Pacing. That was about all there was to it. Back and forth continuously. The wide open spaces were oppressive in ways that Morpheus had never thought possible; the mortal world at least had its innovations and novelties, nothing compared to the incomprehensible beauties of Reveille. He was suffocating here.
“Where is she?” he demanded of the air in front of him.
-Chances are she is looking into the River,- Bast told him, and he glanced back at the cage that contained her, -Enyo says that its where she would be if she were mortal. The Styx is apparently the border between everything, the Dreamer would be most comfortable there.-
Enyo nodded and made a gesture.
-It’ll stop her from going insane, or at least slow it down.-
“I should be with her,” Morpheus murmured absently as though the thought had just occurred to him.
-It’s not like she’s going anywhere,- Bast snarled, -she can’t get out, Lucifer will keep her here at all costs.-
“What does Lucifer want with her anyways? How many Dreamers has he taken prisoner, I have seen none.”
Bast glanced at Enyo who made a noncommittal gesture with her elegant hands.
-We don’t know.-
“He obviously wishes Baldur to be kept away, but what other purpose apart from bridging the Rift does capturing Dreamers have?”
-Unfortunately, kitten, your guess is as good as mine,- Bast replied, sitting down on her haunches.
“The Older should know this, when we get out of here...”
-If, kitten, ‘if’,- the Cat-Goddess corrected.
Enyo tapped her scarlet and black nails against the bars of her golden cage.
- I have faith in your abilities, Kali, I don’t have faith in mortals.-
“Mortals are predictable,” Morpheus countered.
-Not that predictable. Do you honestly think a mortal is going to come down here?-
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
LXXI: Pornography
“Pretty, isn’t it?”
Alyxa looked up from the running waters of the river Styx. Lucifer was kneeling at her shoulder, staring into the waters just as she had been doing.
“It is,” she agreed.
“I come here a lot, when I want to think,” the Morning Star said, giving her a brilliant smile that made her knees go weaker than Morpheus ever managed. Alyxa looked deep into the waters again, she could see colours flashing through the darkness, a myriad of strange images like those she sometimes saw in her dreams.
“What do you think about?” she asked suddenly.
“What it would be like if I hadn’t fallen,” Lucifer replied without missing a beat, “what it would be like if my Father hadn’t handed the reins to Michael and the rest of my siblings. I also think about what it would be like if I felt more female than male.”
Alyxa blinked.
“Um...”
“Yes, I know, I’m rather feminine,” the Dark Prince said, “I’m a perfect being, all balanced.”
“‘Balanced’?” Alyxa murmured, feeling the world twisting around her; it was getting harder to hang on.
“Being sane is a matter of point of view,” Lucifer said.
“You know what you are?” Alyxa blurted out, “you’re...pornography.”
That seemed to catch him off guard.
“I’m...pornography?”
“Yes,” she said, staggering through her words, “you’re too flexible to be real, which means you’re staged, pulling off all sorts of things that a normal person couldn’t possibly do, or taking all sorts of punishment that no normal person could. You’re also too pretty. Like snowflakes and butterflies.”
“Snowflakes and butterflies are like pornography?”
“No...” Alyxa said, suddenly looking very confused.
“So I’m like butterflies and snowflakes?”
“No...”
“So I’m as pretty as a butterfly and snowflakes and crazy as pornography?”
“Yes.”
“Now we’re making sense.
Alyxa looked up from the running waters of the river Styx. Lucifer was kneeling at her shoulder, staring into the waters just as she had been doing.
“It is,” she agreed.
“I come here a lot, when I want to think,” the Morning Star said, giving her a brilliant smile that made her knees go weaker than Morpheus ever managed. Alyxa looked deep into the waters again, she could see colours flashing through the darkness, a myriad of strange images like those she sometimes saw in her dreams.
“What do you think about?” she asked suddenly.
“What it would be like if I hadn’t fallen,” Lucifer replied without missing a beat, “what it would be like if my Father hadn’t handed the reins to Michael and the rest of my siblings. I also think about what it would be like if I felt more female than male.”
Alyxa blinked.
