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Psamathe | Greek (Hecate) | F | Mentions: Open . Psamathe kept a very odd schedule. . She usually woke up at 12 o' clock in the afternoon and went to bed at around 4 o' clock in the morning. This strange timing was a result of her being a night person. Because, obviously, nighttime was better than daytime. . This morning, when Psamathe woke up, sunlight was filtering into her room through her windows. She rubbed her eyes - Dear gods, why does it have to be so bright? - and flicked her wrist. The dark curtains at her windows swished closed, and she relaxed. Much better. Psamathe sat up, stretching, and looked blearily at the clock on the wall next to her bed. Hmm. Apparently she had overslept quite a bit. It was nearly one o' clock. . Ah, well, she thought, climbing off her bed. Better late than never. Putting on a pair of soft gray slippers, she exited her room and went into the bathroom to brush her teeth and use the toilet. Even gods and goddesses had to use the toilet, after all. When Psamathe finished, she went down the stairs to the first floor. Padding quietly into the kitchen, she made a cup of tea, toasted some bread, grabbed a jar of chocolate spread, and promptly began slathering the bread with the stuff. . Psamathe placed the bread on a plate and carried it into the large room she used as a library. This was Psamathe's favorite room, only after her bedroom. . The wallpaper in the library was a dark blue-gray with a pattern reminiscent of a night sky or ocean waves. The floor, also blue-gray, was covered with pale rugs. Towering bookshelves lined the walls, filled with books of all shapes and sizes. Two wooden tables stood in the middle of the room, with cushioned chairs surrounding them. At either side of the door was a tiny tree in a pot; at the other end of the room were two big windows, under which sat a couple of gray beanbag chairs. . Psamathe sat down at the table closer to the windows and began to eat. As she chewed the toast, she stared out the window at the greenery beyond, leaves and vines rustling in what must have been a breeze. She stood up, walked over, and opened a window. A gust of cool air greeted her. . Psamathe went back to the table and fetched her bread and tea, then sat down on the beanbag under the Open window, basking calmly in the breeze. The sound of birdsong reached her ears; she twisted around to look outside and spotted a small brown sparrow sitting in a tree. She smiled briefly and went back to her food. I wonder what today will bring me... Edited at March 20, 2024 08:11 PM by Storm Runner
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Neutral
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Hayden | Gemini | M | Mentions: Rowan (ind), Odelia, Kazimir, Belvedere (dir) Hayden was still watching the rain fall into the flat surfaced pool on the other side of the glass when he heard someone come into his house. A normal reaction would be to maybe, freak out? But to Hayden and Rowan, both of them were very happy when they heard someone just walking in. At this point all the deities should know that they could just walk in and immediately have the twins attention, but it also came with the price of having their ears talked off. Hayden waited and listened from where he was, mainly to gauge which of the deities had come into his domain. He immediately recognized Kaz and smiled. "It really is." Hayden replied to Kazimir, turning to face him and flashing him a rather charming smile. It was at this point that he realized there was another person here. He had been too focused on Kaz that he hadn't even noticed the second person. "Hey Odelia!" Hayden greeted her with an equally warm smile and just as excited tone of voice. Hayden also spotted Belvedere on his way over to the small little group. Hayden also greeted Bel with a smile and a polite "Hey there". When Bel asked his question he tried to remember if they needed anything, but Odelia seemed to bring gifts often enough that he couldn't tell. "Mm... If you see any mango popsicles, or any kind of popsicles really, could you grab a box or two for me? If you'd like someone to go with you and nobody here volunteers, I bet you could get Rowan to go with you." Hayden answered Bel. He loved mango popsicles, and in his opinion.. nothing could beat them. He also loved chocolate, loved, but chocolate was always so common. He tried to avoid always getting the same flavor of pretty much anything, and since he hadn't had his favourite he decided to ask for them. "I like it during the day," Hayden began, replying to the grumpy deities comment. "It means more people to hang out with. But, I have to admit, nighttime is also a pretty fun hang out time. Plus, if you go outside the stars are very pretty. My issue is with running into the grumps." Hayden's eyes flicked over to Bel when he said that, indirectly calling Belvedere a grump which