hermes in mexico pt. 3 ﾟ — ➴

❛ Hermes in Mexico pt. 3

#deityswap ₍₍...₎₎

(this one is really long... (´˳｀)>)

The stranger continued to chatter as Hermes finally caught his breath enough to get a good look at him. He was a very strange sight.

Over a black turtleneck that hugged his sides, a colorful leather jacket hung loosely on his shoulders. For bottoms, he wore obnoxiously red zebra print jeans, accessorized with a belt and a gold waist chain so bright it could blind a person. His tasseled boots, at least, matched the color of his turtleneck. Gold, ruby, and turquoise jewelry dangled from his neck, wrists, around his fingers, and even from his ears. Honestly, this guy looked like something you'd find at a thrift store for white, rich moms or high out of his mind at Coachella.

Hermes groaned and rested his forehead on the sand for a few seconds, finding the last ounce of strength and will in himself to deal with a hyperactive death toddler armed with a bone dagger.

With shaky legs, he finally stood up. The pale moonlight revealed a vast desert as he stared out. The sand sprawled for miles, adorned with mounds of cacti, stunted bushes, and desert broom. On the horizon was a wall of dark and sinister mountains.

"Is... this your Underworld?" Hermes asked as he looked around. There wasn't much to see except the desert, the well he had just climbed out of, the mountains, and a small brightly lit house in the distance.

"Hmm?" the stranger stopped his chatter for a second and glanced around as well. "This? Oh, uh, I guess?" He said in a more questioning tone.

He scratched his head with the dagger, ruffling his black hair that had streaks of unnatural white. "Right now it's more like purgatory, if you can call it that."

He pointed to the mountains in the distance: "That is the Underworld. Or, the beginning of it. Where we are now is where the souls begin, and where I live."

He smiled and excitedly gestured to his house in the distance, which was far from being a palace. The sound of dogs barking could be heard coming from it.

"Anyway," the stranger put his dagger back in the sheath on his belt and turned to Hermes. He grabbed his arm and started to lead him to the house. "Nice to meet you, my name is Xolotl. I think there's an accent in there somewhere, I really don't . I mean you can spell it any way; accent, no accent, you could probably spell it with an 'a' and I'd know you were talking about me. It's a bit tricky for native English speakers to say, so when they come, I usually--"

Xolotl went on and on as he dragged Hermes along the uneven landscape. Soon, Hermes had tuned him out completely. The duo stepped onto a rough-hewn path that led toward the strange pueblo-style house. As they walked along this path, Hermes noticed signs bordering it. The wooden boards nailed to these planks had words painted on them in many different languages. They all had the same phrase written on them: "Stay out" and "Beware of dog" in large block letters.

Hermes' eyebrows stitched together. If Xolotl was a psychopomp, why would he want people to stay out? He turned to him to ask them this question when he noticed something very bizarre about Xolotl's face.

"Holy shit!" Hermes shouted and tore his arm away, Xolotl's long painted nails unintentionally scratching his skin and leaving fine red lines. Xolotl yelped and backed away as well, reaching for his dagger.

"What? What happened?"

"Where the hell are your eyes?" Hermes breathed, staring at Xolotl's face, into the empty spaces where his eyes were supposed to be. Xolotl stilled.

"My... my eyes?" Slowly, he brought his hands up to his face and felt around his eyes. "Well, they should be…" Carefully, and without flinching, he dug his fingers, long nails and all, into the empty sockets. As they searched around, the black abysses made a horrible squelching noise that almost made Hermes gag.

"Oh no," Xolotl whined, his actions becoming more manic, his fingers moving faster in his eye sockets. Hermes covered his mouth with his hand and muttered a plea for him to stop. Xolotl withdrew his fingers, now slimy from the fluid of whatever hell he had just dug into. "Oh no, where did I put them?" Xolotl cried, patting the pockets of his leather jacket, the front pockets of his jeans, then the back pockets.

He turned his head to look at the ground, before turning to look at the sand behind him. He knelt down and began to sift through the sand, before suddenly stopping. His shoulders began to shake and Hermes's hand fell from his mouth. He frowned, hesitating for a moment, wondering if he should be offering any comfort. That display was disgusting and insane, but what good does a depressed soul guide do? But then Xolotl got up and that's when Hermes realized... Xolotl wasn't crying, he was laughing his ass off.

He turned around and wiped his fingers on his shirt, his entire body trembling with laughter. "Oh," he howled, doubling over for a second. He pointed at Hermes with a split grin, "You... you should have seen your face!"

Xolotl stayed here for a minute, holding his stomach in glee, before finally straightening up. Giggling, he wiped away some tears that weren't even there. Hermes' angry face only made him laugh more.

...

...

The following weeks with Xolotl were... different to say the least. Hermes remained in this strange desert purgatory the whole time, cramped in Xolotl's tiny house. To be honest, the size was pretty average for a one-story home. But, compared to Hermes' standards, it was far too small. There was only one bedroom, which Hermes occupied since Xolotl did not-- and did not like to-- sleep.

He said that in his house he only had a bathroom and a bedroom for the souls so that they would feel at ease. And Hermes thanked any Creator there was for that, because not having a mirror to fix his hair, or a bed to disappear into, would be the death of him.

