Chapter Three: Yellow

Neil yawned widely, turning off the bathroom tap as he heard Jay's alarm clock beep loudly. A groan, followed by a clap of a hand against the snooze button of the clock, punctuated the air for a second before the brownstone fell silent again.

It always happened like this; the weekend after a major battle (or at least Geography test) all of the other six teenagers slept like logs, conking out late after a celebratory popcorn and movie night and not waking up until the next afternoon. Although Neil admitted himself that he slept quite late every day, he was sometimes amazed at the amount of time his friends spent sleeping on these special days. After all, Jay was a borderline workaholic and would usually wake up bright and early to drag them all out of bed.

Of course, to the surprise of the others, Neil strictly followed rules. Rules like yellow clashes with everything and don't wear white shoes unless they're athletic shoes because that's just plain tacky governed his existence. Every day, he slept at one and shuffled out of bed at eleven, unless it was a school day, though he was lucky enough to catch a free block first thing almost every morning, which allowed him to sleep until nine. He had a certain order to his cleansing and toning procedure in the mornings; the procedure for his moisturizing session at night was complicated and only understood by Neil himself. It was a rule, even, to make sure he looked amazing every morning before he left. After all, he had standards to live up to, unlike certain teenaged boys who didn't even bother to deep-condition after dyeing their hair a deep purple.

With a content sigh, Neil perfected his image in the mirror and put away his beauty supplies. Whistling as he strolled cheerfully down the stairs, the blond mentally checked his schedule. Math quiz on Monday - he'd ace that; in-class English essay on some play about Jay's ancestor on Tuesday - that would be easy. Yes, it would be a free Sunday to enjoy.

Executing a snazzy dance move as he reached the bottom of the stairs, Neil brushed down the front of his stylish shirt and made his way to the kitchen, where Athena stood in front of the stove, cooking something that smelled delicious. He peeked over her shoulder, making a face at the golden eggs, and slumped fashionably into a chair. "Scrambled?" he drawled.

The war goddess looked back at him, raising an eyebrow. "Have a problem, Neil?" she asked dryly, as she shifted the eggs around in the pan. Neil sighed dramatically, hand reaching for his pocket. "I'm fasting," came the unexpected reply.

"You're religious?" Athena deadpanned, rolling her eyes as she turned to a second pan on the stove which contained several rashes of sizzling bacon.

Neil flashed a dazzling grin from his pose staring deep into his mirror. "When it's scrambled eggs, I am." Rule 213, always have a comeback for political and religion-related jokes.

"Picky eater," the goddess grumbled, removing the scrambled eggs to a plate and cracking a new egg into the pan. "Over easy, then?" she called to him as he stood to examine the contents of the fridge.

"Yeah," he answered absently. "Where's the orange juice?"

"All out," Athena replied, and tapped the jug of milk beside her with a finger. "Make do with some calcium."

Taking up the milk and pouring a generous serving for himself, Neil took a neat sip with another content sigh. This was the life - birds chirping, a nice frosty glass of milk, and eggs served by a pretty damn hot goddess. What could be better?

Athena caught glance of his grin and raised an eyebrow. "What are you so happy about?"

"Just thinking," Neil coyly replied. "You know, you're pretty good-looking for a four thousand year-old goddess."

Turning away from the egg to look at the teenager, Athena propped a hand on her hip. "I'm the virgin goddess, Neil, not Aphrodite," she answered, sounding amused and rather flattered, "but thank you anyway."

Attending to the egg again, Athena added with warning, "and that's three thousand to you."

Neil shrugged nonchalantly, moving to peer over the goddess' shoulder again. He watched for a few seconds before emitting a loud, shrill, entirely too girlish scream, leaping back to stumble against the kitchen table. Athena's hand flew to her sword and she swung around, ready in her battle stance. Her questioning expression fell upon Neil, and the blond held up his hands. "I have to defend my eggs sometimes," he said, raising his eyebrows. "When they look like that, I have to take action."

Athena groaned. "You gave me a heart attack there, Neil," she said disapprovingly, and tossed him the spatula. "Your egg, you cook it. I'm going back to Olympia."

The teenager nodded, turning back to the egg which he prodded carefully. As Athena disappeared around the wall, Neil said, "Stop and get some orange juice on your way!"

Rule 487: always have the last word.

Theresa, setting a record at waking up before noon, stumbled into the kitchen at precisely 11:58 and collapsed at the table dramatically, hand raised to head. Neil regarded her nightgown-clad figure appreciatively. "I sense that a certain gorgeous redhead needs to be fed!" she cried, one hand searchingly slapping on the wood of the table, "and where's the orange juice?"

Neil smirked, neatly cutting up his egg and placing sections onto four slices of golden-brown toast alongside juicy rashes of bacon lying appetizingly on his plate. "Tell Atlanta that Athena's not around to fix us grub," he replied lazily, "and we're out of Minute Maid."

Persephone's protege frowned for a second, then slapped Neil's arm. "Hey! I was talking about me, pretty-boy," she said, and grabbed a piece of toast from his plate. "How come you've got food?" she asked enviously, taking a bite of the toast.