probably meant more chances of Bel not getting him his requested treats but this wasn't exactly an uncommon thing. ♥︎ Rowan | Gemini | M | Mentions: Hayden, Odelia, Kazimir, Belvedere (dir) Rowan woke up and the rain seemed to stop, which gave away the fact that he was awake to anyone around. Rowan had only woken up because of the smell of food. To be more specific, the muffins. Rowan yawned, staring up at the ceiling for a good, long moment. He was stuck in that feeling of comfortability in bed, not wanting to get up. He didn't want to move. He just wanted to stay in bed, under the blankets. Rowan slowly, carefully, and forcefully got himself out of his bed. He could have gone about this a much more normal way, he also could have caught himself before landing face first on the floor with a soft thump that could be heard, barely, by the people downstairs. The instant Rowan landed on the ground, he was fully awake. Rowan huffed a laugh, mentally criticizing himself for not catching himself before he hit the ground. "I must be tired.." Rowan murmured, getting himself back up onto his feet. "At least I didn't land on my back." Rowan's wings would've been hurt should that have happened, and thankfully didn't. Rowan made his way over to the closet, yellow eyes scanning over each outfit while he thought about which to pick. He landed on a much more dull yellow and white sweatshirt than usual and a regularly plain white hoodie over it. He paired these with white jeans, of course another opposite to his twin. He didn't bother with his strawberry blonde hair, it probably looked fine anyway. Having it be a mess wasn't too bad. Rowan made his way out of his room, listening to the sounds of chatter coming from the living room. He carried his wings behind him, keeping them close as he went down the black staircase. Rowan poked his head into the living room looking happy as ever. He was just pretending at first, putting on a mask, though that faded when he saw people he genuinely liked to be around; friends. "Hey guys!" Rowan greeted them, taking a seat opposite to Hayden. They tended to sit like this, always opposite from each other. It was partly because they liked leaning into trying to be different from each other while being the same in many ways and also partly because they wanted to give more room for everyone to take turns with the twins. They were attention seekers, after all. The last time they were antisocial? The last time they took a break away from people just because? Unheard of with the twins. "What's going on with everyone?" Rowan directed the question towards everyone in the living room.
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Tiho // Hoenir // M // Mentions: Psamathe (dir), Cresil, Belvedere, Hayden, Rowan (ind) A long time ago, people danced in this ballroom. They had two-stepped across polished marble which was hidden now by three inches of algae and marsh water. But Tiho wasn’t caught up in remembering the old days. He loved the way the water felt on his feet, the echo of splashes, and the smell like peat. And the slimy mud, yes, he even rather liked the mud, though he wouldn’t have told Cresil or Belvedere. They were lucky they hadn’t been to his home. If they bemoaned his own personal hygiene, they would keel over sideways from seeing the state of his house. Everything in the place was filthy, all green and brown. Even his books, which he valued so highly, had water-wrinkled pages and a blurred word here and there. There was, however, one book Tiho had kept in pristine condition, mostly because it wasn’t actually his. He’d borrowed a book of poetry from Psamathe, and painstaking efforts wasn’t enough to describe how hard he’d worked to keep that thing clean. It was wrapped in cloth, kept far above the water level, and he’d cleaned his hands each time before touching it. It was almost a relief that he had to return it today. Tiho had spent his whole morning embroiled in an epic war with his muse, which in essence meant he was staring at a blank page for hours on end. He could have been doing something else, anything else, but the problem was that he couldn’t figure out a single thing to do with himself. If anything exciting was happening today, it would probably be because of Cresil. Being a god really did get boring, which was why so many gods entertained themselves with the lives of mortals. There were a lot of things to be said of Cresil, but first and foremost, Tiho liked to say that he made sure life was never boring. Centuries had a way of meandering if you didn’t make your own fun. And Cresil always knew what to do. That was the important thing to Tiho. He could never make up his mind. Not even now, as he was faced with the daunting question of what to do for the rest of the day. Maybe he should go get Cresil. Or should he wait for Cresil to come get him? He might even enjoy some less chaotic company. He still had to return Psamathe’s