Hercules never understood the concept of studying, for one he was a god and anything he needed to remember he committed it to memory. Only the important stuff, how much force would you need to punch a cyclops out or how many heads is too many heads on a hydra (one was plenty). For two, he’d have to sit still long enough. His go to for sitting still would be coupling it with squats or sit ups maybe pushups, he was told that wasn’t the right way to study so what was the point.

So when his current Master William told him he was having a study night Hercules jumped at the opportunity to go explore the city. No club, and no fights unless he could help it. His request to save someone who was in danger was still honored so he at least had that going for him. Teenagers in this era were too strict.

The demi-god stopped at a cross-walk and his jaw practically dropped to the floor when he saw them, a small cluster of Atlantean he could tell where they were from by the clothing they were garbed in. At least one thing hadn’t changed drastically on him.

If it wasn’t for the ‘stop’ sign on the crosswalk Hercules would have charged after them asking them if they heard any news of his exploits. It was a silly question but Hercules was willing to educate them if they didn’t. All Atlantean’s knew of his might! He did save it from sinking into the ocean... once. The second time he didn’t know about until he was summoned to Rome.

Among the cluster he spotted someone who looked familiar. Too familiar. ”Hermes?” his voice boomed, Hercules looked to the crosswalk almost dancing in his place waiting for the light to change. When it did he leapt into the street, ”Hermes! It’s me! Hercules! HA HA! You’re alive!” he shouted waving his hands and grinning. Yes, Hermes was always playing tricks on him, but they were often humorous and in good nature. Giant Scorpians, flesh eating horses and the occasional Kraken. All in good fun.

”Brother!!!” Hercules called out once again and ran after the group of men and women garbed in the finest traditional Atlantean clothing. He seemed underdressed in comparison, jeans and a tight black shirt. It didn’t matter, the wiery looking man had to be his brother. They looked exactly alike. So much so Hercules forced the door open to the building they entered moments before. ”Hello?” Hercules called out, not sure how there was suddenly no one around.

It was one of those ideas that made Serena want to throw up. It had all the makings of a New York Fashion Week disaster: cultural sensitivity, historical reenactment, and togas. If it had been solely up to her, she would not have been caught dead in the two-mile vicinity of this sorry excuse for a runway. But her whole PR and marketing team, including some of her bleeding heart designers (to be culled at the next possible neutral opportunity) mounted a coordinated campaign of House Lockhart being a part of the Welcome Atlantis event. Because cultural bla bla, immigration bla bla, sword and sandal nostalgia or something. Barf.

So, here she was. The models were already decked out in the "Atlantis tribute" creations of half a dozen famous fashion companies, including a small number introducing outfits by up-and-coming Atlantean designers. Serena, never a fan of affirmative action, thought the whole lineup was disgustingly twee, but they were in it now, and she had to put on a pleasant (and expertly painted) face, and look like she was all-so-sensitive about diversity in the fashion industry. And togas. She gave her designers hell about their pieces, until they looked halfway decent. In low light. For a drag queen.

The models took a short break, but they were filing in now for finishing touches before they headed to the runway. Serena stood by the dressing room, wanting to personally make sure that the Lockhart outfits looked good enough that they would float to safety on the wreckage of the fashion sh*storm this event was bound to kick up. As the Atlantean-inspired and silk-wrapped models came in, someone that looked like one of the bouncers hurried in after them.

>>”Brother!!! Hello?”

"Excuse you." Serena leveled a stare at the burly man. She was wearing a tight, shiny black outfit to offset the flowy Greeky collective wardrobe malfunction. "Family is not allowed back here. There is a show happening, in case you didn't notice and I don't appreciate my models being distracted."

”My apologies!” Hercules said quickly in response to the voice and he moved closer to the nearest wall and out of the way of whoever was behind him. It was sometimes a curse being such a large mass of perfection. He somehow managed it with grace and precision for Hercules was truly a humble god.

His gaze turned to the lack of traffic in the hallway then shifted to the woman addressing him. Clearly he wasn’t in the way so his apologetic smile turned into a raised eyebrow. ”Excuse you.” was this a greeting?

”So my brother is here! Excellent!” Hercules’s boomed and clapped massive hands. ”I thought it looked like Hermes! I haven’t seen him in centuries!” he kept his hands together and flexed like he just won a match. ”What sort of spectacle does my brother take part in?” he asked curiously looking around to see if he could see any signs of what the show was going to be about.

It was then when everything clicked Hercules entered through the wrong door. ”Ah! Apologies once again miss. I can be quite the distraction from what I’m told! I didn’t know about the show, I saw my brother and followed him here. I’m always two steps behind, he’s a quick one!” Hercules laughed loudly then offered his calloused hand in greeting. ”My name is Hercules!” his shirt got tighter when he flexed.