The blond reached over to take the toast back, polishing it off at record speed whilst letting nary a crumb fall onto the table. Rule 116: never let anyone take one's valuable breakfast items. "I can cook," he answered airily, starting on his cut-up egg, "but I'm not cooking for you, lazy." He paused, and added, "there's some leftover bacon."

Theresa pouted and wrinkled her nose, standing to open the fridge. Neil mentally recounted the contents: a jar of pickles, two raw eggs, two leftover hamburger buns, a bottle of spring water, a three-quarter empty jug of milk, several vegetables starting to decompose, a large slice of banana cream cake, and a lump of something which may have been identifiable as either four lollipops welded together or a purple, fuzzing, greying lump of cheese with several toothpicks inserted at random angles.

Predictably, the girl chose the bottle of water and the banana cream cake.

Watching as Theresa began to delicately eat away at the cake, Neil smiled. Her bangs flopped into her eyes and she had a serious case of bedhead (rule 34: never let anyone see your bedhead) but her eyes, now concentrated on her breakfast of sponge cake slathered in cream, perpetually danced, and her skin glowed in the early morning light.

She was pretty, all right, and he'd seen more than enough of her personality to know she was sweet, caring, and incredibly thoughtful (though dangerous at times). She reminded him somewhat of Echo, minus the irritating talking all day long and honestly odd-tasting grilled cheese sandwiches. Their similarities were quite astounding; they both understood his dilemmas much more than they seemed to show, and they both cared, however naive it was to use that word. Echo's beauty might have been lost in her words but he regretted not taking advantage of her truth. Sometimes, Neil felt that if he wasn't so damn shallow, he would do with a girl like her. Yes, Neil admitted however deep inside that he was shallow - rule 72: recognize your faults but don't let other people see that you know - and he knew his personality could do with a little working on. It was, he felt strongly, part of being misunderstood as a gorgeous, brainless, mind-numbingly idiotic prick. That was one rule he failed at. Number 297: show people your brilliant side. Neil had never been able to. Not that he minded much, at all; sometimes, it was quite alright to be the most beautiful man on earth.

Theresa broke his reverie by commenting, "that was one monster of an amphisbaena last night, wasn't it?" He looked up to her her fork, loaded with a bite of cake, ferry into her mouth.

"It was tiring," Neil whined, pulling out his mirror and checking his golden locks. Rule 1: always check the hair. "We would have gotten killed if Odie hadn't figured out how to stop it from growing back again. Even though his hair is horrible, that boy has some brain."

The redhead giggled. "No, we're lucky you could pronounce the monster's name by the end of the fight. I'm really proud in you, Neil."

Neil flashed a sarcastic smile, finishing up his breakfast with a swig of milk, part of the egg's yolk sitting in the center of his plate. Inside himself, he grinned. Rule 175: always let compliments absorb, no matter how little they're supposed to mean. He was feeling more on the top of the world than he usually did, which was saying something. Perhaps it was the company of the lovely redheaded psychic sitting across from him that made him feel so...?

It was no wonder that Theresa was so surprised when he looked up to her with a trademark Neil grin and stated, "we should go for dinner sometime."

The redhead choked on her cream cake, desperately reaching for water to wash it down. She hacked and coughed as the blond boy sitting across from her patiently waited for her slightly melodramatic display to finish. "There's really no need for you to be so stunned and grateful," he said airily, "I don't always keep myself as first priority." Rule 72: keep cool at all times, except where necessary to go around shrieking a bit.

Theresa raised an eyebrow. "Is this Neil talking?" she asked hoarsely. "Neil as in N-e-i-l blond self-absorbed guy with serious superiority complex? I just have to check that you haven't stolen away the one lucky break we might have for tracking down the god of Time."

Neil sighed. "Is that a yes or a no?" he droned, tapping the long fingers of one hand against the smooth wood of the table. "I don't have all day, you know."

Tilting her head, Theresa said softly, "Seriously?"

Neil leaned back in his chair, mimicking her and tilting his head. "Seriously."

"No."

Theresa paused after this very definite word, trying to decide whether to carry on or not.He didn't look too different, so she doubted he felt saddened by this. Theresa opened her mouth, and closed it again. "Look, it's not like... I mean... I'm still going to wait for him," she added, eyes cast downwards slightly. "You get it, right?"

He raised his eyebrows. Ever since Echo, the blond had been much more familiar with rejection, and though it didn't happen much to him, he did know the reason in this case, and wasn't going to fight it. "I'm a little surprised," he drawled, "thought you would've jumped at an opportunity to go out with simply fabulous me."

Smirking slightly, Theresa turned back to the fridge, leaving the half-eaten piece of cake inside and grabbing her water off the table. "Your powers of attraction are almost too much for me."

"Thought so," Neil answered breezily, watching her walk towards the door. "But you know..." he added, in a slightly lower tone of voice as he leaned back forward to hunch his elbows on the table, "if you ever decide to stop..."

She turned, with a faint smile. "I'll talk to you," Theresa finished, with a nod. "I'll remember."

"Good."

He looked down at his plate as she vanished from sight, and saw a new rule in the scattered yellow of the egg yolk. She's utterly Jay's.

There we go with yellow, which makes it 3/7 of the way through the rainbow. I hope you guys enjoyed; I know most might not like the (however one-sided) N/T of this chapter but it seemed to want to come out. Next up is green, with our favourite huntress of them all.