book. And Bel would be up by now, and Tiho certainly wouldn’t mind seeing him. It was a good hour before Tiho finally decided, though he couldn’t say he was confident in his decision. But he set off towards Psamathe’s house with her book under his arm, fancying he would return it and then wander off in search of Cresil. Now, there were a few ways to get to Psamathe’s house. Tiho almost always went the long way around, skirting the edges of Syrena to avoid the hustle and bustle. But, he mused as he made his way down the soggy path, I’d have to go past Bel’s house if I go through town. There really wasn’t any reason that should be a big incentive, but suddenly Tiho had two options. He found himself standing at the fork in the road, looking from the town to the quiet wilderness. He shifted from foot to foot, then retrieved a coin from the folds of his robe. The coin flashed through the air, and it was decided that Tiho was going to walk through town. As he approached, he wondered if this had been the best thing for it after all. There were a lot of people. A lot of people making a lot of noise. He amused himself by keeping a running commentary in his head, some distraction from the blaring society around him. Tiho slowed down as he got to Belvedere’s house, pulling his hair out of his face so he could see better. There was definitely movement inside, though it was hard to say who. It could have been Hayden or - Tiho muttered a few choice remarks to himself - Rowan. Tiho hovered in indecision yet again. He would have liked to have seen Bel, but he would have liked to never see Rowan again. Out came the coin again, and it told him he wouldn’t be stopping in to say hello after all. That was probably for the best. The mud on Tiho’s feet wasn’t dried yet, and Bel wouldn’t appreciate him tracking mud all across his clean floor. So Tiho turned and made his way along the path, and soon he was at Psamathe’s house. Her house, too, was always neat and cozy, and he wiped his feet rather uselessly before he went up to her doorstep to knock. As he waited for her to come to the door, he turned and looked behind him, at the path and the trees.
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Psamathe | Greek (Hecate) | F | Mentions: Tiho (direct) . A knock echoed through the house. . Psamathe straightened up in her chair. Who was that? She racked her mind for a list of likely persons who might come calling at this time and day. . It was, admittedly, a... very short list. . Comprised of, oh, about exactly one person. Certainly not multiple persons. Not that it mattered. She was more than fine having just one person who was actually her friend. Especially if that one person was the perfect friend to sit back and quietly watch whatever hullabaloo was going on with. Although of course she didn't mind having multiple friends. But still, it was nice to have that one friend. Although... . Psamathe rolled her eyes at herself. "Now you're just thinking in circles," she scolded herself aloud. . She stood up, abandoning her food for the time being, and went to close the window, sliding down the glass pane to keep anything from coming in. Crossing the library once again, she then swept out the etched glass door, walked down the hall, and ambled cheerfully into her living room. Psamathe glanced around the room for a moment, taking in the sofas, tables, armchairs, and rugs. All clean, spotless, and immaculate. She was pretty sure, however, that in a few moments, there might be dried mud on them. Eh. She didn't care, anyways. It would be quite easy to clean it up, and it would be definitely worth it for the company. . Psamathe strode over to her front door and flung it open. Sure enough, Tihomir stood there on her doorstep, mud and all, the only dirt-free parts on him being his hands and the book he was holding, clearly meticulously wrapped and kept clean. Psamathe thought it rather considerate of him to go to all that trouble. . "Hey, Tiho," she greeted blithely. "Do come in, I've got tea if you want. Did you like the book? I have more books of poetry in my library if you'd like." She paused, then added, "Unless you have other plans, that is. Then you can always come back another time." Edited at March 20, 2024 09:14 PM by Storm Runner
