The gods mentioned in this story are not meant to represent any of the gods that may currently exist in the variety of prompt and roleplaying communities on Livejournal or elsewhere. They are gods inside of Athena's universe only, and their actions and personalities have no relation to, or effect upon, any other characters but Athena.


Family Ties

I don't need to write about my siblings. There are entire libraries filled with stories just about my family. Their names still evoke reaction, two thousand years after our power started to wane. People still write new stories about them, or retell the old ones in new ways.

We are all of us passionate, wild, powerful, brilliant, dangerous, and timeless.

What most people don't know is that we're more than just the archetypes we helped define.

I've seen Ares care for a newborn foal on a farm in the foothills of China. I've seen Aphrodite shun the love of a man for the sake of her sister. I've seen Apollo sacrifice of himself for another. I've seen Artemis crack a smile.

You get the idea.

There's an Olympian family reunion every year on the summer solstice. We talk, we play games, we show off our most recent companions. We catch ourselves up. I try to convince the others to find the power they crave in the lives they now lead, but their ambitions have always been different than mine. They try to convince me that I've "gone native," and that that's pretty much the worst thing a god could do.

All things considered, we're amiable. They're my family, despite the fact that I think they're all crazy. I'm sure they think the same of me.

We're just your average family.

Mostly.

The gods mentioned in this story are not meant to represent any of the gods that may currently exist in the variety of prompt and roleplaying communities on Livejournal or elsewhere. They are gods inside of Athena's universe only, and their actions and personalities have no relation to, or effect upon, any other characters but Athena.


The War to End All Wars
On armistice day
The philharmonic will play
But the songs that we sing
Will be sad. - Paul Simon, "Armistice Day"

Ares usually asks me why I went soft only once per year. I think my answer bothers him. He flicks some sort of animal skin at me - just making me even more interested in considering vegetarianism - sneers, sips his wine, and says: "You're no fun anymore, Athena. All you want now is peace peace peace. You're a goddess of war, you know. You'll be out of a job."

It's the same way every time, which is how I can predict it with absolute certainty. Once a year, Ares and I share a meal. Once a year he fills the table with game and wine and ale, like we're still living at the height of our power and half those animals aren't nearly extinct. And once a year for the past ninety he tells me I'm no fun any more.

"It'll never happen," he adds, smirking like he just outsmarted me. Ares never outsmarts me. I let him win at chess once, and he got angry at me. Now I don't bother. Don't get me wrong; he's brilliant. But he's not me.

"Just because it will never happen doesn't mean I can't hope for it."

"But why?"

Normally I wax on about reaching for the brass ring on the carousel, which I know annoys him because carousels secretly frighten him. This year, I try to spice things up a bit. "Happy Armistice Day, brother."

His mouth was already open with his usual rebuttal, and he closes it with a click. "What did you say?"

"Armistice Day. It was ninety years ago."

"Was it?"

I nod and reach for the cider. "You were there."

He grunts. I made him go to the armistice talks in Germany and the signing of Versailles the next spring. He didn't understand why, and he probably never really will. I'm not sure that even I understand these things sometimes. "What's that have to do with you becoming a peacenik?"

I wonder if he even knows where that word comes from. "That was the beginning for me. Their first 'World War'. The things these humans can do... they don't need us for their wars, and there won't be any of them left to even remember our myths if they keep at it. Their weapons get more and more powerful and their leaders more and more scared. Wars aren't won by armies anymore, brother, they're won by robots and satellites."

"No. Maybe not. But they're fought by armies, and I'll be there for those men and women until there are no men and women left." He shrugs. Like I said, my brother can be brilliant. And loyal, in his way. People underestimate him because he's best known as a blunt tool. But even blunt tools can be used in gentle and intelligent ways. A spade and spear were once interchangeable, and he's a fantastic farmer. The Romans knew that.

He laughs. "You're thinking about the Romans again, aren't you? Your face gets this little faraway look that I see on mortals sometimes. I wish I could have met your - "

"Oh, shuttup. We're talking about war and peace."

