The poor god was sitting in the diner, watching the few other diners eat their food and yet depriving himself of any. The waitress had come over a few times to see if he wanted any, but he had turned it down. The only reason he hadn't been kicked out was a Use-The-Force type trick.

'You don't want me to leave...'

'Yes, we don't want you to leave... stay...'

And so he did, since they asked so nicely. He was in a booth at the moment, having an internal argument with his stomache. Eat. No. Eat. No. Eat. No. And so on. He was winning so far, but it was hard.

He hadn't slept in days, but that's ok. Apoth had mostly gotten over sleep. The only reason he couldn't give up food was the fact that it tasted so damn good.

Damn you, food.

In form of a break from this unusual torture, Apoth looked out the window. No help, as there was another diner across the street.

Curse competitive sales.

Nearly ready to give up, he summoned a piece of gum from someplace and popped it in his mouth. Give him something to chew.

He wanted food.

Mm, insomnia.

Andrei was out on the town and just wasn't ready to face nightmares yet. He's looking tired, with dark circles under his conspiciously mis-matched eyes. His hair, dusty brown, is brushed back like usual, the white streak as evident as ever.

His clothing's simple-- his usual grey jacket, jeans, and a t-shirt in deference to the warming weather.

Ah... Monroe's. Open late for your pleasure, or whatever.

The door jingles as the half-god enters.

What's that? wondered the god as he shoved another piece of gum into his mouth. Something had walked into the diner, something powerful and vaguely familiar.

He looked up at the tinkling of bells. On seeing the entity, he noted that it felt bigger than it looked. It also felt old and... dry. Stale, almost. Certainly didn't look like it.

Then he realized who it felt like. Azrael. Except, that was Azrael. Not nearly strong enough. On closer inspection, he wondered how much he really had missed.

Fashioning a kind of neon sign to the subconscious around his booth, Apoth waved a hand and called out. "Hey there, come sit here. I need to ask you a few things." It left no doubt that he was talking to the boy? thing? It was a bit forward, yes, but Apoth was in no mood for subtle. Not that he ever was.

As a second thought, he wondered if the subconscious tug would work on the spawn of Azrael.

It does.

Who is that? he wonders vaguely as curiosity draws him inexorably towards the table. What does he see? Some older guy. [pi]Probably a perv.[/i] What does he feel? Nothing. He's not enough in touch with his demigod side to feel the gods-- and even were he, he still might not be able to.

"Ask me what?" he grumbles at the unknown guy, sliding into the booth across from his and glaring.

He never even questions the fact that he obeyed the command.

Ah ha. That eye. Has to be.

Apoth was vaguely surprised somewhere in the depths of his knowing that offspring of Death had succumbed to the simple trick. Hm. Well, it made things that much easier.

"I wated to ask you about your parents. Well, one of them in particular." So much for that godly mystic quality. "Do you know your father?"

If he didn't, he soon would. Apoth wasn't feeling like sitting through a scene, however.

Suspicion creeps into the kid's expression, and he leans back, raising a thin and expressive eyebrow at this guy.

"Sorta," he says. "Not personally."

Andrei runs his mismatched eyes over the man across from him. His left eye is seeing some really strange things.

Good, the boy knows him.

"I don't think anyone knows him personally. Most people don't want to." Apoth's eyes wandered involuntarily to a plate of food passing by the booth. He shoved yet another piece of gum into his mouth.

"What's your name, kid?" Apoth cringed at the unintentional cliché.

Andrei pauses and his eyes narrow.

Does this guy actually fucking know? Hard to tell, but it sure as hell sounds like he does. Which is extremely wierd.

"Andrei. What's yours?" he shoots back, his tone challenging.

"Apoth, God of Information and Knowledge, though I'm a bit short on both lately." He picked up a napkin and began folding as he talked.

"It seems to me, however, that you don't like daddy-dearest too much. Just a hunch." There was now a small origami giraffe strutting along the table. Small animations like that always held some amusement and took his mind off of food.

"Hate, perhaps? It could just be your rebellious stage, but somehow I don't think so."

