mythopoeics

( so this is what our children inherit it's what our parents left behind for us )

[ warning for implied death ]

( and my heart is a hollow plain for the devil to dance again )

[It had been a few days since Pheme had spoken with Týr, and during that time she'd been uncharacteristically silent. She hadn't been responding to any emails, IM's, or texts, regardless of who sent them, and she wasn't even baiting Charlie or Agravaine as per usual. No, all she was doing was thinking.

About him.

In a whole new light.

A more... paternal light.

She had found her father. Finally.

...and all things considered, she wasn't sure what to do about that.]

[ filter; agravaine ]
I found my dad. His name matches and he knew my mom's name. He admitted that publicly. What do I do? Do I say something? What if he hates me? What if he tries to take me from yo... Damnit!

I'm the fucking goddess of getting all up in peoples' business, but this is my business, and yours!

[ filter; public ]
I really, really hate when I know something juicy -- like, life-changing even -- but it could affect people I care about a lot so I don't wanna say anything... even if it goes against who I am to keep the secret.

How do you people deal with that?

She'd wished, in the end, Gwynevere had been in the asylum. Her brother was no fucking saint. The man deserve to burn for half the things he'd done. But she'd never precisely taken to Gwynevere for committing a sin that she herself had. But she had paid a more heavy price for all her sins. Gwynevere got to run off and live the rest of her days trying to repent.

It didn't seem quite as fair to Morgause. No, she wanted her sister-in-law, her fellow sinner, to suffer more. Lose her mind, maybe a limb - oh why not, maybe her precious little head. She knew she'd pay to see it tumbled down some steps, long hair winding around it and growing sticky from the blood.

Loathing so rarely went down easily.

And so the game passed with limited incident. He'd heard about the break-out but not enough about it to really take pleasure in the chaos and disruption. Not enough to find those who had tried and mock them, even drag them back. Disappointed claimed him but he let it go, having his work to attend to as it had piled up on.

There was something to be done about his mother's godforsaken husband. He penciled it into his notebook, working it in as code in case anyone every found it. If there was a chance he could twist the man's sexual desire, he'd do it in a heartbeat. After a small pause, he penciled in a hopeful lunch date with his mother and an entirely different kind of date he planned to make with darling Naamah.

What? He liked to keep busy.

Anubis hadn't really talked to anyone since suddenly being shifted back in time. Then again, his aunt had taken to stealing his journal and hiding it places before trying to introduce him to young women that he was meant to be going on dates with or something.

As far as he was concerned, every date had been a disaster and he was bored. Apparently putting two quiet people into a dinner situation didn't really make for interesting times. Go figure.

Instead, he was just continuously bored or either terribly horrified by the women his aunt set him up with. Really, he ought to have called Bastet and asked her to pretend to be his girlfriend, but the idea hadn't really occurred to him until it was too late. He'd have to write something eventually to his family, but he'd deal with that later.

Right now he needed a nap.

He didn't know the end result of the plan. All Menelaus could recall was being grabbed and having to fight off that individual. It had then been followed up by by more attacking him, grabbing at him to subdue him until someone got it in their head to plunge a syringe into his arm.

When he next work, someone had changed his clothes, had strapped him down in a dark room. He wasn't alone, he could hear the whispers outside his door and his thoughts fled to the need to get out of there. He'd read about these places, he didn't need an experience to go with it. But try as he might, the leather straps would not give.

A flood of light was accompanied with the door opening and he grew still, teeth clenched and eyes hard. Whatever was going to happen next, he knew he wasn't going to enjoy it but he'd be damned if he let that show.

It had been years, so many years, and he'd walked through those doors like it had just been a only a few days. The smile he gave her made her feel sick and weak, furious and helpless. Her hands had shaken beneath the table as he took his place from across her, had so casually lit a cigarette. He told her of all the places he'd been, the work he'd been up to. He told her that she hadn't aged a day since he'd left, still looked like the gorgeous girl he'd married.

She'd remained uncharacteristically silent, drinking in everything he offered. When he made a gesture, she withdrew her hands from their hiding place and had held them out. And he'd held her hand as he told her that despite her looks she wasn't fit to be his wife. He had to move on from this person she'd become. It just wasn't healthy for either of them. Then he offered her the cigarette.

Numbness swelled into shock and finally rage. It'd taken five nurses and two doctors to pull them apart, her fingers coming away sticky with blood, skin and hair. The words she flung at him had all been in her native German, raw and crude, vowing revenge on his worthless self.

The moment she was alone, the tears came. It was less that she couldn't stop them and more that she didn't want to. There was no twin to comfort her, no daughters to dab at her eyes and rub her hands. She would have to get it out and see where her violent outburst would take her now in this damning place.

There was a reason why he'd said nothing to anyone so far. He didn't want it to be too well-known he was here. He didn't want someone to try to save him from something that could really hurt them.