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Cresil | Loki | M | Mentions: NPC {dir}, Tiho, Tiras {ind} There is no rest for the wicked, and Cresil found that to be an absolute staple of his existence. Of course, he was no stranger to indulging himself in the comforts of his own gothic-esque manor in Syrena, in fact he enjoyed laying waste to hours of a day to simply enjoy bathing in boiling waters in his circular tub with the perfect view of his iron garden gazebo, naturally with a statue of himself standing within the black structure. However, he was only content in the confinement of his own home for a short amount of time. What Cresil truly preferred was becoming the center of webs of disarray and chaos, and he found such content with human beings, where he often was lurking in plain sight amid the masses. Even now, as his arrogant gait allowed him to prowl across the lush grass beneath his black dress shoes toward a lone individual on a bench. While Cresil knew very well this particular chore was a few decades overdue, he’s very much an entity that is only to be seen if he wanted to be found or make himself known. Everything Cresil did, after all, was on his own terms. “Long time, no see.” Cresil made time for his words to wash over the man who has long since been a victim of the way time corroded mortal’s features and health, the very man whose gaze briefly considered the sight of the deity, realization seeping itself into his aged features before he cast his sights away from the looming figure. For the better half of this particular man’s life, he has been waiting. Waiting for the day Cresil would arrive to reclaim his debt in exchange for the life of opulence he had been given. The very life he got, and the very life that left him in dire ruin. Not that this life was one manufactured by a snap of Cresil’s fingers, of course. There was no pleasure to be derived in such easy happenings. It took a real puppeteer to expertly work the strings of people, and while Cresil was many things, he was also a talented puppet master. To fulfill bringing this particular man’s luxurious life to fruition, there were strings of plenty that had been pulled and some that he had to cut. All this calculated effort was not for the sake of just upholding his end of a deal, no. This mediocre exercise of his wit was all for the simple sake of collecting strings to be indebted to him for the grand scheme of exerting some fraction of control over the impossible: chaos. The deity took it upon himself to sit, and reclined into the comfort of the park bench they now both occupied, relishing a thoughtful drag of a previously lit cigarette that he had no particular fondness for aside from being amused by the way humans often flocked to manufacturing devices of their own demise. A cool breeze ran its course through the open space within the woodland-bordered land reserved for children’s recreation, and further traveled over the pair seated at the bench. Mirroring the old man, Cresil’s pale gaze studied the distant sight of a little girl of current fixation, no older than six, playing on a swing set. All smiles with her pigtails and sparkling pink clothing. She bore no present resemblance to her grandfather sitting beside Cresil, nor did she even know the old man who sat here at the same time on the same day of every week just to watch his family and pretend he might have been a part of it since he had fallen estranged from them all. That aside, the little girl’s life as she has known it has been nothing short of bliss. She’s never experienced true pain or terror, never has been disregarded or abandoned. This little girl has known nothing but the best. And it was a luxury Cresil had every intention to rob her of in time as a method of collection. “What is it you want?” The old man asked, too tired, too frail to be bitter and angry with the consequences of the decision he made in his youth. What young, strapping man didn’t dream of having everything money could buy? His ambitions and lust for a life he had no business living left him with nothing he needed. Just a large house, every empty room a grim reminder of how everyone he had loved was driven away amid his pursuit of the finer things in life. “Nothing to do with you,” smiling, inhaling another puff of the cigarette, Cresil turned his attention to the man. “What I did for you would have cost most people everything. But I was gracious in letting you live your life with exactly what I had promised regardless of how it turned out, and in turn, you’ve left me with the promise of a newer generation to collect your debt from. Good things come to those who wait, I suppose.” The man’s wrinkles upon his forehead had deepened with regret and alarm. Noting the shake to his hands, Cresil watched the man fight his weighing nerves for the ability to speak. “Wh-what are you-” “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to, Desmond. Besides, you have nothing left to offer me in exchange for such precious information, we both know I do not divulge such things freely. In any case, my primary motive for today's visit has been to wish you farewell before your heart gives its final beat today - surely you can feel how close you are to your expiration -, and to assure you that the price I require for your debt is no longer yours alone to pay.” Rising from the bench, brushing off the front of the formal jacket as dark as his hair, Cresil offered the man what remained of the cigarette. It was a habit the old man had never broken, and just as Cresil could have predicted, his shaky hands took the offering.
