Clearly, gods were crazy. There wasn't any other viable explanation to how he was part of the same celestial being that General Deacon was. And Arnold has tried to find viable explanations. Witchcraft didn't cut it, because as far as he could tell that mostly consisted of naked girls frolicking in the woods at midnight. After some careful investigation and some very thorough infiltration of the covens, he had come to the conclusion that while there were many positive things to be said for these young vixens, 'magical' could not be used in any sort of literal sense of the word. Gypsy magic was far too interested in card games and was mostly only useful for looking at the future (he assumed, anyways, but apparently his intense god energy blinded the Gypsies from seeing his future but not, Arnold remembered, from taking his money) and the one time he had tried to dabble in voodoo he had been told very kindly and very firmly that the loas were less than thrilled with the presence of any Greeks in the area, even if they weren't quite complete, and that he should probably leave before Agwe decided Arnold was trying to move in on his territory.
How in the seven hells did Oceanus ever get anything done? His other half was so clearly...well, not Arnold. He had never met the man in person before, but with all the rampant mysticism running about these days that didn't particularly matter. When he was but a child, Arnold thought that everyone had that special someone in their head. Someone to whisper to, someone to share with, someone to play with in the late night hours before bed and into sleep, running across a dreamscape filled with earth-shaking battles and diving into the depths of the sea. But sometime after his sixth birthday, his special someone just...stopped. He didn't go away, Arnold knew because he could still feel the impressions of emotion beyond the veil that had risen. Sometimes, late at night, he would see his special someone in the distance, but no matter how fast he ran his special someone would always run faster.
Some part of Arnold (mainly the part of him that was his brain) knew that his mother was responsible for all the times Arnold could see into his special someone's mind, and all the times he could hear his special someone's siren's call. Not his mother that sang with too high a pitch and used to pick the maggots out of his biscuits, of course, but the mother who controlled the tides and watched him from above. Clearly she favored Arnold's special someone, for on nights when she was at her fullest, Arnold could feel his special someone's calling the strongest. A soft lullaby barbed with stinging ice and the promise of something greater than himself, greater than the Dagat and her crew, and Arnold could have it all, if he was only willing to pay the paltry price of himself. The captain would never admit to it, but these nights when the moon shone down bright and fierce in all her glory, those nights where he felt an emptiness inside him and was half-desperate to fill it in any way that was offered to him, these nights scared him. And that was why he stood at the Helm of the Dagat tonight, hoping that if he concentrated on steering his ship he could ignore the call that was echoing through his mind and try to get as far away from it possible.
Deacon found humans truly fascinating. All that worry, all that hope, such emotion that the general knew he himself would never be able to obtain so long as he remained incomplete. He did his duty because it was his duty and it was Right and Just and he had been raised to understand that he should always do the Right and Just thing because it was Right and Just and therefor Good. He never questioned this because it gave him purpose and he had never fathomed being able to live any other way. Deacon liked order, it was neat and simple and efficient much like the English Navy, and he didn't fight pirates so much because they happened to hurt the innocent or were a terror to his Country but because pirates were Messy and Chaotic and those were two things Deacon absolutely could not abide by. So he'd hunt them down and bring them back so that Justice could be Served and all Wrongs Righted and the Wild Seas that plagued him would become a bit more Orderly as they Should Be.
As such an Enthusiast of Order and more importantly Symmetry he could appreciate the duality of his split soul, but felt that (in This case only) Oceanus could have afforded to be a Little more Considerate (and therefor Sloppy) in his splitting back Then, so that Deacon would Now not be Having this Incredible Difficulty in convincing his Other half to rejoin With himself so That they could bring True Order and Organization to the Badly Disarrayed Ocean. But his Other Half, from what he had Seen was part of the Mess and the Chaos and the Absolute Plague of the seas and Therefor refused to Complete themselves. Deacon doubted the Other had even discovered how to Think in capital letters. How Shameful.
There had been a Time when Deacon found himself Enamored with his Other Half. A Time, he felt the need to stress to himself, when he was but a Child and barely more than an Infant and could not have possibly known Better. He had not even Known that other people didn't have Other Halves of their own. Other people knew of things like Peace and True Quiet and True Loneliness that young Deacon had never experienced in his Life. But when he mentioned this playmate to his Father once, saying that his Other Half would not stop screaming, Father had Rightly and Justly taken him to the Pastor so that he could Get all that nonsense blessed out of him, then his Father had taken him back home and made sure to Beat it out of him for good measure. The voice young Deacon heard were Bad and Evil and if Deacon was a Good boy then he would ignore the voice and never Speak to it again. So he did not. And when the Bad and Evil Other Half chased him in his dreams Deacon knew to always, Always run.
That was Before he remembered Who he was, of Course, and by Then he already had his own reasons to Ignore the voice on the other end. His Other Half was wild and Passionate and if Deacon had to describe how He felt than Deacon would say that he Burned to touch. There was a constant frenzy that Deacon tried to ignore as much as possible, but Many a Quiet Night was made impossibly Loud by his Other Half's insistence on that strange thing known as feelings.
Of course, there were Nights like Tonight, with the Moon his Daughter shining favorably upon him, when he stood at the bow Barking orders to his Helmsmen, absentmindedly trying to catch that bloody Dagat while he was taking advantage of the strength Telesto (so many called her Selene but Deacon knew his Daughter when he Saw her) gave him as he tried to persuade his Other Half to join with him and Complete their (his in the Plural Format) reawakening. He did not stop his Pleading as his Helmsmen was relieved of Duty by another one of Deacon's men, and he did not Stop when the Lookout shouted with some disbelief that there was a Ship headed towards them as if to Ram the Foxhound and he did not stop even as he Sounded the Alarm for the Men to Man their battlestations because No Ship would bring down Deacon in such an undignified manner.
He did not Stop, although he almost did, when the ship was almost in firing distance and he suddenly Felt his Other Half stronger than Ever Before, and briefly, Ever So Briefly, saw through the Eyes of his Other Half, and realized that The Navy ship in the Distance that was rapidly becoming the Closer was the Foxhound and then, for the first time it what could have quite possibly been his life, Deacon allowed himself to Laugh.