At that moment, he was stuck in a solitary room after having gotten into a fight with a doctor who had frightened him. There was blood still under his nails, bruises staining his arms and face but a small sense of victory lay in that he knew he wasn't broken.

He wasn't human, he'd never be human. He wasn't wrong and no amount of therapy, pills or other treatments would make him think otherwise. But he wouldn't go mad here. The creature he could conjure up would keep him sane, a reminder that he was right against them all. Against anyone who might suggest otherwise or try to brainwash him.

And one day, he'd return to what he should be.

[ There were a great many things that Hel could tolerate, and things she couldn't. Of those things she couldn't tolerate, it was being treated less than her worth. She knew her worth. Apparently, her male classmates didn't. They treated her as if she didn't belong in school, as if her being a female aspiring to work in the field of science was akin to her having a strange disease.

More than once, she had nearly taken out their eyes with her scalpel, but somehow, somehow, she kept from doing so, lest someone cart her away to that mental asylum she was hearing about. But perhaps being in a mental asylum was better than this. There, at least, she would be safe from idiots who needed to be put in their place.

A queen of the underworld deserved so much better. ]

Khaos was going too far again, planting people in an asylum. He had not heard from any of his siblings but he was sure if one of them was locked up he would heard about it soon. It appeared those in the asylum could communicate.

A toy fell from his son's hand with a clatter loud enough to stir him from his musings for the moment. He looked down to see the boy now occupied with Fiona, who had become rather tolerate of his son. A hand mildly ran over Nikolaas' head as the child sat, occupied with putting his hands all over the soft cat. His affection even toward his siblings (excluding Hypnos, Hypnos was always an exception) had been limited and to his child it couldn't be any different. Ma'at would make up for it (she was softer in her own way, better at all this).

And if this game affects him, I'll strangle Grandmother myself, he thought darkly.

If they could just finally get their hands on her.

[ She was a secretary now.

All that hard work - fighting her way through college, through law school, proving herself as a competent lawyer - gone. Hell, when she'd tried to take her usual spot at work, they'd laughed at her, as if she was silly for even imagining it.

It had been the hardest thing in the world, biting her tongue and going with it. It was only the knowledge that this was probably one of those brilliant ideas from the psycho kami in charge that kept her from unleashing her rage; after all, she didn't want to be out of a job if her raging translated into the real world.

So instead, she resolved to suck it up, and do what she could from here for as long as she had to. After all, men were remarkably easy to manipulate - she was certain she could influence a few cases here and there.

She just hoped it was sooner rather than later, because she wasn't sure how long she could stick to that plan. ]

It was like someone has answered his needs and tailored this around him. There were so many of them to keep him healthy and alive that Jubokko had, at first, hesitated.

It lasted barely a few seconds. Restraining himself from behaving like a man dying from thirst, he waited it out, watched for his moment before sliding his hands around the young man's bared neck. There was first only a careful pull before he tumbled into a hard tug, drawing and feeding off the drugged creature until he left enough for the man to survive. Within a few hours, he targeted another patient, this one that he had no connection to. By the time he left, he felt more at peace - more whole than he ever had.

This was more his style. There was no tracing things back to him. Things happened in asylums, especially in such an era. And no one was going to stop him from not milking this for all it was worth.

It was karma that he would end up like this. If Isolde of Breton had killed herself over what he had done to her, he liked to believe that it could have pierced through the haze the potion created over him. Such a terrible thing, though, for something like that to work on him but that is what had apparently happened now. He'd seen the photos of his late wife and everything about her screamed 'Isolde'. Not the blonde beauty from Ireland but his wife from so long ago.

Tristan knew that if he had been himself, he could have tried to love her. He knew that she should have been the only woman for him, not the woman meant for his uncle. Not a girl that he had been forced to love but a woman he chose for himself. Some part of him had been affected by the tale created here, had cracked open in him what he tried to keep sealed up. A real depression was pulling him under and though he disapproved of everything happening, would not allow himself killed by these so-called people, he couldn't help but think something like this was meant to happen.

He wanted to see her, still. Wanted to take a hold of her and plead on his knees for a chance to redeem himself. Only her forgiveness meant anything. For that, he would do what he had to live.

[ It had been a long time since Uriel had been legitimately overwhelmed with something. Often his calm outlook on life won out, allowing him to face all manners of situations with a clear head: Rome, Zurvan. He could distance himself from them, believe that all of what was happening was part of a greater plan. All obstacles could be surpassed, and he had thus lived through those.

But a mental asylum was not the same. It was something too real, something that hit far too close to home, that the longer he remained in that bare room, the more his chest ached. Lucia was in a place like this. She, too, was kept away, though not against her will, for her own safety. For the first time, he wondered: was this how she felt, trapped, confined? How lonely did she get, if at all? Upon his visits, she never spoke of emotions, only experiences. How she missed him, thought of him. Now, months too late, he wished he'd asked.

