mythopoeics

Her sisters were dead. Hades was dead. And without Zeus and Demeter, that meant she was alone. Oh, she had other sisters here, her dear cousin. But none of them were him, the one who should have never died in the first place.

It had been a couple of days since Hades' death. Persephone had thrown herself into silent, numb grief. It differed from the one she suffered when she first was brought to the Underworld. Then she had cried more openly with the grace of an innocent who didn't have the strength to deal with the shock and change. It hadn't been attractive in the slightest (no one ever looked good while crying, she could assure them of that).

Now the tears slipped down her face and she doesn't make a sound. An Iron Queen shouldn't cry, she knew that, but this was the Underworld King, her husband. Her Hades. Death came to them but not like this. Never like this. The heels of her hands scrubbed at her damp cheeks as she ignored the worried servants moving around her, whispering and fretting. Nothing would be alright until he came back. If he came back. In the case that he did not...

A chill swept over her inside and then anger. She would hunt down Khaos and would, if it came to it, perish trying for revenge. Going on without doing anything (without him) would never do.

Next time, I would prefer if we ended up anywhere in Egypt. We were far more evolved, no matter what these people say. In fact, if we don't get out of here soon, I might just find a ship that will take me across. Somehow.

Isis wasn’t sure how she felt about Set’s death. He was, after all, the man who had murdered their brother – her husband – who had gone as far as desecrate his body and divide him throughout the land of Egypt. In her eyes, his crimes were immense, eternal and impossible to forgive or forget. If she did, who else would remember the crime? Still, in a small part of her, the one who had stayed her own hand when he faced Horus, the one who hesitated in shedding his blood…

Was it even possible that that part mourned, even though Anubis’ death rang clearer, louder, more painful than any words could express?

One of her children in this world grabbed the hem of her dress and tugged, giving her a smile that was everything of sweet and innocent; demanding her attention shamelessly. Isis gave it all. It distracted her, yes. And it made sure she didn’t ask questions of herself for which she didn’t know – or wanted to know – the answer.

( let the flames begin )

All she wants is to lose herself to the looming fit of despair, but she knows she must stand strong. Mordred only asks that she be there, and she is, as constant as any wife could be. Yet even then there is a higher cause. This child, the little creature that steals life and love from her, must live. Real or imagined, it must be carried to fruition. One time, at least, she wants to be a mother. A strong mother, a mother worth looking up to. Even for a child that will never grow old with her, that will not share its milestones with her, that will never utter the words I love you.

Unless this world is final.

Yet even with the life growing within her, even with the happy marriage her union with Mordred is turning out to be -- this is a world Gwynevere knows she cannot live in.

Mordred is not the only one between them to have lost brothers. Heimdall is dead, and it is all Gwynevere can do to keep from losing herself to grief.

[filter; grant]
??

[filter; angrboda]
Father is dead. Do you think he would go to Valhalla or Fólkvangr?

I, for one, am ready to leave.

[Filter: Euterpe]
Are you feeling okay?

Do you need anything? Are they seeing to your wounds? I know a few people who

I've got a few musical instruments? Still working on that soundtrack. I got a little distracted.

[Filter: Set]

You can't see this, but good job. Still not amused...but good job

[Apprehension was all that Hebe felt upon watching Raven's fight from high up in the stands, Merlin to one side. Very little had been said to him out of worry and fear. It wasn't in her to behave like a good wife that day -- she'd been in pain all morning, thinking of Raven and how he'd fare in the fight.

When he fell, she didn't cry. She didn't blink. Instead, she'd sat there completely still, her mind replaying the scene over and over. Raven had lost. But so had the other man, which should've meant she was to be happy. Feeling anything but happy, she'd moved the moment they'd removed Raven from the sand. She had to see him. Had to feel him, make sure if he was dead or alive because she couldn't be certain. Disbelief had her running out to a place where she could openly weep, where no one could see her.

