Symposium (Part 1)
anonymous
July 14 2009, 05:55:06 UTC
Er, um. Hopefully anon likes it? I'm not sure it's entirely what you had in mind... orz ------
The American seems to turn up on his shores quite a lot, Herakles can’t help but notice. He first realizes it when he spots the man on Ródos, presumably on holiday (for Herakles is finding more and more that his islands draw in visitors from all over). They brush shoulders just beneath the Colossus and Herakles briefly entertains the idea of stopping the man, perhaps welcoming him personally, but his arms are full of stray cat and his guest seems preoccupied, so he thinks better of it. They almost cross paths again just a few months later on Krete, but Herakles only learns this long after the fact.
There’s no real protocol among their kind with regard to hospitality; for the most part, their personal travels are treated much like those of any ordinary person. It’s only for the state functions that they’re required to bear witness to one another’s arrivals. But as far as Herakles is concerned, a guest is a guest and guests, invariably, are
( ... )
Symposium (Part 2)
anonymous
July 14 2009, 05:58:43 UTC
It’s like this that they fall into a rhythm of sorts. Call it coincidence, or call it serendipity or what you will-somehow their feet always seem to lead them in the same direction. Often it’s by the shore. They laugh it off at first, and joke that it must be the fault of some inborn sense among their kind. The “wacky old NATDAR”, in Alfred’s words. In time it borders on odd, and then, perhaps, karmaic. He suggests this as they sit by the wine-dark sea one afternoon, watching the ships come in.
“That’s crazy, there’s no such thing,” Alfred chides. “Stuff like that’s all superstitious bull.”
Who’s to say? Over time, Herakles has come to believe that things happen according to some higher design. Perhaps there’s an element of free will involved, but even that’s been anticipated on an even greater level, it always has been. The outcome of anything is simply an eventuality. He chews this over as the sun creeps below the horizon, not even realizing he’s gone adrift in his own thoughts until Alfred’s voice calls him back to shore. Alfred
( ... )
Symposium (Part 3)
anonymous
July 14 2009, 06:01:54 UTC
Sometimes they dig through the rubble of what’s left from Herakles’ mama’s time. He’s learned that the American is utterly fascinated with the ancient world- Arthur’s old fancy taken to its logical extreme, perhaps. Those days, Alfred is practically glowing, grinning as he dusts off ruins with infectious glee. He always shows Herakles what he unearths. It’s flattering, and Herakles doesn’t mind answering his rapidfire questions. And how many questions he has!
“Christ, how old is this thing? It’s got to be somewhere in the thousands,” for example. Or “Look at this, Herc, wow. They’ve even carved the outline of his spine and everything- how?”
Herakles likes talking about his people. He likes talking, when he’s interested enough in the conversation, which he imagines must surprise Alfred. He’s relaxed the lockdown on his mouth with his guest, because Alfred always seems so content to just listen to him. So he talks about his people and their things. His things. His past. And Alfred sits with him by the sea and listens.
Symposium (Part 4)
anonymous
July 14 2009, 06:04:44 UTC
Herakles forgets to bring his lyre. Alfred seems to have forgotten as well. They spend the entire visit just picking apart ripe pomegranates and talking instead. Herakles wishes to know more about Alfred’s literary culture. In some ways it stands to reason that the child of so many nations might gravitate towards their works. In some ways, it seems so unlike him. Alfred seems to understand.
“Because your heroes aren’t really black-and-white, right?”
Exactly. Their respective notions of the “superman” are quite unalike, from what he’s seen. For some reason, Alfred finds this funny.
“It’s not all about red underwear and saving the day. There’s more to being a hero than being right, or kicking ass, or wearing some seriously gnarly tights.”
Herakles nods. There’s much more than that. He thinks of Oedipus, who only wished to avoid a fate laid out for him; Odysseus, who only wished to return home; his own namesake, who sought to atone for his sins. Indeed, he thinks, there’s more to it than that.
- Xenia is, to put it briefly, hospitality. There's more to it than that-- it's more of a cultural institution than calling it "hospitality" conveys, but, ah well.