Never would he question God's plans, but sitting upon the floor, back pressed into the wall and notebook balanced on his lap, he silently prayed. For answers, for a why to explain how he, he who was loyal and faithful, was being forced to endure this of all things. It was too personal. Too painful. His heart, heavy in his chest, felt ready to implode on itself.

He closed his eyes, exhaling sharply.

Father, give me the strength of heart to see this through. ]

As far as she knew then, her mortal and reincarnated children were well, none of her family were locked up and she wasn't in the worst position in the world. But it was her birthday, the first one without her husband. The last one, they had been in a hotel but they had come home and she had belatedly celebrated it. That wouldn't happen now.

For roughly fourteen years, she'd been with him, had gone through highs and lows. She thought she had had a handle on her pain, on being able to move forward. And maybe she had been doing better. But right there, in her living room (but not really), she could only think about what he would have planned for her, how he would had teased her, kissed her brow.

Losing people, having them wrenched away from, having no control over what happened was not something Angrboda would ever be able to manage well.

From another room, the twins would hear things of value shattering against the wall. They knew better than to check on her right then.

[ When Shinji woke up, he didn't quite know how to take dreaming of being a cat demon. He dreamt of his cousins, of leaping over their dead bodies and lapping at bowls of oil. Of having a tail that forked in two, of sitting in store fronts and waving paws at passersby. It left him with a strange taste in his mouth, but somehow, somehow it wasn't the weirdest dream he'd ever had.

Figuring that dreaming of being something you weren't was entirely normal, he'd gone about his morning, robotically feeding the meowing trio of cats that whored around his legs, begging for food. He stroked his fingers up Gin's furry little back, pondering on the dream. There was nothing out of place about dreaming about being a cat demon, really.

And so life went on. ]

Styx didn't understand the big deal about Halloween. Even as a child she'd stared at her parents silently for a long span of time when she'd been dressed. One year she'd been dressed as Wednesday Addams because of how she reacted to Halloween in general. After a while, however, her parents stopped dressing her up and didn't make her go trick-or-treating anymore.

There were enough posts about the upcoming holiday that she found herself wondering as to the appeal. She'd never really asked when she was younger because she hadn't opened up to very many people. Quietly, she spent some time scanning the posts. Persephone was gone on vacation. At least she would be happier somewhere warm. Pyri had been oddly quiet. She would try to talk to him soon.

Her fingers paused briefly over the keys, the questions forming themselves. Another moment passed and she decided against them and shut off the computer. Maybe later she'd ask. Yes, later. She had work to do anyway.

She had told him to be careful in her own words and he had tried. It wasn't like he purposefully had gotten distracted while up on the farm, ignoring the fact that his life was a lot quieter and more messy. It wasn't as if he had begged someone to leave their shoe in his way. Actually, looking back, that was his shoe and considering he pretty much lived alone, he only had himself to blame for the fall he took down the stairs.

Not that he was ready to accept fault, even while getting his forehead stitched up by a nurse at Saint Francis (at least he thought it was Saint Francis). At least nothing was broken and the painkillers were mellowing him out. Sometime later in the week, he'd have someone drive him back to the city.

As if someone was really waiting there for him. No, he'd stick around on the farm a little longer. He'd even brought Pierre with him, feeling no one else could be trusted with the frog's care. Ridiculous but he didn't want his pal to be upset if she came home to a dead pet. And on that thought, he was definitely not telling Brie about the incident, not until she came back. She didn't need to hear about his issues when she should be forgetting what crazy she'd gone through.

[ Eve was here. Eve was here. And Adam, a man who often knew what to do, just didn't know what to do. Speaking to her without admitting his identity had gone over well enough, but he knew that eventually, he'd want to meet her. And when he did, what would he say that he hadn't already?

His fallout with Eve could have easily been avoided, but what was done was done. Eve confessed to blaming herself for what she did, and that was all he'd needed to hear. So why did he feel so apprehensive about approaching her? It was just Eve. She was, in the end, only a woman. But she was also one of the only two women he'd ever loved (Lilith was debatable; of course there were feelings, but maybe they were more sexual than romantic).

Ugh, women. ]

Today a woman brought in a stray Rottweiler who'd been so viciously abused, he whimpered throughout most of the appointment, until I gave him a sedative to treat his wounds. I will never understand the mindset of a person who abuses an animal.

Darling sister, I'll be home late tonight.

[ Being a father was an interesting experience. Having never had children, he never really understood just how much responsibility being a father was until Pheme happened. Though she hadn't been his child, he'd been assigned her caretaker, the one in the place of her pitiful excuse for a father. And then Zurvan had happened. The responsibility of being a father had been thrust upon him without his consent, but he'd come to an understanding that really, it wasn't so bad. The weeks after had confirmed his suspicions about enjoying being a father.

All these months later, those paternal feelings lingered. Haunted him, even, and reminded him every day that Pheme was his responsibility and no one else's. Maybe she wasn't his daughter anymore, but no one else would look after her. And there was no way in hell he was letting Madeleine or Angrboda get their hands on her. Pheme was his charge, so in his own way, he'd do his best.

