mythopoeics

[The family surgeon had taken care of the gash on one arm she sustained after having been tackled by one of her men and had dug the bullet from leg with an efficiency that even impressed Death. He hadn't had the luxury of time to make it painless but Death's mind had been elsewhere anyway. Maybe she should have seen it coming. A drive-by, the rivalry. If she hadn't been involved, she would have given then whole thing an admiring glance but some of the men that had gone down had been her property (whether they believed that right now or not) and she had had a bullet dug out of her leg.

And between the two who had been closest to her, the fucking heavyweight had taken her down. For her own good and all but she had a feeling there was a cracked rib to be minded.

Someone was going to pay.]

What a noisy afternoon yesterday contained. Some people.

[Filter: Horsemen]

Yes, I was involved if you heard about what happened. Yes, I'll live.

No, of course I'm not letting this go, temporary era or not. Blood will stain these streets again.

The women of this age garner such little respect, it's a wonder we are allowed to breathe the same air as a man. Even a career woman like myself can only hope her male coworkers will not judge her abilities based solely on the fact she does not share the same anatomy. A woman is not welcome in university. A woman is not welcome in a man's profession. A woman is expected to be at home, cooking, cleaning, and tending to the man's every need.

I will crush all of their expectations.

[ The past few days had been tiring for him, if only because more and more people visited the stables every day. Apparently, riding horses was much more popular in the fifties than their current age. Because really, who wanted to ride a horse when they could drive a car they could never afford? But now it seemed there was more interest, and more interest kept him busy. Which was never bad, per se, but it left him exhausted at the end of the day.

Well, all the more time for twin snuggles.]

I'm beginning, only beginning, to realize I'm a little tired of these decade jumps. I'm also glad that the stables still existed in the fifties. They appear to be much less run down now.

But little girls need to stop wanting pony rides thrice a week.

And somehow, in Zurvan I wasn't judged quite as harshly as I am now. a) for being Japanese-American, b) for being heavily tattooed, and c) for not wanting to get married EVER EVER EVER. I had to take out my piercings, so crossing my fingers that they won't heal up before I have to put them back in. I might just get fucking tired and put them back in anyway. But I can't take off the tattoes. IT'S NOT LIKE I CAN JUST FUCKING WASH THEM OFF WITH SOAP OR PEEL THEM OFF FOR FUCK'S SAKE

Usually I don't care what people think. I don't. But when people won't stop staring and not in the good way it's REALLY ANNOYING ACTUALLY UGH

Basically, FUCK THIS SHIT OKAY.

[ Being a single mother in this day and age was apparently so unacceptable, lying was the only way out of being chastised. Lying wasn't the part that hurt her-- it was what she had to lie about: being married to Diego. Still being with him at all. They had agreed to Luca being with him on weekends, so that he wouldn't be without his father, but now in this time, Diego wanted to be a bigger part of their lives

and it hurt

so much. ]

[ filter; family ]
Is anyone available for hugs?

[ PTSD. That was interesting. Coming out of his service years ago, Hector had been entirely certain he hadn't come out of it with PTSD, but that didn't seem to be the case here. The consensus had been that his time serving in the second World War had ruined him psychologically. But he knew himself better than anyone, so all of this was just another game of Khaos' that he wasn't interested in playing. ]

[ filter; family ]
I appear to be in the hospital for post-traumatic stress disorder. I don't recall ever developing that.

These dresses are annoying. Everything about this wardrobe is annoying. I have to wear little frilly socks and shoes that look like they belong on a doll. I'm being forced to dress like I belong on someone's shelf. My parents are like drones out of The Stepford Wives.

Cara, can I come stay with you for a while? I know your uncle isn't acting like a freaky robot.

[ filter; family, zurvan included ]
Are any of you in the loony bin? Say no.

[ There were a great many things that Hel could tolerate, and things she couldn't. Of those things she couldn't tolerate, it was being treated less than her worth. She knew her worth. Apparently, her male classmates didn't. They treated her as if she didn't belong in school, as if her being a female aspiring to work in the field of science was akin to her having a strange disease.

