OOC: Dreaming again
“They were out of sailboats, I’m afraid.” Crow said, handing the pair of bright pink kitten socks to the man? at the table before taking his seat across from him. There was a traditional western set of china laid out, scones and tea and all the works.
“That’s alright.” The man said, running fingers through his bright rainbow hair and carefully affixing the socks to his ears. “You remind me of kittens anyway.” The rainbow haired man poured a cup of tea for Crow and himself, and held out the plate of snacks. “Have a scone? Or the biscuits, they’re good.”
The aroma of fresh baked goods wafted from the plate, and Crow selected one of the raisin muffins, turning it in his fingers as the man picked up a scone and took a bite. Maggots fell like crumbs from where the other man chewed, and Crow, fingers curious and thoughtful, pried open his muffin to expose the rotting, maggot and pus riddled core.
“I don’t suppose you know the story of Persephone.” The man asked, still eating at his scone, picking up little squirming grubs from his plate and popping them in his mouth. “Well it hardly matters. We don’t have any pomegranates anyway.”
“I read that one.” Crow acknowledged, absently shredding the baked crust of his rotten muffin and dropping it into his tea cup, where it fizzed like acid, the liquid roiling as if it were alive. “I don’t think it’s a legend of my world.”
“No. But I wonder if Hades ever has the urge to redecorate for his niece-wife? A little tinsel would spruce up the underworld right pretty.”
“The corpses might object.” Crow tossed a maggot up, watching the carrion birds that circled dive for it. The black wings of his namesake barely shone in the light, too dull with the blood of slaughter.
The table, the tea party, was set on a mountain of corpses, in a field of the dead. The rainbow haired man wiped at his lips fastidiously with a lace handkerchief, and Crow continued to slowly shred the outer layers of goodness from the inner rot beneath his treat. It seemed as if the layers grew back, somehow.
“Well it’s not like they have room to complain. They don’t exist. They’re the dead. It’s just Hades and Persephone that matter.”
“Well yes, but the dead still feel something.”
The rainbow haired man smiled, reaching across the table to pat Crow on the cheek. “That’s what I like about you. Of course they don’t feel, they just imagine they do. A corpse is just a corpse.” He settled back in his seat and Crow tossed the muffin away in disgust, leaning back in his chair.
“Then should they just resign themselves to tinsel and tea parties, Cancer?, and let themselves be the tools of gods?”
“Well the living do, don’t they?”
“No.”
“Well there’s your answer. Even if they’re just imagining it, the dead get mad too.”
“And when Hades gets angry for them casting off their tinsel shackles?”
Cancer? shrugged. “Well not every revolution can succeed. They are the dead.”
“I suppose it can’t be helped either way.” Crow picked up his tea cup, poured a little of the foaming, mildewed liquid into his saucer. “They each have their own agenda.”
“Yeah but everyone forgets Persephone, she didn’t even want to be in the whole mess to begin with.”
“Not everyone forgets her.”
“Maybe it’d be better if they did.”
“Maybe.” Crow sighed, standing. “But she’s the whole reason for the mess in the first place-that’s what Hades would claim.” He offered his arm to the rainbow haired man. “But then we know better.” The man rose, taking his arm.
“Yes.”
“Your ears are falling off.” Crow reached over and adjusted one of the socks on the man’s ear, so it was on properly.
“No that’s not how it goes. It’s ‘do your ears hang low?’ Now you try…”
He woke.
Things Lost:
His bookstore
His hitai-ate
This memory
All memory of Argent
All memory of Lucy
All memory of Trust
Names (list of names retained coming soon)
“That’s alright.” The man said, running fingers through his bright rainbow hair and carefully affixing the socks to his ears. “You remind me of kittens anyway.” The rainbow haired man poured a cup of tea for Crow and himself, and held out the plate of snacks. “Have a scone? Or the biscuits, they’re good.”
The aroma of fresh baked goods wafted from the plate, and Crow selected one of the raisin muffins, turning it in his fingers as the man picked up a scone and took a bite. Maggots fell like crumbs from where the other man chewed, and Crow, fingers curious and thoughtful, pried open his muffin to expose the rotting, maggot and pus riddled core.
“I don’t suppose you know the story of Persephone.” The man asked, still eating at his scone, picking up little squirming grubs from his plate and popping them in his mouth. “Well it hardly matters. We don’t have any pomegranates anyway.”
“I read that one.” Crow acknowledged, absently shredding the baked crust of his rotten muffin and dropping it into his tea cup, where it fizzed like acid, the liquid roiling as if it were alive. “I don’t think it’s a legend of my world.”
“No. But I wonder if Hades ever has the urge to redecorate for his niece-wife? A little tinsel would spruce up the underworld right pretty.”
“The corpses might object.” Crow tossed a maggot up, watching the carrion birds that circled dive for it. The black wings of his namesake barely shone in the light, too dull with the blood of slaughter.
The table, the tea party, was set on a mountain of corpses, in a field of the dead. The rainbow haired man wiped at his lips fastidiously with a lace handkerchief, and Crow continued to slowly shred the outer layers of goodness from the inner rot beneath his treat. It seemed as if the layers grew back, somehow.
“Well it’s not like they have room to complain. They don’t exist. They’re the dead. It’s just Hades and Persephone that matter.”
“Well yes, but the dead still feel something.”
The rainbow haired man smiled, reaching across the table to pat Crow on the cheek. “That’s what I like about you. Of course they don’t feel, they just imagine they do. A corpse is just a corpse.” He settled back in his seat and Crow tossed the muffin away in disgust, leaning back in his chair.
“Then should they just resign themselves to tinsel and tea parties, Cancer?, and let themselves be the tools of gods?”
“Well the living do, don’t they?”
“No.”
“Well there’s your answer. Even if they’re just imagining it, the dead get mad too.”
“And when Hades gets angry for them casting off their tinsel shackles?”
Cancer? shrugged. “Well not every revolution can succeed. They are the dead.”
“I suppose it can’t be helped either way.” Crow picked up his tea cup, poured a little of the foaming, mildewed liquid into his saucer. “They each have their own agenda.”
“Yeah but everyone forgets Persephone, she didn’t even want to be in the whole mess to begin with.”
“Not everyone forgets her.”
“Maybe it’d be better if they did.”
“Maybe.” Crow sighed, standing. “But she’s the whole reason for the mess in the first place-that’s what Hades would claim.” He offered his arm to the rainbow haired man. “But then we know better.” The man rose, taking his arm.
“Yes.”
“Your ears are falling off.” Crow reached over and adjusted one of the socks on the man’s ear, so it was on properly.
“No that’s not how it goes. It’s ‘do your ears hang low?’ Now you try…”
He woke.
Things Lost:
His bookstore
His hitai-ate
This memory
All memory of Argent
All memory of Lucy
All memory of Trust
Names (list of names retained coming soon)