Charlie was a stressful addition to the household, not for a lack of love, but rather not enough time in the day. Though both were in school for hours at a time, he could still feel the tension creep up on him. He'd never doubted his ability as a father. But somewhere, deep inside, he wondered why him. Why not Gawain, the better son, the prodigal one?

Whatever the reason, he preferred being a father, more than he'd admit, all that stress aside. Maybe it wasn't his calling, but maybe, just maybe, this was what was right for him. ]

[ filter; pheme ]
I'm only offering this once, so don't take this offer for granted. You want that dog, I'll get it for you, but only if you walk it, you feed it, you train it, and you take care of it. But if it's a yappy little shit, I'm booting it out the window. So make up your mind before I change mine.

[He kind of missed Ireland but that realization only hit him once he was there, hearing his mother bitch in the kitchen about something and watching the outline of the sunset through the window. Although Merlin wanted to sometimes kick Theseus, he had to admit that the man made good points, and he choose good holidays.

For now Merlin was content to sit back, write postcards and let the world pass him by.]

[There was a brain in the fridge, to decorate it more than to eat it, Tezcatlipoca never liked to spoil his appetite with non-important things, it was why he reserved the first spot for hearts and then skin now and again. But the brain looked lovely floating in the tupperware, so he left it there. The bathtub was occupied by a resident, and acid now ate away at him.

Tezcatlipoca checked his watch. A few more hours and all traces would be gone, the stench of hydrochloric acid was so unpleasant. He'd have to air out the apartment tomorrow.]

[ The world was spinning quickly around them. Hemera was living her first life as a human and, in the first years, you don’t notice but after a while, it became obvious. The world spun quickly when you were a human. The idea was becoming more and more obvious with her brother having a child, her other brother finding himself with another and her other other brother finally settling with someone.

It made her feel very very childish. And it wasn’t even because of her height or her looks – though that did help a lot. It was because she was still the college student, the one who still lived alone and who lacked something material to show she was doing something with her life. Sure, she was the youngest but still.

Hemera really missed Aether some days.]

[How do you deal with everything when everything is hurting? Helen feels there is something inside her chest folding and gnawing at her ribcage, beating its way around - restless and unhappy. Helen isn't good at any of this, she was perhaps at her best behaving like a little girl- running around and getting her knees scrapped from falls, her hair tangled from rolling in the fields. Helen was always so free spirted, marriage had been a chain. To all three of them, she didn't want that kind of hold on her right now.

Maybe not ever.

Even having a daughter... it didn't mean Helen didn't love Hermione, because she did- but she was a reminder of being tied down. Helen didn't want that either, she didn't want the responsibilities that came with what she recalled being a wife. It was an old memory, but still there.

She makes a copy of her apartment key and stores it away, it is a grand gesture to be made, but the timing isn't right just yet. It haunts Helen to think that might never come, and then what would she do? It wasn't a question of not loving her husband, had it been that, she would've found someone else.

Helen doesn't want to lose him, and that is why she's trying to do this, even though her palms press over her eyes and she stifles the urge to cry. The playfulness evaporates, and there is no choice left to her. What to do when communications broke down?]

[Being married and an expecting mother hadn't actually changed Polyxena's perspective much, this might be because she was a psychiatrist, just getting her footing in the professional world. There was so much she wanted to do with her life, and marriage wasn't really on the table for her yet.

It didn't mean she kept thoughts away; not at all, she allowed herself to dream a little and think back fondly of her husband. Whose death had been a crushing blow back in Zurvan. Polyxena doesn't forget, she just mourns and puts the ashes away.]

[Filter: Fenrir]

Are you free?

[She prefers the rise of the moon and the fall of the sun. It always brought back too many memories, but those nights were still happy moments that she clung to. Grains of sand that slipped through her fingers; terrified and lost, that dirt didn't slip through her fingers, it clumped together.

Suffocating clay.

The little information she has on Helios is noted down neatly. Mortal name and job. She sends that to Minos, because he owns her very soul. Even if Helios (holds) held her heart once. There is little expectations and nothing to lose, what? Death would come for her again and again. It wasn't a novelty either way.]

Last night had been the full and Selene had spent plenty of her time admiring the way the moon looked. All of this time, she was lying in the grass in Central Park. She remembered Helios saying something about how she needed to be careful about all that admiring, but...well, he couldn't stop her. He was over the water and so far away. She would visit him when he got back. First, she would talk to Theseus...but that was for details about where Helios left. Then he couldn't deny her the information. Clearly her brother wanted her to come around and see him and likely invade his privacy.

But she was getting side-tracked.

The morning had crept up on her much earlier than she expected and she started to feel drowsy. It wasn't a few moments (as far as she was concerned) before a police officer had nudged her awake to see if she was okay. It was morning. She blinked up at him sleepily before murmuring something about the sun being bright and being tired. He reached down to help her up and she grabbed onto his hand despite the thoughts of sleepiness sending messages to her whole body.