Serena tried to use simple words with simple people, but this one still did not seem to get the message. He followed the models in, obviously looking for someone, and she was not about to have this hunk of... loud stuff anywhere near the runway.

>>”So my brother is here! Excellent! I thought it looked like Hermes! I haven’t seen him in centuries! What sort of spectacle does my brother take part in?”

These model stage names were getting ridiculous. Serena was going to swap all of the bunch out for lifelike golems the first chance she got to work up the spell.

>>”Ah! Apologies once again miss. I can be quite the distraction from what I’m told! I didn’t know about the show, I saw my brother and followed him here. I’m always two steps behind, he’s a quick one! My name is Hercules!”

Oh, he was more than two steps behind. And a few steps to the side.

Serena looked at the hand offered, then back at the man.

"Sure you are. I really don't care whose brother you are. There is a runway about to start and you are not going anywhere near the models. I have enough to deal with. Unless you have a pass you can wait outside for your brother."

She didn’t accept his hand shake. Was this not the proper greeting for the times? Or was she just being rude? His smile wavered slightly and he withdrew his hand deciding to not let it bother him. He found mortals could be rude and fickle. However he still deemed them worthy of his protection so he let it slide for now. ”I am.” he stated finding it hard for her to be skeptical. Look at him.

”A runway?” he looked around briefly and decided it wasn’t for an airplane which was a shame because he would have loved to see a flying monstrosity like in the movies. Bi-planes were particularly interesting mainly because well they, looked like paper and how could something like that fly well in his father’s realm? Mortals were truly impressive creatures.

”A pass? Hmmmmm...” his shirt tightened as he reached up and placed his club of a hand under his chin. Almost the same pose when someone used him as a model centuries ago. Apparently the artwork was pretty famous and why not? His muscles immortalized in history? It made sense, ”Well. What if I am a model?” it had been a while since he wore the title but how hard could it be? ”May I see my brother then?”

Hercules flexed his curse and source of his power, skin glowed slightly along his skin the runes and sigils shifting around his many trials immortalized on his body. His tight shirt got tighter till it ripped in several places revealing more of his tattoos and his now glistening and glowing body. ”Or!!!” he changed his pose tightening his arms as if he just launched a discus ”Allow me to help you and lighten your burden!” she probably needed something lifted for the models. A slab of granite to sit on perhaps?

Loosening his body he stood upright, ”Or if you could tell me where to acquire a pass that will also do.” several options even though she was busy she should appreciate his chiseled physique or his willingness to help.

Hunk of meat definitely seemed to be struggling with the concept of no. That was never a good sign in a man.

>>”A pass? Hmmmmm... Well. What if I am a model? May I see my brother then?”

"Absolutely n..."

He flexed. He flexed. The shirt ripped off like all of this was some kind of an idiotic cartoon. He stood there half naked and obviously proud of himself, with tattooes all over. And some of them were glowing. Serena was not often rendered speechless, but this as one of those rare occasions.

>>”Or!!! Allow me to help you and lighten your burden! Or if you could tell me where to acquire a pass that will also do.”

"Shut the hell up." Serena snapped her fingers, and her tourmaline ring flashed before the cone of silence descended on the man. She was trying to keep a low profile as a mystic; the last thing she needed was a strange glowing man bellowing around her runway. She needed to get rid of him fast. Waving a hand, she motioned to him to follow her, and marched into the first empty VIP dressing room she could find.

It seemed the woman was speechless with his impressive display of muscles. Most women were, men as well. The demi-god understood there were few who looked like they were sculpted by the gods themself, because he was. Then she spoke.

>>> "Shut the hell up."

It was so random it took him a moment to figure out what she was saying. His brow lowered then he started a hearty laugh slapping his knee unaware he was no longer producing any sound, or any noise at all for that matter. Truly a knee slapper.

Hercules stood erect then whipped a tear from his eye still chuckling, his mouth moved but no words came out. ’What a response to my offer! I don’t think anyone has ever said that to me. A god, listening to a mortal when they said shut the hell up! What a time to be alive! I must share this with ,my mase- William.’ Hercules cleared his throat still not noticing he was making any noise. He was already chastising himself mentally for not calling Willam his nephew.

’My nephew.’ he blinked and then frowned she waved him to follow so he did ’Words!’ he looked around then clapped his hands frowning at the lack of noise. ’Noise! Words and noise!’ he shouted. Nothing. Was this a trick of Hermes? Or worse, Harpocrates. The god didn’t like noise.

Shifting his eyes the Prince of Olympus looked around still following the woman more suspicious. His body had a low glow to it almost looking oiled. The woman opened the door and he continued to follow looking around at the room. It was.... nice.

The guy kept on talking, completely disregarding the fact that he was making no sound at all. Okay, so he was not the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree. He looked like he was in the middle of a bad lip sync when the sound cut out. But you had to admire the sheer confidence.

