Holiday FIC: Body and Soul (Bast, PG) for kairosimperfect
Body and Soul, PG, 325 words for kairosimperfect
American Gods, Bast, function dictates form
Mr. Ibis was never a bird anymore. He hadn’t been in years. Of course, Horace had been one too long, and it had gone to his head.
But perhaps that was an issue of being a bird, and Bast did not know much about bird things, except how exciting the flutter of their wings; how thrilling the jackhammer pace of their hearts, beating into your mouth as your teeth sank in and in. And the oily, salty taste of them, which was best when warm, and acceptable even after it had been cooked.
Jacquel would never eat cooked meat, but then he had the luxury of the dead, who belonged to him. Bast did not have such luxuries-and was not much interested in owning anyone, anyway, at least not for longer than it took to climax, and to bask in the glow afterwards-and though she got on with Jacquel best of all, she would never ask him to share. Some things were simply not divisible.
But the discussion had been on form, before she had gotten distracted by birds. This was not uncommon; birds were endlessly interesting, with their small, jerking movements, and their little twittering voices, and-it was happening again. Ahem. Form. The question was form.
Bast did not really care, one way or the other. She was most like Jacquel; sometimes he was dog-shaped, and sometimes he was human-shaped, and sometimes he was god-shaped. It had more to do with occasion, really, and what one should wear given that occasion. Of course, they all felt the most at home in their god bodies, but you couldn’t stroll around downtown Cairo wearing them. It would cause a fuss, and anyway, being god-shaped up top just would not feel the same. It wasn’t the proper occasion, like a sunny windowsill could not be properly exploited by the human body.
It was not political, Bast thought. It was simply a matter of occasion.