As luck would have it, a few seconds after touching her hand, the man fell asleep quite on top of her. It wasn't his fault, really. It was hers. Still groggy, she squirmed out from under him, ignoring the strange looks from other people in the park now. It took a while to get her feet unstuck. After a little while, she just gave up and took her shoes off before she managed to get out.

After that, she got a cab home and dropped her keys one too many times before she managed to get inside her home. She didn't even bother getting undressed before falling into bed, only just remembering to set an alarm for her evening shift that night.

Nephthys did not date, at least not very often. She only foresaw disaster with the men she met, the kind of disaster that could only happen to her. Majority of them did seem truly nice. Some were just bold youngsters that she had tended to in the hospital. A prompt and disapproving glare tended to send them off. Some were men who were looking for someone to take care of them. Some had children and then she really wanted to panic considering how fast she recalled what stupid mistake made her a mother.

Dating was just hard in general. Though a bit old-fashioned, she found herself frowning over the issue of what was expected on both their parts and if they would match at all. There had been disappointments and hasty departures. She would plunge into long weeks of work to avoid thinking about what an irritation the modern dating scene was.

But maybe she'd make an exception for the nicely muscled man with the wide smile and smelled like cigarettes and spicy cologne. Some measure of loneliness nibbled a little too hard on her heart and she'd given in. And as long as she stuck to her promise of getting home at a reasonable hour, she'd probably be just fine.

Also, getting home early enough meant texting her sister to discuss and be positively girly about it.

On Friday, Lucille had come home from school early while she had been preparing to go and attend to a shoot. Her daughter's complaints had been along the lines of feel sick. Lilith was far from exceptionally maternal. Although she liked her children well enough and felt furious if they were harmed or killed, she still had chosen her pride over going back to Adam to save the lives of her many offspring. That selfishness still stirred in her as she reminded Lucille where the soup cans were and to attend to herself until she returned home. She had not missed the look of despair on her daughter's face as she left. Upon her return, she checked in on the girl with a cup of hot tea and acquired medicines.

The next day she grudgingly devoted to making sure Lucille had all she needed. It wouldn't do if this got worse and she didn't have anything to do until Monday anyway. The medicines were useful, keeping her daughter asleep most of the time and the girl did have her phone to use so she could text her friends.

Night had come and Lilith bothered to bring her daughter soup in bed. Once her daughter had eaten and was asleep again, she left her room, leaving the girl's door cracked open enough so she could hear if she was called for. A cup of hot coffee was made but a few sips in she found herself unable to enjoy the rest. Mortality prickled at her times like this. Madeleine was a single mother. Lilith was a dangerous creature, bent on damning men. Both were resentful toward men but both would suffer the consequences if they tried to do what they wanted because of mortal law. A succubus could not last like this--

And then she sneezed.

The hour was late yet she felt alert enough to handle some work that her brother-in-law had passed over to her. Though well-provided for, Morgause still liked the feeling of being useful and being able to contribute. When it mattered it kept her mind busy, away from thoughts of Arthur who had not shown and of his wife that she felt should show so she could strangle that regal, adulterous neck. And she wasn't above slapping Arthur on the back of the head for his absolute blindness when it came to his marriage. Camelot was important but really now.

Morgause knew that she was being a hypocrite with her sister-in-law considering just how Mordred came to be. Her feelings for Lot were very personal, bouncing sharply from high and low. She wouldn't unravel him before her children (yes, Mordred included), she wasn't that sort of woman but she knew he had not been a flawless man. Yet a small part of her even knew that he didn't deserve the blame for her actions. Only she could carry the fault for having had a brief affair that had horrified her much later when certain details came to light. Such fools they all were, the former queen thought, her pen having not have moved for a good few minutes.

Sending her mistress felt some form of sadness, Valentina, with all the grace she could muster, would offer a very wet but affection-filled lick along the length of Morgause's forearm. An action good enough to jar her from her thoughts and resume her work, deciding the past should only be a problem should someone show.

[They didn't understand. That was War's revelation as she dropped off another job application that was half-assed and probably not going to lead her anyway. That realization made her unsteady on her feet for a moment because Horsemen were Horsemen, first and foremost, she always counted on them to understand her. War didn't know how to put that thought into words, just clench her jaw and stomp down the street.

War and Gabriel had a bond, one which had not been determined by their choices but by Him. The Archangel owed her the sword that would be used to destroy 1/4 of humanity, he was the only other being created by Him that interacted with her. It was not about love (though there was a lingering sentimentality War felt anchored by).

The marriage (a cheap, Vegas wedding, not a proper wedding driven by love and a need for companionship) but the bond was a physical thing that War needed. Something outside of the ties with Horsemen, something outside of what War had always known, something that made her a little more human. Not unlike Famine's whatever-it-was with Mordred, or Death's whatever-friendship-thing with Uriel. It was just that her bond had a physical tangibility.