Serena waited until he was inside the dressing room and closed the door before snapping her fingers again, dispersing the spell.

"Keep it down, will you? This show's already a disaster, I don't need a glowing, talking dump truck to spice it up."

Serena folded her arms, her rings flashing. She was ready to put the cone of shame on the guy again if he started yelling.

"So, what are you doing here, really? Are you a mutant, or are you just really fond of body oil?"

Hercules continued to look around the room, ‘This is a nice room?’ confused as to why he was there in the first place. Frowning at the lack of noise he debated putting a fist through a wall wondering if that would break whatever curse was upon him. The god of strength wasn’t too worried, he’d outlast this curse of silence. His original curse would see to it.

The woman snapped her fingers, and requested to keep it down. Hercules crossed his arms causing his muscles to flex. Frown still on his face, ”Maybe you haven’t noticed but I am afflicted with a new curse. One of silence.” he blinked slowly processing his voice.

The giant mountain of muscles let out a heavy sigh of relief glad he’d be able to communicate with mortals again. They were awful at charades they never guessed what he was acting out. ”What sort of disaster? I happen to specialize in combatting them.” he said un folding his arms showing off his upper torso littered with his heroic exploits.

”Me a mutant?” Hercules scoffed loudly at the implication and waved a hand at her dismissing the silly idea. ”No, I’m not a mutant. I’m a god!” he said flexing.

”The oil you refer to is a by product of my powers.” he flexed again tapping into the well of his thirteen year old master. Hercules’s tapestry of ink started to glow, the sigils and runes shifting and moving of their own accord. Eyeing a table nearby he took two steps towards it and lifted the thing with ease.

”I agree though it does look good on me.” he said setting the table down realizing he just revealed his powers and what he was to a stranger. William will be sure to scold him again. A boy, scolding a god. What an era. ”Like I said, one of your models looks to be my brother. A trickster, Hermes. I didn’t think any of the other gods were still on this plane.” It was too late now, so he figured he’d just tell her the truth. Honesty was a strong trait of his.

Lord, this guy was ridiculously large. He made the whole dressing room feel small.

>>”Maybe you haven’t noticed but I am afflicted with a new curse. One of silence.”

"Yeah. That was me. Though I wouldn't call it a curse."

>>”What sort of disaster? I happen to specialize in combatting them... Me a mutant? No, I’m not a mutant. I’m a god!”

Oh, bother.

>>”The oil you refer to is a by product of my powers. I agree though it does look good on me.”

The signs and sigils moved on his skin, glowing. Serena tilted her head. If he objected to being called a mutant then he was either utterly delusional, or... a mystic? Or a mystic's creation? The ease he lifted the table with proved that he was indeed very strong.

>>”Like I said, one of your models looks to be my brother. A trickster, Hermes. I didn’t think any of the other gods were still on this plane.”

"That guy? Please, he's not a god. His name is Damien and a goddamn pain in the ass is all he is." Okay, so Hercules here had some kind of delusion. She was just not sure why. "We are in the middle of an Atlantean fashion presentation. Pretty tacky if you ask me but what can I do? You, on the other hand... you are using magic. How did that happen?"

”I would.” the mountain of muscles said quietly. He didn’t like the idea of not being heard, it was hard to shepherd mortals as it was with their free will and ‘ideas’ to do so in silence.... he shook his head not wanting to think about it more.

”Damien?” Hercules frowned his muscles flexing as he brought his hand up to his chin wondering if it was another alias. Hermes did like attention, just a different kind of attention... he was also something of an ‘ass’. Hercules scratched the back of his head in frustration wanting to yell, to scream... all he wanted was to see one of his brothers again. Mortals were great but he felt nostalgic around some of his family members and he learned that nostalgia over centuries was okay.

”Do what?” he lifted the table again his tattoo’s glowing again giving his body a well oiled sheen. ”This? Feat of strength?” he continued, he was told not to explain things to people the way he did to William his young master but Hercules didn’t like lying or being deceitful. That was other gods territory. His was strength and he took it upon himself to include strength of character. After all she was a mystic as well.

”Or how do I use what you call magic?” he asked debating to summon his club. His hand lifted and his body glowed but then he felt the ‘call of his master’ ‘No Club!’. Hercules frowned and lowered his hand and his glowing stopped, ”I’m a god, I’m forced to channel the energy of others to get me back to my godly strength.” he stated flatly as he touched a few of his tattoo’s looking down. ”She cursed me, to live among mortals and draw upon their insignificant power.” he pointed to one of the symbols on his chest that moved his finger ran along with it. Hercules found that was the only way he could read his curse without getting confused.