He stares. First at the little giraffe-thing then back at Apoth.

"Fuck rebelliousness," he says evenly and crosses his arms, slumping down further in his seat.

"It's none of your business anyways, mr. So-called God."

"I didn't think that was it," Apoth said. "That sounds a bit oxymoronic, to tell the truth."

His good humor dwindled at the affront to his research. "Oh, but it is, you see. I gather information; right now you are the information. No one's told me about you, you see. That pisses me off." Apoth took a deep calming breath. "So, let's hear it. Who was it that Azrael knocked up? Not another dying woman, I hope."

"And like I said, my mom's none of your fucking business." Stupid know-it-all.

Andrei is probably a bit pre-prejudiced against gods in general, at the moment. He continues to glare. The left eye, the white one, really is remarkably like those of his father.

He doesn't care that it likely really IS Apoth's business.

"And like I said, it fuckin' is." Apoth doesn't like know-it-alls. He's the one and only know-it-all, and should anyone try to take that from him he will defend it to their death. He ain't gonna die.

"Now, tell me or I'm going to start smiting." Irritable, isn't he? "I don't care who your daddy is, you got some human in you too. They don't handle smitings too well."

He's very tempted to say 'fuck you' and rely on healing powers to save him-- however, those powers were apparently god-given so maybe the god can take them away.

So he doesn't, though his lips start to shape the words before caution pulls them back. He glares, not amused at all.

"Anna Petrov."

His mother.

He runs through a mental census list, finding her to be a normal woman. He wonders whether Azrael had some kind of agenda with this child.

"Very good. Now it's your turn." He waits patiently for a question. Give and take, not to mention leftover manners. Damn them, too.

Well, obviously the guy knows his dad. Probably some sort of question along those lines would be in order.

Does he really want to know?

Pause.

"What's my father like?" Somehow doesn't want to say 'dad' out loud. It makes him sound like a pathetic little kid.

"Azrael is... very difficult. I'm not sure there's a word in the english language horrible enough for him." Apoth shrugged. "Then again, I'm a bit biased."

The god popped a rather large bubble, freezing it in place before it could spatter all over his face. He pulled it back into his mouth and kept chewing.

"Anything else?"

"Iunno. Isn't it your turn?" This is also phrased in the form of a challenge.

He absolutely refuses to look surprised at all in any way at the god's tricks. Just trying to fucking impress him, Andrei, probably.

he doesn't move. Just watches with his usual sullen expression, tainted by grumpy tiredness.

"No, I asked three. 'Who'se your daddy?' 'What's your name?' and 'Who'se your mammy?'" He counted each one off on his fingers as he said them.

"You've now asked one question. You get two more," he finished matter o' factly.

Andrei had asked for the god's name, but wasn't about to make a correction.

"Fine. Okay. Are there more people like me," more demi-gods of Death. God, what a stupid question that sounds like, but he wants to know.

"And why are you biased against," he pauses. Azrael? Sounds like someone from a fucking comic book. "Azrael?"

A question to a question did not count to Apoth.

"There are, but not many. I think you may be the only living one belonging to Azrael at the moment. Then again, I've been out of sort for a while. He could have had more."

"I am biased against Azrael because he is. Death and Information don't get along too well. Music lives on after death, love lives on after death, but information dies with death," he said, to name a few. "You could call it conflicting interests."

"I don't buy that," Andrei says. "I think you just don't like him."

At least, that's how it seems. Andrei's getting a bit more into this, now that he sees that Apoth isn't just going to demand answers and not give in return.

"Very perceptive, you are." The god shrugged. "It started out as job competition, but escalated to something more. On this end, at least. He always seems infuriatingly calm. I think I'm just a bit tired and maybe my memory of before the incarnation is a bit fuzzy."

He hoped not. That was his whole gig.

"Before what?"

He doesn't care that it's not his turn.

((Short, blah.))

"Before the incarnation. I was in a human body for a number of years." Apoth shrugged again. "I wanted to see what it was like from the inside. All I got from it was an insistently lingering need to eat and sleep and other annoyingly human habits."