"War and peace," he leans forward, "love, hate. Aren't they all the same, in the end?"

Touché. Now it's my turn to laugh. See what I mean. "So Aphrodite tells me."

Ares shakes his head and a scowl spreads across his face. "I wish she weren't so loving sometimes. Polygamy is much better when only the males get to participate."

"Would peace be a bad thing? I'll retire and become a weaver, you can retire and become a farmer."

"They're making weaving and farming things of the past with their technology, too. This is all Prometheus' fault. He should never have given them fire."

I roll my eyes. Sometimes we believe our own myths, even though we know better. "They called it the War to End All Wars, do you remember?"

He shrugs. "Propaganda was your thing, not mine."

A fair point. "It didn't. How many wars, big and small, have there been in the last ninety years?"

"Plenty."

"Exactly."

He sits silently for a moment, but I can tell he's really thinking about it. It's fine, we've got time.

Probably.

I grin. "It's like reaching for the brass ring, Ares. On the carousel."

His scowl turns murderous. "I hate you."

"Hate. War. Love and peace. Aren't they all the same thing?"

I laugh.

He actually laughs with me.

We've got time.

The gods mentioned in this story are not meant to represent any of the gods that may currently exist in the variety of prompt and roleplaying communities on Livejournal or elsewhere. They are gods inside of Athena's universe only, and their actions and personalities have no relation to, or effect upon, any other characters but Athena.


The Destroyer of Worlds

"They won't do it." We were sitting in a garden, plucking at the late summer flowers while we sipped plum wine. Plum wine was always too sweet for me, but Victoria had a taste for it.

She looked over at me, her dark eyes twinkling. "You underestimate the Americans' fear." She was dressed in the style of the locals, and had changed her physical appearance to match. It was a good look on her: jet black hair, straight as an arrow but pulled back into a bun. Pale skin made paler by makeup. Tiny red lips. Still, I liked her hair curly and her face natural, eyes lined with kohl, in the style of the Romans, which she knew.

Looking back on it, I think that's half the reason she did it; to let me know that she wasn't happy with me. The war hadn't exactly been a high point in our relationship. I hadn't wanted to get involved, but knew I had to, and she'd been the one to make me realize that. A large war always requires me, even if I'd rather leave it to Ares. The last one and its mustard gas had turned me off of twentieth century warfare, and made me think that these people and their inventions were best left to my brother.

Needless to say, I wasn't exactly grateful to her for making me realize and accept my duties.

"They fear the bomb as much as they fear the Japanese. A strange culture is one thing, the ability to destroy the world is another." I finished my wine and set the glass to rest on a rock.

Victoria shook her head. "It worries me how much more difficult it is for you to understand war these days."

I shot her a look. "I understand war just fine. It's the people I have problems with." I have seen some disturbing things in my long life, but when the Allies finally got off their collective asses and liberated the camps in Europe... the only one who wasn't moved was Ares. I picked another flower from a bush and twirled it in my fingers. "I was at Trinity."

"I know."

"You know what he said?"

She nodded.

"He was right."

"You don't know that." She plucked the flower from my hand and tucked it behind my ear, smoothing my hair back. "Ares is upset that he's no longer the only one with that kind of power. What's your problem?"

"Ares is stupid. The Hebrew god has had the power for thousands of years. And Father, and Bhairava Shiva, and -" She raised her eyebrow and I stopped. "I like being alive. If they destroy themselves, they destroy us."

"Ah."

It wasn't a popular theory amongst us, this belief that we didn't predate the mortals we once ruled over. It still isn't. None of us, from any pantheon, like to admit we're dependent on lesser beings. The fact remains that if there's no one left to worship us, whether we're more powerful or whether we existed at the beginning of time or not, there's not point to us. That's not an easy pill to swallow.

At the time, Victoria certainly hadn't swallowed it. "You know how they are. They all need to have the best weapon. This will start an arms race. They know that. Eisenhower and Truman had plenty of people telling them that. They know better."

"Do you know why I'm here?"

"I'm afraid to ask. Nagasaki has really great gardens?"

