-O-

Dinner was loud, a bit chaotic, and delicious. After Prometheus magicked Oliver some new clothes right onto his body (which was quite possibly the strangest sensation he had ever experienced), the Titan disappeared up the stairs.

"We'll talk after dinner," He told Oliver before he left, nodding at the full plate of food in front of him, "eat first. Gather your strength."

Oliver opened his mouth to protest, but one look at the roast beef and potatoes on his plate convinced him. He nodded back at Prometheus and said, "Alright. But I want answers ready when I get there."

Prometheus gave him a small smile, the faded scars on his deeply tanned skin tugging upward, "Of course."

With that he gave the table a shallow bow and strode up the stairs, his footfalls making a curiously little amount of sound as he went. After the Titan shut the door atop the landing behind him, the guy with the buzz cut cleared his throat, "Guess it's time for introductions, huh?"

Oliver took a bite of roast beef, almost moaned at how delicious it was, then nodded at him, "Go for it. I'm listening."

Buzz cut's name was Kevin Brightwood, and he handled the heavy weapons. After he introduced himself, he pulled up his sleeve and showed off a tattoo of what looked like a steel-gray snake coiling around his right arm, ending just above his wrist. "And this is Titus," he said with a grin. Before Oliver could respond, another table member cut in, a Hispanic lady with dark eyes, side-swept black hair, a build like an MMA fighter's and a nasty scar on her face, "Kevin, I swear to God if you let that thing loose on the table again I'll-"

Too late. Before she could finish her threat, Kevin's tattoo started to move, obeying some unheard command. Oliver watched in mild horror as the snake writhed and glowed silver for a moment before slithering out of the tattoo and onto the table, growing slightly larger as it did so. It's metallic, scaly hide glittered in the light of the crackling fireplace, and as it moved it sounded like a thousand coins jingling against each other. Two diamonds were set into the side of it's head as eyes. Oliver waited for the tail to exit, but it just... didn't.

More and more automaton slithered out of Kevin's tattoo until finally, after what felt like five minutes, the tail popped out. Oliver estimated that Titus the Metal Python was about ten feet long, though he had no idea how much he must've weighed. As the automaton sniffed around the food at the center of the table the Hispanic lady shot to her feet, cursing in rapid-fire Spanish. Kevin, with a broad smile on his face and in his eyes, got up as well, hands splayed out, saying something along the lines of, "Rosa, be calm here."

Oliver heard Nina next to him mutter, "Oh, here we go."

Then the chase was on. Kevin immediately bolted out the door, with Rosa hot on his heels, thundering past Oliver as the massive main doors slammed open. Cold wind blew into the room, instantly chilling the entire table as the pair disappeared into the darkness. As Titus the Metal Snake slithered off the table and in front of the fire behind Oliver, he turned to Nina, eyebrow raised, "That common around here?"

Nina just sighed, "Like you wouldn't believe," then she flicked her wrist, muttering a word in a language Oliver didn't recognize as she did so. Another gust of wind blew through the room, but it was sharper than the ones blowing in from outside. Focused. The doors that the Rosa and Kevin had left open crashed closed, and Nina cleared her throat, grinning up at Oliver's wide eyes, "I do some magic, by the way. Twenty-first Nome."

That meant exactly nothing to Oliver, but Nina didn't seem to care or notice, continuing on without missing a beat, "So, that was Rosa Velazquez. She punches things and tries to keep us in line," the corner of her lip twitched upward, "well, Kevin mostly."

Oliver nodded slowly, chewing his potatoes as he watched Titus curl up in front of the fireplace, "Where'd he get the snake?"

Nina shook her head, "Better to ask him that. He can tell the story better."

Oliver nodded, drank from a large goblet filled with what tasted like wine and gestured for the next person, "Alright, I'll keep it in mind. Next?"

Abelard von Richthofen, 'Abe', wore the hat of quartermaster, cook, clerk and just about everything else that involved numbers and a cool head. He was an older man with coffee-brown skin and a black silk patch over his left eye. His steel-gray mustache was neatly combed and his head was shaved clean, and the way he held himself reminded Oliver of his father. A military man, Oliver reckoned. His slightly accented voice filled the room as he spoke, "I hope to be of great service, sir."

Oliver just nodded and gave a small smile, "Oliver's fine, thanks. Not really a 'sir'."

The older man just raised a bushy eyebrow, "Oh, but you are the one in charge here, ja?"

Oliver shrugged, feeling slightly uncomfortable, "I guess, but-"

Abe cut him off, "Then you are 'sir' to me. I refuse to call you anything less."

There didn't seem to be any convincing him otherwise, so Oliver accepted it. Still, he wondered why he was sitting at the head of the table, in charge. Something to ask Prometheus, he thought, stashing the thought away and turning to the person to Abe's right.

Denali Nakamura might've been the smallest man Oliver had ever met. He couldn't have been more than five-two, maybe a hundred ten pounds, with long black hair tied back in a ponytail and a scar over his throat - a long, jagged slash crossing directly over his jugular. That, combined with the intense look in his deep dark eyes gave Oliver the feeling that he was the kind of guy who could crush a cinder block with his bare hands if he really wanted to. The slight man just waved at Oliver when he looked at him. Nina leaned in next to him when there was a lull in the conversation, "He's our sneaky guy, in case you couldn't guess."