The next two nights, Hebe would suffer from horrible dreams. Dreams in which Raven died all over again. Dreams where her father abandoned her for Ganymede. Alone and without anybody she trusted enough to run to now that Artemis and Apollo were dead, she'd curled up in her bed and cried herself to sleep.]

The pretty ones always have to go, don't they? Most of them anyway. I'll spare you what I think of some less than attractive souls. Did anyone else think the ginger kid's hair looked great in the sun though?

There are some of you I want to speak with, in time. That means you, angelic ones. Your names, they didn't escape me. However, I have no idea which one was which and that, brothers, is what I wanted to know. I figure we could use a break from being killed and played with.

What is really on my mind and what I'm writing this for is my curiosity about how the dead, if returned, will come back - physically. Will they be full of stab wounds and gutted? Will they be hospitalized for a while? Or patched up perfectly? I haven't been around nearly long enough to find out.

[Filter: Rosana]

Tell me you haven't caught any horrible disease and have croaked on me. What would I do without you? Who would invite me over for home-cooked meals and be lovely to me?

[Merlin has left a few things pending, not out of laziness but preoccupation with other things. Sometimes it all happened too much, too fast at once. The moment was gone at the drop of a hat, and Merlin was left chasing after it. Never mind, he would catch it soon enough.]

[Filter: Helios]

Our father was here. He was killed in one of the battles. I ...

[Filter: Morpheus]

Hey you should come over and cheer me up. Learn to juggle this time-

[Filter: Morgause]

How are you holding up, mommy?

[Filter: Euterpe]

Glad you're alive.

[Filter: Hebe]

Let me know if you require something.

The fights have been interesting. What was rather irritating was the blood that stained my sandals.

[Splurging on things that were considered important was never a problem for Tezcatlipoca. Personally, he thought the whole thing was priceless, so a few more gold coins here- there, were inconsequential.

It was not as fresh as he'd hope, he always liked it best when they were still warm and alive. Just after that moment where they had ceased to live. This was Set's however, and so he could overlook a few things. It was heavy and thick, the blood had not quite finish drying. It was good. His toes curled in pleasure as he sunk his teeth, tearing apart the flesh.

Tezcatlipoca sincerely hoped to have an opportunity in future to tell Set how perfect he'd tasted.]

[From the moment Menelaus had died, it seemed like Helen had too. She stopped talking, stopped eating- getting out of bed was impossible unless her servants moved her from the bed to a chair and back again when the sheets were changed.

She had not stopped crying. Her husband had given her a disgusted look and left her alone. That was fine, Helen didn't need him. Men came and went. All men did, even if Menelaus had not. The point was that now he had. It was over.

Helen had never given up until now, she just didn't have the energy or drive to do anything. What was more- she hated it- that when he left her it was a totally different story.]

[She thought her brother's words were all well and good; she also thought that if he'd been in her position, he wouldn't have followed them either.]

[Filter: Troilus]

I know you can't read this, but know that it doesn't matter how long or what happens. I'll never forgive that man for what he did too you, and one day, if I can- I'll bring him down.

And you- you- how dare you ask such a thing? Haven't I been witness to your death at the hands of others enough? It is not required of me to forgive anyone, maybe Neoptolemus and Achilles used it all up. Who knows.

You know, I'm coming to realize it is not required of me to forgive you for leaving me.

[Filter: Osiris]

so many dead

people i care for

[She wasn't sorry they died, Set- Agravaine - maybe a little disappointed, but not sorry. Certainly there was no mourning from her side. It wasn't that she didn't care for them, or disliked them, however, when you kill people for a living... death becomes a close part of life. People come and go, the rest of the Blackwells were all alive. The two who had fought upheld their family honor.

At least neither Set nor Vaine had lost. Not really. They could've won and lived. They almost, almost had. Daphne knew she was making excuses. In this business almost didn't count.]

[Filter: Private]

And we all fall down.

