Fantasy Deus Nolens Exitus [Closed]

[.quietus]

Vicmira was not one for pretty dresses.

She was... not one for most things, if she were to be entirely honest with herself. Maybe she was broken; maybe the rest of the world was. Either way, nothing had felt quite right for a while now.

But, as she caressed the robe Uwila had brought her, enjoying its silky feel under her fingers, she did have to admit to herself that it was, indeed, beautiful. Striking. Easily the most eye-catching piece of clothing that she had ever so much as caught a glimpse of in her life -- and she had only had to sell her soul to get it.

Oh, how cheap Gahnaisto was.

"Thank you," Vicmira turned to the other woman, not letting any of the thoughts show on her face. If anything, she smiled all the sweeter for it; after all, the foulest of poisons had to be masked with the sweetest of scents. "It is truly stunning. Tonight, I shall turn everyone's heads."

Tonight, she mostly wanted to sleep. She wanted to lie down, hide her head under the pillow, and pretend that she was a little girl again, with little girl struggles and little girl worries. That Vicmira had never really been that little girl couldn't stop her, of course -- but her hatred could.

Unfortunately.

"Do you think," she batted her long eyelashes, "that anyone will match me in radiance when we are to dance? I don't really see it happening, but..."

Uwila gave a long-suffering sigh. It was Vicmira's understanding that she had taken care of Gahnaisto's candidates for as long as anyone could remember, and was likely tired of each of them thinking themselves to be special. She did have that look to her; the look of someone who wanted to, and very desperately at that, tell her to shut the fuck up.

She couldn't, which was what made it so very fun.

"Certainly not, my dear Vicmira," Uwila rolled her eyes, "you will be the star of the evening. Gods and goddesses will ruin themselves just for the chance to kiss your dainty little hand. Why would you ever think otherwise?"

So you can at least be sarcastic. Vicmira noted that not with bitterness, but with a twisted sort of satisfaction; the kind of pleasure that, perhaps, one could feel upon finding out that the wolf they had been hunting for days did have some fight left in it, and was now baring its teeth. For that alone, I might spare you.

Probably not, though. Might was as much of a promise as a slap was a caress, and Vicmira wasn't feeling particularly merciful besides. Not here, and not now.

For what they'd done, they would all die. One by one, they would be swallowed by the nothingness they'd come from, and she wouldn't so much as wave them goodbye.

"Oh, Uwila," Vicmira all but giggled, "you really are too sweet. Rest assured; once I am a goddess myself, I will remember all that you've done for me."

***

It had been five days, and Vicmira still didn't feel like herself. Five days since Gahnaisto had finally chosen her; five days since she had walked through the temple gates, leaving her old life behind. Maybe I never again will, she thought, It could be part of the price.

As if it already wasn't high enough. Her pride; her dignity; her everything, offered to Gahnaisto on a silver platter. She'd paid, paid, and paid, and just what was it that she'd bought with all of her sacrifices?

Hard to say.

In truth, Vicmira hadn't seen much of the court yet. None of the new followers had. Supposedly, they had to get used their new circumstances first; Uwila had blabbed something about their minds 'not being ready yet' - whatever that meant - and the best solution they had was to blindfold them, lead them each to a separate room, and leave them to their own thoughts. "It is only for a little while, my flower," Gahnaisto had patted her head, "You shall bloom soon, but first, spring needs to come."

It had been a challenge not to scratch his eyes out right then, and the only reason why Vicmira hadn't done it was that her nails weren't nearly sharp enough. So, she'd spent those five days in complete isolation, teetering somewhere between dreams and nightmares. Whenever she closed her eyes, she could see things -- images that blended into one another, the way watercolors might if you weren't careful enough with them.

Her mother's face, distorted beyond recognition; the sun hanging high on the horizon, blood-red instead of the usual orange; snow falling from the sky, burning the places where it landed.

Vicmira didn't know whether there was a point to it all, and didn't much care. She just wanted it to end -- which it did, the day before the celebration. 'The rite of spring,' Gahnaisto had called it. She doubted it actually had much to do with that, but, to be entirely fair, Vicmira had the tendency to doubt pretty much everything.

She simply was that kind of person.

But, the one thing she couldn't quite get out of her head?

Uwila's first words, shortly after the feverish haze subsided.

"Now you are ready," the woman had said, her voice ringing with something that, to her, sounded like a distant sort of sadness, "You've taken the first step, my dear."

***

Vicmira put the dress on. Some things, it seemed, didn't change, and it was as true here, among the gods, as it was among mortals that you had to dress for the occasion. A quick look into the mirror told her that, yes, she did look fine. More than fine, actually; the blue of the fabric paired well with the blue of her eyes, and the cut... well, she wouldn't have picked it for herself, but she supposed it did make sense for it to be so form-fitting, given what Gahnaisto was.

Given what she was pretending to be, now.

That she had to play nice was yet another disappointment, but her life had been so full of them that it was likely for the best. Had things actually gone well for once, the shock of it might have killed her on the spot.

It was time to go out, then. Already, the candidates were gathering outside -- a flock of colorful birds, each with different feathers. And of course they were; the point was to stand out.

"Vic! Heeey, Vic!" It was Primula's voice that welcomed her there -- and, because it was Primula, also her hands around her waist. She was a short, dark-haired girl a few years younger than herself - a native of her own village - and Vicmira's heart hurt that she was even there, but it wasn't like she could spread such thoughts much. So instead, she sighed, "Yes, Prim, that is my name. Let go of me, will you? This dress already makes it hard enough to breathe as is."

The look in Prim's big, green eyes was as disapproving as it could get, which, admittedly, wasn't a lot. Even Vicmira could admit she was too cute for these things -- and that became even more true when she puffed her cheeks like that. "How can you sound so bored? Tonight, of all nights! The beginning of everything."

With some luck, it would be the ending.

"I still can't believe we're here together," Prim prattled on happily, "Me, a goddess! I never thought--"

"Sounds on brand for you," a man Vicmira didn't know rolled his eyes, "You clearly don't think much, do you?"

Prim deflated visibly, and, right then, Vicmira decided to add the bastard to her list. "What's your problem?"

"Nothing," he said, in the tone of someone who obviously thought he was much better than them, "Some of us would just like to focus on the task."

"And some of us," she replied pointedly, "Can walk and speak at the same time." That was all the task really was; The Path of Flowers, it was called. If Gahnaisto loved anything more than the sound of his own voice, it ought to be his stupid metaphors. "We will be celebrating spring," he'd said, "Because that is the time of new beginnings. A time for new gods, and new loves alike. And what better way to greet that with than new flowers? Gather some as you go, so that you may bring a suitable gift for your... companion for the night."

Ah yes, companion. That was one way to call them. Vicmira had no illusions regarding just what it was that most of the gods expected from Gahnaisto's candidates, of all people, and 'companionship' seemed fairly low on the list.

Not for the first time, she wished she was strong enough to attract Hamarr's attention instead, but... well, you had to work with the tools you had. Vicmira's smile was one of those, so she did put it on and, indeed, knelt down to pluck a blue winter rose growing near the winding path. There's so many of them. How come?

The spring had barely started; Vicmira could still feel winter's cold kiss everywhere on her skin, the same way she could taste it in the air. And yet, everything here seemed so very much... alive? Of course it does, she reminded herself, Don't fall for their tricks.

It all came down to sweet scents and foul things, in the end. All divine gifts were poisoned.

Vicmira held onto the belief even as she entered what had to be the ballroom, along with everyone else. It was... huge. Huger than most houses she'd been in, with pearly white columns somehow reaching further than an eye could see, and the floor, despite all logic, covered in flowers. The music was light, the melody of it swirling lazily in the air; many couples were dancing already, while others sat behind tables heavy with food. Others still were watching the newcomers unabashedly, half a million questions in their eyes.

'What is it? New toys?'

