It had been a long day (a fact that Apollo snigger a bit) and for the most part, the radiant sun god was a bit on the tired side. But not so tired that he could not go and see just what his latest conquest was up to. Sure, he had already plucked her flower (damn, he was on a roll), but it would likely be a few weeks before he got bored of her, and it was always fun to take those innocent young ones and bring out the eager little minx that was deep inside of them. Granted, she was a little nervous, but that was just natural, as a young thing like her and the sexy rising star such as him?
Yet, a fertility goddess was the score of a century, and the sort of thing that might get his mother back into Olympus. Oh, and sure, maybe also kick Zeus down a dew notches, but hey, thems the breaks really and it was time the old man was replaced with a brighter and better God! So, it was kinda surprising that as he walked into the flat it was not Hermes on the couch, but the dark and brooding presence of the most boring and unremarkable of the kings.
Said king, Hades, was sitting there, waiting and watching, somehow shrouded in the dark, the building around them almost contracting and expanding with each of the dark gods breaths, eyes pale and burning as they watched him enter. "Sit." The voice was calm, it was still and flat, terrifying even as it was devoid of overt menace, as hands lay flat on richly tailored dark fabric. There was, as much as Apollo would deny it, a sort of dignity and power to the stance. It was not anything grand or flashy. It simply WAS, and for a brief moment, the sun god found himself obeying.
Yet, ego wared and broke that spell, as he flushed, embarrassed and angry in equal measure. "This is not the underworld! You can't just come into an Olympians house and and.." He never finished speaking, as the older god looked at him, at once looming over him and yet never changing his posture, the shadows lengthening and the heat seeping out of the room. Color as well, blacks and greys drinking in the light, eyes so dark as radiate their presence in the void examining and weighing him.
"You will find," his ichor almost froze and rippled at the sheer weaponized calm, the grinding chains and seething fury caked in glaciers, "that just because I do not throw my weight around as often as my brothers, does not mean that I will not. Now, SIT." It was impossible to describe the inflection in the word, because it was not an order or demand. It was not a request or instruction. It was a statement of FACT, delivered with all the subtle power of a mountain being used as a bludgeon. And so, Apollo found himself sitting, unaware of how he started.
Which, hey, he had a union with a fertility goddess, why was it that this old fucker, single and part of the realm of the dead able to just order him around. He would not admit it, not even to himself, but fear ran through his core, as those cold eyes pinned him to the chair. Just... just how did the old fucker pull that off. He opened his mouth, to loudly demand just what the Tartarus he was trying to pull, before a hand rose up, silencing him before he could begin.
"You know, I consider Persephone a friend. And I can honestly say that there are few beings that I can actually count as friends. Really, I don't expect you to understand, but do you have any idea how rare it is for someone to really accept me and NOT be terrified of me?" The thing was, the tone of his voice never changed, never wavered and remained the same polite and conversational tone. "And don't answer, it was rhetorical. But you see, that leads me to this little problem. You see, I happen to know some of her OTHER friends, and when she showed up, terrified and deeply upset about something? I asked some of them."
The cold and the dark seemed to press down, something ancient and primeval, something hungry and patient licking its lips. "Now, I was not able to get ALL of the details, but I managed to get enough." There is a deceptive fact about the earth. It is slow to the point of seeming immobility until it begins to move. And then? It can be swift indeed, as a cold hand closed around a young and shining throat.
"Now, there is a reason I came here, to have this little chat in person. If it was up to me..." The lord of the dead grinned, and in that grin was all the graveyards and charnel houses, water logged corpses in the depths of the sea and remains desiccated by the cruel desert winds, the forms trapped forever in stone and ice. "Why, you would already be in the depths of Tartarus, blinded and gelded perhaps. Yet, Persephone, who you forced yourself on when she was unsure and vulnerable," That voice was a flaying wind, a thousand blades freezing and burning as strong fingers squeezed down, Apollo coughing and striking against a form that could not be moved, "begged for mercy, for the friendship she bore your sister."
There was a blossom of pain, as he was thrown to the ground, a chill clinging to him. "And so, I extend my mercy to you." Ichor froze in the veins of the radiant one, as the Lord of Wealth stood over him, a pillar of darkness that shone with colors so vivid and intense as to make one weep, a smile so cruel and knowing in place that the 'mercy' about to be inflicted on him was going to be worse than anything that Zeus had ever thought up. "Tell me my young and idiotic young god, what is wealth? No really, think about it."
There was an air of expectation about the specter, ideas tumbling through the younger god's skull, before he looked up. "Dramacha? Gold? Gems?" Each word was questioning, almost begging, as those cruelly amused eyes and smile bore down on him.
"No, those are storage units to hold value. The value of your labor, the value of your ideas, the value of your services... in the end, the worth of such is because everyone agrees they have value. But wealth? Wealth is having that which others value. And I? I. Am. The. God. Of. Wealth." Each word was delivered like a hammer blow, a strike at his stomach, lungs, heart and mind driving in spikes of ice. "Now Apollo Phoebus, this is my curse. You are stripped of wealth. Of value." There was a twist to the chthonic kings words, as if he was savoring them and relishing the words.
"Your bank accounts? Closed and you cannot open another. Money or mediums of exchange? Denied, you are now unable to touch or use them in any fashion, even so much as perceiving them. The value of your product? There is none. You cannot exchange your labor or powers for gifts or gain. And this includes friendship you know. You cannot accept charity, nor benefit from it. And why would others value your insights or opinions?" The king chuckled, as he glared down at the trembling brat, nodding as Hades began to transport himself to the underworld.
The message was delivered, and a bigger priority, a concern of greater value, now was trying to comfort and support Kore, being a safe place for her.