...no, I don't even want to dwell on his death. Not when I can't even steal him and take him to my hall. Dearest Heimdall, you'd have such fun there. If only I were still



[She ceased to write, abandoning her journal entirely then. She had often recommended to her anxiety-ridden patients about writing down their thoughts, to try to free themselves from things that stressed them. But it wasn't helping at all.

Hearing her name called to attend to someone requesting her, Freyja smiled mirthlessly. There were other ways to soothe a troubled mind.]

[Filter: Private]

It's all pointless. Stripping us of what makes us special, pitting people against one another without true reason and not even letting creatures like me feed off any of them as they fall. It's hard enough being something I'm not.

I miss the old days. I miss everything about the time when things made sense and I didn't have sobbing widows in my workspace that I can't even twist about in my grasp and feed off of.

So unbelievably pointless.

[Filter: Private]
I don't know what to say or do or...or anything. He's-

I just don't...understand. Why this? Why would you choose this? Tearing people from each other. And next I get to watch my temporary husband fight. I hope those important to him don't lose him tomorrow. Enough talking to myself.

[Filter: Public]
I have some plants to look after at my home here. It's the small things...It's no greenhouse, but it's acceptable enough. I'm so sorry for all who have lost someone Until we get home. If we get home

[Filter: Barachiel]
Good luck tomorrow. I am here if you need anyone to talk to or anything at all, really.

All that confidence and now he was dead. First she had to endure her father's fall but it had been Set's that had ate at her. On one hand, he threw their marriage aside, treated her as if she was a nuisance, was wrong in how she handled things. One the other, he had given her Osiris' number, had warned her about someone (and she accepted it, believed it instantly because she saw no reason for him to just make it up). Still even bothered to speak to her which confused her (but she accepted it, perhaps a little too hopefully).

As to be expected, Nephthys did not make a scene at the arena. She balled up her fists and watched him be taken away, to be handled God-knew-how and only then left. But she never contacted anyone, unlike the time with her son. And if she had allowed herself a few tears for the most aggravating, confusing and willful male she'd ever known then that was entirely her damn business.

But she hoped he knew somehow so he could be annoyed even in death.

It's starting to stink around here the longer we stay here.

[Cassandra]
I haven't heard bad word, not that I would go looking for it.

( so give them blood, blood, gallons of the stuff... )

I have never felt so Asian in my life. Or so full of holes. Or so covered in ink. I swear to baby Jesus I'm not normally this self-conscious

[Famine felt every bit as justified kicking shit over in their house the moment he returned from War's fight. His sister wasn't dead. She couldn't be dead, and yet she was. He wanted to rip the mutt limb from limb, scatter his arms and legs into some place he couldn't find them. But there would be no accessing him, not in this place, not unless he went in himself to see him.

The very human part of him ached for the loss of War, and though he shed no tears, he exercised his growing anger on different parts of the house and the stables. Who was next, Death? Who would Khaos take next time?

Horsemen weren't supposed to die. War was definitely not allowed to die.

And when the anger faded, all that was left was numbness.]

[War was not dead. That was the first foolish thought Death had. The second was that she could deal with this. That was a utter fucking joke, just the way Khaos had made death seem (unforgivable, it was unforgivable entirely).

The loss of Famine a year ago had been bad and the sense of feeling lost and uncertain had come before weighing heavily on them all. It had also been the start of her realizing they were not nearly as strong as she believed them to be.

Through no fault of their own, of course. It was that Khaos bitch. She had condemned them and she had lead them to this existence as perishable meat. Throughout the months, Death learned to cope and even began to allow those not in their tight little circle to help them. To be of use. They had to learn to cooperate with those around them, at least those worthy of them who would not wreck their balance or overtake another Horsemen in importance.

And now War was dead. And Death, as calm as she appeared outwardly, felt something crawl around inside even as it began to fester. She hadn't left the arena when she began to write to her comrades.]