'I wonder, how long will these ones last?'

'Anyone... interesting, this time around?'

It sent a shiver down Vicmira's spine. This was real; it truly was happening. Her golden chance. All of those people? They really were gods. Gods, like the ones from the stories her mother had told her by the hearth until her mouth was dry and her eyelids heavy. Their hands had shaped the world, nobody else's. She might not have realized it fully before then, but now she did, and--

"Welcome, sweet ones!" Gahnaisto's voice always carried itself well - it had that rich timbre to it - but magic must have helped him here, because, despite him standing on the stage, Vicmira could hear him as well as if he was whispering into her ear.

Ugh! Not a pleasant mental image.

"Welcome to your true home. Drink, eat, and be merry -- whatever your heart desires tonight, it shall be yours. Trials may await you tomorrow and all the days after that, but," he showed a row of perfect teeth, "today is today, isn't it? The only rule is to enjoy yourself... and to bring joy to others, as well as you can. After all, what is a joy that isn't shared?"

More unpleasant mental images. Or, well, not necessarily unpleasant, but in this context? They very much were. The rose suddenly felt like a red-hot brand pushed into her hand, and Vicmira wanted nothing more than to throw it away. That actually getting rid of it was her one fear in this situation was, too, one of life's cruel jokes.

"Go and mingle," Gahnaisto finished, "and choose your companion well."

Ah, there it went. Of course he had to mention it!

Breathe, Vicmira reminded herself, It won't be so bad, just... choose someone who looks disgusted with your very existence. From what she understood, the gods couldn't very well refuse; it wasn't proper, and proper was the name of the game here. If she could help it, she also wouldn't tie herself to a man for a night, but--

Drat!

Perhaps she should have paid more attention. No, she definitely should have; had Vicmira not been so absorbed by her own thoughts, she hardly would have collided with the red-haired woman, as if she'd somehow forgotten that that wasn't how walking worked. "My apologies, lady," Vicmira batted her eyelashes. "I wonder, wherever did I keep my eyes?" That might have been the end of it, but then the voice in the back of her head asked: 'And why the hell not?'

And, indeed -- why not? Whoever the woman was, she certainly looked unfriendly enough. Cold. Unapproachable.

So, Vicmira curved up her lips in a cheeky little smile, "No, don't answer that. I think it might have been your beauty."

With that, she held out the rose -- half a wish and half a challenge.

 

[Solivagante]

It had been several days already since the spring equinox, when Hvitr had returned to her frozen summer dreams and Solara, fierce in her ascendancy, reclaimed rule over the court. Several days, and Kalathra's head still throbbed as if she were hungover. Hjarn had explained it once as a throttling of power; all godly power Hvitr's children possessed came through the goddess, and when she withdrew into sleep in the summer, they in turn were reduced. It took time to adjust, and inevitably Gahnaisto's Right of Spring occurred before they recovered.

Kalathra was willing to bet he knew and did that intentionally. The timing of the Right, after Hvitr's retreat, was clearly calculated to appeal to Solara's self-importance; ensuring that none of her sister's ascended gods were at their best would be the perfect little flourish. And so she strove not to give him - them the satisfaction. For feasts beyond counting, she attended with her head high and her attire immaculate, making polite conversation, trying to avoid both the host's advances and Solara's golden gaze.

It was considered declasse to wear the same dress twice, especially to an event hosted by one of the greater gods, so this year's gown was cut in a new style but kept what Kalathra thought of as her colors: the pine green and bare-branch brown of a winter forest, with details embroidered in silvery white. The high neckline was perhaps an unusual choice for this banquet, but Kalathra had never hidden her disinterest in romantic entanglements. She had seen the inevitable chaotic outcome of liasons between gods, and had no inclination to subject herself to it. Far better to serve the court as an Arbiter than to stand before it and try to plead her own case.

She arrived precisely on time, neither eager nor fashionably late, and made her greetings to Gahnaisto and her obeisance to Solara and Leir as swift and perfunctory as she dared. Gahnaisto, ever hunting what he hadn't yet conquered, reached out to twirl one of the loose strands of her hair around his finger; Kalathra remained stock-still until he withdrew, and decided that next year she would wear it all up, perhaps in a jeweled net, fashion be damned. But Solara barely glanced at her, so all in all, it could have been worse.

A glass of mead helped her head, a little, or at least masked it. She circulated through the room, more at ease as she made idle chatter with other minor gods. The conversations inevitably turned to the crop of candidates, speculating groundlessly about what they might have to offer, with plenty of lewd insinuation. Kalathra sipped her mead and listened more than she spoke, and let her eyes wander in search of promising canapes.

When the ballroom doors opened with a groan - theatrical effect, rather than mechanical flaw, to ensure that all eyes were on Gahnaisto's current crop of mortals - she turned with the rest to watch them enter. Men, women, and neither of the above, dressed in every color under the sun, cheeks flushed and eyes wide and dazzled as they took in their first taste of the Celestial Court's true grandeur. Each of them carried a flower from Gahnaisto's garden, and each mortal looked, themselves, like flowers ready to be plucked. Foolish things, they'd probably never given a thought to what happened to the flower after it's picked.

As Gahnaisto finished his welcome, Kalathra downed the last of her mead and cast about for a refill. She had just located the nearest table and made her farewells to her conversation partners when someone actually ran into her. She didn't stumble - goddesses didn't - but took a half-step back and lifted her chin, looking down her nose at the girl who had so rudely collided with her.

It was one of the new flowers, of course; one of the few people in the ballroom with mortal clumsiness. Blonde, delicate, with long-lashed blue eyes; like so many of Gahnaisto's candidates, she had the look of someone who was simply too pretty to hear the word 'no'. And then she held out a winter rose, and Kalathra knew the look was no lie. Surely only the most thoughtless of mortals would offer their flower to one of Hvitr's children, and even if this girl didn't know which of them Kalathra was, the frost-white tips of her hair marked her as a god of winter.

But she couldn't refuse now that the offer had been made.

"Well, aren't you... eager," she remarked, her tone flat on the last word. "I suppose such audacity should be rewarded." And she plucked the rose from the mortal's fingers, cupping its blossom in her hand as she might hold a full-bellied wine glass. Behind her, one of the gods she'd been speaking to murmured something too quietly for her to catch.

"So, my impetuous companion of the evening - what should I call you?"

 

[.quietus]

The red-headed goddess's condemnation wasn't really spoken, though it also wasn't subtle. Not in the slightest. Vicmira could sense it more than she could hear it - her ear ever so finely attuned to pick up on the words behind the words - but that hardly lessened the impact. A slap was still a slap, even if the hand that had dealt it happened to be wrapped in a satin glove.

Oh, she could imagine what she truly wanted to say.

Her vocabulary would likely be a bit more... colorful, with words like 'harlot' replacing the much softer 'eager,' and perhaps a few adjectives such as 'wanton' added in for good measure.

In a way, that was all going according to the plan. Vicmira did not need to spend the evening in the presence of someone who would actually nurse the hopes of getting her in their bed, or wherever else they might desire to have her. The goddess was, indeed, as cold as the frost in her hair indicated. Even the way she talked was detached, as if her being there was some big favor that she was doing to everyone else at her own expense. Marked by winter, Vicmira thought, her mind automatically going back to the old poem she'd heard a hundred, perhaps a thousand times, Heart full of snow.

So, this was all well and good.

Only one question remained, then -- why did it make her so damn angry?

Oh, right. It wasn't fair.

You know I actually have to give it to someone, right?

Nevermind that she had willingly gone to Gahnaisto's temple, knowing full well what such a thing would entail. Gahnaisto wasn't famous for purity, of all things, and it wasn't expected of his candidates to have a lot of restraint, either. Likely, she should have been happy to come across like that; it only meant her cover was good. Convincing enough.

But, unfortunately for Vicmira, feelings rarely listened to what they should be. Instead, they simply were.