“What will this cost?” The man murmured, gesturing to the cigarette before pressing it to his cracked lips. “Nothing,” Cresil smirked, beginning a casual stride away from the scene. “Just this once.” The day was still ripe in its beginning, optimal for Cresil to further mark mild chores off his infinite list of things to do, with his next todo being in Syrena, seeing how the object of his chore he's been putting off didn’t frequent Falter as much as he did, at least to his knowledge anyway. The chore in question being to engage with a friend, or more accurately for him, just someone he kept in his clutch under the guise of friendship to have the right to use them when needed. Said being was no other than Tiho, a creature Cresil found more curious than most he’s encountered. The act of maintaining amiability with anyone though was an unnecessary exhaustion he did not enjoy, but between individuals like Tiho and Tiras particularly, the effort was rewarded in their own ways.
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Lightbringer
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Buffy | He/Him | Aries M: Open ⋆˖𓃦⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺𓃦˖⋆
"Drop it- Drop-" It was almost guranteed that the booming voiced echoed accross the foresty expanse within Syrena, even more so that it was heard since it wasn't too far from the other gods' areas off dwelling. Not that the owner of the voiced minded getting down and dirty but the sheer audacity, and by a creature of his own design! In the past this would have never happened- He was meant to be bowed down to- adored even. But things were always... a little finicky, especially before his part of the zodiac cyle. An air of unrest in the atmosphere as everything prepped for spring. And this damned wolf was no different. Actually there were a few wolves around him, which wasn't as odd of a thing to see occur whe he was off on his own in the outskirts of the cities. It had been a delightful day. Still a bit chilly, the final grasps of winter holding on as long as possible until his brought spring. The pack had jut happened to be out on a hunt when he had left his home, jumping around as if to say "Look what we caught, look what we did, we felled this mighty creature".
Said creature was a lone snow hare, but the younglings would be proud even if they caught a crippled worm. This wolf however, brought it upon himself to be the bane of The Wolf Father's existence today. In his defense he was young. In Buffy's defense you dont go trying to steal somebody's cloak when they're not looking unless you're willing to get into a fight. 'Oh but they're just animals they don't know any better'. Buffy was calling bullshit. This bugger knew exactly what he was doing when he disrupted the day for something so petty. And this is exactly the circumstances that lead to the god wrestling a wolf with his bare hands while the others circled around as if it was some sort of highschool fight they were cheering for. Oh- and no godly powers to be used. Obviously this should have been no issue. Not even a debate about the sanctity of being in a god's presence. With humans maybe... This were wolves, and unlike humans there was a bit of an unspoken agreement between him and his kin, most animals actually. If he were to earn their respect they had to be on level ground. Usually he'd just take the shape of a wolf himself- but they seemed to want a show so he was going to give them a show.
