futurology | text, @TARANTO, day after the saloon fire

oh shit what a choice
how saucy is the lovers one?

[Why must she forgo speaking in favor of letters? Before he can make his response, he must listen as the jewelry recites Ramir's message in its even tones - and thus, in the video feed she shall hear this. Then presently returns his grin.]

Why, it has sauce enough to sate the appetites of most. Moreover, the lovers of whom I shall tell are gods divine too - and in matters of love, who can claim to have more experience than laughter-loving Aphrodite, she who to her bed as taken many a man, married to lame-foot Hephaestus though she may be?

Edited (i can't stop making typos 8() 2016-11-11 03:50 (UTC)

oh my god wait hang on your reader thing gets my voice all wrong

[ there's a pause, and she comes back again with voice on. the things you make her do, achilles. ]

Anyway, alright, I can get behind this. Aphrodite sounds like my kinda lady.

[It is hardly his fault that literacy in his culture is not yet so widespread as it will one day become, sequestered instead within its own narrow niche. Nonetheless he appreciates her willingness to accommodate him, for this seems to him the more natural way to communicate.]

Because you know not the stories of the Achaeans, for you, Ramir, I shall start from the beginning. Aphrodite sprung forth from the seafoam, into which devious-minded Chronus had cast the loins of Father Sky after severing them from the rest of the flesh. Being that she is of the sea, she holds in her visage all of its exquisite beauty: all pale in comparison to her fairness.

Yet just as the wine-dark sea is dangerous, its waves capable of swallowing the ships of men or dashing their hulls upon the jagged rocks, so too is such beauty dangerous. The gods feared the fierce rivalries that might embroil their hearts should so many of them fall in love with her, compelled as they were by her fair features - for who could gaze upon one so radiant and not wish to have her in his embrace? Thus almighty Zeus who bears the aegis decided that she would be wed to Hephaestus the famous craftsman. For his lameness and his features homely, he was hardly a contender for Aphrodite's love, and so all could agree to this union.

Yet Aphrodite was not pleased to share in the marriage bed of one so hideous to gaze upon. Thus she cast her eyes elsewhere, landing instead upon Ares, the fighter with the bull-hide shield.

[Here he allows for a dramatic pause, that she may digest all of this information.]

[ ah she'll be happy to take that pause for some interjections, she can't live without interjections ]

Hell yeah, Aphrodite is definitely my kind of lady. But hang on — why's Zeus pairing them up? Does he wanna get some sweet crafts out of him for it, or something?

[ she's going to ignore the point about why zeus decides who she gets to marry at all; that's a line of indignant questions for another time, maybe. ]

[It is plain by his bemused expression that he understands not why she asks such a question, whose answer seems to him self-evident.]

Almighty Zeus chose lame-footed Hephaestus to receive fair Aphrodite for his bride for he rules as king of the gods, and thus it falls upon his shoulders to settle divine disputes. This seemed to him the justest course, as none's breast would rankle with jealousy for the misshapen god of the forge.

Oh, and the dispute is who gets the fuck Aphrodite, right. And no one's gonna be jealous of such a shitty little ugly guy because they're too busy pitying him. [ sigh. she gets it now. she wishes she didn't. ] Yeah, alright, keep going.

[And so he settles back into the story.]

As I have before declared, it was Ares of the glinting helmet for whom Aphrodite's heart burned with desire. Yet a wedded woman must take care to keep hidden her affairs, divine though she may be, for even Hephaestus could swell in jealousy for the luscious fruits borne by his wife and plucked by another's hand although they should be his alone to partake in. Thus in secret she flirted and soon ensnared the heart of Ares, who could resist her no more than mortal man can resist succumbing to the pitiless bronze of the spear's head.

Yet their love could not remain veiled in secrecy forevermore, just as the dark loveliness of night, in whose embrace lovers rejoice, must be broken by rosy-fingered dawn reaching across the horizon. One morn, as the Sun harnessed his horses to his golden chariot, he witnessed Ares and Aphrodite tangled together in the war god's palace in steep Thrace, so long had they delighted in one another, so long had they lingered through each sweet kiss. Swiftly did the golden charioteer ride to Mount Aetna, whose fires compose the famous craftsman's forge, that he might tell Hephaestus of the treachery he had seen.

[Another pause, that the suspense may build.]

[ groan. but this is an internal groan, because she knows better by now than to do it out loud. ]

Yeah, of course, gotta snitch, sure.

If you are not yet pleased by this the story I weave, wait then until you have heard the conclusion.

Hephaestus was furious to learn that his dear wife had made of him a cuckold, and thus he set this devious plan: he would forge a net of bronze, unbreakable by even the strong arms of war-loving Ares, and this he would fasten to the posts of his marriage bed. Then he bid fair Aphrodite farewell, with the lie that he was to journey to Lemnos for a while - but in truth, he would go nowhere.

Aphrodite was quick to send for her lover Ares, that they might lie together in her husband's bed while he was so far away. As soon as they fell into one another's embrace, however, they found themselves ensnared in the trap that the famous craftsman had set! In the morn Hephaestus returned and brought with him a host of gods, that they might see Aphrodite and Ares in their shame and thus ridicule them.

