These are non-canon stories for Favor of Athena

The morning sun stretched across Columbia, lighting up Riverfront Park with a warm golden hue. Case in point: Athena, seated on a park bench, sipped her black coffee as she watched the ducks glide over the lake. It was routine—every Tuesday, without fail. “If only the ducks could talk,” she mused aloud, retreating into her thoughts about the mundane poetry of their day-to-day lives.

At that moment, Grant jogged past, his sneakers slapping against the pavement. He slowed to a stop, hands on knees, breathless. “Hey, Athena!” he gasped. “Do you think the ducks have goals? Like, getting to the other side of the pond?”

“They probably just want bread, Grant,” Athena chuckled. “But who do you think would give them bread?”

“I would! Just think how many happy ducks there’d be!” He stood upright, wiping sweat from his brow, utterly serious.

Athena rolled her eyes but couldn’t help but smile. Grant’s enthusiasm blended perfectly with the quiet of the park.

As they shared laughs, Emaj ambled along, earbuds in, bobbing to music only she could hear. She grinned at the sight, then pulled out one earbud. “What’s the duck debate about today?”

“I’m envisioning a motivational speaker for the ducks,” Grant replied, gesturing dramatically.

“Uh, how about a wildlife documentary instead?” Emaj retorted, her mischief sparkling in her eyes. “I can see it now. A day in the life of Quackington!”

Before Grant could respond, Salem strolled up, arms laden with shopping bags from the local thrift stores. “Guess what I found—a floral shirt that even you would approve of, Grant!” She tossed one bag his way; it landed innocently at his feet.

“I would never wear that hideous thing!” he exclaimed, laughing. But inside, entertained notions of wearing something decidedly less drab percolated.

“Who needs fashion when you have personality?” Waldo appeared, balancing a couple of pastries as he approached. “What’s the latest? More duck therapy?”

“More like duck dreams,” Emaj replied, plucking a pastry from Waldo’s precariously stacked pile. “We’re turning this routine into an adventure.”

“Adventure?” Waldo smirked, gesturing toward the park’s meandering path. “Let’s talk about the adventure I had getting those pastries. The barista recommended the best croissants, but I might as well have taken on a dragon to get them.”

“Maybe you should have tried a heroic entrance,” Salem suggested, leaning against the bench with a knowing grin. “You could have flailed like a knight destined for breakfast pastries.”

“Are you volunteering for the next crusade?” Waldo quipped.

Across the park, Paige settled herself on a picnic blanket with a sketchbook, her fingers gliding over the pages as she listened in. “Is that a new campaign for the neighborhood drama club?” she joked, looking up with a mischievous glimmer in her eye. “Because I’m totally auditioning for the role of ‘Duck Queen.’”

“You’d have to work on your royal waddle,” Grant chimed in, feigning benevolence.

“Well, inspire me, and I’ll make it happen—ethereal grace and all.”

As laughter erupted, the routine—their usual Tuesday gathering—unraveled with unexpected beauty. Routine was a canvas, and today it became a watercolor of spontaneity, splashes of silliness intermingling with gentle humor.

That moment deepened when Gertrude arrived, her presence commanding calm. “Goodness, what have I walked into?” she questioned, the amusement evident in her eyes.

“Duck therapy,” Athena said with a straight face.

“Duck therapy, indeed!” Gertrude exclaimed, her laughter mingling with the others like a chorus. “Make sure to bill me; I have horrible back pain.”

As the group maneuvered through jokes and laughter, an unusual murmur from the park’s children drew their attention. A little boy waved a toy airplane, his voice calling for the ducks’ attention. Just as if on cue, a flock of them paddled closer, seemingly paying homage to the little aviator.

“Look!” Emaj said, pointing. “The ducks have joined our theater!”

A cheerful chaos erupted—a spontaneous parade led by a small child and a troop of ducks, all while a crew of friends on the side exchanged glances filled with affection. Life had imposed a simple magic; nobody would have thought this ordinary Tuesday would be anything but routine.

Later, as they gathered to head back, it dawned on them—the thrill of uncertainty elevated their mundane lives, the way colors burst forth in a once-monochrome world.

“We’ll have to do this again,” Athena said, looking at her friends.

“Every Tuesday,” Grant echoed, beaming as if just unlocking a treasure.

And with a new sense of adventure in their hearts, they walked back along the river, their voices mingling harmoniously, boldly painting tomorrow’s routine in vibrant hues of possibility.