- The lyre: before Homer actually took the time to write down the whole Odyssey, the story was passed down by way of oral tradition. Now, that's one hell of a story to try to memorize, so oftentimes, storytellers would employ little tricks to make it easier. (I believe this is where certain stock phrases came from? Someone correct me if I'm wrong?) Musical accompaniment helped as well, in that it provided cues and served as a vital menmonic device. Also it made your story sound that much more epic.
I loved this. Something about it just felt so friendly and warm.~
And I agree about covering American Literature, and finding everyting reaches a dismal end... ^^' It became a running joke in our AP Lit class to ask "How many die this time?" and more often than not, at least one did...or left their family to pursue their own shadowed dreams...or something sad XD
I now blame you for wanting to see some Greece/America. You made it work
My one requirement is that you can't make America an idiot (this should be his area of expertise!), but otherwise, go crazy. :)
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------
The American seems to turn up on his shores quite a lot, Herakles can’t help but notice. He first realizes it when he spots the man on Ródos, presumably on holiday (for Herakles is finding more and more that his islands draw in visitors from all over). They brush shoulders just beneath the Colossus and Herakles briefly entertains the idea of stopping the man, perhaps welcoming him personally, but his arms are full of stray cat and his guest seems preoccupied, so he thinks better of it. They almost cross paths again just a few months later on Krete, but Herakles only learns this long after the fact.
There’s no real protocol among their kind with regard to hospitality; for the most part, their personal travels are treated much like those of any ordinary person. It’s only for the state functions that they’re required to bear witness to one another’s arrivals. But as far as Herakles is concerned, a guest is a guest and guests, invariably, are ( ... )
Reply
“That’s crazy, there’s no such thing,” Alfred chides. “Stuff like that’s all superstitious bull.”
Who’s to say? Over time, Herakles has come to believe that things happen according to some higher design. Perhaps there’s an element of free will involved, but even that’s been anticipated on an even greater level, it always has been. The outcome of anything is simply an eventuality. He chews this over as the sun creeps below the horizon, not even realizing he’s gone adrift in his own thoughts until Alfred’s voice calls him back to shore. Alfred ( ... )
Reply
“Christ, how old is this thing? It’s got to be somewhere in the thousands,” for example. Or “Look at this, Herc, wow. They’ve even carved the outline of his spine and everything- how?”
Herakles likes talking about his people. He likes talking, when he’s interested enough in the conversation, which he imagines must surprise Alfred. He’s relaxed the lockdown on his mouth with his guest, because Alfred always seems so content to just listen to him. So he talks about his people and their things. His things. His past. And Alfred sits with him by the sea and listens.
“You don’t have ( ... )
Reply
“Because your heroes aren’t really black-and-white, right?”
Exactly. Their respective notions of the “superman” are quite unalike, from what he’s seen. For some reason, Alfred finds this funny.
“It’s not all about red underwear and saving the day. There’s more to being a hero than being right, or kicking ass, or wearing some seriously gnarly tights.”
Herakles nods. There’s much more than that. He thinks of Oedipus, who only wished to avoid a fate laid out for him; Odysseus, who only wished to return home; his own namesake, who sought to atone for his sins. Indeed, he thinks, there’s more to it than that.
Alfred asks him if he knows who John ( ... )
Reply
- The Foreign Archaeological Institutes (in Athens): http://www.cig-icg.gr/en/greece_links/schools.html Theeeeeere's a lot of 'em.
- Xenia is, to put it briefly, hospitality. There's more to it than that-- it's more of a cultural institution than calling it "hospitality" conveys, but, ah well.
- The lyre: before Homer actually took the time to write down the whole Odyssey, the story was passed down by way of oral tradition. Now, that's one hell of a story to try to memorize, so oftentimes, storytellers would employ little tricks to make it easier. (I believe this is where certain stock phrases came from? Someone correct me if I'm wrong?) Musical accompaniment helped as well, in that it provided cues and served as a vital menmonic device. Also it made your story sound that much more epic.
( ... )
Reply
And I agree about covering American Literature, and finding everyting reaches a dismal end... ^^' It became a running joke in our AP Lit class to ask "How many die this time?" and more often than not, at least one did...or left their family to pursue their own shadowed dreams...or something sad XD
I now blame you for wanting to see some Greece/America. You made it work
Reply
Author anon, you are wonderful, and I love you ♥
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Definitely one to bookmark~
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