Xolotl was eccentric. Hermes thought Dionysus was crazy, but Xolotl really took the cake. He laughed too hard and too madly, his humor was dark and dry, he liked to play with sharp things, and he had a strange obsession with fire. He had no conception of time except sunset and sunrise, often preparing full five-course meals at 9 a.m. Of course, he doesn't eat them. He feeds them to his dogs. All 34 of them.

At the back of his house, he has three large kennels. One for dogs he had trained, one for dogs he was training, and one for dogs too unruly to be obedient. Dogs usually go to a special place when they die, where they watch and wait for their owners and families. But what about those without families? The strays, the unwanted, the fighting dogs, and the abandoned. Well, they have to go somewhere. However, most death gods don't have time for these pups or a place to keep them, so they send them to Xolotl. With Xolotl, they have a chance at a new undead life.

For the Aztecs, the four-year journey through the underworld was arduous, painful, and dangerous. While Xolotl oversees this undertaking for all the souls and makes sure everything goes smoothly, he also sends a dog to accompany and guide them. Think of it as an emotional map. So, he takes these stray and unwanted dogs and trains them to guide souls through the Underworld when they arrive. It's what he does with his free time. And he has a lot of it.

Hermes doesn't mind dogs. But he does mind dogs that never shut the hell up. Here, every day, 24/7, there is a constant buzzing in the background. A buzz consisting of dogs barking, yapping, and playing with each other. Every. Single. Second. It's enough to drive anyone insane.

But his job was quite simple. And, well, he got free food and lodging, and someone, albeit crazy, to talk to. He did what he always did in Greece in of soul guiding. He would appear in the overworld, take the dead soul, find a way back to Mictlan, and deliver them to Xolotl. Nonetheless, since the Aztec afterlife welcomed fewer souls than the Greek afterlife, Hermes would often have the opportunity to listen in on the conversations between Xolotl and the recently deceased.

Hermes learned that the conversations followed a similar pattern. As Xolotl welcomed the soul to his home, his black Xoloitzcuintli named Lola would greet them in her cute puppy way, and then Xolotl would seat them at the dining table, offer them a drink, and explain the process of continuing through the underworld. There were times when this lasted for hours as the souls talked a lot about their previous lives or were curious. "What was the meaning of life?" they would ask. "Will I be able to see my family again?" And Xolotl just smiled and poured them another drink.

When people die, there is naturally a degree of worry and fear about what comes next. Hermes never really had to deal with this. He would simply collect the souls and leave them in their respective afterlives. There was no four-year journey. There was no getting to know them, comforting them, or answering many questions. It was quick. Easy. But not for Xolotl.

In spite of his crazy mood swings, which ranged from violent to depressed to happy in seconds, he was surprisingly good at comfort. He had to be. Souls were able to travel through the Underworld easier if they weren't so afraid, and Xolotl truly cared for them. He didn't want them to be afraid. It wasn't in his nature to instill fear or feed off of it. His nature was to guide and protect.

So, when the souls arrived, trembling and crying, panic coursing through them as Hermes felt it in the well, Xolotl would understand. Probably because he had been there. He knew what it felt like to die, not knowing what would come next, and being terrified. So he would run around his house, gathering all the blankets and pillows he could. Instead of seating the souls at the dining room table, he would lead them to his sofa near the fireplace.

He would introduce them to Lola, who had come to love visitors, and pour them a glass of cold water and talk to them. He would ask them about their favorite memories, childhood pets, favorite shows and days of the week. Above all, though, he would tell them that it would be fine. He answered as many questions as he could, and allowed them to choose a dog to accompany them on their travels. He assured them that he, too, would be there, watching them.

He knew every soul that ever crossed his sands, and often checked on them years after their journey; if they had reincarnated, or if they were comfortable in their respective afterlives.

Hermes had come to respect this.

It was difficult to keep up with Xolotl, and he often didn't see him. During the night in the human world, Xolotl would accompany Tonatiuh through the desert to ensure he reached his destination safely and that dawn would once again grace Earth. During the day, he was often seen with his dogs, checking in on souls, or doing things around the house like cooking, cleaning, or random projects. He never stood still.

In of having him as a roommate, he was bearable. Xolotl's mood varied by the minute, and Hermes had realized that the more comfortable he felt with you, the less he tried to hide his ever-changing feelings. Xolotl rarely shows negative emotions when it comes to souls. But with Hermes, god to god, Xolotl hardly had that filter.

Hermes and Xolotl disagreed on many things; relationships, for example, taco seasonings, how to deal with souls, and if cats are better. And these disagreements could end with a lot of thrown pottery and Hermes being kicked out of the house for a few hours and left to play with the dogs or roam the barren landscape.

And, let's be honest, there was nothing to do in this Underworld except play with dogs, do random DIY projects, and build really awful sandcastles that fell down at the first chance of a breeze. Hermes could go to Earth as often as he wanted, but he was never seen. He was a ghost, just as he was a psychopomp, and the only way he could physically be seen on Earth again was by returning to the well. Which was not happening. Xolotl knew of another way, but he never revealed it.

So, plagued with boredom and wanting some peace and quiet, when Xolotl was not around, Hermes decided to see what those mountains were all about.

~