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It is, by all rights, an ordinary day at the bar.
But when the door opens next, letting in a chilly, almost eerie breeze, those sitting nearest the exit might inadvertently feel a shiver crawl up and down their spine.
(They may not understand why.)
The reason is because Nico di Angelo, son of Hades, has entered the bar.
Wearing an oversized dark leather bomber jacket and baggy pants, his hair looking as though it's badly in need of a decent haircut, his skin pale and almost sallow - like he's spent far too much of his time underground - he steps past the threshold and into the main space.
He looks frustrated and angry, but beneath that is a mingled expression of confusion and sadness. The boy's been through a lot.
"This isn't going to help me," he grumps immediately, turning to his right - where there is no one there to answer back. "Hey - where did -"
Someone help a poor boy out.
But when the door opens next, letting in a chilly, almost eerie breeze, those sitting nearest the exit might inadvertently feel a shiver crawl up and down their spine.
(They may not understand why.)
The reason is because Nico di Angelo, son of Hades, has entered the bar.
Wearing an oversized dark leather bomber jacket and baggy pants, his hair looking as though it's badly in need of a decent haircut, his skin pale and almost sallow - like he's spent far too much of his time underground - he steps past the threshold and into the main space.
He looks frustrated and angry, but beneath that is a mingled expression of confusion and sadness. The boy's been through a lot.
"This isn't going to help me," he grumps immediately, turning to his right - where there is no one there to answer back. "Hey - where did -"
Someone help a poor boy out.
