we served a purpose, like a bloody circus;

[ladyfair]

Bam! You're dead.

Well, it might not have happened with a bam or a bang--maybe just a whimper. Afterwards, some psychopomp or another grabbed your hand and led you here, to this awkward waiting room on the astral plane.

There's stale coffee and some mediocre donuts. The chairs are moderately comfortable, and the paintings on the wall are pretty but somewhat unsettling.

Every so often one of the gods' messengers shows up and fetches someone to take them to their proper place in the afterlife.

It's kind of boring.

Comments

[ladyfair]

[ A smile ghosts across his face. ]

That's the spirit.

[ He still looks slightly concerned. ]

...come on. There's a drink with your name on it at the Aphrodision.

[pummelgranite]

[ OK, that perks her up. ]

Literally or figuratively?

[ladyfair]

Well, there might actually be a cocktail at the bar...

[ He considers this for a moment as he walks. Venus looms larger against the blackness. The scent of it reaches through space, strange alien seawater and something like roses. ]

[pummelgranite]

There's cocktails?

[ladyfair]

Oh, goodness, you don't think Aphrodite is missing a fully-stocked bar, do you?

She loves to party. Not as much as she loves sex, but of course that's hardly mutually exclusive, you know?

[pummelgranite]

Sounds about right for a love goddess.


Still, good to hear. I could really use a party.

[ladyfair]

[ He glances back at her as he starts down the stairs from the star-path to the atmosphere of Venus.

It boils and bubbles beneath them. ]

So you're the partying type?

[ He smiles. ]

[pummelgranite]

Who isn't these days?

[ladyfair]

Oh, I don't know. There must still be a few shy boys and girls out there in this big world.

[ He gestures with the staff, and the rolling sea of the Venusian clouds parts before them. ]

[pummelgranite]

[ It's beautiful. She frowns. ]

Uh huh.

[ladyfair]

[ The atmospheric ocean seethes around them, but it doesn't seem to be choking or poisoning them, and up ahead an island rears up out of the sea. Set on a slope up the beach a white marble temple gleams. ]

That's the Aphrodision.

[pummelgranite]

Uh huh.

[ It feels like Amaterasu's wink.
It feels like Inanna's smile. Something too beautiful to be meant for her. She scrubs at one eye. ]

It's-- uh . . . it's not bad . . .

[ladyfair]

[ He turns to look at her, pausing to lean on his staff. His gaze gentles a bit. ]

You might be able to stay here if you want.

I don't know. Do you want that, darling?

[pummelgranite]

[ She's staring out at it a long time. Long enough that maybe it seems like she didn't hear his question. The longer she looks at it, the more impossibly splendid it becomes. If Laura Wilson had been hit by a car on December 31st, 2013, there's nothing she would have wanted more than to wile away eternity somewhere so bright and beautiful.

But she's not Laura Wilson. Laura Wilson was taken apart, piece by piece. Laura Wilson's face was peeled off, and cut up, and handed out on national television. Laura Wilson had her pieces twisted up and re-assembled until she barely recognized herself. Satan's Little Helper. Inanna's True Lover. High Priestess. And then, for a few perfect seconds, Persephone.

What is she now?

So just as maybe he's going to repeat himself, she turns back. That strange, untouched blankness that settled in her eyes over weeks in the waiting room is clearing, just a little. Like the first winds of a storm, sweeping away the fog. ]

I . . . ? Sorry, mate, just been a weird incarnation. Can we get that drink first?

[ladyfair]

[ His own gaze grows inscrutable as he watches her. ]

Of course, dear.

[ He gestures with the caduceus, and the golden gates part. There is a strong scent of roses. ]

[pummelgranite]

[ NOT! BAD!! ]

Tight.

[ If her pace picks up, it is 100% because she needs that drink a month ago. ]

[ladyfair]

[ He leads her into what lies beyond--half courtyard and half garden, full of apple trees and vines and still smelling of both roses and sweet seawater. It doesn't seem to quite have normal boundaries, although the walls of the temple enclose it, and corridors lead off into the complex. ]

Try not to be overwhelmed.

[ He smiles at her like it's just a joke, then turns a corner onto another path and starts into a passageway in the dim torchlit temple interior. ]

[pummelgranite]

[ YOU CANT TELL ME WHAT TO DO, I'LL GET OVERHWELMED BY ANYTHING I WANT TO!!! WHICH INCLUDES A FUCKING TEMPLE THAT HUMS WITH TOO MUCH POWER AND PURITY AND BEAUTY and she is dead, and her song is over, and Inanna will never even see her, and it's so beautiful.

Behind him, tears are crawling silently down her cheeks. ]

[ladyfair]

[ It is very powerful and pure and beautiful.

He glances behind him just once, and he sees her tears; for a moment he slows down, concern flickering in his eyes.

But he's already figured out she's not about to open up just yet. For that-- ]

And here's the bar, darling.

[ He steps out into another semi-open courtyard, a white marble hall, its ceiling half-open to the perpetually twilit sky. Grape vines crawl down its walls. A sweet scent of white wine rises from the sparkling springs dotting the area.

A handful of young men and women sit casually at tables, talking in low voices over their drinks. Most of them are not wearing that much clothing.

Juliet ignores them for now and goes to an alcove in the wall, pushing aside some vines to reach into the shelves beyond. ]

What'll do you tonight?

[pummelgranite]

[ She's really, really doing her best not to look overwhelmed but she can't help it. The parts of her that are still undeniably Laura Wilson can't help it. She's not just viewing divinity, but standing inside it. How could she possibly keep her heart from hammering in her already-too-tight throat? ]


Uh, gin. Gin and pomegranate. [ She manages to croak out a beat too late. ] Double.

[motherloving]

Then I'll make you just that.

[ He tosses his caduceus casually to the side of the bar at last. ]

I'm not in my work clothes for here yet, but forgive me, will you, my dear girl?

[ Something changes about his demeanor; where he was a pleasantly businesslike, mildly concerned messenger before he's something else now, more sultry.

He pulls a pair of bottles from the shelf and the tools to mix them from beneath, long slender fingers artful on the mixer (which looks like a miniature ancient Grecian urn but is definitely a modern bartender's tool)--and he casually starts to put the drink together.

He's not trying to seduce her, not actively, but he's playing the role of someone who would now. ]

[pummelgranite]

[ He does catch her interest at least- she's more actively attentive to his flipping urn than she has been to anything but the scenery. Already she's managed to push away the tears like they were never there. ]

So uhm. What are you?

[motherloving]

[ He pushes the drink over to her, having finished mixing it. ]

I'm one of Aphrodite's children.

[ And he winks. ]

In other words, one of the erotes who attend to her--a spirit of love.

[pummelgranite]

[ She snorts. Seems about right that any Aphrodite would have quite a collection of toys. ]

An attending spirit of love, huh?

[motherloving]

Something like that!

[ He beams. ]

I'm also one of her--what's the word? Oh, yes. Temple prostitutes!