a. Harpies and shadows go hiking
[The woods in the distance beckon him to step closer, regardless of how sinister they move. It's all novelty, promise, and excitement, and Zagreus finds the look of it very different from the lush blue/green fields of Elysium, the ruffle of the shrubbery on the surface. With no dawn to place her rosy fingertips on things, the darkness he's always known and lived surrounded by feels comforting instead of eerie. Add a task to search for something, a hike, even, and he's quick to step in beside another volunteer.] Ready? Need anything before we begin?

b. Is he hot, or is he just tall?
[Upon finding Puck and realizing the lantern is the artifact they had been looking for, they ask for it. It could be that they're arguing about what to do about it once Puck asks them to stay a while and listen, with Zag insisting that there's no harm in it (famous last words).

Still, perhaps he's unable to stop you from trying to snatch the lantern, with an irked 'No, wait!' as he reaches out, his dash fast but shortened, feet flaring to ember-like life as he moves. The lantern shatters like stars on a darkened floor, and Zag places himself between you and Puck as he flees with parting words about repayment with blood.

Or you've failed the riddle — Zagreus surely doesn't know what parsley is, much less sparsely — and the lantern and Puck disappear before your very eyes.]

I… [A shake of his head as if staving off an unwelcome thought.] Well, there's that, then. What should we do?

c. Is he hot, or does he just go to therapy?
[Or, indeed, you do sit down and listen, and enraptured by the storytelling, Zag's eyes wide and mouth slightly parted, he does start at the rustling in the distance, at a distant howl or screech. ] Do you hear that?

a. Unawaringly flashing a boob at the person on stage.
[Taken by something other than the River Styx is infinitely better. With a tug at his cheeks, Zagreus is unaware of his smile as he looks around; you might find him as he finds himself listening to music in the midst of a crowd, clapping at the end of each song, hollering if it's someone he knows on stage or if it's a particularly good song.]

b. Finally, some fucking good food.
[He wants to do everything, reaching for a table full of goodies and peering at the flasks and dishes in front of him. He starts with a cake, licking the frosting on his fingers and the corners of his mouth, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise at how it tastes. He wants to try everything; even if a person like himself, born out of divinity, doesn't exactly need to eat as much as the regular person, but for sure, he wishes to experiment. Someone talks about 'Elysium,' and his metaphorical ears perk up, his mind only wondering what something named as such could taste like.]

Hello! Have you tried that? Do you know what it's made of? [He points at [Insert foodstuffs of choice here] with a curious gaze, wondering what it would taste like.]

c. The power of the hunt.
[Quickly, as though taken by some force, some sort of restlessness, idle feet seemed to gain root beneath him, and his legs worked to avoid it like the plague. Through the maze, a long leaf of a corn plant nicks him on his arm when he cuts a corner too close, but he feels the breath of something or someone after him, making his own hitch.

Lady Artemis would love this, he finds.

So he does look over his shoulder with a grin, feints to go one side only to go to another with a blur of red-orange ankles.

Or alternatively, he finds you in the middle of his run and slows to a stop to speak.] You alright there? [Or even sees that you're being chased and grabs hold of a wrist to tug you along. 'Oh… Well, c'mon.']

d. My Chemical Romance song title goes here
[Sitting on the edge of the sidewalk, a bunch of snacks and drinks that he was offered in a bag by his side, Zagreus watches as people parade in different costumes, portraying things that seem familiar, clad in clothes that look absolutely foreign. Somehow, watching this, although the crinkle in his eye from the joy of these festivities remains, his mind isn't really quite there. He wonders what he's missed out on; the things he knows, the things he knows he doesn't know, and the things he doesn't know he knows. It's all so different, despite the context of familiarity — like the sky back home had no starlight. Only the surface.

He sighs and smiles when someone comes to join, standing or sitting beside him.] This seems very fun; I wonder how long it took them to come up with these outfits.

[There's no toll of a bell that follows, and the dryness of the air that catches him in a chokehold teases him with the promise of a good friend around.

Yet, what he finds, despite how close the demeanor of the horserider is (Charon, Thanatos, and yet not, and it all feels like a joke that he can only grit his teeth at), the violence nears, and Zagreus steps in to pull someone out of the blade's way, spars it away but not with enough force that he doesn't get practically run over.

Rolling back to a stand, shaking his head from the black and white spots in his sight, he tries over and over to help those in the line of the attack, but the rider, unrelenting, goes through everyone. Surely, he's killed the dead over and over again, but these are just mere Shades; they aren't violent at all; they're living their afterlives as one would normally do.

'HYPOCRITE. SELFISH.' Head tilting back, he leans against a pillar. Shakes his head with stuttered, ragged breath. He runs his hand over his face to wipe the sweat (and the red) off.

He finds you, eventually. Either recovering or cleaning up. He's dead tired.] You alright?