I warned you about the possibility of an Apollo cameo. You thought I was JOKING, didn't you? YOU WOULDN'T BE SO LUCKY.
Meanwhile.
Possibly spoilers for Book Five, wherein we learn why Apollo's oracle is a shriveled leather sack of bones.
::Apollo pays a family visit::
"My mummy tells me you're about to do something fantastically unwise, Uncle." Poseidon shifts his nephew a bored, if challenging, look.
"You still keep in touch with that old bag of bones?" Apollo shrugs, flopping back onto an impromptu divan spun from sunlight.
"You may be surprised to learn my oracle's a scintillating conversationalist, Uncle. A positively remarkable mortal." The sun god frowns, considering. "Or, you know, whatever she is nowadays." Ever a thespian, Apollo flicks his wrist, performing a (really rather unnecessary) deft twist of a supination to summon a lyre out of thin air, which he promptly sets to thrumming. The airy, tinkling tune that results bears suspiciously striking resemblance to "Mmmbop," a song Poseidon's relatively certain Zeus had strictly forbidden him from playing. Ever. "She's gotten dreadfully cynical lately, though."
"Oh?" Poseidon wonders, feigning interest.
"Truthfully, Uncle. I'm beginning to suspect all this damned doomsaying is more for my benefit than anyone else's. Admittedly, gloom and doom are all any of my oracles ever seem to foretell, but the portents seem especially, hmmm…malignant these days." Apollo's grimace develops a discerning aspect. "S'ppose I'd probably go a bit bonkers if I hadn't gotten any for…golly, has it been a hundred years?" His nephew shudders in horror at the thought. "One of these days I've got to figure out why mummy-dearest won't die already and make way for the next pretty little thing. You've got no idea how morbid it is having to channel through that…that…that." Poseidon has never quite been able to keep up with Apollo's meandering babbling, but he supposes much of that owes to his careful habit of never listening to anything his idiot nephew has to say. "On the other hand, the desiccation's done wonders for her conversational aptitude. She's gotten loads more colloquial, you know."
"Fascinating." Poseidon rumbles, unimpressed.
"You won't believe; just the other day she found the most charming rhyme for 'stupid fu—'"
"Apollo," the Earthshaker cautions, reproving.
"A thousand pardons, Uncle." As always, the young god's deference is caught somewhere between sardonic and obsequious. "Anyway, more recently, my mummy's been saying some very peculiar things about you, of all deities. Not that she hasn't mentioned you before; just…she seems a bit…fixated. Obviously, I'm not too clear on the details, but the mention of such arresting phrases as 'affection for the curse of man,' 'highly and explicitly forbidden,' and 'impending catastrophe' got me to thinking. You haven't got a new squeeze, have you? Some leggy little brunette? Fiesty redhead? Daddy's going to be veeeeery upset, Uncle." Before Poseidon can attempt to convince Apollo otherwise (or do one better and attempt to mail his nephew to Tartarus), the sun god has snapped to stiff-backed, wide-eyed attention. Dread curls drowsily into the warmth of his stomach. "Hold the phone." Apollo whispers, Very Seriously, flicking two fingers neatly into the air to conjure a pair of sunglasses onto his face.
"By me," Poseidon groans, "please not another haiku, Phoebus."
"Philandering's fun,
but Daddy's always watching.
Birth control is grand."
There are times when the great god of the sea wishes he, too, were capable of dying.
Next chapter: Zeus glowers meaningfully as Poseidon begins courting Sally. Amphitrite takes up knitting.