Week Two

[letsplayamod]

Okay, maybe it hasn't been so easy. You've been enjoying a relatively pleasant time here with your fellow gods and Athena, only for a disgruntled Titan to seemingly pull the rug out from under that.

Despite the immediate threat from a hidden foe, you've managed to stave off their first attack. However, even if the grass may seem greener this week, or the sky a bit clearer, Athena can barely hide her troubled feelings. If this experiment is to be a success, what has to happen to make it that way?

You're all alive, though. That's worth celebrating, isn't it?

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Quark's Bar

Comments

[liedol]

[ It's funny. Ai's been doing her best to force all her frantic, frightened feelings somewhere deep and low in her chest this past week or so. Somewhere it won't resurface and ruin her composure. She's been offered a second chance - even if it seems too good to be true, she can't squander it for failing to live up to what's being asked of her. She has to be bright and pretty and kind, everything that a Goddess of Performance would be - because what other choice does she have?

Some part of her has been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Nobody knows better than an idol that beauty is brittle, peace is temporary, and someone is always watching. That nothing good is given freely. Even as the sky is dyed crimson, she isn't surprised in the least.

She expects panic to claw its way up her throat. She expects the atom-thick shell she's been keeping around her heart to fracture, for her mind to start racing, babbling, screaming but... nothing happens. She feels nothing, not fear or despair. Not even resignation. Just an eerie hush like someone's turned the lights off inside her.

If the gods need offerings, then of course she would be summoned. What more fitting a sacrifice is there than a trembling rabbit in a snare?

So against her better judgment, Ai drifts toward the stone. She bends down, reaches for the slip with her name on it and even knowing that nothing good can come from opening it, her fingers work anyway, unfolding the paper with a kind of reverent dread.

...It isn't what she expected. Who she expected.

The face smiling up at her is that of a boy's - no, a young man now. Just a little younger than her. The roundness in his face is starting to hollow out, his features beginning to sharpen, settle into something more striking than sweet. His eyes are older than she remembers but course they would be - it's been years since she's seen him in person.

Her mouth parts, a soundless breath caught on the threshold of speech. Then closes again.

For a long, long time, Ai doesn't move. She stays kneeling, the slip of paper cupped lightly in her hands like it's too precious - or too dangerous - to let go. ]