"Eager?" she tilted her head aside, the smile still playing on her lips, "And now audacity, too. Those are some strong words. Is knowing what you want really such a bad thing, my lady?"

My lady, not just because it rolled off her tongue more pleasantly, but also because it allowed Vicmira to claim her in her own way. Not that she truly wished to do that - she'd rather cut her right arm off - though it did seem to annoy the goddess, which was what counted here.

Petty? Her? Oh, never.

"You may call me however you like," she offered her hand to the other woman, "though if it is my name you're asking for, it's Vicmira." It wasn't just a name, either. More than that, it was her battlecry; the war banner she displayed proudly, without any of the fools noticing.

Their loss.

And, of course, because she was Vicmira, and Vicmira had never known how to be reasonable about a single thing in her entire life, she decided to double down: "How about yourself, my lady? What is the name you'd like me to whisper in your ear?"

She could swear she heard Prim gasp somewhere in the background, but that didn't matter. It was about the principle, now.

 

[Solivagante]

Ah, so the little flower had a thorn or too. Good for her, Kalathra supposed; maybe she would be the one to survive, this time. But probably not. She was still too delicate, too frivolous, to understand what she was getting into, and Gahnaisto was not gentle with his toys.

"There is nothing wrong with knowing what you want, petal," she agreed, a humorless smile on her lips. "But you are not in the mortal world anymore. Knowing yourself is one thing; displaying your desires plainly is another."

Was she giving the girl advice? Well, perhaps. It might give her more of a fighting chance, if she had the sense to take it.

The mortal gave her name as Vicmira, but it seemed far too strong for her. Besides, she'd forced Kalathra into the night's pantomime; while she might not be able to refuse, she could at least ensure the experience was unenjoyable for both of them.

She took the offered hand and, as seemed to be expected, brought it to her lips - not close enough to touch in a kiss, but enough to breathe frost over Vicmira's skin, a cold tendril of winter in the blossom-scented hall. It was as much a performance for the gods around them as it was intended to make the mortal woman uncomfortable; from a distance, it might indeed look like an amorous gesture.

"I am Kalathra of the frost, little petal." Flexing her power even a little made something in her skull twinge, and she wished again for another glass of mead. "One of Hvitr's children and the touch which withers crops on the vine." She spun the rose between her fingers and let more frost creep up the stem and over the petals, before tucking the flower behind her ear.

And I hope you regret your choice to solicit me, even though it's too late for either of us now, she thought.

 

[.quietus]

Not in the mortal world anymore? That remark got Vicmira to wonder, however briefly, just how long it had been since the goddess's humanity had been severed from her. A hundred years? A thousand? Because nobody who knew what life down there really looked like thought that being this transparent was a good idea. That was why she wasn't. Not here, and not there. Of course, the goddess was a goddess, which likely meant she thought mortals had never heard of little something called 'common sense,' and needed the kind of advice that, essentially, boiled down to 'don't be an idiot.'

Truly, I bow down before your divine wisdom. That never would have occurred to my foolishly human self!

Vicmira would have given much and more to throw those exact words into her companion's face, but, fortunately for the redhead, her cover wasn't on the list of things she was willing to give up. So, she wrapped a strand of blonde hair around her finger, "Doesn't it depend on what you want? Surely the Court is not so cruel that sympathies, of all things, should be hidden. There is nothing wrong with affection."

The not-quite-kiss sent a shiver down her spine, though, and, for a second, there was the temptation to recoil from her touch; to retreat to that what was known and safe, neither of which could be used to describe the woman standing before her.

The temptation, of course, came and went.

Whatever security that could be found here would be an illusion, anyway; among the wolves, a lamb could never be truly safe.

As always, courage would serve her much better. Keeping that thought close to her heart, Vicmira curtsied, "Lady Kalathra, then? A pleasure to meet you." And then, because she couldn't quite resist: "Perhaps we shall find out together that your touch can accomplish much more than that."

Alright, maybe being one of Gahnaisto's candidates did have certain advantages to it; being able to push the goddess's buttons in such a way without causing a minor scandal was well worth the embarrassment. I wonder, could I possibly wipe that smug look off her face?

Hm.

A woman wiser than Vicmira would have looked at the plan, judged it to be an unnecessary risk, and let go of it. Vicmira, of course, couldn't be much wiser than Vicmira -- which meant that it became her heart's greatest desire instead.

"Sweet lady," she gave another bright smile, "You simply must dance with me tonight." Yes, because gods were famous for enjoying being ordered around. Believe it or not, but Vicmira - occasionally - knew what she was doing. "Whatever price should I pay to earn that privilege?"

 

[Solivagante]

Nothing wrong with affection? Oh, if only that were true. This mortal's confident naivete was starting to grate on Kalathra's nerves, and the worst part was that for all her foolishness, the girl held a surprising amount of power in this moment. She wouldn't have with most other gods, who would have taken what she offered and perhaps more, but paradoxically the fact that Kalathra didn't want her gave Vicmira the upper hand in Gahnaisto's little game.

Very well. She had been outmaneuvered in the opening skirmish, but that didn't mean she would lose the war. If Vicmira wanted a goddess's attention, she would get it. And perhaps she would learn something of the fire she was playing with, here in the Celestial Court.

"The price of a dance?" Kalathra hummed in the back of her throat. "Oh, nothing much. Let us simply say that you, little petal, will owe me a favor, to call on when I so choose."

Elsewhere in the room, one song was drawing to a close, and the timing was too good to second-guess her choice. Kalathra caught the mortal's wrist, holding it in a loose grip which was nonetheless backed by inhuman strength, and drew her with a quick stride to the dance floor, joining an assortment of other pairs - gods, or gods with Gahnaisto's mortals, readying for the start of the next melody. She caught a few expressions of surprise as they passed, and one other dancer raised his eyebrows in naked shock as Kalathra pulled her mortal companion into an open space amidst the other dancers. She assumed the leading position, shifting her grip from Vicmira's wrist to a more equal clasp of hands, placing her other hand on the woman's upper back.

There were some in the Court who would ask questions, she knew. Some who wouldn't ask, but would only assume. It was not unheard of for a god to abstain from romantic or sexual entanglements, but it was unusual; even Skarpr's children had their own dalliances, often to their divine parent's disapproval. For those who knew Kalathra's reputation, this public display could be interesting gossip - or a potential lever to use for their own gain. And that might be to her advantage, since of course there was no leverage to be had.

Letting a little frost trickle into her fingertips, Kalathra leaned in to murmur into the human's ear.

"Tell me, petal. How long have you dreamed of this moment?"

 

[.quietus]

A favor. A favor, owed to a goddess. That definitely should have unnerved her much more than it had, though, to be fair, Vicmira didn't think that worrying over a promise that she had no intention of keeping was a productive use of her time.

What?

Honor was a nice thing to have, but only when you could afford it. And since the real price here would be something very close to 'her life?' No, the blonde didn't at all bother to feel guilty about not playing by the rules.

"Hm?" Vicmira arched an eyebrow, as if this was nothing but a fun little game to her. "Interesting. I do hope, Lady Kalathra, that you are going to pick something... just as interesting." Mostly, she hoped to never see the woman again, but she also knew she wasn't going to be that lucky. All things considered, the Celestial Court was small. Being this obnoxious did raise the chances of Kalathra avoiding her like the plague in the future, though, which honestly was the next best thing. "After all," Vicmira added with a wink, "there is nothing more tragic than an opportunity wasted."

Kalathra grabbing her like that, with no warning and no time for her to get used to the touch, was pretty close, though. What are you...? Oh. Yeah, it was actually fairly obvious what it was that she was doing. Her heart skipped a beat, and it did so for all the logical, acceptable reasons; reasons like alarm, shock, or - even better - anger, that a goddess dared to treat her like one might a marionette.

