mythopoeics

[ Waking up in an apartment that wasn't his own wasn't a surprise. Really, he'd become far too used to all the relocation. Waking up alone was even less of a surprise. It was the Beretta laying on the pillow next to him that gave him pause. He'd never really been a firearm person, being someone who preferred more intimate weapons-- blades, for instance. But he'd take what he could get.

Tucking the gun into the back of his jeans, he'd scoured the apartment, which was bare bones enough to suit his tastes. But he wasn't going to stay. He wasn't going to reach out just yet either. Stepping out of the apartment, he noticed something wasn't quite right. It was too quiet. He wasn't going to risk calling out, in the event something unexpected decided to show its face.

They appeared once he'd managed to get himself a block away from the complex. So New York was overrun by plant life, no big deal. The velociraptors that hopped onto the car in front of him were another story. The fuckers were hurling themselves at him before he had the chance to draw the gun. The Starbucks across the road called to him, and so figuring the door wouldn't just happen to be unlocked, he shot three times at the door, slamming his weight into it and shattering the glass. By some miracle, the bathroom door was not locked, and so as he threw the door shut, he felt one of the raptors slam into it. He locked it, stepped away, and collapsed against the closest wall.

Well, fuck.]

[ mass text to mordred, horsemen, and raven ]
are you fucking serious

[She had woken and found her wardrobe changed. Not a big deal but enough to make her cautious. She's ventured out after changing into something bright orange with pearls (she loved throwing off others). But when she made a move to go out, she was asked "to where?". It gave her pause as she eyed her driver that she had known for a long driver before she told him exactly where: to the den.

Instead of agreeing, he laughed and told her that her father would kill him if he let the man's "little girl anywhere near that place". Never one to let her anger show or even be her first choice in emotional response, she asked when this had started.

Apparently it always had been in place. Knowing it was more logical to figure out things that force the issue, she retreated to one of the rooms after finding her journal to speak with those on the community.]

I don't even know where to begin except I know the clothes do not make up for the troubles this place causes.

[Filter: Horsemen]

How are all of you?

[ The morning before had gone on as normal. Wake up, stretch, laze around, breakfast. See fairy, taunt fairy through glass. This morning was not as such. He woke up to his fairy missing, the glass and all he'd placed on top to keep it trapped spread across the counter. Well, shit.

Only when he'd left the apartment for work did he find it, once it'd pushed him down half a flight of stairs. He'd miraculously survived without snapping his neck in half, but god, it'd fucking hurt. He was going to be bruised for some time.

Fucking fairies. ]

Word of caution: don't trap your fairy unless you want it to shove you down the stairs.

You'd think, after everything we've dealt with of late, that a small, winged, flying creature wouldn't be something problematic, but I believe I've gotten an idea of how things work around here. That being said, my 'friend' is making himself difficult to ignore.

I've tried everything -- setting out puzzles in an effort to distract him, following the guidelines regarding fairies in books, and even pretending the little wretch doesn't exist -- but all for naught. He's a persistent little thing, and seems fond of distracting me at the most inconvenient of times. It's getting tougher to act as though he's not bothering me, especially in public places.

Does anyone have any suggestions? I'm sick of this pint-sized menace dumping ashes onto my morning omelet in an effort to get my attention.

I've become a father! It took me awhile to tell people, because I wanted to make sure if it was a boy or girl. After a very long stare, I've decided it's a he. His name is Bob. And he's a chip off the old block. Last night, he painted a masterpiece on my wall. It's abstract. Very creative use of white space. I'm so proud of him.

I invite everyone to come over to see his work.

Has anyone tried to see what happens if you trap it?

Seeing fat people not only eat, but also lick the grease off their fingers, is nauseating. I nearly threw up my lunch earlier. No one can tell me otherwise.

[ filter; war ]
Feeling any better these days?

[ filter; horsemen ]
We should do something, the four of us.

[ filter; gabriel ]
If you touch her, I'm plucking your wings.

Single white female searching for a job. Will not do anything too disgusting or unethical, but is open for suggestions. Prefers to do as little as possible for as much money as possible.

[Filter: Horsemen]
Are you done talking about humping?

