omnisciency (omnisciency) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2009-10-09 16:06:00 |
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Entry tags: | athena, media |
Who: Athena & Media
Where: Café Promenade
When: Friday, 9 October @ 10:55 AM
What: Wisdom and Media sit down to brunch. Does anyone really think that they’ll be picking up their own tab?
Warnings: tba
Media did not, as a rule, arrive early. In the most general terms, she maintained a strict policy of either surprise visits or ‘fashionably five’ minutes late to immortal appointments. There was, of course, a reason for that policy; there was reason for everything Media did, sometimes more than one, sometimes simple, sometimes endlessly complex and a few completely warped all existing logic. But there was always a reason. Today, it was a simple one: Athena. Media would have made the political gods wait; she would have made the drug gods wait; she would have made Zeus himself wait, cooling his heels in the well appointed dining room and, no doubt, eyeing a waitress or either. But the King’s grey-eyed daughter never had to wait on the Media, in all their centuries of friendship. And that was for an equally deceptive reason: respect. In the most general terms, Media respected no one; they were food or prey or fodder, but only a handful wormed their way into a heart that the goddess herself couldn’t be expected to have. Surprisingly, Wisdom was one of the few.
The universe was an ironic sort of place.
Comfortable ensconced at the restaurant’s best table, Media idly sipped at her tea and scanned the Post’s headlines. She knew everything in the paper, of course. There wasn’t an article in the country that wasn’t shelved in its allotted space in the back of her head, but knowing wasn’t quite the same as feeling, the whisper of paper as she straightened the paper, the smell of newsink and smudges on her fingertips. Newspaper was, after all, her first love and even Media couldn’t quite get past that. Her own fault for allowing the cliché. Another sip and the Post was replaced by the New York Times. This time she frowned, set the paper down and made a note in her blackberry to check on Harvey after brunch. Perhaps she didn’t have a heart, her choice; it hardly prevented her from worrying, though. And the increasing debates and factions in the gay rights movement were worth a bit of worry. Perhaps he was overdue a visit. Blackberry returned to her purse, the question was set aside along with the paper as she glanced at the empty tea cup. Two servers rushed to the table.
Reclined in her seat, the goddess crossed long legs under the table—doing nothing to end the squabble between waiters, but savoring the feeling of her silk dress against her legs. Head tilted to the side, she played one glittering earring and smiled at the victorious young man, aspiring speech writer; she could work with that.