“Um...”
“Yes, I know, I’m rather feminine,” the Dark Prince said, “I’m a perfect being, all balanced.”
“‘Balanced’?” Alyxa murmured, feeling the world twisting around her; it was getting harder to hang on.
“Being sane is a matter of point of view,” Lucifer said.
“You know what you are?” Alyxa blurted out, “you’re...pornography.”
That seemed to catch him off guard.
“I’m...pornography?”
“Yes,” she said, staggering through her words, “you’re too flexible to be real, which means you’re staged, pulling off all sorts of things that a normal person couldn’t possibly do, or taking all sorts of punishment that no normal person could. You’re also too pretty. Like snowflakes and butterflies.”
“Snowflakes and butterflies are like pornography?”
“No...” Alyxa said, suddenly looking very confused.
“So I’m like butterflies and snowflakes?”
“No...”
“So I’m as pretty as a butterfly and snowflakes and crazy as pornography?”
“Yes.”
“Now we’re making sense.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
LXX: Healing
“Well, that was fun,” Hector stated dryly, hauling himself to his feet.
“Want me to have a look at that shoulder?” Medea asked him, looking now completely like her normal, bitchy self, her outfit restored as was.
“If I let you look at my shoulder I won’t have a shoulder,” the patient told her, his tone unchanging.
“It does need seeing to,” Medea told him, and shot a sideways glance at Michael, “ask the Arc to lay on hands or something.”
“Can he do that?” Achilles asked, blinking as he glanced at the angel.
“He’s God’s almighty sword of Heaven, what do you think?” Medea said, her tone less than sincere.
She turned away and focused on Amy, leaning down to say something to the little girl that neither of the others heard before lifting the girl up onto a hip. The movement struck Hector as so maternal that it almost scared him.
“You want me to take a look at that?” Michael asked him, coming forward.
Jessica was sitting on the tarmac, shaking but what had looked like a broken arm was completely healed and normal.
“So you really can heal?”
“We can,” Michael told him, and shot a glance at Medea, “but we don’t call it laying of hands. We call them Miracles.”
“Parting the Red Sea isn’t that hard,” Medea scoffed, but the others ignored her.
Michael sat Hector down and touched a hand to Hector’s shoulder.
He spoke Aramaic words that Hector couldn’t understand and there was a flash of icy cold searing through his arm, focusing like needle-points on his shoulder. It burned into his joints and then vanished, leaving him breathless and trembling. Where there had been a vicious claw-mark, there was now nothing.
“Not even a scar,” Achilles muttered.
“Don’t sound so disappointed.”
“Want me to have a look at that shoulder?” Medea asked him, looking now completely like her normal, bitchy self, her outfit restored as was.
“If I let you look at my shoulder I won’t have a shoulder,” the patient told her, his tone unchanging.
“It does need seeing to,” Medea told him, and shot a sideways glance at Michael, “ask the Arc to lay on hands or something.”
“Can he do that?” Achilles asked, blinking as he glanced at the angel.
“He’s God’s almighty sword of Heaven, what do you think?” Medea said, her tone less than sincere.
She turned away and focused on Amy, leaning down to say something to the little girl that neither of the others heard before lifting the girl up onto a hip. The movement struck Hector as so maternal that it almost scared him.
“You want me to take a look at that?” Michael asked him, coming forward.
Jessica was sitting on the tarmac, shaking but what had looked like a broken arm was completely healed and normal.
“So you really can heal?”
“We can,” Michael told him, and shot a glance at Medea, “but we don’t call it laying of hands. We call them Miracles.”
“Parting the Red Sea isn’t that hard,” Medea scoffed, but the others ignored her.
Michael sat Hector down and touched a hand to Hector’s shoulder.
He spoke Aramaic words that Hector couldn’t understand and there was a flash of icy cold searing through his arm, focusing like needle-points on his shoulder. It burned into his joints and then vanished, leaving him breathless and trembling. Where there had been a vicious claw-mark, there was now nothing.
“Not even a scar,” Achilles muttered.
“Don’t sound so disappointed.”
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