Gabriel was just different for War, it didn't mean her routines, thoughts, habits changed. She didn't change, just there was something more to think about. And War wouldn't make Gabriel fall, it certainly wasn't that.]

[Gabriel was in a strange place. (Mentally.) He was legally bound to War. A Horseman of the Apocalypse whom he wasn't really supposed to have any sort of interaction with until the beginning of the end. But here they all were, in the same city and perfectly aware of on another. And yet somehow, God had allowed it all. As well as for them to be married in both Zurvan and the present. As an Archangel he should have corrected the issue right away, but between the memories of Zurvan and lack of answers from Father -- Gabriel was at a loss. And possibly swayed by emotion.

He sat in front of his laptop in the middle of the living room he shared with Apollo, staring at an empty entry post. His attachment to War was a fondness and desire for the Horseman to be more. And an unnaturally strong sense of protection which some would say unnecessary as well. Arguably they had a bond that the others wouldn't understand. At the end he was to present her with a sword to carry out her purpose -- the only to have direct interaction with a Horseman. But what of War after the seals were all opened? Gabriel didn't believe in their single pre-destined purpose. Paradise was vast, infinite, and surely there was more than enough room for them when all was said and done. If marriage improved the chances of War surviving the end, then it was all worth the risk of a fall, wasn't it? They were entitled to Paradise just as well, weren't they?

Gabe worried about what his brothers would think if he expressed some of his newly developed views. He should have spoken to War about everything. And to Euterpe regarding Reid. And then to War again about Euterpe and Reid. All the angel wanted to do was talk, but only to Him. And so he was left feeling hesitant and doubtful of reaching out to others. The archangel took in a deep breath and looked around the vacant apartment, wishing Apollo were home to throw a pillow at him and distract his mind from worries. His Greek roommate had his own concerns to deal with though. Closing his laptop he decided on getting out of the house before attempting to be social.

A run to the cathedral five blocks away to clear his mind was a good idea. Only going in and praying would likely bring up more unanswered questions for the archangel.]

The nightmares of his imprisonment didn't happen every night but when they struck, he usually found himself startled awake, teeth clenched so hard that he had given himself a headache. The once-hound did not shriek or cry out, never disturbing his family, but it took him a while to unwind his long frame from the tense position he had put himself in during his sleep. There wouldn't be anymore sleep after that.

And when he was more composed, he would descend as quietly as possible to the family room and stretch out on the sofa. Ramsey would show up and his fingers threaded through the dog's silky fur, feeling a nose nudged against his chest as worried eyes peered at him. Dogs were the best, he would tiredly think, eyes trying to focus in the darkness. By the time morning would come, he would behave as if he had gotten up early or would go out for a run to put colour in his face. To try to hide the weariness he couldn't beat.

Often on those runs his thoughts would turn darker. One day, when he was over those nightmares, he would find Reza and kill her for causing all this.

Hyacinth was a good worker, there was no disputing that. Sometimes Jubokko thought that if he offered the boy a dead body to dispose of that maybe Hyacinth would do so without blinking.

But there would be no more corpses for the boy to deal with. There wouldn't be any corpses now - if he could help it. Autumn had begun and he felt a trigger of annoyance as well as anxiety as he saw the trees around him lose their leaves. He was prone to looking at himself more often, fearing any grey hair, wrinkling of skin or lack of good health overall.

He couldn't become like that, no matter whether he was tree or human. He couldn't lose what made him so striking. And if someone had to die to keep him looking resplendent then so be it. Humans cared too little about the beauty around them. His forceful actions would be justified - if ever found out about.

[She drifts through the house aimlessly without Troilus around. Sometimes he'd bring home little things for her. Sometimes she'd bring home flowers. Now there's nothing. Why bother bringing home flowers or the leftover cupcakes that Roy gives her after work?

Well, maybe the cupcakes are still important. She brings them back and eats one for dinner, the frosting sweet and red. She wipes her hand across her lips and it comes away looking too bright. She turns off the lights, which helps a little bit.

Times like this, she doesn't know how a princess of Troy got to this point. She's a failure and she knows it. She couldn't even keep Troilus here, where he belongs, with the rest of them.

She doesn't turn the lights back on that night.]

everything's clearer on the backs of your eyelids
but to see that you have to close your eyes.

The days he could spend sleeping in were infrequent. His business took place at varying times but the last couple of meetings he'd had just made his nights seem very long and tiresome. So when he felt a good weight suddenly pounce on to his bed, he swore into his pillow, knowing that his wife had just dropped off the children. That woman liked to surprise him but never in the way he hoped she would. Judging from the giggles, that weight had to belong to Keiko. Tatsuya had somewhat outgrown bed pouncing--

No, there he was, trying to coax away Keiko. Wherever Hiromi was, she was not taking part in ruining his Sunday morning at least. After a couple of minutes of listening to not very silent whispering, he rolled over and announced that he was up, which triggered a joyous laugh from both children. As they both took their places at his side, noisily inquiring what they were going to do that day, he was already reaching for his phone to see what percentage of his day could be cleared. Once that was done, he rolled out of bed (thank the Gods he was wearing something) and moved to see if the cook could occupy all three with breakfast.

