IV

TARTAROS

In the middle of New York, on a completely normal street, their was a completely normal looking hobo squatted down on the sidewalk with a small cup in front of the small blanket the hobo was currently squatting in. On his face was a look of neutrality, with not a greedy glint in his eye. The hobo was clothed in torn jeans and hoodie, typical garb for for the likes of him. One of the passerbyers stopped and sneered at the homeless man, throwing a used napkin in the man's face. The hobo didn't react.

Tartaros stared at the passing crowds emotionlessly, not bothering to beg for money that he didn't need. Even if he did, the people around here were so snobbish that they wouldn't spare him a penny. He scowled inwardly, these pathetic mortals clinging to their money like it was actually worth something. Their deaths were an inevitable, so what was the point of furthering one's own success when it was doomed to come tumbling down. Like every empire to ever live, these people would die and their riches would die with them. The same went for him, eventually he would become so forgotten that he would crumble to dust, it was simply the way things were, even for immortals. He had been the first, and one of the only gods to realize this truth, and thus he was made the God of Nothing.

Thus, he had was the patron of those who owned nothing, and had no one. That was why he chose the form he was currently in, as hobos were his personal favorite people. He enjoyed keeping people like that exactly as they were, miserable and alone. Many may have called him cruel, but in truth Tararos was simply keeping them from being consumed by their greed and avarice, he was enlongating their life more than anything else. It was to bad the other gods were incapable of understanding,

He snorted, all wise and all knowing my ass!

Staring around the street, his eyes fell on a posh looking woman who was sauntering down the street like she owned the place. Judging from her rich attire, that assumption was probably correct. Tartaros' eyes darkened and his face twisted into an ugly sneer. The God Of Nothing bowed his head in an attempt to hide his face under his mop of greasy black hair. He failed, as the posh woman stopped in front of him and regarded him with unconcealed disgust. Unable to hide himself without relying on his godly powers, he looked up and stared at her flatly. "Spare some change?" He rumbled hoarsely.

Her mouth turned down in a condesending frown, "Why do persist in degrading yourself among these mortals, sister."

She practically spat the word brother like an insult. Tartaros didn't even bother to try and feel offended, "Why do you persist in being a total bitch, sister." If they were going to fight again, he might as well fight fire with fire.

The powerful aura around the woman flare angrily, and his sister narrowed her eyes hatefully, "You will treat me with respect," She snarled.

Tartaros, not at all intimidated, simply slumped against the buiding behind him. The people that passed the strange duo gave them more than a few strange glances, after all it wasn't every day an obviously loaded woman talked to a lowly homeless man. Tartaros ignored them and laid his head back against the building lazily, "No, Nyx," He replied.

Nyx huffed indignantly and crossed her arms, "You are such a pain, brother," She growled and stalked forward to lean against the wall next to him.

"The same could be said for you as well," The God of Nothing glanced at the goddess, "What are you doing here, are you avoidng Erebos again?"

"No, I am not! I do not need to hide from my weak husband, I am after all, perfect."

He rolled his eyes, "So. . . you are hiding from him. You always did hate dealing with familial issues. Most of which are your own fault."

Tartaros winced as Nyx smacked him on the back of his head, "It's not my fault you are all so flawed."

"Bah! Your misguided beliefs in perfection have irritated me the moment you made that your goal. Not to mention, you never shut up about it!"

"I have already achieved my goal, Tartaros. Unlike you, assuming you even have one."

"Hmph, well since you've apparently accomplished you goal, what's your new one?"

Nyx frowned, "I. . . am still thinking."

Tartaros scoffed, "But I thought you were perfect. Since when do perfect people not know the answer instantaneously."

Nyx smacked the back of his head again, "Silence," She hissed, "You could not possibly hope to understand."

"Do you want a definition?"

Nyx ignored him and instead stared out at the grimy streets and buildings, all of them crowded to the point of overflowing, "This place is disgusting," She muttered.

"Strange, I was just thinking that about you," Tartaros said amusedly, this time avoiding Nyx's blow, "What are you here for anyway?"

"My daughter is here, and I have something to say to her in private."

"You mean your half-blood daughter? What was here name, Shnia?"

Nyx nodded, "And just where is your son, brother?"

"Donovan? At Camp Half Blood. The boy is the complete opposite of me. Still though, he is my son, and I help him when necessary. Which is rare mind you," Tartaros noted that a sliver of pride had dug its way into his voice.

Nyx curled her lip in faint amusement, "He's a blonde." And that was that.

They stayed in silence for several moments, which Tartaros didn't mind in the least. He could only handle a few minutes of conversation before Nyx's arrogant voice started to grate on his nerves. Nyx seemed to feel the same way, as she gave no indication when she suddenly left him by himself, fading back into the crowd. Tartaros didn't mind, he simply kicked back against the wall and allowed his feelings of poverty to overcome his senses.