Nothing to do with excitement, Vicmira was sure. She didn't do that. Not anymore.

Kalathra's closeness was as warm as it was cold, and she couldn't help but think of the endless winter nights; of the fire crackling in the hearth; of the way snow sometimes burned your hands, if you played in it without gloves. It was... overwhelming, in ways both bad and good. Overwhelming enough for her to consider, likely for the first time in forever, that this may not have been the brightest idea she'd ever had, but, again -- she was Vicmira. There was no way she would turn back now. "For about three heartbeats," the blonde murmured, quick on her feet, "ever since our eyes met."

Not what Kalathra was asking about, but that also wasn't the point.

As always, the show was the point. The spectacle. Allowing her to see any kind of weakness would be like letting wolves smell blood, and that had never worked out for anyone.

"How much did you want this, my lady?" The tempo of the music grew both more intense and frenzied, syncing oddly with the chaos of her thoughts. "Do you still remember what it was like to be mortal?" And then, because she'd always been much bolder than advised: "Did it feel good, to leave it all behind?"

 

[Solivagante]

The mortal's answer was interesting - not for what she said but for what she hadn't. She'd dodged Kalathra's question quite nimbly, and it was a smooth line - but still a deflection. If she'd had time, Kalathra would have followed up on that line of inquiry, but as the music began and they fell into the pattern of the dance, Vicmira got in the next salvo.

Kalathra was not much of a dancer, but she knew the steps well enough that she never missed a beat, even as the woman's pointed questions struck home. If her breath stuttered a little at how much did you want this, hopefully Vicmira would attribute it to the dancing.

Somehow, she conjured up a low chuckle, raising one eyebrow. "Ah, petal, Lady Hvitr does not collect supplicants." A pause as she spun Vicmira out, and then drew her back in. "I suppose I would say I wanted godhood like breathing, because they were one and the same." It was an incomplete truth, but as much as the mortal would elicit from her, and probably still far more than any of Gahnaisto's candidates could understand. He tended to attract humans whose motivations were pure desire, of one form or another.

"Which answer were you hoping for?" she asked, keeping her eyes fixed on Vicmira's. "Are you hoping to be free of your previous life, or to carry it with you?"

 

[.quietus]

Necessity, then? Death or godhood? That might have softened Vicmira's heart somewhat - and it likely would have - had she not decided to hate Kalathra already. It didn't really matter what the woman had been once, the blonde told herself. The butterfly didn't remember its days as a caterpillar with fondness, and neither did gods have mercy for mortals just because they, too, had once feared death.

Not like any of this worked.

Why should she waste her compassion on someone who thought her a harlot, anyway? Oh, right. She very much shouldn't.

"Lady Hvítr does not?" Vicmira raised an eyebrow, "But, clearly, she must desire children." Or perhaps companions - the same way Gahnaisto did - though the goddess didn't really strike her as the type. Hvítr didn't strike her as much of anything, but it was also difficult to imagine her granting immortality to people based on how much she wanted them in her bed. For that, she seemed too... ethereal. Not too good, mind you, but simply too uninterested in pleasures of the flesh. How did you catch her attention, snowflake?

A good question, though one that would not be voiced. Kalathra was leading the dance and seemed eager enough to lead the conversation as well, likely not comfortable with all the prying.

How sad, because Vicmira loved to pry.

"Must I have been hoping for anything?" the blonde giggled. "Perhaps I was just trying to get to know you." She was also very aware that this was a balancing game, though; give something up in order to receive something else, and never something for nothing. If she wanted to get Kalathra to talk, then Vicmira, herself, had to give her something more substantial than just playing coy.

A shard of truth, if not the entire gem.

"If I were to leave everything behind," she began, her voice a touch softer, "then what would that even make me? The person I have always dreamed of being, or perhaps what Lord Gahnaisto wants me to be?" More terrible mental images. It took all of her self-control not to cringe right then, and Vicmira was rightfully proud of herself for pulling it off. "We are shaped by our pasts, Lady Kalathra. You may not be the person you once were, but I'm sure that, if you tried hard enough, you could still find the traces of her within you somewhere."

The next spin brought them closer, and Vicmira found herself strangely breathless as she stared into the goddess's brown eyes. "What do you think, though? Do we shape ourselves, or are we shaped?"

 

[Solivagante]

Another deflection, another non-answer. This one was accompanied by a giggle but, despite the laugh and the flirtatious response, Kalathra was beginning to think this conversation was all more deliberate than it had first seemed. Perhaps Vicmira was more than the fool she at first seemed to be.

But if she is, what is she doing in Gahnaisto's entourage?

The woman's next words furthered her wondering, and as she caught Vicmira in a closer hold at the end of the next spin, Kalathra found herself frowning a little, a crease forming between her brows. She had intended this dance to be a seduction of sorts, but found herself stymied by Vicmira's responses, distracted from her intent by the questions thrown at her.

"I think the answer cannot be so simple," she replied, slowly. The next steps of the dance kept them closer, and gave Kalathra time to consider her words. "It is neither one nor the other, but both. The world shapes you, but you may decide what to make with what you have been given. Including seeking to become a god - giving yourself over to a greater power to be shaped, in order to become something you desire."

It was a long speech in the middle of a dance, and as they separated again Kalathra was frustrated at herself for giving it. What am I achieving with all this? Other than the pretense of dalliance, which could perhaps be to her advantage later, there was little for her to gain. And her head was throbbing again; she never had gotten that second glass of mead.

The dance brought them back together, and Kalathra tried to smooth out her expression as best she could.

"What is it that you desire, little petal, that brought you here?" She doubted she would get a straight answer, much less a useful one, but perhaps there was something to be gleaned.

 

[.quietus]

It never is simple, is it? Because that would have been far too beautiful, and Vicmira had learned long ago that she couldn't have beautiful things in her life. Even asking Kalathra such a question - as if it could actually be answered! - was a fool's errand, but this wasn't about uncovering the grand truths of the universe as they glided across the stage, their skirts swishing around them.

No, this was about... well, a lot of other things. About learning how her mind worked, for instance. About gleaning just how willing she was to play her little games. About annoying her, still, because Vicmira had her goddamn priorities in order and this was always on the forefront.

So far, Kalathra didn't much remind her of winter. Sure, the coldness was very much there -- except that you also only had to light a small fire for her to latch onto that warmth, and bloom into something else altogether. What that something was exactly, Vicmira couldn't tell; she just knew that winter gods weren't famous for passion, of all things. Frozen in their own little worlds, most were as aloof as the ice they left in their wake. Most, she was sure, wouldn't speak with her like that. You're an interesting one, aren't you?

Perhaps she could get her to talk; to talk for real, and share something that could be used later.

"What is it that I desire?" Vicmira repeated. "A lot of things, my lady." Things you couldn't even imagine. She could easily whisper more sweet nothings into her ear - something about seeing her fair face in her dreams and it leading her there - but she didn't take the opportunity. Not when she could pursue other, more... interesting angles. "Though I suppose some of it goes back to what you've just spoken about. To shaping, and being shaped. See, Lady Kalathra, I don't think it was a bad answer, but," and Vicmira grasped her hand a little tighter at that, as if to emphasize the following words, "it was also incomplete."

Of course it was, given the complexity of the issue. "In between all the shaping that happens to us, I believe that we, also, end up shaping the world. It's a bit like..." she bit her lip, struggling with the right comparison, "...Walking in the snow. You leave behind footprints, whether you want to or not, and they reflect who you are. So then if you, yourself, change, doesn't it mean the world also needs to respond to those changes?"

The smile on her lips grew a bit more genuine, not because she found any of it funny but because dancing around the truth was a peculiar sort of thrill. "And that's part of what I want, Lady Kalathra. To see how I can change things, if I'm just a little different than what I used to be."

To see how many of you I can take down.

"Have you changed anything, since you took up your mantle?"

