Re: The Cat: Rae and Kratos
One did not acquire tattoos on over 15% of his body for either aesthetic or whim. The one in his hairline, particular. He had probably shaved his head, as it disappeared past his temple and ear. It assaulted his gaze, made it smaller, and gave the illusion of further ignorance. It was certainly terrifying to see it in battle, the red grimace on the fallen. He made a good god for the altar. In comparison, Rae was unmarked, but not fresh. She did not smell the way the druid witch in the woods had, and he noticed.
That he spoke his language did not surprise him. All these gods did, here, or so it seemed. Unfortunately, one did not need to know language to make war. In fact, war was better when people did not know how to speak to each other, so the gift of tongues was not one that came to him. When she spoke he did not look away from her. In fact, he seemed to stare more.
"None have asked me," he replied, in the tongue they spoke at home. It was close enough to Greek, without being it. The accent was certainly the same. He glanced down and aside at the bottle, and then leaned up off his elbows again. He reached and picked up a heavy water glass, wide-brimmed and plain. It clunked down beside the wine bottle. He poured it two-thirds full of water from the soda gun, and then added a cloud of the red wine to the mix. No one else in the bar was watching; all were speaking of the World Series but them.
He nodded gravely at her, set his elbows flat on the bar again, and picked up his heavy glass to drink with her. It was a significant ceremony.
After a moment he said, "You told of me to your sister." The sister was a guess-bluff. But she didn't need to know that.