[Filter: Horsemen]

technically, we can't fucking kill archangels, can we?

I keep reading about how things have changed for people since returning from our little excursion, and I find myself thinking that I must have somehow gotten lucky as not much is different for me. So, I know a few more people, but it remains to be seen as to whether that's a bad thing or not. Otherwise, life has gone on as per normal for me.

Am I alone in this?

It's a little awkward going from someplace where I had a job, a girlfriend, family, and a future in place to coming back and realizing that other than the family and girlfriend I've got nothing. I need to find a job, something steady, so that I can afford to live and take my girlfriend out on dates and things. I need to start thinking about my future, and putting things in place so I can have one.

I guess what I'm saying is I need to grow up. First things first, is anyone hiring? I've got a unique skill-set that I'd love to put to use.

THERE IS A FUCKING WINGED FUCKER OUT THERE WHO IS GOING TO DIE.


TWO FUCKERS ACTUALLY.

RUN, BITCH.

[ For dearest elder sister's birthday, he ships her a couple of things: this, this, and this pendant. They're delivered in a plain brown box with a HUGE PINK BOW (like it takes up nearly all of the top), the box full of shredded newspaper and a creepy card on top reads on the inside in his slanted writing:

I'm about to get sentimental, and no, you're not allowed to laugh. Last year was a shitty year, but I had you to get through it. I don't ever want to go through that again, though if I have to, I know no matter the crap I pull, we're still us. And we'll never break. This year, I'm glad things have been different. Better.

Thanks. Have fun being older.

- Fam ]

[ filter; raven ]
So if you were thinking of having an animal, this is not the time to think about one. Three animals is two animals too many. You can have the skinny cat. Gaunt and Beast are mine, unless you feel you could win a battle for joint custody.

[ filter; mordred ]
Make time on Friday.

It's too bad this war has to get all the attention. I'd start my own if I could.

[ filter; horsemen ]
Horsemen and archangels in holy matrimony, who would have thought?

[ 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.]

So who is more likely to win this war? If I don't say my own region, I'd be such a shit Iriyian, wouldn't I? Even if I identify as being something else by birth.

[filter; death]
You've been quiet.

While I'd love to say something like "Iriy, my how you've changed", I hardly think now is the time.

who in the fuck makes letter openers so sharp

unless this wasn't





GABRIEL WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS KNIFE DOING HERE

[filtered away from siblings & in-laws]
What's the point in getting married?

[Iriy was better at night, Famine realized, even when the streetlamps bled into the forgotten alleyways and lit up the crooks and crannies that were meant to be hidden. He didn't want to use the word "prettier", but it was. Easier on the eyes, easier to slip in and out unnoticed. He could be anyone in the dark.

Not in the best of moods that night, nor in the best of neighborhoods, he was momentarily blinded by the headlights a passing car before he felt the blade of a knife pierce him through coat and journal. And had the journal not been there, maybe the knife might have gone deeper. The wallet was picked from his pocket, and soon the knife and the person holding it were gone into the wind. Mugged and stabbed in an empty street. It was pathetic.

So he laughed.]

[ filter; family ]

fuck

[Filter: Private]

I love sentencing people. Especially when I can get away with severe punishments and no one's the wiser. Loopholes exist for men like me.

[Filter: Public]

I feel like success sometimes comes to easy to some. The same with power. There isn't enough earning of it anymore. Too many youthful, hopeful faces where older and wiser individuals for me. I'm not even sexist to presume a older man would be better than an older woman. I hate everyone equally.

Times are changing. Feh.

[Imagine her surprise this morning when the delivery came... for her. And imagine her surprise upon realizing how...pink it was. Frilly and pink and... proper. It was not a cheap dress either.

Only her siblings would think this amusing. War did crack a wry smile before returning to her usual rant-slash-rage self.]

[Filter: Gabriel]

Do not. fucking ask about the pink.

Just. Don't.

[Filter: Siblings]

If anyone ever sends me anything pink again, I will go to your home and feed it to you.

I know where you all live- DEATH.

