Solomon in Marvel

"Master, I really must insist—you shouldn't work while eating," Diana pleaded, her voice tinged with exasperation. However, her words fell on deaf ears as Solomon continued flipping through the visitor records she had handed him, unconcerned with her warnings.

"And I absolutely oppose you watching women's high jump competitions while having your meal!" Diana huffed as she pulled a curtain closed over the television screen facing his four-poster bed. "This isn't healthy at all! You can't just indulge yourself like this just because the witches aren't home!"

"I'm simply appreciating the athleticism of healthy women," Solomon remarked, clicking his tongue but otherwise offering no resistance to his maid's overbearing intervention. With a slight sigh, he redirected his attention to the visitor reports Diana had compiled. The most important entry was the visit from Wong, who had come on behalf of the Ancient One. His message was flagged as a priority—it seemed to concern the witches' recent activities. According to planetary defense monitoring systems, their magic had been detected near the Dragon's Triangle.

Since this wasn't an interdimensional invasion or a supernatural crisis, Kamar-Taj had no reason to interfere. In fact, the witches were effectively filling a gap for the masters of the mystic arts.

Solomon absentmindedly skewered a cut of steak, dipped it generously in Diana's rich beef sauce, and took a satisfying bite. His empty stomach yearned for more, and he had to resist the uncouth urge to lick the plate clean. Athena's lessons on etiquette restrained him, so he settled for subtly smearing more sauce on his next bite.

He wasn't too concerned about the witches' mission. Lara Croft, despite her tendency to attract danger, had a notoriously stubborn knack for survival. As for the rogue spirit the witches were dealing with, there was little it could do to escape death. Kamar-Taj wasn't particularly eager to exorcise the spirit either. The resulting fog and storms in the area had inadvertently shielded a key dragon vein from human intrusion.

He flipped to the next report: the Mars Foundry Project with Wakanda.

Solomon pondered for a moment before picking up his phone and sending an email to T'Challa. He outlined the project details regarding personnel, automated construction schedules, and the allocation of resources. According to their agreement, the foundry would produce equipment and raw materials that would be shared equally between Wakanda and the Eternal City.

By the time Solomon finished his meal, he had also responded to his missed visitors. Some matters, however, couldn't be settled over email—he would need to meet a few people in person.

Athena sat beside Solomon, pinching his cheeks and scrutinizing him intently.

"You've changed a bit," she murmured, frowning as she turned his face this way and that. She sensed something within him—an aura that unconsciously influenced others. It was similar to the presence of her father, Zeus, and the Ancient One. This elevated state of being wasn't something a mortal should possess.

Before Solomon could protest, Athena released him.

"I don't like your shampoo," she finally declared, crossing her arms. Athena had found a small detail to criticize in order to assert her motherly authority. Solomon, having grown accustomed to her nitpicking, merely nodded along without much reaction. He casually sank into the sofa beside her, grabbing a plate of fruit. Athena instinctively wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close.

"Seriously, I hate the smell. It's too floral—like roses. Far too feminine," she complained, sniffing at his hair.

"I might have accidentally used one of the witches' shampoos today," Solomon admitted with a shrug. His curls lightly tickled her nose. "It's hard to tell whose is whose when you've got soap in your eyes."

"Isn't that what your maids are for?" Athena pointed toward the armored women standing near the door. "You brought them all the way here in full armor—don't tell me they don't take care of basic tasks like that?"

"I'm not so helpless that I need someone to bathe me," Solomon said with a shake of his head, his tone tinged with disdain. His expression did not escape Athena's notice, and she promptly flicked his forehead with a sharp knock.

"Ah, my uncultured boy," she sighed dramatically. "Let me teach you about ancient Roman bathing customs. Have you heard of The Bath of Caracalla?" Athena launched into a playful lecture, using Théodore Chassériau's famous painting The Tepidarium as a starting point.

"Did you know I sculpted that statue of Venus you saw at the National Archaeological Museum of Naples?" she continued with a sly grin. "The Romans called her Venus, but it was a depiction of Aphrodite. I had my own private bathhouse during the Roman era, filled with statues of the Olympian gods. I donated that statue to the Baths of Caracalla as a little joke—nothing suited a mixed bathhouse more than a nude Aphrodite to stir the pot."

Athena laughed heartily, clearly relishing the memory of her ancient mischief. She often became giddy when recounting the humiliation of her rivals.

"That statue had an enchantment on it, you know. It would have kept influencing bathers indefinitely if Emperor Hadrian hadn't caught on and banned mixed bathing. They eventually moved it to the library of the bathhouse, where philosophers knew exactly where to congregate."

Athena took a sip of wine and continued, her tone becoming more earnest. "I'm not just telling you this to share gossip. You need to take your life more seriously, Solomon. The Romans understood the importance of art and philosophy, and their bathhouses were integral to that. You, however, are neglecting your quality of life."

"I don't think I need to emulate Elagabalus and shower myself in rose petals, Mother," Solomon muttered under his breath. Athena, who had wrapped an arm around his neck, tightened her hold playfully in response. He felt the slight pressure constraining his ability to protest further.

"Don't be so dismissive," she chided, ignoring his half-hearted objections. "You've been asleep for days, and yet you didn't pamper yourself at all when you woke up. No essential oils, no pre-bath exercise, no sauna, no hour-long soak, no wine, and certainly no philosophical discourse. Honestly, are you trying to live like one of those filthy Christians?"

"Not all Christians are filthy…" Solomon mumbled weakly.

"Oh, please," Athena scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "The ones who weren't filthy still bathed in wooden tubs like peasants. And they had the audacity to act sanctimonious about it! I know exactly what went on in those convents. In Roman times, only the poorest citizens used wooden tubs. Everyone else went to the public baths. Public baths were civilized. If those barbaric Christians hadn't destroyed my bathhouse, I could take you there right now to show you!"

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