running off into the sunset for forever and a day

“You’re certainly drinking up a storm.”

Circe looks to her right, as a woman with glossy braids and a blinding grin slides into the barstool besides her. Vaguely, she thinks she should recognize her. But an eternity is a long time, and her memory grows weaker by the century.

“Special day,” Circe says simply, gaze fixed on the rim of her cup.

“Special day,” the woman echoes. She tosses her hair over her shoulder, fixing Circe with a look that’s all too sunny for a first meeting. “What, like your birthday?”

“Sure.” She pauses. “It’s Circe, by the way.”

“I know,” the woman responds easily. Then, she offers, “Calypso.”

See: now there’s some recognition. Vaguely. Maybe somewhere in the deep trenches of Circe’s memories, there’s a name to go with a face with a face to go with a name and that is: Odysseus. And Penelope.

But that’s the name of the one he went back to. No one ever talks about the ones he left behind.

“Like the island nymph,” Circe muses, coyly swirling her glass around as if they don’t know now exactly who the other is. Exactly how long they’ve both lived.

“Aeaea, yes,” Calypso hums, drumming her coral-colored nails on the bar counter. “You’ve been there before.”

She doesn’t say it as a question, and that’s because Circe has been, and Calypso knows. Mostly because she was there with Calypso, chucking coconut husks off the water and cursing out the pantheon.

“We’ve known each other for a while,” Circe relents, and Calypso’s blinding smile turns into something softer. And Circe is awfully bored, so she says, “Are you up for another adventure?”

“Always, love,” Calypso answers, flicking her shorter friend on the shoulder. “It’s a special day, isn’t it? Is it really your birthday?”

Titanesses tend not to know their real birthdays. Circe took a date and assigned it the same value, though. “I’m getting old.”

“If you’re old, then I’m old. And no matter how old you are, I’ll be your old, chatty friend. Upsides to eternity, having an old friend.”

Circe laughs at that. “Well, where are we headed?”

“I dunno, birthday girl,” Circe’s friend, her loyal friend, who she knows has loved her as her sister in arms for so long, who may very well stay by her side until their ichor runs dry, answers, “How does the sunset sound?”

“Running off into the sunset,” Circe smiles, sliding off of the barstool. She holds a hand out to her friend. ”Just like always?”

“Always with you,” Calypso answers. And she takes her hand. “We have forever and a day.”