He crossed his arms and leaned forward, resting on his elbows. "My turn. What can you do?"

Andrei frowns, considering the god's answer. And then he considers the question.

"Whaddaya mean, what can I 'do'?" he growls.

"You're the spawn of Death. You're bound to do something." Apoth considered the boy, looking at the eye, the lock of hair, the feeling of power coming off of him.

"If you can't, I'll be sorely disaapointed. If you say you can't, I won't believe you."

"Fine. I can heal from pretty much anything and make nightmares, sorta, for whatever fucking reason." The nightmare powers don't seem very connected to death except in a loose sort of way.

"I'm also strong than I look."

He sounds tired of listing his powers, and is, which is why he hasn't given a full list.

Why do so many people seem to know more than he does...

Apoth waved a dismissive hand. "Nightmares have nothing to do with death. Azrael has dominion over dreams as well."

He ponders over the list, ignoring the tone it was delivered in. In an absent way, he turns the mic over to Andrei. "You're turn."

"Fuck, did you just read my mind?" Fucking... gods. he quashes the thought.

And the new information... not just daddy the Grim Reaper but apparently the sandman, too? What next, Jack Frost?

"So, um." He pauses. His natural inclination prevents him from asking certain questions, but he's still feeling curious (not to mention irritable.)

"How many of you gods are there?"

"Yes I did, but don't let it get to you." Not a big deal, easy as pie and all that. Maybe not mention it again, however. It seemed to bug the boy.

"How many? Last I counted, six or seven with minor gods spattered here and there."

He seemed to consider something, then asked, "How old are you?" Simple enough.

"Nineteen. How old are you?" he isn't expecting a very definite answer and probably won't get one, considering the nature of gods (which, really, he knows nothing about.)

He uncrosses his arms and seems to remember why he was here in the first place-- to eat. Where was that waitress?

Nineteen. Not long after he himself was born.

"Depends on where you're starting from. If you mean the first time, I'm as old as human thinking and knowing. If you mean by birth, just over twenty years, I'm told. If you mean since the second time around, a few months."

Feeling the hunger come off Andrei and unable to take it, Apoth set up another subconscious neon sign, aiming for the waitress. She'd come, eventually, and it wasn't obvious he called her. No one needs to be freaked.

"That's either really old or really young."

He sighs ands leans on the table, glancing towards the waitress.

"Hey, waitress?"

She did so with a wink and a snap of her gum. Apoth sighed. "Damn," he muttered, watching her go.

Returning his attention to Andrei, he frowned in thought. "How many people know about you? Can't be too many, or you would have come to my attention."

To Apoth's displeasure, the waitress heeded the call and made her way to the booth. She pulled out a pad of paper and a pen, popping her own gum loudly.

"What'll it be?" She asked with an accent only acquired by lack of intelligence.

Apoth couldn't help himself. "Hamburger, please." He didn't even want to think them, let alone speak them. But, there you were and he couldn't argue with a hamburger.

He'd kick this habit soon eough.

"And you?" she asked, turning to Andrei.

"Cheeseburger with a side of onion rings, and a, uh..." he pauses, testing his stomache, "Vanilla milkshake."

Ah, the hunger of the late adolescent male.

He leans on the table, waiting for the girl to leave again before continuing their conversation.

"My girlfriend. My, uh, former boss. A guy I got into a car accident with." He frowns, considering. "My mom probably suspects... if you mean about," he pauses, "wierd stuff." Isnt' really sure how else to put it without saying something out loud he'd rather not.

"That's pretty much it..."

"That's what I thought. Very strange list, however." The god raised an eyebrow. "A guy you got into a car accident with? How'd he fare?"

"And I believe it's your turn, if you have more."

"He was fine... he had some wierd thing going on, too." Andrei frowns as the memory of the dead taxi-driver settles over his thoughts, lowering his mood further.

"Why do you think my father had me?" Can't say Dad, doesn't want to say Azrael.

He's assuming a god could just not impregnate someone.