And now his was on the muddy ground, wolf in a headlock as he fumbled trying to to keep the wolf pinned and simultaneously try to pry it's jaw open. Which was going about as well as expected, the animal wriggling and thrasing wildly. It went even worse as soon as the wolfing swung his head back and hit the god's own with a loud crack that seemed to echo far to much. "Bloddy hells-" Edited at March 21, 2024 01:25 AM by St. Cloverbeast
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Odelia Seraphim Scorpious | Scorpio | F | Mention(s): Belvedere, Hayden, Kazimir, Rowan (dir) Buffy (ind) Odelia had nearly forgotten the twins had shared their space with a few others. Being reminded of such, her gaze would now slip toward the obsidian haired individual seated beside Hayden. Dismissing herself from behind the winged gentleman she would make her way gracefully around the couch and toward the coffee table collecting her mug and a muffin. She would claim a seat on the couch directly across the pair but slightly distanced from the blonde haired male. “Well, dear, I too prefer the comfort and beauty of night. However, it is rather unfortunate that most of us have circadian rhythms that follow the sun and not the moon.” Her vocals would spill across her teeth like poison with a minor tinge of passive aggression. At the slightest glance, elongated fangs and a snake-like tongue would peek and slip from her sensuous lips, only to disappear in the blink of an eye, depicting her distaste toward the mannerisms coming from the male which joined them. “If you are in search of some company to join you I wouldn’t be opposed.” She would gingerly add, adjusting her behavior as not to fall in ill graces. “Please help yourselves to some lavender sugar cookies or chocolate chip muffins,” she would gesture with an upward nudge of her skull toward the coffee table. Sipping calmly on her warmed flavorful tea and taking a final bite of her brunch, that is, before reaching to grab a cookie for herself and begin consuming it. Her dark pools would widen with excitement at the mention of mango popsicles. Ooo I might have to grab a box or two for myself, that sounds really good actually. She had silently recalled in her mind. The smallest chuckle would escape her lips at the teasing of sir grumps. However, it would quickly be interrupted by the slightest sound of a thud coming from upstairs and a shake of her skull presuming Rowan had finally decided to clumsily exit the comfort of his bed. Upon the sound of his vocals greeting the room a warm smile would spill across her face. While being generally very solitary in nature, she always enjoys the company of the twins regardless of the hour. “We were just discussing plans of going out into town and getting some groceries.” She would chirp from her seat. Having finished her chai tea she would lean over and set her mug on top of the coffee table. “I also happened to bring some goodies, there are extras in the kitchen.” She added with a grin, shifting her gaze in the direction of the kitchen. Her gaze would once again linger upon the curly haired blonde that stood beside them and she would silently huff having to formally introduce herself. “You know, I don’t believe we have met…” She started, meeting the gaze of the blonde, “I am Odelia.” She finished earnestly with a feline smirk. Something about having to make the first move was always difficult. She had grown immensely accustomed to individuals immediately approaching her first, making it a true rarity to see her initiate conversation. Perhaps the twins' social nature had managed to rub off on her just this once. For the brief moment of silence that lingered in the room there was the distant sound of yelling seemingly coming from the woods. Her brows would furrow and she would rise from her seat and peer outside of the glass windows for any sign of where a struggle would occur. Sure enough not too far in the distance a group of wolves would encircle a large male who appeared to be in a scuffle with… an adolescent wolf. Before words could escape her lips she would pull her head back slightly to the left and squint her large eyes while simultaneously raising her brows and drawing up a fist toward her mouth, witnessing and embracing the secondhand embarrassment and pain likely to be felt by the brute after watching the wolf’s head crank back and knock skulls.