Victoria sighed and rolled her eyes at me. "I need to find a better god to spend my time with."

"Who's better than me?" I looked up at the sky, waved my hand, and added woodenly: "except Father, of course."

She smiled. "It's the anniversary of Tennyson's birth."

That was an odd thing to say. She knew he was my favorite poet in a long while. He told the heroes' stories well for someone who'd never even come close to the life. "I'm missing something, aren't I?"

"'Thou madest Death; and lo, thy foot is on the skull which thou hast made.' You've spent the last week trying to convince Hirohito to sign Potsdam, you haven't been paying attention to the Americans."

Damn. "They're going to do it."

"It'll drop in ten minutes."

"Fat Man?"

"Little Boy. Fat Man's due if Hirohito doesn't give in."

"Kyoto?"

She shook her head. "Hiroshima."

"And we're here because..."

"Fat Man's due if Hirohito doesn't give in. The target is Kokura, but luck and weather won't be with them."

Damn. I felt sick to my stomach. "I can't believe I missed this..."

"I told you I'm worried."

I stood, glancing angrily down at her. "Why didn't you tell me? I need to go there."

Nodding, she stood from the ground. Her form shifted back to the one I was used to, with curly hair and kohl-lined eyes. "So let's go." And then, as we moved from one place to another: "Would you have listened?"

I said nothing. I wouldn't have, she was right.

Victory and I stood on a hill overlooking Hiroshima as the first nuclear bomb was dropped on human beings by human beings. Ares had appeared next to me, grinning his grin as the mushroom cloud rose up towards the sky. There's no way to explain what it was like to watch.

That's not true, there's one way. Oppenheimer said it and, long before him, the Hindus wrote it down in their scripture. "If the radiance of a thousand suns were to burst at once into the sky, that would be like the splendor of the mighty one..."

The sick feeling in my stomach didn't go away for a long time.


[Research: Hiroshima, August 6, August 7, Nagasaki, Trinity, Oppenheimer, Tennyson, Manhattan Project, Atomic Bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Japanese dress. If you want to see something creepy, watch this video of Oppenheimer talking, in 1965, about his reaction to the Trinity test.]

1) Carry a bigger weapon than the other parties. I know what you're thinking. "Athena," you think, "isn't the point of negotiation to not have weapons?" No, the point is to get what you want without killing anyone. Sometimes that means letting them know that you will and can kill them if necessary.

2) Make a big show of putting whatever weapon it is out of arm's reach. Let them think that they've got the edge, even if they don't. And I can't stress this enough: if you're not fast enough to get to that weapon before things go south, keep it closer. For the love of your own personal deity.

3) DON'T KILL ANYONE. I know I already said this, but I think it warrants its own number. Sometimes you guys get too trigger happy, and if a gun's around you'll use it. Just relax. If you kill someone, the negotiation's over.

4) Know three things before you go in: what you want, what you're willing to settle for, and what you're willing to give to get either of those things. Hopefully you end up between want and settle, and give less than you'd planned. But don't bring notes and don't try to memorize some speech. Improvise around those three things.

5) Always have a partner. Even if you can't bring her to the negotiation, she can be your driver. Or the person hanging out on the other head of the mic in your ear. Or your mom who packs your lunch. Whatever. It doesn't matter, but don't do it alone. You need another set of eyes, ears and, most importantly, another brain.

The gods mentioned in this story are not meant to represent any of the gods that may currently exist in the variety of prompt and roleplaying communities on Livejournal or elsewhere. They are gods inside of Athena's universe only, and their actions and personalities have no relation to, or effect upon, any other characters but Athena.

Foundations Made of Clay

Nobody usually calls me Twice Born. That title's reserved for my brother, born of his mother and then our father's thigh. Yeah, thigh. I don't know. Knowing my father, he figured it was the closest thing to his loins, and his loins were where life came from. All life, because he's my father and, at the time, was pretty sure the entire universe revolved around him.

He's much better now, I promise.

Anyway, I'm as twice born as Dionysus, but he gets the epithet and the mystery cults. I'm okay with that.