Oliver just snorted and nodded to the next Keeper, "And you are?"

Maja Gustavus said that she almost got out of her seat to hug him when Oliver first came down the stairs, but Rosa held her down. She was sturdily built, with long blond hair pulled back in a bun and blue eyes that shone in the firelight. She placed a hand on her chest and said, in Swedish heavy English, "I take care of all the machines, armor and weapons in the fort. Make some custom pieces too, like that," the large woman pointed at Oliver's left arm, gleaming gold, "one of my best works, if I say so myself."

Oliver subconsciously flexed the fingers on his new arm and had to agree. He was already getting used to the slight heaviness of the new limb, how it felt, how it moved, the strength it possessed. Then he realized what else the Swede had said and glanced at her, "Armor?"

At that, the woman shrugged, looking suddenly unsure of herself, "Something I've been working on, but-" she shook her head, "it won't be ready for a long time, so don't worry about it."

Oliver contemplated pushing for more, her answer intrigued him, but one look at her reluctance told him all he needed to know, "Alright, when you're ready then."

The last figure at the table perplexed him the most. Amal al-Shabbana was a whip-thin Arabic man dressed in all black, with a white turban wrapped around his head and a black sash around his eyes. He was calmly sitting in his chair, no food in front of him, and Oliver thought he was asleep for a moment before he introduced himself in, of all things, a Boston accent. Frankly, the accent startled Oliver more than anything, but he listened close as Amal said, "I keep the tomes about all the monsters we have encountered over the years," a wispy smile crossed his lips as something glowed purple beneath the sash around his face, "as well as some of the more... occult topics."

Oliver was admittedly curious as to what some of those topics held, but he decided that was a conversation for another time. The rest of dinner proceeded with little incident. Rosa and Kevin returned a few minutes later, both flushed from the cold outside. Even though Kevin was sporting the red outline of a female hand on his cheek, he didn't look one bit regretful, smiling broadly as he dug into the dinner, pointedly ignoring Rosa's burning glare. Conversation returned after a few short minutes, and the great hall was alive once again. After about an hour, the meal was winding down and the Keepers were talking more than eating. Oliver, deciding now was appropriate, rose from his chair, excused himself and climbed up the stairs, hearing a chorus of mildly disappointed 'Goodnight!'s rise up behind him as he left.

He walked the long, fine hallway above the grand hall for a few minutes, taking two lefts and passing numerous doors and paintings and whatnot before arriving at the end of the hall. Flanking the fine mahogany double doors were two statues carved out of some black rock that gleamed. Vaguely humanoid, bat-like features, wicked sharp claws, ruby eyes. Gargoyles. They were about as tall as Oliver, around six and a half feet, but much wider, perched on chunks of the same black rock, wings tucked against their backs. He reached out to open one of the doors, but jerked backwards and almost had a heart attack as the gargoyle on his right moved. He should have expected that, but he was still running all of the names and faces he had just gotten thrown at him through his head. The beast didn't seem hostile, though. More curious than anything, sniffing like a dog at him. After a moment of frantic planning and focusing on not panicking, Oliver slowly reached out with his right hand.

Thankfully the gargoyle did not snap his hand off, only sniff it a few times before making the weirdest damn noise Oliver had every heard and nudging it's head against his hand. The other gargoyle, moving shockingly quiet for what must've been a half-ton of stone, sniffed at Oliver's neck before licking it with a dry, cold tongue. Abruptly deciding he's had quite enough gargoyle loving, Oliver gently pushed both of them off of him. Even though they were giant bat-monster-guardian-statues, they were pretty damn cute, he had to admit. So he stood back, rubbed his chin for a minute and then pointed at the one on the right, "Heckler," to the one on the left, "and Koch. Understand?"

To his eternal surprise, they both nodded, apparently understanding him. Alright. He has pets/bodyguards now. Shaking his head, Oliver strode past the two and entered what he assumed was his room, and stopped almost immediately to take it in. The room was large, open, with a clean marble floor and four marble pillars holding the ceiling up. On the left side was a queen-sized bed on a slightly raised platform with small stairs leading up to it, and on the right was a large desk with a mini library packed with scrolls and tomes. In the center of the room was either a small pool or a large bathtub, steaming hot and blue as the ocean. At the opposite side of the room was a set of glass doors leading out to a balcony, where a tall form was silhouetted against the moonlight.

Oliver's bare feet padded against the cool stone floor as he crossed the room, pushing open the glass doors and stepping out onto the balcony. The view was breathtaking; an entire city was spread out below him, lights and sounds drifting up to meet his ears. The moon was setting over the ocean, reflecting off of the gray-blue water like it was a mirror. But something about it was off, and Oliver couldn't quite place what it was. Maybe it was the off-yellow hue it had taken on. Or the fact that it seemed just a touch too bright for his eyes. It looked... sick.

Prometheus turned to him as he leaned on the balcony railing, "How was dinner?"