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Tiho // Hoenir // M // Mentions: Psamathe, Cresil (dir), Adyn, Belvedere (ind) “Hello, Psamathe,” was Tiho’s simple reply. An outsider observer might have thought he wasn’t happy to see her, but he knew she wouldn’t take it that way. At her invitation to come in, he swept immediately through the doorway, like it was an order rather than a request. He all looked around the house upon entering. He did this every time, no matter how many times he’d been in. It was just such a stark contrast from his own home, and it made him feel claustrophobically cozy, quite a strange mix of relaxed and uncomfortable. It always struck him as odd that Psamathe, goddess of dark witchcraft and the twisted undead, would live in such a sweet little house. Despite Tiho’s efforts to clean his feet, he had already left a smear along the floor from his relaxed wings dragging along behind him. In response to Psamathe’s question about whether he’d enjoyed the book, Tiho smiled fleetingly and held the book out to her in its wrapping. “It was a cacophony of sublime meaning,” he told her, which naturally meant he’d liked it very much. Handing it back to her, he added, “I can’t imagine how you keep them so clean.” He glanced again at the house, and his eyes lit on the mud he’d already tracked across the room. “As you can see,” he added in a deadpan voice, “I’ve brought the swamp in with me.” He didn’t make an explicit offer to help her clean, but he was sure she knew the offer was on the table. The trouble was, he usually made things much dirtier by trying to clean them. “Tea and a book. Sounds lovely,” Tiho told her, nodding. He moved past the rows of books, looking at each title in turn. How many of these had he already read? One day he would run out, and he would have to turn elsewhere for a supply of literature. Maybe Adyn, who always seemed to have his nose in a book. Or maybe - and Tiho felt rather excited about this prospect - maybe Belvedere would be willing to lend his books to Tiho, if he promised to keep them spick and span and not get his slimy fingers all over the crisp white pages. Tiho seated himself at the tea table, his hair sticking to the back of his chair. From here, he could see the path he had taken to Psamathe’s house. “Another day filled with adventure?” he asked her mildly, still looking out the window. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Cresil would be walking down that path soon. Tiho was very used to this kind of divine knowledge, so used to it, in fact, that he nodded down at the empty path like Psamathe would know what he was referring to. He took a sip of his tea, swirling the tea leaves in the bottom, and gave no explanation, caught up in his own thoughts. Tiho knew where Cresil would be coming from, because he knew the old man’s light had been flickering dangerously lately, and his time had come. And Cresil surely knew it too. Tiho had been witness to that deal, the years that followed and the slow decay. Anyone could have guessed what would happen. Tiho felt some pity for the old man, like he did for many of Cresil’s mortal victims. But they were the ones who chose to make deals with him. Their fates were their own, and they chose what they wanted for themselves. It didn’t surprise Tiho anymore, how many of them chose to throw away their future for some fleeting present reward. People gave the future precious little consideration anymore, and it was their own mistakes that led to their downfall. And that, that was Tiho’s domain. And now, there Cresil was on the path, his black hair catching the sunlight and making it dance. Tiho nodded towards the path again, this time for Psamathe’s benefit. “The web-weaver himself,” Tiho commented, rustling his wings and sending little droplets of mud all over. “Maybe you’ll have some adventure in your day yet.” He was already at the window, pulling it open, without even thinking whether Psamathe wanted such a malevolent force in her house. No matter how much Tiho liked Psamathe, whatever she wanted was far outweighed by any of Cresil’s passing whims. “Cresil,” said Tiho in an even tone, standing tall at the window and looking down on him. “I thought I might be seeing you today. Took care of it, then, did you?” It was a cryptic question, certainly not one Psamathe would have understood. Tiho said it with mild indifference, not finding he cared much either way what happened to the old man and his family. It could be Cresil’s influence that made Tiho think this way. But Tiho had felt for as long as he could remember that it was hard to care about one mortal life when time went on and on endlessly.
