished being stunned. Gambling played upon temptation, and who wouldn't be tempted by a woman this beautiful?

What she really wasn't expecting was for this vision in white to take a long, slow look at her, smirking in a way that indicated she was fully planning to ravish her, outdated working-class gown and all. Her immediate compulsion to return said look with a similar one was a lot more familiar.

"Is this the Lotus Palace?" Philippa asked, once she had recovered. (Recovered? Now there was a laugh. How did you recover from a look like that? How did you stop yourself from giving her a look in turn?)

"The Palace of Lotuses," the woman corrected, "People do muddle it so- but yes, I suppose we are what you are looking for."

A lofty name for a gambling hell. But then again, it was an uncommon gambling hell. She supposed that made the difference.

"My brother Nathaniel Featherington is here. I demand to be taken to him."

"Why should I let you see him?" The blonde asked her, "What's in it for me?"

"I have money," Philippa lied, "I can pay you once you've shown him to me."

She really didn't expect that to work, and she was surprised when the woman nodded sagely and let her in, the doors sliding shut with an ominous clap behind them.

The entrance chamber was a large hall (and red and gilt and ostentatious), filled to the brim with people, all of them occupied with some form of cards or dice. The women draped over a portion of the men were clearly here as secondary entertainment.

She supposed she had been sheltered, once- but she'd lived long enough and poor enough that infidelity and whoring had become unremarkable facts of life.

She watched a woman bending over a man, kissing him. She saw the man shudder and- as she watched, slowly fall over from his chair, sprawling ungracefully on the ground. His companions- they were playing some sort of card game- didn't notice.

She saw the woman smiling, her eyes glinting red in the lamplight-

"Our clients," her escort's voice was close enough to make her start, and she felt a firm hand on her small of her back, pushing her forward, "Lady Kelly is nothing for you to bother about. Come."

But-

Her escort was stronger than she looked, and Philippa had one more glimpse of the woman turning to another man, her skirts swishing around the still form of her previous lover. Then she was looking at her brother, and it became unimportant.

Nate looked as he always did- unkempt, forbiddingly handsome and occupied with cards. Philippa felt a familiar rush of anger clench at her stomach, but pushed it down with the ease of long practice.

"Nate, you need to come home."

I wish I could ask you to stay away instead. I wish I could find some way of fending for myself. I wish I could leave you to rot, sometimes. Instead, she got to the heart of the matter as quickly as she could. Too much time in her brother's company tended to erode her nerves to explosives.

Nate looked up, and his face went from easy bliss to irritation. Then he looked back at his cards, pointedly ignoring her.

What else was new? He'd been like this for a while now- they had never been close, but once he'd come of age, things became so much worse between them. He belittled her and her mother, insulted them and spent most of their money- throughout which, her mother held fast to the conviction that Nate was always right, and called her vile names when she tried to get her to see reason.

Truthfully, she did not know who was worse. Nate, for being himself, or her mother- for enabling him. She couldn't change them (she'd tried, back when she was bit more naïve- it hadn't worked). But she could try to order them around to where they made the least possible amount of damage, and by god she would do that at least.

She felt like the last sane person in the house sometimes. Of course, given that she was here actively trying to bring back her brother instead of leaving him to rot laid doubts to that theory.

"Nathaniel Featherington, look at me."

Nate ignored her. Philippa felt her teeth clench.

"Mama's distraught- she's literally worried herself sick. Nate-"

"Oh go away, Philippa." Nate yawned, "Stupid woman. Always barging in where you're not needed. No wonder you aren't married- no man would put up with the nagging."

Philippa felt herself flush. She was acutely aware that her escort (all long limbs and golden eyes oh god she was going to be dreaming of that woman for weeks wasn't she?) was watching the entire scene. It only made her angrier.

"Nathaniel," she said (it really came out as more of a growl) "I will drag you out of here if I have to. By the ear. In front of your friends." she poured as much sarcasm as she possibly could into the word. His friends. They had made what was already a bad hand so much worse.

"I could have you put in Bedlam, you old bint," Nate finally snapped, apparently driven past sulky silence, "How would you like that? The madhouse? Looks like the only place you would belong in. God knows Mama has no reason –or desire- to keep you around."

