Nicholas had never found himself enjoying festivities or any sort of frivolous parties that he knows he was not worthy of demeaning his presence with, but he wasn’t one for unnecessary rudeness either. The ruler of the Underworld would rather excuse himself from Godly drama, while the other deities and Gods reveled in it like vultures pecking at a mortals corpse in the summer sun, picking off anything they could get for the simple pleasure of satisfying themselves until fresh (or albeitly rotten) meat came along for the taking.

The Pantheon was a lively as ever, although Nicholas could feel the fear radiating off of the non-human patrons as he greeted those that he had never formally met in person, nor planned on meeting with anyways. Whst he needed was a drink; one that would calm his personal nerves and would busy himself with something other than pointed fingers and hushed whispers. As always, between the two; Hebes had supplied enough ambrosia and doves that never left his cup unattended…maybe it was due to him drinking his share rather swiftly, maybe it was the urge to not upset him. Nicholas would not complain.

Many a guest would greet him nervously, and Nicholas liked it that way: less confrontation, less opportunity to make small talk, and less opportunity to grow attached to those who would rather meet Thanatos than himself. Yet, the music was playing, and those who were not occupying drinks were dancing in circles and howling loud enough to make the undertaker wish he were listening to the gnawing of Cerberus’ fangs on gnarled flesh.

He was certain no one would approach him, even though he was dressed in his usual black suit attire; the others would not even ask for his opinion on how the sausage was made if it came down to it, so it had surprised the God when someone had started to draw themselves closer to the corner of the room from which he stood.