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Psamathe | Greek (Hecate) | F | Mentions: Tiho (direct), Cresil (indirect) . Psamathe watched as Tiho made his way into her living room, with, yes, mud trailing from his wings on the floor behind her. His response to her greeting was short, which was perfectly normal for him, and besides, actions speak louder than words, or however the saying goes, and she knew perfectly well that he was not unhappy to see her. Psamathe and Tiho weren't that talkative anyways, although she'd noticed that she talked a bit more than Tiho did. . As usual, as he entered, Tiho looked slowly around the living room, taking in every single neat, tidy inch. Psamathe was pretty sure that most people expected that she, being the goddess of sorcery and necromancy and all that dark stuff, would live in a cave or at least a dark building, but she didn't care much for assumptions and stereotypes. Psamathe's house was neither a cave or dark- well, the kitchen and her workroom on the second floor were dark brown, but the rest of her house was not black or gray or whatever color people though it ought to be. Each of the large, airy rooms in her house was a different color; nothing too bright, though, obviously. Psamathe's own bedroom was dark blue, with... mostly black furniture. Ah well, so maybe her house was just a bit like the stereotypes. She might dress in dark colors, but her house was not dark in color. Except for her kitchen and workroom... plus, she was exceedingly old, but she looked in her late teens or early twenties. . Okay, now she was veering off track. Essentially, Psamathe was practically nothing like what people thought she was like. She was completely, utterly contrary. . "Contrary should be my middle name," Psamathe said to herself now. "Except I already have a middle name." She'd given herself a middle and last name years and years ago, for no particular reason other than the fact that she had been bored. . She smiled briefly at Tiho's "It was a cacaphony of sublime meaning" and accepted the book from him. "I'm not quite sure how I keep them so clean either," Psamathe responded to his question. "And the mud will be easy enough to clean up." She hoped that he wouldn't be offended at her implied refusal of his implied offer of help. Just because she mostly didn't care what most people thought didn't mean she didn't care what her friend thought. But Tiho usually ended up bemiring whatever he was trying to clean. Although Psamathe could definitely at least applaud his efforts of the few times he'd tried. . They went into the hall and turned right into the library, where Tiho began looking through the books, appearing to be lost in his own thoughts. Psamathe returned the poetry book back to its spot on a shelf and walked back out into the hallway, went left into the dining room, and then fetched the teapot and another cup from the kitchen. . Going back to the living room, she set the things on the small table in the middle of the room, then swept back into the library, where she gathered up her own cup of tea and her nearly forgotten toast, which she brought back to the kitchen with Tiho, a new book in hand, in tow. Psamathe poured a cup of tea and handed it to Tiho. They both sat quietly at the table, Tiho sipping his tea, Psamathe munching on her now significantly cooler bread. . "Adventure," she said thoughtfully, after swallowing a bite of the chocolate-spread-covered toast. "Of what kind, though, I wonder." She took another bite, knowing full well Tiho would not answer and not expecting one. Tiho was sitting silently, eyes slightly vacant, staring out a window. He suddenly spoke again. . "Web-weaver?" Psamathe said with a frown, looking in the direction Tiho had nodded in. "What-" Before she could say anything else, Tiho was already there, flinging the window open, calling out to whoever was coming down the path. . "Cresil?" she demanded. She'd heard plenty about the god of choas and corruption, and seen him a couple of times doing whatever the hell he was doing, and most of it- or rather, almost all of it- was not particularly good. Of course, though, Tiho was friends, of a sort, with Cresil, so she supposed she could suffer his narcissistic, abominable presence for a few minutes. Psamathe was quite sure, however, that is was going to be much more than just a few minutes. . Maybe I should move somewhere far, far away, she grumbled mentally, not for the first time. But that would mean leaving Tiho, who was the one friend she had, and she was unlikely to find someone else like them, and certainly not another god like him. Psamathe simply could not understand Tiho's relationship with Cresil, who, according to what she'd heard, although not everything you heard can be trusted, was diabolical, mind-blowingly arrogant, cruel, too cunning for anyone's good, and took delight in ruining people's lives, gods and mortals alike... The list went on and on. Psamathe wondered what it was about Cresil that drew Tiho to him, even helping him. Poor mortals. Never quite fully understanding whatever they're getting into. Not that I do, either. Ah, well... they're all going to die one day, anyways... . Took care of what? she thought now, staring out the window at the approaching god. She shook her head. Tiho pretty much never told her what he did with Cresil, so she was always left to guess at what it was. Probably nothing good. Oh, well. At least she could enjoy Tiho's presence when she could, without anyone bothering them. Still, though, the flat way Tiho spoke to Cresil bothered her a bit. . "Adventure, indeed," Psamathe said dryly to herself. "How absolutely exciting." She shook her head again. "I can't say that this was the adventure I was expecting today, can I?" Edited at March 28, 2024 12:58 PM by Storm Runner
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