|BRADY MCALISTER MORRISS THE BERST! (Also a saint.) (latetomyseance) wrote in yegods,|
@ 2012-01-23 21:44:00
|Entry tags:||!log, brady morris, sunyoung dupont|
The Cunning Goddess
WHO Sunyoung “Sunny” Dupont, Brady Morris, & Circe
WHERE Circe’s Home
WHEN A Few Days after Escaping Polythemus
SUMMARY The captain’s bad luck is the crew’s, but it is some seriously bad luck.
The last few times that Odysseus has set them exploring have gone terribly. The first time, they ate that lotus fruit, which mucked with Brady’s memories so badly that it’s been a losing battle since to recall that he is Brady, and not Glaucus, son of the pig farmer Eustathios and a man of Ithaca. He’s even starting to look the part more: already a head taller than most of the crew, tan (even if he remains several shades paler than the others), hair growing bleached by the sun, and filling out in the arms and chest and torso. He’s even started to walk like he was born carrying a sword and shield. He’s completely forgotten what the phone is, as well as the healing gun. They’re technology of the like that he can’t even fathom. Yet, he senses that both are important, so he hasn’t tossed them out just yet.
There are traces of a former life still. Recollections of a man with sandy-brown hair, who often smells like coffee and who always has a smile for him and of another with long dark hair and a cheeky grin who can fly. He recalls them better by their parents than by his relationship to him at this point, though. And there is a girl, too, but he thinks that might just be the girl he’s returning to. She has dark eyes and a full mouth. She’s petite and spunky, like the priestess. The priestess is trouble. She’s pretty, and she’s clever. She’s also very brave. She’s one of the few people willing to really stand up to Odysseus. There’s a lot to admire about her, but she’s still a priestess, and woe to any man who tries to distract her from her vows. Was there some other reason? He can’t recall anything except the obvious danger of angering the gods. He doesn’t want them to be turned into chickens or something. The gods are very fickle and easily angered, as evidenced by the curse set on their captain (and themselves by extension).
But in any case, they managed to pull themselves together from the lotus fruit just in time to be imprisoned by the cyclops. Brady can still recall the crunching of bones and the softer sounds of flesh torn asunder. It’s been haunting his dreams. They barely made it out of there alive, and it set off all their woes to this point. The next time they’d stopped, Odysseus had let the priestess and himself stay with the ship, but those who went out... did not return. Brady can still recall the horror of the giants spearing them from the rocks and eating men alive. Those who drowned were lucky. So they have had the worst possible luck everywhere they’ve stepped off the ship. Yet Odysseus has decided to send them along with his man Eurylochus to inspect the single home on this island.
As they approach, they find there is something very magical about the house. All around are beasts - lions and wolves and other creatures that would normally rip them apart on sight - wandering peacefully, like pet dogs. As they come through the gates to the house, a lion - nearly half as tall as Brady - pads over and tries to butt its head against them like a cat. Like a cat. For a moment, something flickers in his memory. A fat, black and white cat. But it’s gone a moment later. He uneasily tries to move around the lion, which moves on to the others, hoping for a scratch. From inside the house, there is the sound of beautiful singing, and he pauses, feeling enchanted by the melody. He turns to the priestess. Lowering his voice, so that only she’ll hear, he says, “This place seems nice.”
It has been so long since she has last had visitors. From the windows of her vast home on the wooded island, she saw the ship arrive. It was poorly manned, but there were still a few aboard who could make for good sport. These days that have passed unceasingly, one after another, have been so dreadfully dull. It is about time for a party. She sits languidly at her mirror, singing melodiously as she combs fragrant oils into her long, dark hair. She stands, approaches her bed, and takes up a length of deep green silk. She drapes it around her body and returns to the reflecting glass, affecting a pleasing pout at her image. The color of her wrap sets her off her vivid eyes in her complexion, pale as the moon. She runs her fingers through the satin lengths of her hair, each strand settling into place just so. Perfect.
She floats to a golden pedestal, standing alone in a place of honor in her bedchamber, running her fingers through the mane of a docile lion lying across the floor as she passes. Atop the pedestal lies a wand, longer than her arm, made of pine. She takes it up in long fingers, a sly smile crossing her lips. The finishing touch. With that, she leaves her chamber and descends to the entrance of her home to meet her guests. She watches them approach, arms open wide, a warm expression of welcome on her lovely features.
“I am Circe,” she says as soon as they are close enough to hear; she does not yell, her deep tones rolling over them softly. “Welcome to my home. Please, come in and make yourselves comfortable. No doubt you have had a harrowing journey.”