Philippa prided herself in being able to keep her emotions to herself. A stoic face was very necessary for survival (or at the very least, sanity in her household), but she couldn't stop herself from going white, or her face from becoming a rictus of horror. Bedlam? The madhouse? She had heard stories of what happened there, for all that she was supposed not to.

And her brother was threatening to put her there?

"Well, what do you know, it actually worked." Nate said, smirking, "Shoo, sis. I'll come back home for more money tomorrow. Just tell Mama to stop being such a child. And remember to behave, or you know what will happen."

She was shaking. She couldn't think. Bedlam oh god-

"Pardon me," She heard her escort say, "But you said you were unmarried, Miss Featherington? Also if I am not mistaken –if I may be so bold- you have no particular attachment to your mother?"

Philippa was only slightly confused at this non sequitur. Most of her was still quivering with a mix of rage and fear- perhaps that was part of why she answered a question so invasive. "Yes?"

"Ah. I see," the woman looked slightly… embarrassed? What on earth was going on here? "And you are dependent on… him?"

"Yes." She said, teeth gritted at Nate, who looked like he'd won the argument. He likely had- there wasn't much she could do to him if he didn't see sense, regardless of all her pronouncements.

Bedlam. Oh god, he'd threatened her with the madhouse. She didn't know if she could stop shaking anytime soon-

"Oh. Well then-would you like to stay here?"

Philippa gaped. Nathaniel gaped better.

"It's not as bad as it sounds, you know. Most of the people who work here rarely go out- we have everything we can possibly need here. And, if I am not mistaken, you find me attractive. A feeling that is quite mutual, I assure you. And nobody would blink at it here, if we were to pursue it." A pause. " Perhaps more importantly, nobody would threaten to paint you with madness or send you to hell."

"Now, see here-" Nate began.

"I hope you end up in Tartarus, you vile piece of effluvia," the woman said, not even bothering to look at him, "You and every idiot who finds his way in here. But I suppose the best you could hope for is Asphodel. Even being punished for eternity requires a smidgeon of thought, which you are clearly incapable of."

Philippa was not sure what to say to that. On one hand, it was her brother she was insulting. On the other hand, well- it was her brother.

"What do you say, Miss Philippa?" Her escort smiled at her, "I realize this is all rather abrupt but- you appear to be an intelligent woman. You can see your options, and how much worse could I be. At the very least, I'm sure to be excellent to look at."

What she had to look forward to? Endless, endless rounds of poverty and listlessness. And embroidery.

She hated embroidery. And if Nathaniel carried through with his threat, she would doubtless be wishing hard for it for the remainder of any life she had left in Bedlam's cells.

This was insane- she didn't know anything about this woman, apart from the fact that she was beautiful, good at insulting people, disliked her brother and liked women too; frankly she was liking the sound of this more and more as she thought about it.

But what would she do? She couldn't trust a stranger with her life. She couldn't just leave all she'd ever known-

The woman's eyes were on her, unflinching. Her face had turned from the smile she had worn from the door to now, making her look older. Much older. Perhaps it was just the solemnity but there was something in her gaze. The weight of centuries.

Oh god, she really was going mad. She couldn't do this. She couldn't leave her mother and brother and the tribes of acquaintances for whom she was mostly just gossip fodder. Not for a woman whose eyes appeared to be wise and kind. That was stupidity of the most egregious sort, and she was not stupid.

"Yes."

Silence. It took a few moments before she registered that she was the one who had spoke, and then her heart was beating loud enough that it drowned out everything else.

The blonde smiled.

"What on earth is-" Nate begin weakly, but was cut off when a motion from the blonde made one of the large men standing silently in the corners (Philippa later learned they were a cross between thugs and footmen) dragged Nate into the street over his protests. It happened so fast that Philippa barely had time to blink.

"Wait, I-"

"No waiting," the woman said firmly, walking up to her, "I am not risking you changing your mind."

"But my-" Oh god what had she done whatever had she done?

"A deal is a deal, Miss Featherington," the woman's hand on her arm was surprisingly warm. "My name is Phaedra. Welcome to the land of the lotus eaters- we have much to talk about."

Notes: This was originally supposed to be much longer, showing Phaedra's point of view and all that but um- I ran out of time. Sorry about everything, from missing the deadline to the lack of finish to this piece.