. . .
“…a kind act can sometimes be as powerful as a sword. As a mortal, I was never a great fighter or athlete or poet. I only made wine. The people in my village laughed at me. They said I would never amount to anything. Look at me now. Sometimes small things can become very large indeed.”
― Rick Riordan
. . .
 “Hey… Poppy?” the god of wine finally called out, shifting a bit in his spot, mindful not to brush against the decaying corpse hanging just above him. His arms are beginning to cramp from remaining crossed for the past few minutes.
“What.”
“Not to be weird or anything...”
“Too late,” she retorted, “You are.”
This place is really giving me the creeps, Dionysus sighs an intentionally loud sigh while Proserpina makes quick work of the last of them (within this area, that is, there is still sooooo much for her to do): “Please. Just. Shut up, I can’t think straight with all this spooky shit going on around. Anyway. It’s honestly none of my business but… have you spoken to the Silent One?”
Proserpina doesn’t even falter as she returns Thanatos to its sheathe in one, practiced movement… and the few seconds pause before she nodded her head is already quite telling.
It's not really a question.
He already knows.
And she knows that he knows.
Dionysus uncrossed his arms, suddenly wanting a drink. Or maybe even a bottle… or two. Maybe even three. He just can’t wait to get drunk and blackout… being sober while dealing with things and feelings is just so bothersome, in his humble opinion.
“Yeah?” he prompted when she didn’t say anything more. Typical, moody brat. “As in, you did. Like, when you go back and forth to the underworld like, all the damn time?”
“…That is correct.”
He smirks, “Well, I usually am…”
“Dionysus,” Proserpina hissed through gritted teeth, running an aggravated hand over her face. “…you be quiet, I can’t even hear the people in this place losing their will to live.”
“Eh, do go on,” he shrugs, “Please clarify.”
“That this is none of your business. Father is mine to deal with,” she growls, half-turning just to aim a glare at him over her shoulder. “…Now. What about William? You said you were going to handle that search while I deal with one of Hephaestus’ old mistakes and keep up with the rest of my duties.”
Compared to the rest of the Olympians (and maybe because she was fairly new) Proserpina had been strangely diligent with her task as a glorified Grim Reaper.
Because even though she was physically standing right here, a few meters away from him within the infamous Suicide Forest, she was also in hospitals all over the mortal world, a silent companion for the souls of those who are on the verge of dying, be it young or old.
She was on the side of the road, waiting and watching a car crash that killed a bunch of drunken teenagers. She was also in the shore, awaiting those who had passed at sea to come walk with her.
She was everywhere and here.
No. Proserpina does not normally slack off.
Still, Dionysus snorts at the very obvious evasion of topic. Her daddy has always been a touchy subject for her, which is… eh, alright.
Fair enough.
He shrugs, “Should I start with the good news or the bad news then? Not like there’s really much of a difference. Whoops, spoiler…”
“Just speak,” she hissed.
“The good news is that when I asked my wife to talk to our resident sun god for you…” Dionysus ignored the way Proserpina’s face darkened at the mere mention of Apollo.
Whatever fight these two had at the moment is none of his concern, no matter how much the other god found it all amusing. Apollo’s so adorably amusing whenever he gets a crush on someone so disinterested of him.
“…our dear cousin mentioned something about the kid being last seen in some dirty alleyway just within walking distance from that hotel you guys were staying at,” he continued.
“And?”
Now, here comes the tricky bit.
“…yeah, well. He said William was chasing some sort of long-necked chick.” Dionysus answered, keeping his eyes on her, watching her grip Thanatos’ handle like a lifeline.
“Long… necked…?”
“Hey now. Apollo’s words, not mine.”
“A rokurokubi,” Proserpina muttered.
He raised an eyebrow, “Weird taste, but okay.”
Proserpina casted him a disgruntled look.
He mockingly raised his hands in surrender, “Hey, I don’t judge. Everyone is entitled to have their own taste, however weird…”
“Dionysus.”
“…or kinky.”
“Dionysus. I doubt William is into monsters like that, but that’s beside the point… those things are supposedly generally harmless.”
Somehow, Dionysus had an inkling that even as she said it herself, she didn’t quite believe that little tidbit, but whatever: “Other than, you know, walking around, scaring the ever-living daylights out of people? Yeah, sure. I don’t know about you Poppy, but our definition of ‘harmless’ might not be the same, after all.”
“You don’t understand. These kinds of monsters usually lay low at daylight but then again… why the sudden aggression? And why target William now, of all times?”
For some reason, Dionysus thinks that the questions wasn’t even directed to him. Still, he found himself answering: “What I don’t understand is how we can make so much progress, and yet somehow always find ourselves back at square one.”
“…what progress?” she grumbled.