It was the symbol of infinity. His life. ”I know of curses.” he said somberly before trying to cheer himself up. He clapped, ”Now, I wasn’t able to do much in Pompeii but I am skilled in averting disasters. Allow me to help!” he declared and flexed again.

>>”Do what? This? Feat of strength?”

Okay so the table-lifting was the go-to move. Not very surprising from someone who called himself Hercules. Serena was much more interested in the glowing sigils. There was still a chance he would prove to be some kind of weird mutant, but it sounded less likely by the minute.

>>”Or how do I use what you call magic?... I’m a god, I’m forced to channel the energy of others to get me back to my godly strength. She cursed me, to live among mortals and draw upon their insignificant power. I know of curses.”

Serena arched an eyebrow. Curioser and curioser. He was channeling... someone else's power?

>>”Now, I wasn’t able to do much in Pompeii but I am skilled in averting disasters. Allow me to help!”

"I just might" she smirked, walking over to the dressing room table that was stocked with small bottles of drinks - nothing alcoholic, obviously, models were already a pain sober, but they did have water, orange juice, the works. "So...you are channeling someone else's magic through your tattoos. Whose is it? The woman who cursed you?" Twisting the cap off a bottle of water, Serena turned her ring with the pearl on it, and dipped it into the water, whispering a few words she associated with her best practiced spell. In aqua veritas. "Here. Drink."

The perfectly sculpted mound of muscles raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t supposed to discuss his current master to anyone. That was what they agreed upon, his young master didn’t want to advertise who he was because of his current predicament. William was in a wheelchair and his mother was still in the hospital in a coma. Tears started to well up and he allowed a few to shed for his master and all his recent losses. His strength was inspiring. Hercules was quite fortunate to have a master like him.

”I am.” Hercules nodded his head allowing the few tears he shed to dry on their own. A real man wasn’t afraid to cry. The demigod took the offered drink. He wasn’t thirsty but also didn’t want to be rude to the woman whom he was speaking with. ”My master. We’ve a pact.” he said before doing what he was told. He didn’t want to be rude. Even if the woman never gave him a name.

”The woman who cursed me would not allow me to draw on my strength. Hence the need for masters. Without them I’d not only lose physical form and return to another plane of existence, but I wouldn’t be able to draw on my strength.” he said after a small sip. Hercules frowned after he revealed a bit more than he normally would have. Was the demi-god nervous? He scoffed at the thought and chugged the beverage. ”Thank you for the drink. Most refreshing.”

>>”I am. My master. We’ve a pact.”

So, someone had Hercules as a... servant? In exchange for channeling their magic through them? Serena had not heard of anything like that from the Welldrinkers before. Summoning an actual god to do one's bidding? Neat. She wondered where they were hiding the spells for that.
Also, historically, having Hercules as a servant did not usually go well for people on the long run...

>>”The woman who cursed me would not allow me to draw on my strength. Hence the need for masters. Without them I’d not only lose physical form and return to another plane of existence, but I wouldn’t be able to draw on my strength... Thank you for the drink. Most refreshing.”

The drink worked. Or maybe he was just feeling chatty. He did not seem to mind drinking something that had just been enchanted, which pointed to either confidence or sheer stupidity. Probably both.

"So... you are an actual god. Summoned here by your master. Who is a mystic." she reiterated, watching him closely. "Who is..."

The door was flung open, and a very distressed-looking assistant barged in.

"I am so sorry, Ms. Lockhart, but Damien is having a bit of a meltdown about the outfit, and the runway is starting..."

Of-****-course.

”God of strength and willpower.... yes.” he corrected. There were a ton of pantheons and a ton of gods but Hercules was the only one who was Hercules. The woman before him should count herself lucky she was conversing with him so casually. Usually someone would have to buy him a drink first. The giant looked to the glass she handed him, well an alcoholic beverage.

”Summoned to this era.” he corrected again, he was not in this building and having this conversation because his master wanted him to. In fact William would have been pretty upset with everything at the moment. Not only was Hercules recounting who he was and what he could do to the woman but his upper torso was now bare because he ripped his shirt again. Hopefully he wouldn’t be too cross with him. Hercules had a hard time keeping a straight face when he was being scolded by a child, no a teenager.

”William Eirk-” he frowned again wondering what was in the drink that allowed him to blab his master’s identity. Thankfully there was someone complaining about his ‘not-brother’. Even if it wasn’t Hermes, he still seemed to cause trouble like him.

”A meltdown!?!” he looked around, ”Here?!?” did they mean an actual power plant? Hercules just watched a recent show about nuclear power plants and the possibilities they could produce and the horrible ramifications of one going wrong. His tattoo’s glowed a dark shade of green preparing for a battle with ”You there! Point me in the direction of this crisis so I may ‘solve’ the problem!” his arms flexed as he spoke. His master would have a long life if the Demi-god had anything to say about it!