[Filter: Horsemen]

I want her body. We need to find a way to get her body.

I am perfectly calm, I don't want to be questioned, we just need to get her back before they do anything to her. Anything at all.

[She'd watched the whole thing. Lifetimes ago, on the worst day of any of her lives, she'd watched another man die. That had taken hours and hours. Hours huddled at the bottom of the cross with the other women in that horrible darkness. She hadn't looked away then.
( and he that hath seen hath borne witness )

((OOC: Backdated to the 25th.))

[filter; mother]

Are you alright? I'd like to see you.

[filter; galahad]

Don't lose. I couldn't handle seeing yet another person I care for fall.

[filter; gwynevere]

Are you well, with everything that's been going on?

[filter; private]

If ever there was a time when I wish it had been me getting fucked about instead of my family, now would be it.

[For all her blitheness and glib speech, Pheme had been incredibly nervous going in to watch Agravaine's fight. Much as she had full confidence in her uncle, she knew that fights were a tricky thing to predict. When he fell, she gasped, but hid any other reaction until she was away from the prying eyes of everyone else to cry.

Then, when Cù Sìth fought and also fell, she found herself overcome by a desire to cry as well, again waiting until she was alone. In her mind, she was already looked down upon for being young, it wouldn't do for others to see her as weak too.]

[filter; morgause]

You have my condolences on the loss of your sons.

[filter; public]

Bored now, when do we leave?

Two dead sons. He had told her - promised her - that she wouldn't lose Agravaine. That he would do more than his best to save himself.

It wasn't entirely rational to blame him considering the circumstances but Morgause felt far from rational as she grieved for her eldest two. She had stolen away somewhere where that bastard Merlin couldn't be found, couldn't trip across her as she mourned her losses. God wouldn't be able to help him if he uttered the wrong word. She would gladly pay every price there was to bring him down for any slight or slur against her sons.

But, for now, she allowed her face to grow damp from weeping, refusing the idea of comfort. She would not have it, not until she saw her children again. That included Mordred who lived and would have to be seen soon.

Only after she composed herself. God forbid even her youngest see her a wreck. No one, not even her mother or beloved sister, could see her this way.

He didn't want to react in public about Charon's fall or Nyx's. He didn't want to even speak with his family about or anyone else. There were memories and there was also so little that could be said. Everyone knew that there had been a chance and that death could never be avoided. And though Hypnos was the brother he was most close to, the one that he cherished and would do anything for, Charon was still his brother. Still family and vital. And, despite his endearing tininess, he was more sharp and feisty than people gave him credit for, possessing an understanding of the way things should be than most people combined.

His mother was, of course, always considered special. She birthed those most important and useful, gave the mortals gods did not go around and toy with them unnecessarily. She, too, understood everything relating to her children, a most clever and intelligent woman.

He would not ask or think of his brother or mother returning. Death could not do that, not even if it had been Hypnos. But should they return, Thanatos would be there for them if allowed. He knew, like many others, how being jerked around could affect someone, especially those who dealt with death for a living.

[It was by some sheer strength of will that he hadn't cried in the arena...or maybe it was just that the shock had kept him from it. The truth was most of his emotions were anger. He'd only just gotten Apollo back after searching for years for him. There'd been so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to do but none of it mattered now. Some woman, some goddess had taken him away by forcing these games on them.

He was angry with her more than he was with the woman who'd actually killed Apollo because had she not taken something that was his - no, that was wrong. Apollo was never his. He was Apollo's. But she still took from him. She still caused this ache in his chest and there was nothing he could do for it. He could not graciously turn Apollo into a flower to keep him from Hades and he could not even take the body for a proper burial. No. He was just as useless as the rest of them in this part.

It wasn't until he'd returned home and been left to himself that he felt the pain entirely. Had he been home, he'd have turned to his parents, but here he had no one he trusted, no one he wished to bother. Hebe didn't need this. She had other matters she needed to deal with. This was something he'd have to deal with alone. He just wished it wouldn't hurt so much.]

