Diana Monroe | Paparazzi (gimme_deets) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2010-11-11 02:22:00 |
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Entry tags: | paparazzi |
I'll keep you my dirty little secret
Who: Paparazzi, Rebecca Gray (NPC)
What: I'm a god, surprise! :D
Where: The tabloid office.
When: Late in the day on Wednesday
“...besides the Greeks, and there’s even Egyptians.”
“Gods,” Rebecca said flatly, fixing Diana with a strangely wild look.
“Yes! And, just like I said, I’m not the only one.”
“Yeah. Uh. Alcohol, and Tobacco, and Internet and stuff.”
“Exactly!” Paparazzi looked pleased- incredibly tickled that her daughter and pet mortal was catching on so stunningly quickly. “And we control just about everything, you know, if we’re being completely honest about things."
Just the fact that she was able to utter that phrase spoke volumes about the goddess’ raw devotion to the mortal girl before her, that she could force herself into pure honesty for once in her thrice-damned existence.
Rebecca’s smile remained frozen. “So, you’re a goddess. You pull on people’s puppet strings and are like idols or whatever.”
“Well kinda, yeah.”
“That’s awesome!”
Di smiled slowly. “I know, right?!”
“Totally cool!”
Really, honestly sincere now. “I’m SO glad you think so!”
“I quit!”
“...What?”
When Diana was done gaping, Rebecca’s chair was still spinning wildly in place from the pure inertia and the force with which the little mortal teenager had leapt from it, and the door was still swinging in its hinge. The goddess just stared for a few minutes.
It wasn’t supposed to go this way- so many other gods had had this exact conversation with their pet mortals, with relatively smooth results. But no, there was more than shallow surprise here. The goddess of Paparazzi was not in the habit of devoting any amount of energy to anybody who wasn’t a potent source of direct worship for her; but she had put in the time for Rebecca, had given money, a spare apartment, countless time, and job revenue from her own pocket on top of many months of her life to this little blond girl. There had never yet been a human for whom she had poured out any significant effort- but then, there had never before been a human who was her own flesh and blood, the fruit of her own womb. It was a disgustingly, profanely Christianized and pitiful sentiment, but something to the bond of motherhood rang through even the distance of time and lack of togetherness, and the sheer lack of maternal instincts the goddess possessed. For all her casual and calculated cruelty, this little girl held a slice of herself and was therefore important.
The slice of herself which had just run out the door as if fleeing the tenth plague of Egypt, happier than nothing else to be getting away from the tiny blonde freak who thought herself a goddess. Paparazzi had tasted the blood of giants, the bile of royalty: she was not used to losing. It took her a full few minutes to really register and to react to what had happened, and by then she was gone. Yes, she could find her adopted-away daughter through the ring Rebecca always wore, but now that the girl knew the truth she had certain defenses.
So she stared, the chair’s slow spin ushering her to a new place of actual defeat.
Rebecca booked the first flight out. Destination: anywhere.