Less than an hour later at the table, his eldest was far from surprised when her father would fall right back asleep, cheek against his propped up hand. It was unanimously decided that he could be left alone until they were done with food and television.

[ Not for the first time in the weeks since returning from Zurvan, Igraine wondered if ignorance, in the end, was for the best. If it really was bliss. How might have things turned out, had she not remembered herself as Igraine, and learned her brother was Merlin? Would she have been happier not knowing? Without a doubt. Knowledge was power, but it was also pain.

And now, he wanted to continue calling her 'sis'. He was a troll to the very core, so was he just playing her, making her angry on purpose? She didn't know fury as others did, but the irritation bubbled up inside of her, desperate to be released. It didn't help that he was Theseus' son. He would remain in her life as her former step-son, the half-brother to her little girl. Ignoring him was not the way out.

But what was? ]

[ filter; children ]
Girls, what are your schedules like this week?

[ He'd always been a man who thought too much. Someone who preferred to think before he acted, someone who listened to others and mulled over their advice before doing anything rash. And for a long time, it suited him. He sought counsel not because he didn't feel his own decisions held no weight, but because he valued others' advice, knew if something was flawed, they would point it on. And it in them that he trusted.

If only more of his brothers were around now. Deiphobus, in particular. Above all, he valued their words most. But never more than Andromache's. It was her words that moved him, that gave him strength.

What he wouldn't have given to have her here. ]

[ filter; menelaus ]
Are you free tomorrow?

It ended with a kiss. There, surprise out of the way. Persephone had spent the better part of the month indulging herself in what it would be like to be strut around like a male. And it was harmless, enjoyable fun. She didn't make for the most convincing of young men but did have to admit that it distracted her from disruption from Zurvan and the upcoming colder months.

So for nearly three weeks, she had spent most of her free time at her cousin's club, acquainting herself with his female employees and even sharing small stories of her youth with 'Erol' with them. One particular lady seemed fond enough of her and helped her perfect the perfect thin mustache. The goatee had been an extra touch. It was outright ridiculous but entertaining.

And then the kiss came and she had squeaked in a manner not like a gentlemen or, really, herself. Although she did not flee, she was visibly flustered and hid beneath her hat the rest of the time.

Maybe she needed a new curiosity to handle in the near future.

( mini-log ; unleash the horses. )

[ filter: public ]

Does anyone know a brand of effective tranquilizers sleeping pills?

[She'd fallen very quiet upon seeing the filter from her father. So quiet that Mattie had abandoned her bone to rest her head upon her lap, curious as to why her owner was so silent. Struck still, Hermione hadn't even stroked her head.

What was there to say to someone who wouldn't understand? Someone who could never be able to sympathize with her past? Certainly worse things could have happened, but it was a life she never wished to repeat. The memories left a bad taste in her mouth. Her mother being taken, her father leaving, her mother forgetting her. And with those memories came her marriage to Neoptolemus. Her love for Orestes. Every thought was like pricking her fingertips over and over, but not enough to bleed. Just enough to hurt.

Her first conversation with Helen had been awkward. There was no doubt in her mind that her father was far easier to get along with, but despite her uneasiness, her hatred for all that had happened, she'd been happy. Glad, even, that her mother could give her the time of day. Every subsequent conversation was golden.

Could her father truly not understand how she could take that over school? For her mother to finally be paying attention to her -- it elated her. It had been so easy to forget about classes and focus on being with her mother for an extended period of time. Hermione, in truth, was a selfish little girl, but was it selfish when it was for something you deserved? Something you should have been granted from the beginning: love and attention?

Fuck school. There was no turning back.]

He wakes to be told that he has been in the hospital for several days. That only the smallest handful of people know where he is due to the investigation and issues surrounding the shooting. The details around that aren't coming to him but he only nods and offers the fewest of words to show understanding.

When he has finally been left alone, Troilus then lets his eyes close in disinterest to everything around him. His mind is flooded with memories of a wife, an unborn child and siblings that should not have been his. A place where he had been happy - that didn't exist, did it? But, as expected, he had died in war. The constant that would not leave him.

He doesn't know what he will do when he gets out but space is needed. Would be gotten and kept for as long as he wished it.


[ ooc: he will update over the weekend to let some people know where he is. for now, only uriel and aeneas would be now told of troilus' whereabouts and to keep it quiet for now. ]

[War would never yield to anyone. War couldn't be restrained, bound or controlled. It was meant to run free, burn and consume everything in its path. She might be trapped in a human form but War was still War. There were things War did not know how to handle, feelings, attachments, friendship, family - she was the one thing that broke all else.

