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The Messenger of the Gods
What could you do to stop him from spreading the word?
Hermes hadn’t always been trustworthy, but Medusa vouched for him the first time she and Pandora met with him in her daughter Aza’s studio in the heart of New York City.
“This girl,” Medusa said, shaking her head at the chaos of the studio with its discarded canvases and haphazard easels. “I don’t understand why she does this all the time.”
“Must take after her mother,” Hermes teased, and Medusa shot him a glare despite the small tease of a smile that came to her lips.
“You’ve always been a trickster,” Medusa said. “Let me guess. You still hang out with nymphs and satyrs for fun, don’t you?”
“Are you trying to steal my joy?” he asked, his eyes alight. “Medusa, you wound me.”
As Medusa opened her mouth to retort, Pandora let out a soft cough. “I hate to break up the camaraderie and all, but we did come here for a reason.”
For her part, Medusa sighed while Hermes looked a little abashed. “My apologies,” he said. “Business comes first.”
“Yes, business,” Medusa said, though her tone was a little deflated. One might think she almost liked her verbal sparring with the messenger of the gods.