[When she finally woke up, War felt uncomfortable and cranky. Lord, she was fucking cranky. The ceiling was too white, the sheets were too itchy and there too many tubes going into her mouth, her wrist- and the instinct was to shove them all out. So War did just that, to the alarm of the nurses - which had then ended up in the whole fiasco of having to be strapped to the bed. A week or so trapped in a chemical-induced calm had War so furious it was a miracle no one had been set on fire by the power of her will.

War waking up to flowers and a pair of hulk hands was never going to end well. It just couldn't end like that, even if the ghost of a smile crossed her expression. She's drowsy as fuck, but that had never stopped War before. Oh well.

Her wrists unstrapped, she yanked off the drip and reached over for the phone.]

[Filter: Gabriel]

you feathery fucking stalker

[Filter: Horsemen]


im awake now someone bring me something to fucking eat

[Filter: Gawain]

our parents are freaking the fuck out
tell them to calm down
or ill have to punch someone.

[Filter: CuSith]


rematch bitch

Home from the hospital. Need to get back to work busking in the train station or I'll never be able to afford rent. Or to take Hebe someplace nice.

[filter; hebe]

Thank you. For coming to see me.

[Filter: Horsemen]

I was patient for a while. And then I decided not to be any longer.

Famine, do you know where War is?

War, if you see this, tell us where you are. And, from now on, we are one another's emergency contacts if we already aren't.

[When Raven came to, in a hospital bed, there was a strange man sitting next to his bed. After having some water, and attempting to puzzle through what had happened on his own, the man informed him that the pain in his side had come from his intervening in a mugging. While Raven knew that wasn't true, he accepted the mans' thanks and a business card with a phone number on it, saying he'd give the guy a call once he was out.]

[ txt'd ]
I hope someone up there has my hospital bill covered, as I can't afford this.

( let the flames begin )

The pretty ones always have to go, don't they? Most of them anyway. I'll spare you what I think of some less than attractive souls. Did anyone else think the ginger kid's hair looked great in the sun though?

There are some of you I want to speak with, in time. That means you, angelic ones. Your names, they didn't escape me. However, I have no idea which one was which and that, brothers, is what I wanted to know. I figure we could use a break from being killed and played with.

What is really on my mind and what I'm writing this for is my curiosity about how the dead, if returned, will come back - physically. Will they be full of stab wounds and gutted? Will they be hospitalized for a while? Or patched up perfectly? I haven't been around nearly long enough to find out.

[Filter: Rosana]

Tell me you haven't caught any horrible disease and have croaked on me. What would I do without you? Who would invite me over for home-cooked meals and be lovely to me?

[Famine felt every bit as justified kicking shit over in their house the moment he returned from War's fight. His sister wasn't dead. She couldn't be dead, and yet she was. He wanted to rip the mutt limb from limb, scatter his arms and legs into some place he couldn't find them. But there would be no accessing him, not in this place, not unless he went in himself to see him.

The very human part of him ached for the loss of War, and though he shed no tears, he exercised his growing anger on different parts of the house and the stables. Who was next, Death? Who would Khaos take next time?

Horsemen weren't supposed to die. War was definitely not allowed to die.

And when the anger faded, all that was left was numbness.]

[War was not dead. That was the first foolish thought Death had. The second was that she could deal with this. That was a utter fucking joke, just the way Khaos had made death seem (unforgivable, it was unforgivable entirely).

The loss of Famine a year ago had been bad and the sense of feeling lost and uncertain had come before weighing heavily on them all. It had also been the start of her realizing they were not nearly as strong as she believed them to be.

Through no fault of their own, of course. It was that Khaos bitch. She had condemned them and she had lead them to this existence as perishable meat. Throughout the months, Death learned to cope and even began to allow those not in their tight little circle to help them. To be of use. They had to learn to cooperate with those around them, at least those worthy of them who would not wreck their balance or overtake another Horsemen in importance.

And now War was dead. And Death, as calm as she appeared outwardly, felt something crawl around inside even as it began to fester. She hadn't left the arena when she began to write to her comrades.]

[Filter: Horsemen]

I want her body. We need to find a way to get her body.

I am perfectly calm, I don't want to be questioned, we just need to get her back before they do anything to her. Anything at all.

