APPETENCE | ÆGIR | WC: 829

It was a rare day when Ægir let himself wander enough to encroach near Poseidon's territory. Ægir would count himself lucky that the other sea deity so frequently tended to be distracted, what with Oceanus making his presence known once more. Ægir often wondered why he'd ever allowed himself to become involved with the others who held domain over the oceans. Most were miserable, with no appreciation for a good feast or polite hosting of others, while many of the older, tolerable gods, had receded or become so dependent on their origins to wander far.

Ægir had the fortune of stories on his side; more and more books and graphic novels were being published, and if they didn't include his own name, they included those of his fellow jotnar or of the aesir, sparking just enough interest to fuel rediscovery of their names. Them, combined with the ever faithful disciples of the aesir, let Ægir comfortably hold domain in his seas still. It helped that the Greeks had made their way out of northern Europe and to the Americas. It left only a few sea deities for him to deal with, all of whom were improvements to Poseidon. Manannán mac Lir and his companions were closest, and they were pleasant enough, occasionally even attending Ægir's feasts.

All that is to say that Ægir truly did do his best to avoid Poseidon. Neptune. Whichever he was at any given moment. But occasionally, Ægir did have things to tend to in the Americas. Days like today.

Ægir stepped out of the sea, adjusting his beard and making sure the simple clothes he wore were dry and clean. He ignored the startled gasp from nearby —the mortal would no doubt forget his visit soon— and strolled down the beach. Montauk, he believed, though he'd landed mostly at random.

"Are you my dad?" a young voice piped up, and Ægir froze, slowly putting his hands into his pockets before carefully turning to face the child. The child, with eyes the color of the sea Ægir had just left and dark, dark, hair the color of the one god Ægir was trying to avoid. Ægir cursed, once, twice, curling his pocketed hands into fists before relaxing with a smile.

"No, child, I'm not your father," Ægir returned as gently as he could.

"Mama says my dad came out of the sea just like you just did," the child —Poseidon's son— babbled, pointing up the beach, to where a woman ran sluggishly through the sand towards them, one hand holding a scarf to her head while the other waved around for balance.

"Well, I am not him," Ægir repeated, glancing down the beach. He could make a run for it, or just dematerialize… but he's also fairly sure Poseidon promised not to have children anymore. Although… maybe that had been longer ago than Ægir thought. Time did muddle between worlds.

"My— Percy!— hello, lord— ah," the woman stammered, clearly at a loss of who Ægir was. He supplied his name politely, and watched as she repeated in, eyes blowing wide and then shutting, her free hand covering her face as she sighed. "I apologize, lord Ægir… I'm starting to realize the world is… a lot bigger than I thought it was. I knew, of course, I dated—" she faltered, glancing at her son and gesturing back to playing in the waves. "Well, I'd guess you know, but… I naively thought it was just Greek."

Ægir laughed at her self-deprecating smile, reassuring her. "It's impressive you even knew that much, given your… general mortality," he gestured at her. She didn't look as pleased by that as he thought she should be, so he continued: "Most of you can't see through the veil, no matter how thin it is. There are exceptions, of course, but typically they're more witch than human, or descendants, or what have you. Not a pure mortal like yourself. Besides, where would you meet those like us? At a corner store?"

"Actually, yes," the woman corrected over his chuckle, brow furrowing. "An awful lot of… myths, I suppose, walk into my store on a near daily basis. A few people like yourself, even —you're jotnar, right? You rule over the seas? If I may, lord Ægir, no woman appreciates backhanded compliments like those you just gave me."

Ægir stared plainly, not bothering to hide his surprise. Mortals didn't just… say that to him. He blinked as he watched her slowly start to fidget at his continued silence, readjusting the scarf she wore around her head and the shawl over her shoulders. As he looked closer, it was clear they were made of love, from rainbow strands of diffracted light like someone had taught her how to weave by a stained glass window.

"Er… right. I have… things to do," Ægir avoided, looking at the shawl. Rán would love it. "I'll just… have a lovely day, may the weather stay pleasant."

He vanished.