 

[Solivagante]

As it turned out, Vicmira's answer was informative - in the sheer audacity of it. That had been one of the first things Kalathra had thought of her, and the woman was proving that initial judgement correct. What kind of mortal a goddess that her answer to a question was 'incomplete'?

But the voice in the back of her mind whispering how dare she didn't sound like Kalathra, or Hvitr or even Skarpr. She resolutely did not glance towards the dais where Solara sat, keeping her focus on the woman in front of her.

"So, you seek to ascend to shape the world? A bold ambition indeed." Kalathra's lips curled in an answering smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "But I am afraid you may be disappointed, blossom. Gods such as you hope to become do not make changes to the order of things. That is the province of those greater." She nodded her head in the direction of the dais where Gahnaisto, Solara, and Leir overlooked the room, holding court and commanding attention effortlessly.

"If you should win the privilege of ascension, you too will be tasked with maintaining a part of the balance."

The music was drawing to a close as they twirled one last time, and then Kalathra stepped back and swept into a bow over Vicmira's hand, still held in hers. Again, she feigned a kiss without quite touching the other woman, and then straightened as the last notes fully faded.

"I believe I find myself quite parched. Would you join me for a drink, petal?"

 

[.quietus]

Hm. Was it just her, or did the response seem... a bit more passionate than it had any right to be? If it was just a theoretical debate, divorced from any real ramifications. A mere way to pass the time. It never really was, though; Vicmira knew better than most people that the personal had a way of bleeding through, in the same way that the sun always shone through the clouds in the end. Does it bother you, snowflake? That this power is not yours to wield? Either that, or Kalathra hated the idea of a change so much that she would rather bring herself down before even considering it. Which is it?

Difficult to tell. So difficult it was, indeed, that Vicmira didn't really bother with it. Instead, she took that little 'maybe' and hid it in the folds of her mind, as if it was a precious flower to be dried. What she would do with it, she couldn't quite tell; only that it could be important, and that it could lead to... something. These things often did.

"Maybe I'll be disappointed," the blonde all but purred, "though maybe it is even truer to say that you are simply jaded, Lady Kalathra. Your eyes do not see the future, do they?" None of them did. Vicmira was all but convinced of that, given that none - not even Egir - had spotted the warning signs. "So then, you can not know what it will bring. Even the smallest grain of sand," stuck in an otherwise well-oiled machine, "can change the course of history."

Just wait and see, snowflake. Vicmira didn't add that, even if she would have loved to. The not-kiss didn't faze her anymore, and the offer of mead actually annoyed her more than anything else, but, given that Gahnaisto's candidates didn't concern themselves with a little something called 'moderation,' she had to pretend otherwise.

"How could I possibly refuse, Lady Kalathra?" A good question. There were few things Vicmira desired less than the drunken haze, though she also knew she wasn't getting out of this completely sober. Not how any of this worked. Ever hungry for revenge, the blonde was already putting together a plan to make Kalathra regret it all -- and, indeed, something did come to her mind.

Was it stupid? Yes. Did that only serve to encourage her? Also, yes.

That was why, when they reached the table, Vicmira grabbed her own glass without a hint of hesitation. The liquid within almost glowed; you could easily mistake it for spun gold. "Such a boring cup for such a fun drink," she batted her eyelashes, "Perhaps you'd like to try and taste it from my lips, Lady Kalathra?"

Someone behind her almost choked at those words, but Vicmira paid them no mind.

 

[Solivagante]

The longer she spent in Vicmira's company, the more Kalathra's initial aggrieved frustration with the woman grew and developed into outright dislike. Being called 'jaded' by a mortal who had a fraction of her years and knowledge - not to mention her experiences - was particularly galling; what right did Vicmira have to pass such a judgement? And what in the world could she possibly be trying to gain by saying something so blunt to a goddess whose companionship she had solicited?

They walked together to the nearest table of drinks and Kalathra tossed back her first glass of mead in one go, closing her eyes as its heat slid down her throat and hoping it would push her headache back down once more. She jerked her chin back down at Vicmira's saucy invitation, eyebrows raised.

Yes, because what I find really improves honeyed mead is human spittle, she very nearly said. Kalathra was still composing a slightly less sarcastic response when a high-pitched voice pierced the conversation.

"Kally, darling!"

She turned, but already knew who she would see - Vatrekka, one of Egir's ascended, a wide smile on her round face, approaching with a quick gliding step. She was dressed in a gown made of layers upon layers of fabric in many shades of blue, each layer slightly translucent but overlapping to provide at least a modicum of modesty. Her long blue-black hair was mostly loose, rippling like silk as she moved. She reached them with a swish of elaborate skirts and leaned in to kiss Kalathra on the cheek.

"Hello, Lady Vatrekka," she said, coolly, though the river goddess didn't seem to mind. She looped her arm through Kalathra's in a casually possessive manner and turned her gaze - black as the depths of a swift current - to Vicmira.

"And who is this little mortal morsel? Someone who finally caught your eye, my dear advocate?" Vatrekka reached out with her free hand and ran her fingers along Vicmira's jaw, studying her face with lips pursed.

There was at least one part of this situation which had protocol, and Kalathra fell back on it.

"Lady Vatrekka, may I introduce Vicmira, a candidate for ascension under Lord Gahnaisto. Vicmira, Lady Vatrekka is one of Blessed Egir's children, goddess of the river and lake that share her name." If the mortal knew her geography, that would be warning enough; the Vatrekka River had long been known for its drownings. The goddess considered it good sport.

At least, since Vicmira had already promised herself to Kalathra for the evening, Vatrekka was less likely to toy with her. Annoying and unpleasant as Kalathra was finding Vicmira to be, she didn't actually want to see the woman harmed. Just, perhaps, quelled a little.

 

[.quietus]

It wasn't exactly hard to read Kalathra's expression. What the goddess was thinking likely amounted to some variation of 'go to hell,' and, being her usual charming self, Vicmira found that supremely satisfying. Yes, she thought, give me some of that delicious anger, snowflake. Show me just how low you'll sink. Will you let me act however I please, just because Gahnaisto's little rules say so?

And no, the blonde wasn't at all playing with fire here. There always was a purpose to every action of hers, even if she didn't know it at the time. The trick was in paying attention; in using the opportunities that did arise, sooner or later, rather than letting them go to waste.

Some things were also just plain funny, though. Vicmira wasn't about to pretend that she didn't indulge from time to time, if only to keep her sanity intact. Whether this was one of those situations was... something she didn't really know, but her instincts told her she would find out soon.

The outburst Vicmira braced herself for didn't really happen, though, for whatever Kalathra was about to say got interrupted by the arrival of a new face. Kally? Alright. Alright, this could actually be better than anything she could feasibly orchestrate, if only because her power was limited in its scope. She was a mere mortal, armed just with her own audacity; the other goddess was... well, a goddess, and she apparently knew Kalathra.

A spicy combination. A combination this spicy could, in fact, easily make her choke, but it wasn't like that had ever stopped Vicmira before.

"Kally?" she raised her eyebrow, all innocent, "Oh, but that is just so lovely, Lady Kalathra. It fits you that much better than your full name! I think it's the... softness, that really does it for me." As if winter could be soft. As if it could be gentle. People said that Hvítr was, but hers was the gentleness of inaction, only brought about by circumstance. "Can I call you Kally?"

Of course, she also listened to the introduction, and her ears weren't deaf to the warning. Vatrekka, the bride of the dead. It was said that those that had drowned in her river were all married to the goddess now, but, as Vicmira stared into her empty, bottomless eyes, she rather hoped that they were not.

Simply being dead sounded like less of a hassle.

"An honor to meet you, Lady Vatrekka," she curtsied, her manners ever polished, "I know your river better than most. My mother used to send me to it, to gather the herbs that only grow there." That fear had gripped her heart every time she'd been forced to do so was, of course, entirely besides the point. Not like Vatrekka would care. "But, whatever did you call my Lady Kalathra?" she tilted her head aside. "An advocate?"

