Hair.
Blood.
Teeth.
The woman had a problem but he’d known that.
“Earlier you mentioned a video,” Circe said. “What is it?”
Hermes paused. It wasn’t something he’d ever had to explain before.
“It’s…a record, of sorts. If we had a phone or a camera, we could record this moment and watch it back.”
“Why would we do that?”
He shrugged. “To remember.”
“Why would we want to remember this?” she asked.
“You could try and sound a little less disgusted,” Hermes said. “Just a little.”
“I am only trying to understand your society,” Circe defended.
“If that’s what you want, then you need to watch Olympians After Dark,” he said.
“Pardon?”
“Olympians After Dark,” he repeated. “It’s a spinoff of Titans After Dark and that was a spinoff of Primordials After Dark. They’re TV shows.”
Circe just stared.
“It’s like a play,” he deadpanned.
“Why did you not just say that?”
“I’m not used to having to speak like it’s the eighth century.”
Circe glared. “These…video plays?—”
“They’re called television series.”
“These television series are about the gods?”
“Some of them,” he said. “There are TV shows about everything.”
Circe was quiet, considering.
“Am I…in these TV shows?” Her voice was low, eyes downcast as she focused intently on her task.
Suddenly he realized why she’d asked. It wasn’t conceit or worry over how she was portrayed. She wanted to know if the world had forgotten about her.
“Well, yeah,” he said. “You’re a lot of people’s favorite character.”
“Tell me more about these…video play?—”
“Just call them shows,” Hermes interrupted before diving into a recap of his favorite episodes, with a particular focus on Circe’s representation.
By the time they finished the garland, Hermes’s thumb and forefinger were blistered. He moved on to hanging the pinecones and dried oranges and figs, filling the tree until it was bursting with decorations.
