| Of all the... (Nergal) |
[27 Mar 2008|08:39pm] |
There was one soul in the whole world that she knew the placement of at all times. It wasn't due to affection, as it was with Shamash. It wasn't due to an intense dislike as it was with Inanna. It was a burning, fiery loathing that bubbled up from the depths of her soul. The kind of hate that was reserved for one, and only one, being that had ever existed. A man who had stormed her gates, all seven of them, forcing his way past. A man who had somehow bested her dragon/brother/protector Kur and managed to get right into the heart of her realm. Right to the palace she had made her own. A man who had threatened her at knifepoint that if she did not comply with his wishes, he would destroy all of her reign and realm.
His demands had been marriage.
That man had been Nergal.
It wasn't lost on her that he'd fallen in love with her somehow. Genuine, real love. That was very closely bordering on obsessive, no - it had passed that, it was now bordering near stalkerish. Maybe if he'd approached her in a different way she might have found it amusing. Perhaps even cute. Or charming. But he'd forced her to do something and she was not a woman to be forced.
She wouldn't let herself be coaxed back to the World Above once she'd made her decision to become the Queen of the Underworld. She wouldn't let herself to be coaxed into anything in this life. And here he'd come, mighty war god, storming through her lovely home, crushing things in his wake, and demanded marriage.
The only thing she could have done was comply. She had dead to protect. A fragile balance to keep in check. In the end, she'd even given him one son. One. She had mixed feelings about Namtar. He was flesh and blood. Family. She loved him as a mother should, she supposed. But she looked at him and saw Nergal. She saw everything she hated the most in the world. So it was likely best that she didn't see him very often.
And now, he was here. Somewhere close by. Here, she knew, because he was possessive and somebody had informed him that she'd left Irkalla. One day, she would find out who it was, and do something very very horrible to them. And if there was more than one spy, she would destroy every single one of them while the others watched. The Underworld was hers. Somehow, she would make the bastard see that. He didn't rule there. He didn't even share rulership with her.
"Nergal!" The tone in her voice was unhappy. Very displeased. Her arms crossed over her chest and she leaned against the wall of the random building she'd migrated to. This didn't seem like something that she should drag into somebody else's home.
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| To the victor (Nike) |
[27 Mar 2008|09:34pm] |
Things had gone... interestingly. He hadn't really thought that it would happen so easily. Part of him felt a little bit bad about using the owl as a hostage. But in the end, it had worked out, so he guessed that he would get over it. He also found himself wondering that since it had been supposedly Prometheus' plan, why he'd been the one running in balls out with a trussed up owl under his arm and negotiating a deal. One day, one day, he would make Prometheus pay for that. Possibly in alcohol.
There was, of course, a nagging little thought in the back of his head. He hadn't just gone in there alone, had he? There had been something there, giving him a little extra edge. Something that he recognized, because it had happened before. Not often, but enough times for him to be familiar with it.
He'd had a little help from an old friend.
A smile appeared on his face as he tracked her down, in Boston. He could never really say why it was that she favored him so much, but he would be lying if he didn't admit that he was really grateful for it. She seemed to know the times when he needed her most.
"Hello little Victory." He said, leaning against the counter at the sandwich shop, grinning.
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| Down To Earth (Nanshe) |
[27 Mar 2008|10:58pm] |
When he left Alathea his thoughts were in a tangle. He knew from the moment he'd first laid eyes on her that Alathea was an attractive goddess. The sort of goddess who commanded respect. Her manner might have been off-putting to some but her honesty was refreshing. Even in those moments that found him asking if he could trust that honesty, his doubt never truly materialized. Their relationship was hard for some to understand. Hardest of all for Nanshe to understand, no doubt. Shamash felt that was evident by the awkward feelings he'd experienced in her company this very night.
It wasn't often that he felt as uncomfortable as he felt this very moment. Nothing had happened. Nothing was going to happen. This because first and foremost he wasn't.. he couldn't, no matter what feeling existed there. For either of them. It wasn't in his nature, and gods willing never would be. That didn't keep him from feeling as though... something might have happened, if he hadn't gone then and there. It was going to be easier to tell her about Nanshe someday. Someday, he was going to tell her.
( Soon. )
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| Desert Shield (narrative) |
[27 Mar 2008|11:16pm] |
It was going beautifully, if he did say so himself. It had taken years of planning and patience to bring this together. Playing first on the father, then the son, he had finally got the war he desired. But if he ever found out who it was that had stolen his weapons of mass destruction (he loved that term), he would bury them in the desert, leaving just the head above the sand. Then either he would give a few swings with his scimitar or, if the person responsible was particularly annoying, he would leave them there for the scorpions and jackals.
Nergal sat on top of the abandoned tank and looked out over his playing field. Bombed out buildings and vehicles where scattered everywhere. Black smoke still drifted upwards from a few piles of burning… Rubble? Bodies? Whatever it was, it was still smoldering nicely. No one could give him a more satisfying war than an army lead by someone of questionable sanity and morals.
( He wanted to see more of his work. )
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| GRASPING [Morrigan] |
[27 Mar 2008|11:58pm] |
OOC: Backdated like whoa.
He felt Akheron's presence through the haze of drugs and pain. There. Gone. And then there was someone else approaching. Someone that he had not seen since... He would have smiled, then, but for the state of his lips and the fact that the Darkness. Did not. Smile.
Waiting. For she had come for him. There was no doubt. Erebos lay very still under the too-rough cotton bed dressing. His skin would not permit movement without splitting into new fissures as protest, but he spent precious energy to draw the borrowed shirt closed around his chest, to fasten the pearl buttons, to secure the cuffs around his blackened wrists. The less she saw. The better.
Morrigan. The name always carried like a secret through his mind. She was a long-kept friend, one who had endured his hardships at his side when no other would do it. And he allowed her. When he allowed no other to try. Morrigan. The Celt was a goddess much removed from the Greek intrigue of his world - a refreshing presence with an uncompromising streak of loyalty. He could say with a clear conscience, after all these centuries, that he loved her. Not as he loved his children. Not as he loved his wife. This was a love that the Darkness rarely ever felt: philos, the love of a friend.
When a hesitant Asklepiosian attendant appeared at the door with a question on her face, Erebos said: "Yes."
It was enough. She disappeared again, doubtlessly to lead Morrigan here.
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