Swiftly, Vicmira turned back to the red-headed goddess, "You haven't mentioned you were this important, Kally."

 

[Solivagante]

The moment Vicmira repeated Vatrekka's unwelcome nickname in that simpering, saccharine voice, Kalathra's resolve to protect her from the river goddess started to crumble. True, Vatrekka was the source of the problem, but at least it had previously also ended with her, and one person calling her 'Kally' was at least better than there being two of them. She set her jaw to keep her expression neutral, drawing in a long breath through her nose and releasing it slowly. Visible emotion was dangerous, at least for Hvitr's children, known for their impassivity and (presumed) impartiality. Reacting strongly could be taken as a crack in the ice, a vulnerability to be exploited.

Vatrekka, at least, wasn't paying attention to Kalathra's reaction. Vicmira's mention of gathering herbs at her river had captured the other goddess's attention, and she was studying the woman with an unblinking, hungry focus. Kalathra used the momentary distraction to scoop up another glass of mead from the table next to them, though this one she sipped rather than draining.

"It would have meant nothing if I had told you," she pointed out, answering Vicmira's questioning tone. "You'll learn enough about the way the Celestial Court works in time, if you are chosen to ascend. No need for you to bother your head over it before then, petal." Her voice was coolly dismissive, her meaning unmistakable. You don't matter enough to be told such things.

Vatrekka extricated her arm from Kalathra's to circle Vicmira, trailing her fingers over the mortal's shoulders and the back of her neck. "Oh, come now, darling. Surely your little flower deserves more than that." She leaned in, lips close to Vicmira's ear. "After all, despite flirting with my river - with me - for years, she chose you to receive her rose. That sort of... dedication should be rewarded." Hovering over Vicmira's shoulder, her black eyes were fixed on Kalathra's, and they held none of the teasing humor she'd had just moments before.

Shit, Kalathra thought. Now it wasn't just idle amusement; Vatrekka thought Kalathra had taken something from her. Not that any of them could do anything to change that fact tonight, without flouting Lord Gahnaisto, but there was a cold glitter in Vatrekka's gaze which said she would remember.

"I suppose," Kalathra said, tilting her head to one side in a sort of acknowledgement of the other goddess's words. "Very well. It is an advocate's job to assist Lady Skarpr in the administration of disputes between gods. If two gods are in conflict, an advocate is assigned to each to argue their case, based on the laws of the Celestial Court. Some time ago, I assisted Lady Vatrekka in settling a case in her favor." She shrugged, a self-effacing gesture as if she had not just carefully reminded Vatrekka of their previous cordiality, and took another sip of mead. "It is an important duty, but truthfully not one I thought a new candidate would find interesting."

 

[.quietus]

The story didn't really mean anything. It had only slipped past her lips because it was true, and Vicmira shared it out of a misplaced desire to say something, perhaps in an attempt to get a little bit closer to the river goddess. Wasn't that something that people just did?

And maybe that was the problem. Yes, it was something that people did, but not really gods -- and certainly not goddesses like Vatrekka, who saw the world as their playground and her as one of the dolls. As something hers. The confusion was written plainly across the woman's features, and, beneath the actual words, Vicmira could almost hear what she really wanted to say: 'How did this one dare to escape? It was my turn to play with her!'

The impotent rage could have been sort of funny had it not been for the faces of the dead, imprinted with such staggering clarity in her mind. Her friend Eydis, with her lips blue from the cold; Grethe's face, so decayed they could only tell it was her because she'd been wearing her mom's bracelet; Leif's mouth forever frozen in terror, as if the last thing he'd seen had been so horrible that he had had to scream despite the water. All of those - and many more - claimed by her. By that smiling monster. It was one of those things Vicmira would have preferred not to remember at all, which was, of course, why the memories were so detailed instead.

Those were also why Kalathra's - Kally's? - rebuke didn't sting as much. You could only feel so many emotions at once, and the overwhelming sense of 'you fucked up, dumbass' overrode whatever pride Vicmira might have had. "A rose is just that, Lady Vatrekka," she heard herself say, with lips that didn't entirely feel hers, "a night's favor. Who knows what the future will bring?"

In hindsight, perhaps feeding into that obsession wasn't her brightest idea. Something within her - and it was a very prominent part - wanted to stay as far away from the goddess as physically possible, but she also knew that putting distance between yourself and your target did the opposite of getting them killed. And wasn't that why she was here? To create openings, and drive the blade between their ribs when they thought themselves safe?

Thankfully, Kalathra provided something else to focus on.

"Oh, but that does sound interesting," Vicmira batted her eyelashes. "I have to say, though -- I did not think gods and goddesses had enough disputes between them that they would even need advocates." A lie, because she had believed that from the beginning. Most of them were very obviously morons, and morons thrived on drama. "What was the case about, if you don't mind me asking?"

It wouldn't hurt to find out just what had made Vatrekka so angry that she'd taken it to the court. Whatever it had been, perhaps it could still be used to manipulate her or others now, if she used that knowledge cleverly enough.

What was it that they said about past? That its hands reached far?

Vicmira imagined it went double for gods.

 

[Solivagante]

Mortal foolishness would never cease to astound. Vicmira couldn't have seen Vatrekka's expression, nor the hungry light in her eyes at the idea of some future liaison between them. Kalathra pursed her lips, an ambiguous expression of disapproval which could have been about the human's apparent 'disloyalty'.

The turn towards her work as an advocate was more than welcome; at the very least, it would allow Kalathra to remind the older goddess that she was no enemy, and certainly not responsible for Vicmira's choice.

"It was something of a property dispute," she said, choosing her words carefully. "Lord Jarnleikr attempted to take tribute which was made by mortals to Lady Vatrekka. He claimed a debt which the court found invalid. Hardly the stuff of poems."

Vatrekka completed her circle around Vicmira at last, trailing one hand absently down the mortal woman's arm as she returned to stand near - though not touching - Kalathra again. She pouted dramatically, placing one hand on her hip.

"It was a terrible annoyance for a time. And all that fuss over one measly human! If Jarnleikr wanted him that badly, he should have convinced the boy to ascend." She smiled, a fierce expression which showed the sharp points of her canines. "And he certainly should have known better than to lay claim to my offerings."

Another, longer draw of mead gave Kalathra a few moments of reprieve, time to let her feeling of disgust pass and keep it from showing on her face. Cases among the gods were generally either banal or ugly, and this had fallen in the latter category. Some of Vatrekka's cruelty to humanity was to be expected, a function of her godly role; the world was not always gentle to its creatures, after all. But the spite with which she pursued certain mortals, the glee she took in death, seemed to Kalathra to go beyond that natural sphere. In the court of the gods, however, demanding accountability was the far worse crime.

Not that Jarnleikr wanted it out of any great sense of justice, she thought. If anything, the mortal's death had been an opportunity, and the tribute - fine as it had been, with gold jewelry and intricate stone carvings - merely a stand-in for the power to be won or lost by, ultimately, Hamarr and Egir themselves.

"It was my honor to serve Lady Skarpr and Lady Vatrekka," Kalathra said, her steady voice betraying none of her thoughts. "And to aid in the administration of justice, but surely on this lovely evening there are better things to speak of than old arguments." She glanced out at the dance floor, but found no answers in the swirling figures, and returned her gaze to Vicmira instead. Very well then; you may as well serve as our next topic.

"We have spoken of your reasons for ascension, blossom, but I fear I have been remiss in learning more about you - might you tell us more about your life before you arrived here, perhaps? After all, you and the other candidates are the stars of the evening."

 

[.quietus]

Property dispute. That was certainly one way to call it, though Vicmira herself would have gone for something like 'murder' instead.