[Filter: Private]
Fuck Coldplay I'm never listening to that damn song again Fuck this

[He hadn't been scared to fight nor was he too terribly scared to die. This was nothing new to him, he had fought and he had died before. Apollo practised and trained and readied himself for what was to come.Then they had announced the fights and he had seen the cruel joke being played on him. His sister was to join him. The sister he had spent life times looking for. Even when he hadn't known who he was, there had always been this space there at his side where she should have been. That had changed everything. Suddenly, he was very scared to fight. Suddenly, everything had changed.

The day had arrived far too quickly.

Their opponent had known them well. Seen which twin to take out first. Before the fight had begun there had been something achingly familiar about the beauty but then she had killed Artemis. Apollo was strong but he was ruled by his emotions. Watching Artemis fall had caused something in the Sun God to snap and he had fought back harder but recklessly. It became less about winning and more about making the woman pay for taking his twin from him.

A few times it looked like he would succeed in doing just that but finally a blow sent Apollo to his knees to the pleasure of the roaring crowd. He tried to get up but couldn't. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at the woman. "Do it." Closing his eyes, he tilted his head up to feel the sun on his face.

Daphne was a hitwoman by trade, so even without her ability to back her up - she knew what she was doing - too well. Besides, she was a Blackwell, and that family had a reputation to upkeep. A banner of viciousness and pride they carried. There were weird exceptions to their ways, such as the soft daughter of Lena and Patrick. The rest? Even Gavin held his own. The pretty boy. So while Daphne didn't feel this was personal for her, it had been to Gavin. Pan. Whatever. Losing had never been considered.

Of course someone who fought back hard did cause her trouble, regardless of her own skills, she was sweating and exhausted. It was a matter of waiting him out (she did). The blow to his legs had been aimed carefully, to keep him from getting up again. Daphne slashed, twisted out of the way and heard the satisfying thud of knees against the gravel. She stopped for a moment, watching Apollo with a hint of amusement.

The pleasure she felt at this was unusual for her. People in her profession were cold, swift and efficient. There never was a reason to draw it out, but she couldn't help but taunt him. "Pan says hello." There was a small pause to allow those words to sink in, then Daphne swung her sword sideways, taking off his head in one clean blow. Normally she wouldn't care about the blood, felt indifferent towards it; this shower of it felt like victory on so many levels that could not be explained. She blamed it on Pan's need to even the score with this guy.

The roar of approval was deafening, Daphne turned her face towards the sun and smiled.]

[She didn't bring up Agravaine with Pheme for a short while. Not because of any massively kind feelings but because she had been more focused on purring over his death. A more suitable battle could not have been arranged. Pity the other brother hadn't been involved as well.]

[Filter: Private]

I'll never say you were a waste of money, JuJu.

[Filter: Public]

What's a woman to do while waiting to see if her sister lives in the upcoming battle? Let's not dwell on the past ones. There's not enough point to it.

A. Is this seriously a journal? Did everyone forget the ibooks at home?

B. The fuck am I wearing?



Last time I was this high was when I was... bloody fifteen? Amesterdam and all.

[Filter: Polyxena]
Sister, how do you fare?

At least that is over with.

[Filter: Isis]

[Filter: Egyptians]

[Filter: Horus]

I don't have pity to offer or any profound words of wisdom, but if you want to talk, you know how to find me.  If you rather not, I understand.  For what it's worth, I'm proud of you.

[Filter: Anubis]

You can't read this, but I'm no less proud of you.  May you be at rest, my son.

[Filter: Set]

Satisfied?

[Filter: Syrinx]

I know you weren't going to watch, but I survived.  Please don't worry. 

[After the battle, he hadn't lingered for long. He'd said a quiet prayer for the man and left. Old habits.

