Ὀρφεύς - Orpheus

Orpheus has been with the Mariposa since Maeve opened it. A fixture, you might say. He can always be found of an evening tickling his keys and keeping an eye out for trouble with the newcomers. Mostly there's none, but sometimes he has to sweep in with a smile and a song or just stand behind Maeve, looking intimidating.

They call him the Lonely Musician, and if you buy him a drink or two, he'll tell you about his great love, long since lost. If you buy him another, he might tell you that you remind him of his love.

He's not one of Maeve's boys, but if a newcomer looks at him right, strikes up the right conversation (buys him the right number of drinks), Orpheus will give them a night they'll never forget.

Orpheus is trying very hard not to just drag Steve up the stairs to their room. Despite having been waiting in the bar, he hasn't been spending much time here at all. It made him think far too much of Steve, and the drawings Steve had left for him didn't really help on that score.

He manages to restrain himself, though, as he unlocks the door.

Something is Wrong.

It isn’t the thing in the woods, whatever that was.

It isn’t the look in Steve’s eyes when he can’t do anything to help his friend.

It isn’t even something as simple as the full moon.

It was the beautiful exquisite perfect young woman standing in front of him. The nymph with the lovely braids, flowing robes shimmering in the sunlight, dancer’s feet bare. Sweet Eurydice. Solid enough to touch.

“You seem troubled, my love,” she says, her voice just as soothing as he remembers.

“You aren’t real,” he answers, though every fiber of his being wants to run to her, hold her, ignore the Wrongness of her.

“Reality is not something you’ve held strongly to.”

He huffs out a laugh that is much darker than she has ever heard from him. “True enough.”

“And who is to say what is real and what is not?”

His head inclines, conceding the point.

“Will you stay?” he asks, when he finds his voice again, heart already twisting in anticipation of her answer.

“You know better, husband.”

He does, of course, but he had to ask. Just as he had to follow her so very long ago, though he knew better then as well.

“Why have you come?”

“Because you are troubled,” she says simply, and he finds himself wanting nothing more than to let her take that trouble away, to rest in the shade of an olive tree, head in her lap as her graceful fingers soothe over his furrowed brow and thread through his hair.

But those days are long past.

“And how do you mean to fix that, my love?”

“Like this,” she says, her lips twisting into a smile that is sad and resigned and not much else. Her bare feet pad lightly over to him, and he is entranced by the movement as he has always been. Leaning up on her toes, she presses her lips to the corner of his mouth, and he is held motionless by the scent of her, so familiar and so close to forgotten. He feels her warm breath on his ear (Wrong Wrong Wrong), and his eyes close of their own volition as she whispers, “Open your heart, husband. Love and live and be as happy as you once made me.”

Finally, the spell breaks, but when he lifts his arms to embrace her, he finds nothing but cold air.

Orpheus had dutifully eaten, if not as much as Steve wanted him to, at least enough to be able to say he was taking care of himself.

And after...well, upstairs had seemed like a good idea. Especially good considering this was the first time it was Orpheus who hadn't seen Steve in over a month rather than the other way around. He tugs Steve into the room with a smile, not willing to let go of him even for a second.

The venue is pretty much perfect. The sun has been set long enough that the rooftop is just pleasantly cool with a lovely view of the city. A bar has been set up on the roof for anyone who doesn’t want to venture inside for a refill.

The inside is lovely as well, though, lit with blues and oranges. The bar is open and fully stocked, and waitstaff circulates the room with trays of amazing looking hors d’ouevres. The view’s not bad there either, and couches and low tables are set up around the room to make for comfortable lounging areas.

The upper level is lit from the floor and set up to observe the activity below. Especially the dance floor, which has its own pretty spectacular view through the skylight. Off to one side is a DJ table and to the other is a makeshift stage with a guitar and a full-sized grand piano.

Near the entrance is a table with copies of the album on CD as well as certificates for downloading it from iTunes or Amazon. At Orpheus' insistence, it's also available on vinyl.

Orpheus pauses outside his door and turns to smile at Steve.

"Well? You've got the key."

Orpheus is more than happy to get Steve up to his room with a minimum of fuss and a maximum of speed.

Though he rather thinks it will be a shame to get him out of that uniform.

So far, Orpheus is counting this trip as a win. They've seen, if not all of Paris that the boys wanted to see, at least a good chunk of it. He's managed to get Albus and Scorpius off on their own enough that he feels like he's done his bit for being a dubious chaperon.

And now he can hand over the actually responsible portions of looking after two teenagers to Demeter, which he's more than happy to do. He got them down to Provence, after all. He's done his bit.

He's also happy to let her rope them in to helping with dinner while he sits back with a glass of wine.

(For however long that lasts.)

Eventually, after shuffling the coffees over to Steve, Orpheus manages to fish out his key and get his door open, ushering Steve inside. The room is a little nicer than your standard hotel room, with a distinctly Greek feel to it. It's open and airy, tile floors, decorated in blues and whites.

He sets his guitar by the door and turns to Steve with a smile.