All of a sudden, the blonde felt violently ill. Her heart was beating fast in her chest; her palms were covered with a thin sheet of sweat. She just... couldn't help herself. The two spoke so casually about such horrors, as if the life of that boy had meant about as much to them as the life of an ant meant to her -- with the main difference, of course, being that she didn't go out of her way to kill those.

Why are these monsters being worshiped, again?

Not like that was hard to figure out, though; when you were born with a blade pressed against your neck, you either learned to love the one who wielded it or you inevitably ended up doing something that got your throat slit. Was it really so surprising that most preferred the former? A coward's path it may have been, but that mattered little when all the other paths were littered with the corpses of those who had tried to take them.

Vatrekka, who had apparently never heard of respecting other people's personal space before, touched her again, and it took all of Vicmira's self-control for her not to spit in her fucking face. "Mmm," she hummed non-committally instead, "that truly must have been so very terrible for you, Lady Vatrekka." Yes, you. You, and not the boy that died in vain, because the consequences were annoying you, and the world clearly exists to keep you entertained.

"It was my assumption that casting humanity aside cures people of foolishness," oh, if only, "but apparently it had done nothing for Lord Jarnleikr if he thought such a thing was remotely acceptable."

Vicmira would remember that name, though. It wasn't that she thought this Jarnleikr was much better than Vatrekka herself, but if she knew anything at all about gods, it was that they never forgot a slight. The question wasn't if the grudge grew; it was how much, and whether he was willing to do anything about it.

With enough luck, she would have her first pawn soon.

Kalathra - Kally? - just had to ask another of her loaded questions again, though, and so that thought had to wait. "Oh, but are you certain that that interests you?" Vicmira batted her eyelashes. "To goddesses such as yourselves, the life of a mortal woman must seem so terribly boring. But," the blonde leaned a little bit closer, as if she was about to share a secret, "I was actually born to someone important." Not even a lie. "My mother had the blood of a prophet running in her veins -- one said to have been blessed by Lord Egir himself. Others always expected big things of our line, though I don't think any of them dared to predict I would end up here."

So easily Vicmira spoke, so surely, as if Gahnaisto had already picked her and was just humoring the others, though that was by design as well.

Sometimes, foolishness served as the best shield.

She took a breath to continue - to add more unnecessary details to the story - but it was Gahnaisto's voice that stole everyone's attention, once again magically enhanced to be heard by everyone in the hall. The god himself was, of course, standing on the stage; he had also changed into different clothes at some point, and apparently thought it a good idea to wear something that made him look like an exotic bird more than anything else.

What a clown.

"Enjoying the evenings, lords and ladies? What about you, my precious flowers? Oh, magic is indeed in the air and all can sense it! But," always a but to ruin her day, "what I'm thinking is, we need more of it. Which is why I've arranged a game for your amusement! A rose is nothing without its thorns, so you should all learn to use yours soon. And is there a better way to start than here, among friends?"

...Alright, why did it feel like she was staring into the eyes of her own executioner?

"I've hidden more roses somewhere in the estate," he waved his hand nonchalantly, "not enough for all of the candidates but a significant number. Go look for them, my flowers! Have fun! Just know that an award is waiting for the most successful seeker -- and... something special for the least fortunate one."

 

[Solivagante]

Kalathra knew better than to give thanks to Lady Hap for the successful change of topic - best not to tempt fate there - but it was a relief. Even Vicmira's coy half-answer would steer them away from the previous topic and into, hopefully, safer waters. Her self-aggrandizing response was, well, very godly of her, at least. Though overconfidence was rarely rewarded among Gahnaisto's candidates.

She needn't have worried about the conversational direction, however, as Gahnaisto reclaimed the attention of everyone in the hall in his usual dramatic fashion. Kalathra, who had been facing away from the dais to keep from catching the eye of any of the gods there, turned to face them; she took a step back, as well, to stand next to Vicmira. For the evening, at least, they were supposed to be tied together, after all.

In the past, she'd not paid much attention to the 'games' of the Rite of Spring, and dread settled in her stomach at the realization that she was now meant to participate. That was a precarious position - what degree of success would keep her from attention, either positive or negative? She certainly had no desire to find out what Gahnaisto's 'something special' might be, but neither did she want to receive any award from his hands.

As he finished his speech, Kalathra turned towards Vatrekka and sketched a shallow, deferent curtsey.

"Please excuse us, Lady Vatrekka, and thank you for the pleasure of your company."

The other goddess gave another pointed smile and inclined her head. "Not at all. I do hope you both... enjoy the evening's entertainment." That they were the entertainment at hand went without saying, and the glint in her eye said she would enjoy the show regardless of the outcome. With a nod and a swish of her skirt, she glided away, and Kalathra turned back towards Vicmira.

"It seems a quest awaits us, petal. You know Lord Gahnaisto's inner sanctum better than I; where shall we begin the search?"

 

[.quietus]

Entertainment. Right. That was what this was, rather than an immense pain in her ass. Good to know! Vicmira tried to keep that thought close to her heart while figuring out what kind of expression she was even supposed to make. Was it happy? Hopeful? Something in between? Both of those would have been easier to imitate had she remembered what those feelings were even like, but she hadn't gone into this thinking that things would be easy.

Far from that.

Some would even say she was more or less expecting to die, and those hypothetical people wouldn't necessarily be wrong -- even if Vicmira would think they should mind their fucking business instead of sticking their noses where they didn't belong.

"We will," the blonde said, in spite of everything she was actually thinking, "it's hard not to have fun in the middle of winning." Not that she thought they would win. She didn't really want to win, if only because Gahnaisto's inane favors were functionally indistinguishable from punishments. Having to listen to his self-congratulatory monologues was just slightly better than being made to cut your own ear off with a rusty blade, and if Vicmira had anything at all to say about this, she wouldn't actually have to endure either of those.

Of course, her not having a say in anything was kind of the main leitmotif here.

No, don't... don't let it get to you. This was still an opportunity, even if it was also shrouded in annoyance. Had Gahnaisto not gifted her with the excuse to investigate this place, without a shadow of suspicion as to what she was actually doing? Could she have asked for more?

Well, yes. I could have done without her judging me the entire time. Her, as in Kalathra. The snowflake that just wouldn't melt away. Vicmira offered her a smile that was as sweet as it was insincere, which was 'very.' She then grabbed the goddess's hands conspiratorially, already expecting that familiar chill, "Oh, I know just the place. Wouldn't you say, Lady Kalathra, that everything important happens in a bedroom? That is where we should start."

A shallow enough suggestion that it could have feasibly left a shallow woman's mouth, though there was, of course, more to it. There were few places that were less intimate than bedrooms -- and thus fewer places that their owners didn't want you to see.

"Let us go, then?" She tugged at Kalathra's hand, all but dragging her in the desired direction. Already, most other candidates had dispersed; either they were excited to find out just what Gahnaisto had in store for them, or they wished to avoid that exact fate. With many of them, it was... hard to tell. "What do you think the reward is going to be, Lady Kalathra?" Vicmira asked, almost absentmindedly.

 

[Solivagante]

Kalathra kept her expression neutral, but her fingers twitched in Vicmira's grasp at the idea of starting with a bedroom. Surely the woman couldn't mean Gahnaisto's own - the idea, even if the god himself wasn't there, made bile rise in the back of Kalathra's throat. After years - centuries - of avoiding his solicitations, was she really going to be dragged there by a featherbrained human?

Apparently, for lack of a politic refusal, the answer was yes, though her mind was still racing as she followed Vicmira through one of the great hall's arched side doors and into the corridor beyond. Kalathra lengthened her stride a little to ensure she walked beside the mortal woman, rather than trailing behind. Vicmira was still in control of their path, but at least it looked somewhat less as if she had a goddess on a lead.