 “Now, this is where the bad news comes in, Proserpina,” he narrowed his eyes at her, his voice losing whatever hint of forced brevity in it.
She pursed her lips, waiting.
“Your friend sure works fast, doesn’t he?” Dionysus drawls, watches, and feels his stomach churn as absolutely nothing flashed on Proserpina’s face. He might as well be talking to a porcelain doll, “But you already know, didn’t you. Considering that it was you who had Rei Kashima killed.”
She doesn’t answer.
But it's not really a question.
He already knows.
And she knows that he knows.
Silence was a storm; and silence has never been this long, nor loud and heavy between the two of them. It couldn’t, not with an unlikely friendship like the one they had both reluctantly and unwillingly fostered after all these years.
But it is now.
For a second, there was nothing but a moment of stillness. The kind of silence and stillness that passed before something went very, very wrong.
“The son of Hypnos is dead,” Dionysus announced uselessly, his voice flat and lacking in pitch. Still, Proserpina doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even say anything to defend herself or justify any of her reasons why she had done (or had a hand with) such an awful thing.
But there is a pause there.
And the pause has words in it, unspoken. This isn’t really unusual for her; Proserpina silences tend to have life to them, a resonating depth instead of empty space.
Even as a minor god, she’s weak.
Supposedly weak, Dionysus reminds himself, because sometimes (especially after the kid went missing) …he can see something dangerous lurking within Proserpina’s dark eyes. It comes and goes as quickly it appears in Alastor’s presence, like the werewolf’s presence alone was the only thing now keeping it at bay in William’s absence.
She’s holding herself back. And the god of wine has always suspected that there’s a line she’s not willing to cross.
He wants to erase the line so badly.
Dionysus smiled then, well-aware that there was no such mirth nor the usual warmth in it. That it was not a kind smile. “Kashima was yours, wasn’t he. And from what I heard; the poor old man even has a grandson mourning for him. Now, why would you do that?”
“I have no idea what you are accusing me of.”
He clicks his though, “Lies are unbecoming of you.”
Proserpina regarded him for a moment.
“…I merely did what had to be done,” she amended.
And an odd chill came up to him at the easy admission. “And here I thought the goddess of shadows is above killing humans.”
“He is already dead, Dionysus. What would you have me do? Get his soul back?” Proserpina snapped, “Rei Kashima should have been dead a very long time ago.”
He narrowed his eyes. “He doesn’t look dying to me.”
“That is because I merely let him linger for as long as I can get away with it! And besides… all things considered, being smothered by a pillow in his sleep is a peaceful way to go.”
“You think getting suffocated by a fucking vampire is a peaceful death?” Dionysus demanded, disbelief and something like hysteria laced in his voice as he stared at her, “…oh. Oh, wow. You seriously believed that. Didn’t you?”
“He died dreaming. What more could you want?”
“That you could have just left him alone–”
“That is not possible. Letting another kill Rei Kashima instead of dying by my hand is a mercy,” Proserpina says, the words suddenly coming out slow, certain, and cold as the depths of Tartarus itself. “I let him be for ten years, Dionysus. Ten. Years. Whether you believe me or not, it is the truth. I spared him for a decade.”
“I think you have done enough, cousin.” he said in a calm voice that promised to become something else if she said the wrong thing. “Believe what you will, but I do not approve of you killing a demigod.”
“Fortunately, I do not require your approval, Dionysus.”
“Still. That doesn’t make what you’ve done right,” he argued, his voice rising. “You know this better than I, Proserpina… how are you any different than the gods now, knowing that you’ve killed and turned against one of the very people who are truly loyal to you? How is this fair?”
Her eyes flashed then, something dark and too old even for him to know just lurking somewhere within its depths.
“Do not speak to me of ‘fairness’.”
There you are.
“Why not?” Dionysus challenged, “Are you not the keeper or the god of death? Impartiality is, after all, one of your defining traits… is it not?”
“…the living have made it so,” it finally says, voice low and disembodied as the mist around them began to thicken until the goddess of shadows itself was barely a dark silhouette next to the sea of trees and hanging bodies.
For a moment, he says nothing, just stares at it.
“Do not misunderstand. This is not about justice, or right or wrong, theós tou krasioú. Eínai i fysikí táxi ton pragmáton.”
It felt like he was staring at the abyss… with the abyss itself now staring right back at him. And Dionysus couldn’t help but actually see Death itself standing there instead of his friend, “…That’s just cruel, even for you, don’t you think?”
It said nothing.
It didn’t have to.
His smile grew wide then, shifting into a sharp grin, a crescent of pure malice as his eyes glowed a dark purple amidst the sea of shadows.
“Daughter of Hades,” he murmured, “Have you finally gone mad?”