Pretty much everyone knows the story of my birth, even if they don't know the details. Mother swallowed by father. Father gets a headache. Father gets hit on the head with a hammer or an axe. I pop out.

No need to get boring about it. That's all the important stuff.

I have no memories of my time in either my mother's womb or my father's head. It's strange, because my mother used that time to teach me all sorts of things. She created my armor and spear, and by the time I came out of my father's head I was good to go.

But my first memory is of my father.

"Hello," he said, holding a piece of linen to his still bleeding forehead. Mother, who had sprung out with me (everyone seems to gloss over that) had already wandered off. So much for family bonds.

Still, I was prepared to meet my father and announce myself to my family, such as they were. At the time, that consisted only of my father and my uncle.

This is the part they call pealing to the broad sky. Something about a call of war. How it went was:

"I am Athena, daughter of the King of the Gods, child of knowledge, bearer of the - "

"Yes, Daughter, I know all that. Could you please hold on a moment while my forehead knits back together?"

And that was that.

My father has had different forms over the years, as he pleases. We've all tried to stay up with fashion, especially more recently when we've needed to blend in. But that first image of him is what I'll always remember. He was tall and bronzed, his black hair curling heavily over his ears. He had well trimmed beard, and wore a white linen toga, and when he smiled his wide smile (something I learned later was reserved only for a few of us) his brilliant white teeth poked through the darkness, like a tiny row of stars.

"Athena," he addressed me like a loving father, and reached out with his hand.

I greeted him as a warrior, clasping forearms. "Father."

Nodding, he held my forearm tightly and looked into my eyes. There was still a small line of blood running from his forehead and curving around his nose. I tried my best to meet his gaze instead of staring at the blood.

He's never told me what he was thinking at that moment.

I've never asked.

Photo here.

The gods mentioned in this story are not meant to represent any of the gods that may currently exist in the variety of prompt and roleplaying communities on Livejournal or elsewhere. They are gods inside of Athena's universe only, and their actions and personalities have no relation to, or effect upon, any other characters but Athena.


From Here to Maternity

It's early morning, in mid-winter, and there are four women standing in a small room in the corner of a manor house that rests upon a hill. The four women surround one single woman, who rests uncomfortably on a small bed, her face contorted in a mask of pain. Men are forbidden from this room. It is a place used only rarely, and only for one purpose.

The lady of this house is birthing her first child.

"That?" One of the women begins. "Is disgusting."

The woman beside her sighs and shakes her head. "Athena. You're here for a reason."

Athena, who can neither be seen nor heard by any other of the occupants of this room besides the one to whom she addresses herself, turns. "I've managed to annoy Father enough that he felt it necessary to torture me with this?"

"No."

"Okay, Artemis, then why am I here?"

Athena's sister Artemis is the goddess of the hunt, and the goddess of birthing. Though in their younger days they were often at odds, as the power of their pantheon wanes the two have grown closer and have taken to hunting together on occasion. Athena appreciate Artemis' skill with a bow, and the way in which she stalks her prey. Their debates on politics and mortal religion have stretched many days, much to the dismay of other occupants of Olympus, trying to get a decent night's rest.

"Because, Sister, you're supposed to be wise and full of knowledge, yet you know nothing of this." Artemis waves a pale hand across the scene before them.

"Because it's disgusting. Besides, I take life. I don't bring it. And you and I both know I'll never be lying on my back in pain, pushing some giant... head... through..." Her face pales and she shakes her head. "Erichthonius turned out just fine without any of the fuss."

"He's Gaia's son, not yours," Artemis holds a hand up to forestall the argument she knows is about to come from Athena. "Foster mother or not."

"Fine. Then I'll do it the way Father did."

Artemis smiles. "Swallow your child?"

"Yes." Athena nods. "Look how well I turned out."

"Of course." The goddess' smile turns to a smirking grin. "But then you'd have to get a woman pregnant, and even you can't do that."

Athena opens her mouth to argue, but concedes the point and closes it again with a snap. Though not before murmuring a quiet "yet" that, if she heard, Artemis ignores.

