Saving Your Hot Book Boyfriend
You
Maybe…
Maybe if you call out to Poseidon, he’ll reappear and then you can bargain with him.
It’s worth a shot, at least!
“Hey!” you call into the suddenly-eerily-calm ocean. “Hey, Poseidon! Come back! I need to talk to you…please?”
Okay, so it sounds a little like you’re begging.
And…nothing happens. You’re clearly screaming into the void here. Old Po’ shows no sign of returning. And of course he doesn’t.
An ancient god wouldn’t come back up just to answer some measly human’s demands.
Would he?
Maybe this was a bad idea.
You grimace as your lifeline tugs harder, so bright and taut, you’re a little surprised it hasn’t snapped yet. You feel dizzy, gripping the yacht’s rail just to stay standing. How much more can you take? And Ziros has been underwater for at least several minutes now.
You just hope he’s okay. Somehow.
You grab the lifeline, trying a last-ditch effort to reel him in, but no matter how hard you tug, you can’t budge it.
“Comeon,” you mutter, heaving with all your might. “Damn you, Poseidon!” You scream into the ocean, “Get up here already!”
Just then—
A huge spout of water spirals up from the surface, and there’s old Po’ himself, trident gleaming with golden magic against the first stars where he stands in front of you on the desk, golden-crowned and glaring down at you as you stumble back against the rail.
“You wished toseeme, little human?”
Oh. My. God.
It worked!?
Yelling at the ocean actually worked.
Now for the, uh, harder hard part: the part where you actually have to bargain with an angry sea god. Because staring up at him where he stands glowering down at you with his trident braced on the deck, you suddenly remember exactly how small and very mortal you are.
But if you don’t do something, both you and Ziros will die anyway.
You might as well try.
“Please,” you say, hauling yourself back to your feet by the deck rail. Fighting back your dizziness. “I don’t know what bad blood you and Zir—Z—had, but that’s gotta be old news by now,right? He’s served his time and all that. Can’t you just let him go?”
“Let himgo!?” Poseidon booms, slamming his trident down so hard on the yacht deck, the whole boat shakes. You flinch, grimacing as a huge wave sloshes over the top, soaking everything aboard—including you—with freezing water.
“Um,” you say, shooting Poseidon the most sweet, hopeful look you can. “Please?”
He stares at you for a half second.
Is it working?
Then he breaks down laughing, one giant hand on his knee, bending over as he slaps the deck with his trident again with the other.