[ filter; gladiators ]

Those who do not have previous experience wielding either a sword or spear - my name is Gabriel, look for me in the training yard and I will work with you to help as best I can. I will not let you go into this fearful and unprepared. Or doubting yourselves. For the rest; good luck, God bless you... and may the odds be ever in your favor.

[ filter; calliope ]

I pray that neither of my opponents are your family - be it true or in this time? I simply would not be able to do that to you while you watch. And are you safe?

[ filter; angels ]

Should one of us fall

[ filter; public ]

I really wanted to see Battleship. First thing I'm going to do after sitting in church for a few hours praying when we get back is see that movie. With the largest popcorn and every sugary/sour gummie candy they have. What about everyone else?

Perhaps something to look forward to will help.

No fucking words.

[filter; echo]
Polly.

[filter; horsemen]
So I got a job. [address and store name] I don't know what my hours are yet. But it's full-time.

If you're going to make a joke about sausages, I suggest you make it now.

[filter; mordred]
Alive still?

( leave me out with the waste, this is not what i do )

[ ooc: warning for some icky imagery ]

[Pestilence's idea of a perfect world is not different from Famine's. In it he has two legs that work; his siblings are in harmony; Beast is not dying. But War and Death are not his only two siblings around. One of his half-sisters from Zurvan is a notable addition to the cramped one bedroom apartment. Sigyn spends most of her time draped across the couch in the living room, the scrawny feline named Gaunt all but glued to her lap. Or, at least that's what he sees when he returns home late at night and leaves early in the morning before Famine can question him about her presence.]


Is it over yet? These stupid tricks of theirs never last. Nothing ever does.

I saw a man the other day, wearing a leather jacket with an eagle painted on the back of it. I followed him for hours, flicking spitballs at his back to make that stupid bird look silly. He either never felt a thing, or was being deliberately obtuse.

Moral of the story, I hate eagles.

Also, this is my new favorite flowchart.

[Guilt was not a familiar sensation to Famine, but over the last couple of months, it was all he could breathe. It was all he could feel upon laying eyes on Pestilence, who had once been a source of amusement for him. Instead of living with his brother, he felt as if he was living with a beacon for all of the guilt that had been festering inside. And he hated it.

Vodka and cigarettes were what he could turn to for immediate relief, but even three screwdrivers couldn't assuage those feelings. If anything, it made him feel worse. It was against his policy to get smashed, but he was well on his way there (a lightweight, this one) when he flipped open his laptop to consult everyone else. Someone had to have an answer.]

If you had the ability to erase all capacity for feeling, would you do it? Not in death, but in life.

[It was common knowledge that Famine didn't have a job, not since walking out months ago -- and he didn't care, for the most part, if people called him a mooch. His siblings had had yet to complain, despite any implications from Pestilence, who just so happened to be his roommate. But looking over Beast's bills had him thinking. Vets weren't exactly cheap, and it was time to take responsibility for his own dog. Death had offered to pay, but he couldn't accept her money. Responsibility was responsibility, and pocket money never hurt.

Not out of love for his mother and her bank account, he printed out some resumes and set out the door.]

[Their brief sojourn to the maze aside, Mordred had been floating through life in a sort of haze. While under usual circumstances that haze would be accompanied by the stale stench of booze and cigarettes, this time it was different - this time he was perfectly clear-headed, just operating on between two and four hours of sleep a day. Somewhere in there was the threshold between when the actual sleep stopped and the nightmares began.

He'd taken to staying cooped up in his condo, avoiding other people to the best of his abilities, and was currently on a conference call with his attorney in the process of working out details on his last will and testament. He couldn't live like this, not knowing that nothing he did could erase the nagging feeling that he should be dead. The knowledge that Merlin was here only increased his desire to rid himself of this mortal coil, the appearance of the druid fueling the paranoia that death had bestowed upon him.

He had to find a way to carry out his final wishes without anyone getting wise to what he intended, and that all began with systematically cutting himself off. From everyone.]

I'm looking to get rid of a few belongings. If anyone would like to assist me with that do let me know.

[Filter: Horsemen]

Come out, come out. I want to know if you're all whole.

Especially you, Pestilence.

[Filter: Public]

Did you all enjoy your Easter? My household has never managed to get it right. The air was pierced with shrieks and threats before some mangled idea of peace came. My mother's Easter has yet to come, though, on the fifteenth. That should be good.