The ring weighed heavily on her finger, even as War toyed with the idea of taking it off, she couldn't. War was bloody and wild, but she value her word, an oath, a vow. It didn't stop her from considering the Biblical repercussions of killing archangels. She twirled the ring, feeling the band warm against her skin. What she felt (or more like, what she didn't feel) was confusing. But Gabriel had started this. What came for the Horsemen after the Apocalypse? War never thought of that, or cared. Besides, what place would any Horsemen have in Paradise? (Wasn't the point not to have them?)

War didn't take off the ring- she didn't want to. And it wasn't that she was a wife or had any desire to start a family, or anything like that. It was an irrationality born from the fine line between the Horsemen and the person. War knew there was more than one truth to this matter, and until she, and Gabriel figured it out - the issue was best left alone by everyone else.]

[Ever since getting home, she'd been having strange dreams. She always woke up feeling like she'd missed something. None of it made sense. Parts of the dreams she could remember. She remembered running. She was looking for something...maybe someone. She wasn't sure. She just knew she was searching for something that was lost. After she woke up, she'd hug her pillow and try to quiet her thoughts. It was confusing. She couldn't be sure if she was remembering things like Aidan said she would or just having dreams brought on by something she'd eaten or seen during the day.

Whatever it was, it was unsettling. More unsettling than the frog sitting in her greenhouse. Part of her wanted to ask Aidan what he thought, but she decided against it. Maybe when she had more to give him than "searching," she'd say something. Maybe. Maybe it was just a bad dream and it wouldn't even matter. Instead of over thinking it, she decided to turn over and close her eyes. Hopefully she could get a few more hours of sleep before work.]

Immediately waking and knowing she was home again, Death went to have a full examination of herself. The absolute works to make sure nothing undesirable lurked within. When the assurance of that was given, she took to her bed during the day and threw herself into work at night. There was zero contact with the other Horsemen and she knew it was wrong, neglectful and unlike herself for sure. But there was a certain fury and even madness that has dragged her from her comfort zone, something she did not want to throw toward those she held nearest to herself. In all her previous lives that she had been damned with children, she had never recovered well.

The package was a surprise. She needed to read the card to remember she had turned twenty-eight years old today. A warmth crept into her as she read the words her bony one has written. In some form, it was encouraging though she immediately snorted once the word popped into her brain. It was the first time since her unpleasant realization she was in an unwanted situation that she actually felt a bit lighter.

She'd give him and War a call later. A 'hello', an implication of an apology for her silence, something that would last below a couple of minutes but be meaningful enough.

( do you know what's worth fighting for?/ when it's not worth dying for?/ does it take your breath away and you feel yourself suffocating?/ does the pain weigh out the pride?/and you look for a place to hide?/ did someone break your heart inside, you're in ruins... )

All I've done since coming back is slept.

I can't even remember the last time I was this tired, but this pregnancy seems to be taking all my energy the longer it goes on.

[ The memories came as he was feeding the cat. An awkward time for memories to come flooding back, but rather than seeing his scraggly stray, he saw the black ball of fluff that was Gaunt. Gaunt, his cat. He had a dog, too -- Beast. Where was he?

The events in New York slowly unfolded as he watched his skinny lady eat. All the mistakes he'd ever made, his siblings, how he tried to hard to get back in their good graces. Mordred, Galahad, Raven. All of the important people to him -- not that he would ever make that known.

And when he remembered his sisters were married to archangels, he laughed, the sound echoing off the kitchen walls. Oh, they were going to love that, War especially. Would she try to kill Gabriel out of spite for being not only married, but married to an angel of the lord? He wondered.

And supposed he'd find out soon enough.]

[Rosier had come slowly to the realization of who he was. He looked at the journals and quietly ignored all the other journals. People had obviously remembered things. He felt vulnerable in the knowledge that other people knew him. Would they remember his true name? He didn't know. If they did...well, it was only a matter of time before his brothers found him. The panic came on slow but coiled tight around his chest and he got up, leaving his study and his work to go to an empty little shack across the fields. It was his place. People could find him there. He knew.

Fuck.

People knew. They'd seen. He couldn't handle that. Not right now. Not around other people. He could barely focus. Once he got to the room, he sat down and started breathing slowly, trying to calm himself, level his emotions and put it all behind him. That was what he would do. He would ignore it. He would ignore all of it.

There was one singular prayer muttered into his knees. His anger with his father was placed aside for that brief moment. The need for guidance was more important and yet he was still angry. He couldn't stop being angry. "You won't help me...even if I need you," he spat before going back to practicing his breathing. He was always better at helping himself. He didn't need anyone else. He closed his eyes. The only good thing he could see right now...was that he was at least spared marriage. Maybe he'd actually partake in the opium. It wouldn't help anything...but at least he wouldn't have to think.]

( and in retrospect I'll say we've done no wrong. who are we to judge what is right and what has purpose for us? with designs upon ourselves to do no wrong, running wild unaware of what might come of us. )

warning: character death, set for Friday