Could I persuade her that a god's bedroom is sacrosanct? Not here; besides, she's probably already... spent time there. Her power-throttled headache was coming back, or maybe that was just frustration at this situation. The whirl of colors and fragrances which pervaded Gahnaisto's domain certainly weren't helping. The halls were decorated with lush floral arrangements - though there were no roses - and with tapestries, paintings, and sculptures ranging from subtly erotic to blatantly lewd, and Kalathra would swear that every single one of them was somehow reeking of perfume.

Vicmira's question startled her from her thoughts and took her by surprise enough that she actually let out a short, derisive snort. It might have been soft enough to be covered by the sound of their footsteps - she hoped so, at least.

"We may already be walking towards it." Kalathra's tone was dry, hopefully covering her discomfort at the idea. Though, truthfully, she found that less than likely; Gahnaisto was free enough with his sexual favors that he wouldn't restrict them just to a few contestants.

"Would it change anything, petal? You seemed certain of victory, speaking with Lady Vatrekka." Deflection seemed safest; an honest answer to Vicmira's question might hew too close to things the mortal could not know. The death of another candidate of your choosing, perhaps; or a weapon or poison for future use. But Gahnaisto's candidates didn't know that his temple was a charnel house, and it wasn't worth it to spill that secret to a woman likely doomed to die regardless.

 

[.quietus]

More words, more misdirections, more excuses. Vicmira wasn't certain what she had expected from asking such a question - perhaps a glimpse into the goddess's mind? - but Kalathra remained ever guarded, like a flower that had closed to shield itself from winter. No, not from winter. She IS the winter, you fool. Empathy was a dangerous poison; Vicmira didn't intend to partake of it, not here and not now, and possibly never again in her entire life.

She had to be strong.

Strong enough not to even entertain such ideas.

(The truth was, Kalathra wasn't a flower. She was the person - the thing - that made flowers die each year, and that this was likely the smallest of her sins did not endear her to Vicmira in the slightest.)

Keeping that idea in mind, the blonde conjured up a light, airy chuckle, as if there wasn't but a suspicious thought in her pretty little head. "Do you think so, Lady Kalathra? Surely, Lord Gahnaisto must be more industrious than that." Note to self: If he isn't, find a way to lose. There wasn't a single thing that Vicmira wanted less than the gods' hands on her skin, and yes, she was including (most) infectious diseases in the comparison. "Besides," she tilted her head, "You must be well aware that Lord Gahnaisto loves where he will. Do you think he'd let the results of some competition tie his hands like that?"

The much more faithful translation, of course, would be something like 'he's too horny to ever keep himself in check.'

Not that Vicmira would ever admit to thinking that about her patron.

"It would not," she lifted her chin, "winning is a matter of principle. Do you not desire victory, Lady Kalathra?" 'What do you desire, Lady Kalathra?' would have been a more honest way of phrasing this, but Vicmira wasn't there to be honest. Any opportunity to learn about the goddess's true intentions would do -- and if there were none, then she would make them.

"I was hoping the fire in your heart still burned strong, despite your... icy inclinations." The comment perhaps lingered a little too close to being an insult, but it wasn't one outright, and Vicmira sweetened it by one of her charming smiles. "It would be too sad if you--oh." Oh, indeed. There was something foul hiding underneath all the perfume; something heavy and almost wet, though not wet in the sweet-smelling, gentle way rain was wet. More than that, it reminded Vicmira of old wood and decaying flowers. So out of place it was, so odd, that she couldn't quite stop herself: "Can you smell it, Lady Kalathra?"

 

[Solivagante]

Vicmira hadn't taken Kalathra's suggestion that the prize might be Gahnaisto's own favors seriously; that was unsurprising, given that the woman had already shown ambition beyond the petty lust which drew some mortals to his temple. Fair enough. Kalathra echoed the mortal's chuckle with a soft laugh of her own, as if they were both in on the joke - as if it were flirtatious banter, not a parry and riposte of information-seeking.

"I think Lord Gahnaisto would allow his hands to be tied in any way which pleased him," she said, a lilt of innuendo in her voice.

The mortal's question about victory was a little too perceptive, and Kalathra was readying another deflection when her companion paused midstride and mid-sentence. Kalathra continued a step further before the same smell stopped her in her tracks. It was cloying, but not in the same way Gahnaisto's perfume-soaked decorations were; this smell was heavy, warm, sweet with an acrid tinge. She breathed shallowly, and still it felt like it sat on the back of her tongue even after she exhaled.

Wrong. A scent like this did not belong in the carefully controlled realm of the gods. Kalathra took another step forward and frowned, trying to identify the source. It was impossible to do by smell alone, so she swept her gaze over her surroundings. Colonnaded walkway, lit by hanging braziers shedding soft light at intervals, arched sides open to the breeze through the surrounding pleasure gardens. Pedestals with sculptures or floral arrangements, and between the columns low leafy bushes, showing the spring green of new growth, short enough to step over but creating an aesthetic division.

Something under a nearby bush gleamed in the light.

Kalathra approached carefully, but the glint didn't move, so it was unlikely to be some living creature. Crouching down (perhaps an undignified thing for a goddess to do, but she hardly cared), she peered closer and noticed that it had a multicolored sheen, like oil shimmering in a cooking pot. Something liquid, then, but what? The shadows of the bush were in the way; she brushed the fingers of one hand against the young leaves and withered them, though it left her hand stinging. Magic to make them leaf out early, no doubt, fighting her; but inevitable decomposition always won in the end.

As the ground was further illuminated, it became clear that the puddle of liquid was much larger than it had first seemed, an amorphous shadow that stretched through the hedge and back into the soft grass beyond. Kalathra stood up slowly, gaze tracing its extent. Now that she was looking, there were strange lumpy masses in the grass as well, and some of them - were they steaming, faintly, in the low light?

"This should not be," she murmured, and regretted opening her mouth instantly as the smell seemed to coat her tongue. "This is-" Not right. Impossible. Dangerous.

"Perhaps we should search elsewhere," she said, turning back to Vicmira. The tone of her voice was casual, but Kalathra could not keep the disgust from her expression, furrowing her brow and twisting her mouth. "It seems this part of the garden may be... closed to visitors."

 

[.quietus]

As it turned out, Lady Snowflake could smell it. Vicmira almost wanted to say something snide - perhaps something about pretty little goddess noses not being used to such crude smells - but curiosity won over pettiness this time around, and she crouched right next to Kalathra in an attempt to catch a glimpse of... whatever it was, really.

And no, the mystery of that wasn't getting any clearer.

The more Vicmira stared, the less she knew what she was looking at; it was as if the components themselves were somewhat familiar, but not the actual composition, which very well might have been some mad artist's attempt at capturing eternity.

That, at least, was what came to her mind.

An odd association to be sure, but Vicmira had learned not to discount those.

"Is this..." And wasn't it strange, the way she was getting ready to ask an actual, honest question, instead of trying to hand Kalathra a proverbial rope she would strangle herself with? "...normal around here? Far be it from me to judge what the gods choose to cultivate in their gardens, but--"

Oh.

Kalathra, as it turned out, didn't need to answer the question; Vicmira only had to look and see, truly see, the panic in her eyes, like a discordant note in an otherwise serene melody. It didn't fit her. It made her look human, which, in turn, filled Vicmira's head with ideas that had no business being there in the first place. Ideas that... ought to stay buried. Remember why you're here? she chastised, Not to ponder over nonsense, that's for sure.

No, she was here for opportunities.

Opportunities like this, to learn more about curious things.

Vicmira tilted her head. "Oh? It does not look closed to me. Don't you think Lord Gahnaisto would make such a thing more readily apparent?" Probably not, actually, because he was an asshole. Even so: "What if this is a clue of sorts? A hint, left here for those brave enough to pursue it?" Vicmira extended her hand, as if she intended to touch the substance. Now, she wasn't actually planning to do so, but teasing Kalathra with the possibility did seem vaguely fun. "Unless, of course," the blonde shot her a look, "You do know what this is."