Calliope was a muse, yes, but calling her one of eight was frankly an insult.
"Mr. Hermes, I go wherever the wind blows," she said, her wild lashes fluttering, but, well, a messenger like himself never minded a bit of trouble.
And Calliope, well, life was never boring with her around; she went wherever trouble went, that was true, but wherever she went, victory went, too -- and Mr. Hermes always thought himself quite lucky.
--
Mr. Hermes couldn't help but see Calliope in her boy; bot just the gifted voice and divine strumming, mind. There was the kindness unique to them, too, a special light in the eyes that fundamentally believed the world was a better place than it was, and Mr. Hermes had lived long enough to know that hope was the rarest of all things.
Orpheus wasn't his boy, not by blood -- Calliope had a lot of friends, and so did Mr. Hermes, too, for that matter -- but sitting together, there was only one word for what they were, and that was family.
--
When the world fell out of tune, Miss Calliope did too, without warning -- one day he woke and turned his head, and she was gone, and Orpheus was not. She disappeared, and Mr. Hermes supposed his luck must have lost the roll of the dice; didn't matter that Hermes constantly looked back for her, or that Orpheus' gaze always followed his own - gone, just gone, was Calliope.
Looking at her son when he turned around, the horror on his face when he realized he doomed his love -- well, Mr. Hermes wished, in that moment, that Orpheus didn't take after him so damn much.
[Hadestown] Inheritance (3 set)
"Mr. Hermes, I go wherever the wind blows," she said, her wild lashes fluttering, but, well, a messenger like himself never minded a bit of trouble.
And Calliope, well, life was never boring with her around; she went wherever trouble went, that was true, but wherever she went, victory went, too -- and Mr. Hermes always thought himself quite lucky.
--
Mr. Hermes couldn't help but see Calliope in her boy; bot just the gifted voice and divine strumming, mind. There was the kindness unique to them, too, a special light in the eyes that fundamentally believed the world was a better place than it was, and Mr. Hermes had lived long enough to know that hope was the rarest of all things.
Orpheus wasn't his boy, not by blood -- Calliope had a lot of friends, and so did Mr. Hermes, too, for that matter -- but sitting together, there was only one word for what they were, and that was family.
--
When the world fell out of tune, Miss Calliope did too, without warning -- one day he woke and turned his head, and she was gone, and Orpheus was not. She disappeared, and Mr. Hermes supposed his luck must have lost the roll of the dice; didn't matter that Hermes constantly looked back for her, or that Orpheus' gaze always followed his own - gone, just gone, was Calliope.
Looking at her son when he turned around, the horror on his face when he realized he doomed his love -- well, Mr. Hermes wished, in that moment, that Orpheus didn't take after him so damn much.