It was a long time after the fight, after getting his wounds treated and what celebration was going on that he picked up his journal. Troilus - that was his name - had asked him to tell the Trojans he was not upset. The possibility that this could end with dealing with other's emotions was high. However, a dying man's request wouldn't go ignored. He could give him that and once he had, it was over. It was done.]

[Filter: Trojans]
I am afraid I am not knowing any of you and this will probably not be something you are wishing to read. I am Erol.

Your...Troilus. He was wanting me to tell you he is not bearing me ill will. I would normally not be bothering, because words could...uh...make it worse and I am not having proof, but I am believing dying requests should be given. Even if it is making unpleasant responses.

I am...sorry for your loss. If you are being angry with me, it is okay. I understand.

[Filter: Leyla; language: Turkish]
See, cousin? Your confidence was well placed. I am mostly okay. A few cuts...but it's nothing.

( save sorrow for the souls in doubt, bleed every care out... )

I didn't bother attending the games after the first day. Which unlucky souls fell, if any? Who gained freedom, if any? Any more pleas of mercy after that Egyptian boy tried? I imagine the Egyptian community are in mourning still.

Who else? No, I'm not poking to be cruel or morbid. Either way would be pointless with me since I known none of you so well. I just want to know what I missed. Things just got busy and not all of us can take the time to go to the games.

Not looking forward to fighting, but I guess it's what has to be done.

[Having to fight his own brother -- how cruel were they really? And as gladiators, there was no telling what winning or losing would mean. Death hung everywhere he looked. He could read the fear in other men's eyes. Agravaine didn't fear death like most men, having faced it once before. What he did fear was having to take Gawain's life.

Geb was the first to go, taken down by Gawain as he stood there idly, feeling entirely stupid. But when it came down to the two of them, they both held back, not wanting to harm the other. It was a ridiculous dance, and once Agravaine had had enough, he met Gawain's eyes and flung his sword down at the ground. If their fight wasn't enough to guarantee freedom, he was going to cut some throats.

No matter the grudges he held, he wasn't going to kill his brother. No one was going to force him to do that, as long as he could help it.]

Perhaps she should have prepared herself but Bastet knew that even that wouldn't have helped much. She stayed after he'd been taken off the sands, even after the battles had ended. Only when prodded by one of her slaves had she moved to go back home.

She'd seen the post, seen the comments available to her eyes but didn't want anything to do with it. There was no one she wanted to speak with, to see. None of that would help the knowledge that Anubis had been lost to her. And the image of watching a beloved nephew do that...

Bastet didn't know how to remove that from her mind for when she would next surely see him. She didn't know if she could help herself when it came to being rational either. It hadn't been Horus' fault and yet that image.

Just what was she supposed to do?

[Things had been tense on Hathor's part, and though she knew of nervousness, this certainly took the cake. Horus as a gladiator. Horus fighting Anubis, Horus killing Anubis. Sadness was not unknown to her, and behind a curtain, she admitted to shedding a few tears that were quickly wiped away.

A visit to Horus after his battle was all she needed to recharge. She'd wrapped her arms around him, peppered him with kisses and held him for as long as he needed to be held. He needed her as much as she needed him, that much was certain.]

[Filter: Gavin]

visit brothers, can I?

[Filter: Osiris & Hades]

Please be careful. I will

will cheer for you both.

[Filter: Aeneas & Trolius]

♥

[Filter: Heimdall]

YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO LOSE.

Okay? Cool. Ok.

[Filter: Gawain]

May the outcome you wish come to pass, knight of Camelot.

[Filter: Troilus]

Are you faring well, brother?

Do you need someone, Bast?

( the mistress is speaking~ )

ooc; gets a little pg~

( i'll be waiting here for you )

[filter; menelaus]
Who are you fighting?

[filter; greeks]
To my sisters: I wish you the best of luck. You are Zeus' daughters. Be strong, be courageous. And if death should claim you, remember it is not permanent.

To the rest, I offer the same advice. Be well.