Mickey coughs theatrically. "'What is your name?'"
"Pegasus J. Crawford," the tall silver-haired man pauses, and preens a little, as if, really, people ought to start admiring him now. He smiles at the mouse, "next question?"
"It's nice to see someone being glad to arrive," says Psyche. And genuinely means it. It's like a breath of nitrous oxide after too much fresh air. She hopes the man won't be eating his words soon, but even so, a change is as good as a holiday. She beams at him, not at all put off by arrogance.
"What exactly are Toon Monsters? Oh, and I'm Psyche; it's a pleasure to meet you."
Next up is a dazzling young woman who, by some miracle, actually seems pleased to see him; by this point, Pegasus is so relieved to find anyone who is pleased that he's tempted to throw his arms around her neck and hug her.
"The pleasure is entirely mine Psyche," he tells her, and his voice is very sincere, "my name is Pegasus Crawford. And Toon Monsters: They're part of a game I created a while back, perhaps you've heard of Duel Monsters?"
Not that he much cares if she has; this Psyche is pleasant, she's congenial, and perhaps, if he manages this right, she'll show him around this place.
Well, Psyche's friendly to just about everyone with a soul. He does have a soul at the moment, doesn't he? And it's hard to be much more self-involved than the average member of her husband's family. As long as he's not trying to split up her marriage and/or pulling her hair out, Psyche finds it rather endearing.
"I have, actually," she says. "I think a friend of mine elsewhere was involved with it somehow, though he never really went into detail about how it worked. But you create games? That must be wonderfully absorbing work."
"You have?" the recognition is all it takes, Pegasus is officially delighted with Psyche, "and you say you know someone involved?" She is not only beautiful, she's delightfully congenial, he thinks, and he continues smiling warmly at her "you'll have to tell me more about him, maybe I know him too. It would be rather agreeable to have friends in common with someone here."
"It was designing the Monsters I liked best," he adds, and it doesn't seem at all incongruous that they should both be talking about him, "people think it's all about power and attack points, but really, there's a lot you can do in terms of strategy."
"Tell me, Psyche," he continues, "do people here normally spend their time outside the front gate?"
She laughs. "Ah, well, technically speaking, that's the front gate," she indicates the turnstiles, and the abyss beyond. "This is the entrance area, and it's where everyone appears. We haven't figured out why. There are actually two entrances to Main Street through here, one on the left and one on the right."
"Or I suppose you could scramble up the hill to the train station. But Mickey or the forces which govern the park don't seem to want to allow you to enter till you've run the gauntlet of meeting the other residents for an hour or two, so here we are. There's a sort of megaphone...thing," she can remember the words with Greek and Latin roots, but modern technology terms sometimes get a bit scrambled in her head, "that sends out the voices of the new arrivals through the park, so people turn up. There's not much else pressing to do, you see. I know it can be a bit disconcerting."
"This place is stranger..." than I thought, Pegasus wants to say, but he's growing tired of people assuming know-it-all attitudes and telling him how things are; right now, at least, Psyche is being rather charming, but if he admits how very little he knows about the place (or how much he's beginning to regret having decided to visit) there's the chance she'll patronize him too.
"Disconcerting is a good word for it," he tells her, "a person no sooner arrives than they've got all these people asking them questions. It's not even like a party, no one seems to be having a good time."
"I don't mind waiting out here if that's what I'm supposed to do," he finishes, his tone a little unconvincing, "at least there are plenty of people to talk to."
"Even at the most interesting parties, you've usually not been brought against your knowledge or will, you see - though Ganymede might disagree," she adds conscientously, "and a number of us have sweethearts and family and friends we've been separated from, with no way to get a message home. It tends to...upset people." Including especially herself, though that's not really something she wants to throw at everyone's head, especially a newcomer. "I think the only other person who came here on purpose is the little boy my friend Susan looks after, and surely his parents would be upset by his absence even if he's not."
"Still, you know, it's not all that bleak. Most of us get along very well, really, and we've even had a party or two." Featuring strip poker. "And certainly if you're fond of cartoons and rides you'll find plenty to amuse yourself here." She smiles, trying to cheer him.
There's nothing, really that Pegasus can say, not to any of what Psyche is telling him. Described the way she puts it, this place is quite disturbingly like a prison. He tries to smile, tries, anyhow, at least to think of something to say.
"It's more a trap than anything else, isn't it," which wasn't what he meant to say at all, "although I guess... I suppose there are compensations."
"It's hard to say exactly. Time is strange, here. But at least two months, I think. I was the second to arrive, not counting Mickey and the Cheshire Cat. No one's sure if either of them arrived as such...though certainly the Cat doesn't look like the images of it here," she adds thoughtfully.
She reaches out in sympathy, though, and touches his shoulder lightly. "Truly, it's not so bad. And my life's taught me that what may seem to be a trap may really be a gift you never could have guessed at or wished for. There doesn't, at least, seem to be any active malignant purpose at work. Perhaps there's something we're all meant to learn, or do."
Time must be very strange indeed here, Pegasus thinks; from the sound of it, the second to arrive hasn't been here as long as Crowley, who talks about having been here thirteen years. It's rather hard to think of anything to say, and he finds himself opening and closing his mouth like a guppy fish.
Finally, "you're very philosophical," Pegasus murmurs, raising his own hand, and touching Psyche's on his shoulder, "how did you manage to become so wise, at such a young age?" he asks, looking into her youthful face.
He looks rather more disconcerted than her last words seem to necessitate, and Psyche's about to tell Pegasus about her arrival, a few hours after Crowley's. But then he asks his question and she has to laugh.