More than once, she had nearly taken out their eyes with her scalpel, but somehow, somehow, she kept from doing so, lest someone cart her away to that mental asylum she was hearing about. But perhaps being in a mental asylum was better than this. There, at least, she would be safe from idiots who needed to be put in their place.

A queen of the underworld deserved so much better. ]

[ Being a nurse wasn't a terrible profession for a woman. In fact, it was very normal. But being a nurse in a mental hospital was something else entirely. She had thought she knew all there was to know about patients who refused treatment or medication. Apparently, she hadn't. Patients here were so uncooperative unless they were sedated, and only then would they take the medication she handed to them in little cups.

But watching these patients having to swallow their pills in front of her, to show them the underside of their tongue so that they couldn't hide their medication-- it left her heart surging. It pained her to be here, but she knew, above all, that this was her job. There was no other alternative. ]

How is everyone?

Now this isn't so bad, is it? I happen to like everything I'm wearing, the cars, the lifestyle, etc. Apparently I should be settling down soon, according to my parents, but that would mean I cared about what my parents thought I should do with my life. I'll do what I please, as I always do.

[ filter; siblings ]
I hope they've told you the same, or I'm going to throw Ursula at them.

[ filter; private ]
I don't know what to think about all of this. Wasn't Zurvan enough? And Rome? Is there even such thing as enough for her?

[ filter; arthurians ]
Everyone alright? Galahad, Elaine?

Well, this is all very exciting. The 1950s, eh? Such a simpler time. At the very least, we don't have to worry about a war hanging over our heads.

Oh, nevermind.

[ filter; helen and menelaus, separately ]
Updates, please.

[ filter; norse ]
So all of this has to do with that Khaos chick?

[ filter; helen ]
If anyone gives you a hard time, give me their name and I'll fuck them up.

[ filter; public ]
This is fucked up.

...This is stupid.

I have no intention of marrying, regardless of what everyone seems to be spewing. Therefore, the last thing I need is to be set up on a date, of all things. Of all the times for my parents to remember I exist...

...It doesn't help that this brainless twit keeps babbling on about hor pon the devil's spawn, either.

Women are encouraged to be womanly. They are given expectations they should live up to or they are not considered useful to society. We all have a role. Mine is here at the hospital, and I'll do what is asked of me.

But do not expect me to break.

There was a reason why he'd said nothing to anyone so far. He didn't want it to be too well-known he was here. He didn't want someone to try to save him from something that could really hurt them.

At that moment, he was stuck in a solitary room after having gotten into a fight with a doctor who had frightened him. There was blood still under his nails, bruises staining his arms and face but a small sense of victory lay in that he knew he wasn't broken.

He wasn't human, he'd never be human. He wasn't wrong and no amount of therapy, pills or other treatments would make him think otherwise. But he wouldn't go mad here. The creature he could conjure up would keep him sane, a reminder that he was right against them all. Against anyone who might suggest otherwise or try to brainwash him.

And one day, he'd return to what he should be.

It had been years, so many years, and he'd walked through those doors like it had just been a only a few days. The smile he gave her made her feel sick and weak, furious and helpless. Her hands had shaken beneath the table as he took his place from across her, had so casually lit a cigarette. He told her of all the places he'd been, the work he'd been up to. He told her that she hadn't aged a day since he'd left, still looked like the gorgeous girl he'd married.

She'd remained uncharacteristically silent, drinking in everything he offered. When he made a gesture, she withdrew her hands from their hiding place and had held them out. And he'd held her hand as he told her that despite her looks she wasn't fit to be his wife. He had to move on from this person she'd become. It just wasn't healthy for either of them. Then he offered her the cigarette.

Numbness swelled into shock and finally rage. It'd taken five nurses and two doctors to pull them apart, her fingers coming away sticky with blood, skin and hair. The words she flung at him had all been in her native German, raw and crude, vowing revenge on his worthless self.

The moment she was alone, the tears came. It was less that she couldn't stop them and more that she didn't want to. There was no twin to comfort her, no daughters to dab at her eyes and rub her hands. She would have to get it out and see where her violent outburst would take her now in this damning place.