Last year was more entertaining when it fell on the same day for both Western and Eastern Orthodox Christians. And, to think, neither of them are strongly faithful.

I sometimes wonder what I'll do without these two. I'll find out one day.

I'm getting so sick and tired of this. I have a life to deal with, I don't need be running around nowhere for who knows what reason. I need to bash something against a wall.

Who else is... here? Donovan, are you still alive? I don't know where this is, Google Maps isn't working and all I have is a compass. It's the 21st century, we have something called GPS.

I have caught the god of Death (the Greek one). But a muse of lyric poetry escaped with a speed I didn't expect. Still, the day is not over. There is much to still be caught. There are those of you not being careful enough, I think.

Is the fruit still satisfying, godlings? Try hunting. I think you should.

[Ever since coming across Mordred, Famine had realized one thing: he wasn't unhappy. He remembered living a similar life in Zurvan, unaware of where he was going next, how he'd get to the next place. Though he was without horse and better supplies, it wasn't too bad.

But really, that was just an invitation for things to get worse. Best not to say all that outloud.]

[filter; private]
And happiest of birthdays to me.

[filter; horsemen]
General locations? I'm South of somewhere. Not sure which side I'm on.

[filter; death]
It's cancer, but it was caught in an early stage. For the dog.

[filter; public]
For you, little brother.

Right. Since I know it's going to come up, I'd just like to make it clear that just because I have red hair, freckles, and am most definitely a soulless ginger this does not mean that I'm Irish. My fondness for the color green is because it compliments my pasty skin tone, much like the black people see me wearing a lot.

This doesn't mean that I don't love Saint Patrick's Day, just that my reasons have less to do with my ethnicity than it does with how absolutely hysterical drunk people can be.

Thank you.

Well. That was fun.

It's a shame we couldn't stay longer. I enjoyed it. I particularly enjoyed watching Glastheim burn to the ground while the people puked their guts out.

[Famine wasn't, and would never be, a dog person. But over the seven (said the vet) years he'd owned Beast, the dog had grown on him. Become something of a huge, furry companion. He was far more attached to the beast of a dog than to the skinny little cat that paraded around the apartment as if she owned it. Beast was both his unfortunate reminder of home and the mark of a new life in New York.

Waiting to hear back from the vet regarding the tests they'd performed on him, Famine was, for the first time in his life, anxious and unwilling to lose his dog. Regardless of his effort to try and lower his cigarette count, he'd blown through half a pack since the vet.

The topic of cancer had come up, and yes, Famine had noticed his dog acting strangely over the past two weeks. It hadn't initially warranted a vet visit, but Beast lethargically dragging himself through the living room had triggered a peculiar thought process in his owner: that his dog might be sick, or dying. And that he didn't want it to happen. Seated on the kitchen floor, the Black Horseman slips two skinny arms around the fluffy beast. He'd hold on for the time being, even though he could comprehend the concept of every living thing having to die someday.

He was just a boy who loved his fucking dog.]

[She had gotten back to work fairly quickly. There was no hesitation. She had woken up, washed up and gotten to her gambling dens in time to collect. There were new faces, old faces that really showed what staying around her dens could do. Within days, she had gone over all that people owed her. Money, irreplaceable jewelry, cars, homes, even organs.

If she couldn't be given what she believed was still hers, this would do for now. At least until things were as they were once more.]

I did miss food of this world. Mostly fast food. I've a fondness for suspicious burgers right now. And tacos.

It's good to be here, I suppose.

[Filter: Horsemen]

Let's have dinner. Where Famine can eat not even one-tenth of what's on his plate but I'm selfishly thinking of the rest of us anyway. Besides, I'm looking forward to seeing how big the doggie bag gets for Beast. And the runty black creature that's more eyeballs than anything else.

But before that, War? I need something handled. You're jobless, right? It will pay though I think you'll enjoy it no matter what the amount is.

Well... yup.

[filter; hebe]
I still love you. Hi.

[filter; jack/famine]
Why is it no matter where we are you're still a tool?

[filter; private]
What?

[filter; death & war, visible to pesticide]
I know you.