"Young people are often philosophical, really, if not nearly as often cheerful in their philosophies. I was, at any rate, when I was a mortal. But I'm a great deal older than I appear to be, so I've had centuries to build up my sense of humor." She smiles. "Are you much acquainted with Greco-Roman mythology?"
"Centuries," Pegasus echoes, "have you really?" This is, of course, the most disconcerting thing Psyche's said yet; it's not that he hasn't dealt with centuries-old people before; it's not even that they looked so much older than she does, but so far they've all been reincarnated, not so much perpetually young-looking as inhabiting young bodies. It's a long moment before he answers her question.
"I ...I've read some mythology," translated, this means I started reading after my wife died, and stopped as soon as I figured out it wasn't likely to have any ways for me to raise the dead in it, "more Egyptian," he says, "but yes, some Greco-Roman."
"Well," she says, with a smile that isn't so much sheepish as an invitation to share amusement at the peculiarity of the whole thing, "that's my pantheon. My husband's family. You'll have heard of Eros - Cupid, the Romans called him? He married me when I was a mortal girl, about two thousand six hundred years ago, and after various...adventures, you might say, I was made a goddess as well."
Another one of those smiles. "Quite a minor one, of course. And don't worry, I'm not in the habit of turning people into trees or rivers."
Pegasus takes a step backward involuntarily, because in his world gods tend to do horrible things to people. Not that Psyche looks like she's going to; and she's already said she doesn't turn people into trees or rivers anyhow, but that does leave an awful lot of things unmentioned that she might do to them instead.
"...Were you really," he asks her, "it works like that in your world?" He searches for something to say, and finally adds "do you enjoy being a goddess?"
Other gods in her pantheon aren't exactly free of a propensity for doing horrible things, so Psyche doesn't really take offense at the mistrust. She tries, instead to look reassuring
( ... )
"My god, I'm so sorry," there are two things Pegasus has just noticed, and only one of them, the fact that Psyche is unhappy, seems to need commenting on right now. "How lonely for ...both of you," he tells her, "it's terrible not being together with someone you love." He says it with all sincerity, women, in his opinion, ought not to be unhappy, and, if they are, they ought to be comforted; if he can't help staring at those fluttering wings of hers the whole time he's talking, well, that's not really his fault. Pegasus has never met anyone with wings before.
"What exactly are Toon Monsters? Oh, and I'm Psyche; it's a pleasure to meet you."
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"The pleasure is entirely mine Psyche," he tells her, and his voice is very sincere, "my name is Pegasus Crawford. And Toon Monsters: They're part of a game I created a while back, perhaps you've heard of Duel Monsters?"
Not that he much cares if she has; this Psyche is pleasant, she's congenial, and perhaps, if he manages this right, she'll show him around this place.
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"I have, actually," she says. "I think a friend of mine elsewhere was involved with it somehow, though he never really went into detail about how it worked. But you create games? That must be wonderfully absorbing work."
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"It was designing the Monsters I liked best," he adds, and it doesn't seem at all incongruous that they should both be talking about him, "people think it's all about power and attack points, but really, there's a lot you can do in terms of strategy."
"Tell me, Psyche," he continues, "do people here normally spend their time outside the front gate?"
Reply
"Or I suppose you could scramble up the hill to the train station. But Mickey or the forces which govern the park don't seem to want to allow you to enter till you've run the gauntlet of meeting the other residents for an hour or two, so here we are. There's a sort of megaphone...thing," she can remember the words with Greek and Latin roots, but modern technology terms sometimes get a bit scrambled in her head, "that sends out the voices of the new arrivals through the park, so people turn up. There's not much else pressing to do, you see. I know it can be a bit disconcerting."
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"Disconcerting is a good word for it," he tells her, "a person no sooner arrives than they've got all these people asking them questions. It's not even like a party, no one seems to be having a good time."
"I don't mind waiting out here if that's what I'm supposed to do," he finishes, his tone a little unconvincing, "at least there are plenty of people to talk to."
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"Still, you know, it's not all that bleak. Most of us get along very well, really, and we've even had a party or two." Featuring strip poker. "And certainly if you're fond of cartoons and rides you'll find plenty to amuse yourself here." She smiles, trying to cheer him.
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"It's more a trap than anything else, isn't it," which wasn't what he meant to say at all, "although I guess... I suppose there are compensations."
"How long have you been stuch here," he asks her.
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She reaches out in sympathy, though, and touches his shoulder lightly. "Truly, it's not so bad. And my life's taught me that what may seem to be a trap may really be a gift you never could have guessed at or wished for. There doesn't, at least, seem to be any active malignant purpose at work. Perhaps there's something we're all meant to learn, or do."
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Finally, "you're very philosophical," Pegasus murmurs, raising his own hand, and touching Psyche's on his shoulder, "how did you manage to become so wise, at such a young age?" he asks, looking into her youthful face.
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"Young people are often philosophical, really, if not nearly as often cheerful in their philosophies. I was, at any rate, when I was a mortal. But I'm a great deal older than I appear to be, so I've had centuries to build up my sense of humor." She smiles. "Are you much acquainted with Greco-Roman mythology?"
Reply
"I ...I've read some mythology," translated, this means I started reading after my wife died, and stopped as soon as I figured out it wasn't likely to have any ways for me to raise the dead in it, "more Egyptian," he says, "but yes, some Greco-Roman."
"Why, Psyche?"
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Another one of those smiles. "Quite a minor one, of course. And don't worry, I'm not in the habit of turning people into trees or rivers."
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"...Were you really," he asks her, "it works like that in your world?" He searches for something to say, and finally adds "do you enjoy being a goddess?"
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