It’s starting to feel like a horror movie. One thing after another, all of them particularly gruesome and life threatening. Acacius is dead, run through with a spear and eaten like so many of Odysseus’ other men. For some reason, Sunny took this especially hard. She’d cared for his hand, maybe even been a little fond of him. He was tall, swarthy, and brave. It reminded her of someone from a different life, someone who had the ability to make her feel safe. His name is blurry even now, like so many things from home. It takes Simon or someone else to snap at her on the godling net before it begins to come back for her, but the cure has come to be less effective over time. Now she is the priestess first, and Sunny second, with the double-edged sword of being only known as a boy to Odysseus.
Brady shying away from the lion makes her smile. He’s strange and familiar to her, and on some level frightening. He knows she’s a priestess and a female, and he also knows something more important. Something that has the potential to ruin her, but what it is escapes her. Where she thought them bound together to find a way home before, now it has simply boiled down to survival. She doesn’t remember home; she only wants to live. When the lion approaches her for affection she takes a knee and scritches under its chin and behind its ears. There’s something that draws her to the large beast. A liking for powerful and dangerous things.
Her mouth opens to answer Brady and finds herself interrupted by Circe’s dulcet tones. The hair on the back of her neck prickles at the new being. None of the places Odysseus has lead them have ended in happiness, only varying amounts of ruin and pain. She fixes Circe with a way look and stands again, head bowing in a gesture of respect. “You’ve no idea, my lady.” It does not bother her that she’s spoken before anyone else. Brady McGlaucus Morris is shy, and their captain’s words have already cursed and killed a number of his men.
Brady is caught off-guard by the woman who comes to the door. She’s dark and exceptionally beautiful, and for a moment, he - along with several of the other - forget themselves in staring at her. Fiancees? Priestesses? He momentarily blips on that as he stares at Circe. He doesn’t blush. Blushing is something that Brady does, but Glaucus doesn’t seem to feel as easily embarrassed, and so it’s more of a rarity on his face. He looks to the priestess as she speaks, boldly as ever making contact with their would-be hostess. It’s nice to have her around. She does have a way of getting to the point that puts most men to shame. There is just the faintest something that tickles the edge of his mind. Something about Circe. He knows that name. But what was it in regards to? It strikes him as being similar to that which he knows he’s supposed to remember about the priestess, but the recollection of either warning doesn’t come to him now.
Instead, he nods in agreement with Sunny. “We thank you,” he says, waiting for Sunny to cross the threshold first, since she earned it by being first to speak. Initially, he speaks, looking between the two women. “Our journey has been long and our woes many. We have seen our countrymen brutally slaughtered and have languished in sun and storm, unable to find safe harbor.” This said, he pins his gaze on Circe again. “Our stores are meagre, and our bones weary, so we thank you for your hospitality, and may the gods look fondly upon you for your generosity.” He steps inside. There’s some sort of fragrance coming from somewhere. It seems strong. He’s grown so used to the smell of brine and the sweat of men, that the perfume coming off of her hair seems exotic and refreshing. Sword and shield are temporarily removed, placed with the other men’s outside the door.
IS IT INTRODUCTION TIME? Oh boy, oh boy, it sure is! He inclines his head briefly. “I am Glaucus, son of Eustathios and a man of Odysseus’s fleet.”
Circe bestows a smile on the approaching men. It is certainly no lie that they have seen many days on the sea; their haggard appearance and unappealing smell are testament enough to that. Her eyes alight on the small boy who first speaks. Her expression changes not a whit, but inwardly her curiosity is piqued. What a strange creature. There is more to this child than meets the eye. He is obviously of divine stock, but his aura does not feel anything like other demigods she has met in her time. He has secrets, this boy, and Circe thinks his divine blood may only be one of many.
A second man speaks, and the sorceress gracefully turns her head in his direction. He too exudes the aura of one born of the gods, but like the youngling, the feeling he gives Circe is unfamiliar. He is tall, however, and not unattractive, and she looks him up and down, her smile taking on a shadow of the sly. “We are well met, Glaucus, son of Eustathios. You and your men are welcome here. Please, follow me,” she replies, graciousness dripping from her words. This must be an advance party, sent by their captain Odysseus. He is wise to send his underlings first, but surely he will have to investigate when they do not return to him.
Circe glides forward and into an adjoining room. It is a banquet hall. The walls are lined with marble and pine, gold leaf creating swirling designs from corner to corner. A long table stands in the center, stools of silver and silk surrounding it. Circe reaches the center of the room, turns, and opens her arms as if to embrace the party. “Please, sit. I will see to a meal for you weary sailors.” She looks each of the men in the eye, her gaze shining with sincerity, then sweeps from the room.