Oliver responded, "Interesting."

That brought a short laugh out of the Titan, "Good."

There was a beat of silence, before Oliver asked the first question on his mind, "Where's Marvin?"

"Olympus," Prometheus answered, a hint of something Oliver couldn't place in his voice- disappointment?

The mortal grimaced. Damn. Though he knew it was foolish to think, Oliver couldn't help but hope that his friend was kept somewhere at least accessible. Olympus was about as far from accessible as it got, save the Underworld. A cold ball of guilt began to form in his stomach, but he crushed it before it overwhelmed him. Now wasn't the time to feel sorry for himself.

"I assume there's a plan to bust him out?" He asked Prometheus.

"It's in the works, but there are a few... caveats," the Titan said, "most of which concern our patron."

Oliver pursed his lips and tried not to curse, "Like?"

Prometheus waved a hand, and the expression on his face was one of poorly veiled disgust, "We have to do things for her in exchange for gathering us here,

returning this fortress to working condition, bringing you back to life, giving me enough power to take physical form, supplying us with arms and funds," the old Titan sighed, "the list is quite extensive."

Oliver felt his throat go dry, "So we're in debt to her?"

"Essentially."

"And how much work did she say we'll have to do to pay it off?"

"She didn't."

Oliver looked out over the city. He had conflicting feelings about this new information. On the one hand, he did feel grateful towards Gaea for bringing him back to life. That was worth a few favors in his book. But on the other, he had no idea what she would want him to do. He just wanted to get Marvin back, and the fact that she was explicitly denying him the ability to do so left a bad taste in Oliver's mouth. Subconsciously his grip tightened on the marble railing of the balcony. After a moment of this pressure his new left hand crushed the handful of stone like it was nothing. Oliver only realized he had broken the marble when the sound of it reached his ears, and he blinked down at his arm in surprise. He glanced up at Prometheus to apologize, but stopped when he saw him staring out into the distance.

Oliver cleared his throat, and the Titan seemed to almost jump out of his daze, "Oh, my apologies. Where-?"

Oliver waved him off, "It's fine, it's fine. I actually had a different question for you."

Prometheus looked at him expectantly, so Oliver asked, "Why am I in charge here? Shouldn't you be calling the shots?"

Prometheus just shook his head, a slight smile on his face, "No, no. I may have created the Keepers, but I will never lead them."

"Why not? You're the Titan of Foresight, surely you'd do better at this than I can." Even to himself, Oliver sounded whiney, but he couldn't help himself. He doubted he'd make a good leader of anything, nevermind the goddamn Keepers of Fire.

But Prometheus answered, "Oliver, it is not in my nature to lead. Even during the Titan Wars I was simply the advisor to my Lord Brother. I can predict troop movements, negotiate alliances, suggest the most beneficial course of action. But lead?" he shook his head again, solemn this time, "that is not in my nature."

Oliver turned to him, scowling, "It's not in mine either, Prometheus. I was homeschooled in the middle of Vermont, okay? I had no siblings, no real friends, and the only time I interacted with people not in my family was when we either went to town or my Dad's military buddies came over for cards. So how exactly am I a better leader than you?"

By the end of his rant Oliver was yelling, and he had to focus on breathing to calm himself down. All the while Prometheus look at him blankly, but there was a look in his eyes Oliver couldn't place. Pity? Remorse? It didn't matter. The look evaporated so quickly Oliver wasn't sure it was there in the first place. Prometheus just sighed again and muttered something under his breath in Ancient Greek. While Oliver didn't know much of the language, he picked out one word: Vision.

Prometheus said out loud in English, "Because you are the one who bears the Fire, Oliver. That position, and the one of leader, are one in the same in the Keepers."

"That doesn't answer my question," Oliver replied.

Prometheus just offered an apologetic smile and spread his hands out, "It's the only one I have for you, Oliver." He was lying. Oliver knew it, and he was willing to bet that Prometheus knew he knew.

So Oliver sighed, leaned forward on the railing and asked, "Is the information you're keeping from me related to the vision I had when I first woke up?"

Prometheus looked surprised at his forwardness, and Oliver took a small pleasure in the way his eyes widened, "What are you talking about?"

Oliver explained the strange, hyper-realistic vision he had in the bathroom of the infirmary. When he was finished the Titan's normally deep brown skin was a few shades lighter than Oliver had ever seen. The balcony was silent for a long time, and Oliver got his answer. With a bitter taste in his mouth, the mortal waved his hand and turned back to the view of the city, "You're dismissed. It's time I got some sleep."

Prometheus blinked and cleared his throat, "I'm sorry Oliver, but-"

Oliver just held up his hand and said, "It's fine. Some things just weren't meant for mortal minds, huh?" he didn't mean to sound so passive-aggressive, but he couldn't keep it out of his voice.

Prometheus looked like he was about to say something but held his tongue. The Titan gave a shallow bow and, without a word, dissapeared into thin air. Oliver watched the moon set for a few more minutes before returning inside and climbing into the large, impossibly comfortable bed and drifting off into sleep.

The latest in a long line of mistakes.