“Separate the Serpents”
How Hermes got his two snakes — and why they now live in his winged backpack.
It starts like all his best stories do:
“So I was delivering something. Middle of nowhere. Forest-y. The app didn’t even load right.”
Laura (Tarot Girl) raises an eyebrow, sips her tea. Marco is already smiling — he knows this kind of opening means: a god did something stupid again.
“I hear hissing. Not, like, ‘I stepped on a snake’ hissing. Angry couple in the middle of a divorce hissing.”
“I walk closer. Two snakes. Wounded. Bleeding. Literally biting each other. Not letting go.”
He mimes it with his hands — wild and exaggerated, but his eyes flick down. There’s something more there.
“I don’t know why I stayed. I could’ve just left. But… I didn’t.”
“I didn’t have a staff, no magic wand or caduceus thing — not then.”
“But a tree branch fell. Like, fell out of nowhere. Landed at my feet. I picked it up.”
“I threw it between them.”
“Just to — I don’t know — separate the serpents.”
He smirks at the phrase like he knows it sounds ridiculous.
Laura leans in.
“And?”
“They stopped. Looked at me.
Like I’d done something more than what I thought.”
“I didn’t have the heart to leave them. So I wrapped them in my jacket. Took them with me. Nursed them. Fed them mice.”
“They never left.”
He unzips his bag, slow. Two heads peek out. One black, one pale gold.
They blink at Laura.
One flicks its tongue toward Marco.
“Meet Chaos and Quiet. Don’t ask me which is which.”
Godmode: Enabled 