The lame-footed god of the forge next flew to Olympus to demand from Zeus almighty the return of the bride price he had paid. But the son of devious-minded Chronus would listen not to his entreaties, for the matter was a private dispute between man and wife, and thus he judged Hephaestus a fool for making a spectacle of it. In the end, he would keep his wife, but this came with the price of submitting himself to the humiliation of cuckoldry forever more.

[What a good story, is it not?]

[ yeah.... definitely a great story........ she allows herself one single sigh for having put up with it. ]

I feel for Aphrodite, she got a shitty lot. I mean, not only does she have to spend her life with a guy she's not that into, but when she does get with a guy she actually likes, her husband fucking ties 'em up and invites everyone over to laugh about it. Then she's still gotta be with him, after he pulled that. No one wins in that fucking marriage.

...Except Zeus, I guess.

Worry not after laughter-loving Aphrodite, for she has since then claimed for her lover countless more men, divine and mortal alike. The bonds of fidelity which mark most marriages hinder not her. Thus save your pity for Hephaestus who delights in the love of no woman but for his own mother, jealous Hera, wife of Zeus.

Yet I can see plainly upon your countenance that you delight not in such a story as this. That of which I tell happened so long ago - why then furrows your brow and curls your lip?

Hephaestus is whiny. Maybe the ladies would like him more if he'd sit his wife down and fucking talk to her instead of doing her up in a net, who knows.

Anyway, doesn't matter, it was a good story. Come get your blanket.

[He cares not to argue with her over a story of the gods, and thus he allows her to take this point. Far more pressing matters weight upon his shoulders at present.]

Very well, daughter of Jolanda. And where am I to find you amid this camp we must claim for our home?

Spiky plants, blanket pile, me as king of the hill — you can't miss it.

Then I shall see you soon.

[And so he does, finding her easily once he sets to looking. Although he wears not his native garb, all of which was lost to the insatiable flames, he is as unmistakable as ever in denim and red flannel, both of which are stained still with yesterday's soot. As he draws near he gives greeting.]

What a trove of prizes you have seized, Ramir, daughter of Jolanda!

[ ooh mr achilles, lookin good. She whistles appreciatively, sitting up a little on her blanket throne with a grin. ]

I know, right? It's almost a shame to give 'em all out. [ Except it's not, because she likes these people. (Most of them.) ] Alright, what color do you want? I'll find you a good one.

Edited 2016-11-25 04:22 (UTC)

I should find it to my liking to possess one woven in purple or red such that a rich man might wear upon his body or bear upon the masts of his ships, for these are the finest colors.

[Which in his estimation has everything to do with how difficult to obtain are the dyes with which the wool is stained. No mere peasant can come by something so precious, and thus the richness of color becomes another means by which a man may flaunt his worth.]

[ That answer really, really didn't need to be that long. But if she's learned anything about Achilles, it's that it doesn't do any good to point that out to him. So she just pulls herself up to start digging, and... a few seconds later, straightens up with a generally red blanket, with purple geometric shapes woven into it. ]

Hey, what about this? Best of both worlds, right? I dunno that you'd wear it, but I'm not gonna judge you if you make it a cape.

[He takes the proffered blanket and wraps it around his shoulders - not for her comment, but for the cold that draws around him.]

You have chosen finely indeed, Ramir. For this kindness you have done unto me I thank you. It seems moreover that you and Klim's son shall have no trouble keeping warm, especially if few have worthy stories to share.

Oh, yeah, don't you fucking worry, we're always nice and toasty. [ She almost adds finger guns, but there's no way he gets finger guns. Would he get a wink? She goes for it anyway, what the hell. And just in case: ] If you know what I mean.

Edited 2016-12-13 05:03 (UTC)

[There once was a time when he might have chided her for so immodest a tongue, yet he has long since grown accustomed to and made room for her idiosyncrasies. Thus, despite the dark cloud that lingers over his heart, he cannot help but laugh.]

Indeed! How fortunate Sigma is to have by his side so passionate a woman.

[No mention of her keeping warm his bed or other assorted misogynistic turns of phrase!]

Rest assured that I too shall keep warm through this bitter cold-- [Wait for it...] If indeed you follow that which I intend.

[ Okay, that's a laugh. ]

Yeah, thanks, I think I follow what you intend. [ She's going to steal that and use it one day. If indeed you follow that which I intend. This guy's a goldmine. Anyway: ] Lucky guy. She's hot, sweet, and super useful, huh?

[As when a cloud passes before the sun and thus casts its shadow across the fields below, so too darken Achilles' features. How unusual it is for one as forthright as he to avoid eye contact, yet at present he casts his gaze away from Ramir, looking instead upon the pile of blankets behind her.]

If it Olivia upon whom you heap such praise, then I must tell you of how my heart is heavy with regrets, for she wishes no longer to stay by my side as my wife.

[ Whoa, there's not a reaction she'd expected. Ramir blinks, looking him over suddenly more attentively. ]

Wait, what? Hang on — what happened?

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