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Characters: Poseidon, Chelsea Straka, Triton, Melpomene
Date/Time: Beginning March 10, 2012, ending on the 16th.
Location: Mostly in Bermuda
Rating: Probably at least PG-13.
Warnings: Language is probably a given, considering Poseidon and Mel.
Summary: The sea gods go in search of the Trident, and Mel tags along for the ride.

The first leg of the flights had gone fairly smoothly. Although not much showed for him outwardly, Triton was excited. This was the most time he had gotten to spend with his father in nearly a century, and Poseidon did seem proud of him for uncovering the clues to the Trident's location. Yes, true, Chelsea was coming along, and Triton was determined to show her through rigid example of how a proper Child of Poseidon was supposed to conduct behavior. And there was also Melpomene, who had somehow invited herself along on this excursion. Triton hoped it wouldn't mean more friction between his father and the sun god because of some woman's actions.

For the moment, they were between flights, and Triton waited patiently in the seating area, flipping through one of the textbooks he had brought along to ensure he remained on top of his studies.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

She walked through the concourse humming "Leaving On a Jet Plane" loud enough that passersby were slightly affected. A little girl clung to her mother's leg and began to wail that she didn't want to go on the big scary plane. Mel didn't even really notice it. This was just a normal day for her.

Walking into the waiting area for her connecting flight, the one that Triton said they all would end up on, she wandered to the first empty seat she saw, singing the set of lyrics she was on, at conversation volume. "Kiss me and smile for me. Tell me that you'll wait for me. Hold me like you'll never let me go."

A man on his cell phone began to tear up, telling someone on the other end he'd be home soon.

Triton, for his part, seemed entirely unaffected by her singing, his expression as stoic as ever as he glanced up at the red-headed Muse.

"I see you made it. Good to know," he remarked.

She raised a brow at him. She was used to people pretending not to feel, but his unaffected air piqued her. Oh yes, little prince. She would see you react in some fashion. This was a challenge to her very nature! It couldn't go unanswered now could it?

She sat down in the seat beside him, dropping her lone duffel bag at her feet. It didn't even look particularly full. She crossed her legs toward him (she was wearing jean shorts that looked like in another life they'd been a full pair of jeans, and a Rammstein concert t-shirt), elbow on the shared arm rest, she props her chin on her fist. She leans into his personal space, looking at his text book. Her hair falls over her shoulder, more than likely utterly in his face, or close enough to annoy. Hi friend. Pay attention to me. I will not be ignored.

"Doesn't your precious sun god give you books to read?" Triton asked dryly, "Or are you really that fascinated by the tactics of ancient warfare?"

"Yes." It was the only answer she gave him. Originally, she wanted to annoy him into paying attention to her. Not because she needed attention, but because he was ignoring her on purpose. Though now that she'd actually read a paragraph off the page, it was a topic she could see herself reading.

"I'll send you a copy for Christmas," he said, turning the page.

"It's a little early to be making lists." She tucked the hair that had falling behind her ear. It might have seemed idle but she'd done it deliberately.

"I like to be prepared," he said, his gaze still on his book.

"Well aren't you just the Boy Scout." She finally gets out of his immediate space. She opens her bag. Inside there is obviously very little, a change of clothes, a bar of soap, a tooth brush and tooth paste in a little plastic baggy, hair brush, and a smattering of what looks like snack food.

She produces one of those shiny tin foil packages that are only ever wrapped around poptarts. She peels it open and takes out a strawberry frosted poptart. The second one gets meticulously replaced in the box and the top closed. Then she manages to pull both legs up onto the narrow seat, and still look like she might be comfortable. The woman is flexible. She breaks off a corner of the pop tart and starts snacking quietly.

"I would appreciate it if you didn't get crumbs on my book," Triton remarked, with hardly a glance at her luggage.

"That would be a waste of crumbs." The edges vanish slowly, because they are the worst part of a poptart. It's the gooey center that is the good part. "Orinoco Flow" (http://youtu.be/faZ7iiXk8YI) is hummed while chewing. Enjoy a slight boost of relaxation and peacefulness.

"Good to know I won't have to worry, then," the sea prince replied as evenly as ever.

"Well that's interesting." She commented off hand. A bit of strawberry filling oozed between pastry, and she licked it away.

"What's interesting?" he asked, sounding almost bored as he turned the page again.