"And, besides, you don't just take life. You know as well as I do that it's linked. More women become pregnant after war than any other time." Artemis puts her hand on her sister's forearm and draws her attention to the lady giving birth. "It's time."

"I'll just skip this part." But Artemis' hand holds her sister tightly in place. "No, really, I'll - "

The goddess is cut off as the cries of the lady filled the room. Her servant and her midwife attend her. Athena watches in horror as the child is born: screaming, covered in blood, and placed in his mother's arms. Face as ashen as it ever had been, she turns to her sister, surprised to see that Artemis' has a bright and wondrous smile on her face.

"Wasn't that beautiful?" She steps to the mother and places a soothing hand to her head.

"Beautifully horrible, yeah. William's stomach burst open in the coffin, and that was still more pleasant to see than this." She wrinkles her nose. "It also smelled better."

Artemis steps back from mother and child, both of whom are being cleaned to prepare them to see the lord of this house. She gestures to Athena, and the two goddesses step through the wall and into the gardens outside. "I can't believe you've gone this long and never seen that. Not even accidentally."

"I'm a busy lady."

"I won't tell Ares, don't worry."

Athena's shoulders stiffen. "I'm not worried about that. He'd probably have a worse reaction than I did."

"You almost fainted." There's no small amount of amusement in Artemis' voice. "Twice."

"Are you going to tell me why you made me watch that, or are you just going to unsubtly mock me?"

"If I were you, I'd say the latter. But I'm not. I think it's something every woman should know. The monotheists make a mystery of it, call the pain a punishment for sin, and push their women as far from power as possible. Yet women give them all life. I'm sure you can appreciate the injustice in that."

"Yes," the war goddess nods, her face grim. "I can. Though, really. Words would've worked just as well for that one. I will never have a child."

"Trial by fire, Sister," Artemis claps Athena on the arm. "I think you're the one who taught me that. You also taught me never to say never, didn't you?"

"Don't know. Sounds like something I might say. Endless possibilities, et cetera et cetera. Don't know until you try and so on and so forth." Athena sighs. "I'm still never having a child."

Artemis grins. "If you say so."

What does respect mean to you?

These Small Things

Athena sits on a dais in the yard of a Roman patrician's country villa. The man himself is gone, on some business for a Senator, but his family remained behind. Athena has come to speak with his wife. She smiles when she imagines the look on the great old warrior's face when he learns that his wife has gained this particular favor of the goddess.

Unfortunately, talking with the wife means talking first with the family's priest. She tries to think back to when the Romans started deciding it was a good idea to have a family priest. The Greeks didn't. This man is skinny, and resembles a rodent. As much as Athena hates judging people by their looks, she's never had a good experience with a mortal that looks like a rodent.

He shuffles up to her, kneading his hands as if he's about to deliver very grave news that he secretly revels in but delivers with the utmost dismay. "Goddess."

"I have a name, you know." She turns to look at him and recognizes him suddenly from a battle fought at least two decades ago, in the mountains to the north. He was a scout, and an assassin. Not really her style, but he'd served the army's purpose.

"Yes, but... we are forbidden to speak it."

She raises an eyebrow and decides to play with him a little. "Why?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Why are you forbidden to speak it?"

"Because..." His voice is tentative. "Those are the your rules?"

She turns to him, the ghost of a smile on her face. "Yeah? My rules? Then why am I asking for them to be broken?"

The priest knows this one. His shoulders straighten and a smug smile spreads across his features. "To test me."

Athena waves him away with a disgusted noise, and he scuttles off towards the villa. She hates sycophants.

The lady of the house strolls leisurely towards the dais. She makes no sign of acknowledging the priest, beyond a slight upward tilt of her nose. He must be her husband's man.

"What do you want, Minerva?"

The goddess smiles. "Sass from a mortal that owes me her entire life. Otherwise I wouldn't come here, would I Lucia?"

"No," Lucia responds, taking a seat without asking permission. "I suppose you wouldn't. Have you come to ask for my sons?"

"Sons?" Athena shakes her head. "No."

The lady's lips quirk. "My daughter?"

"I see rumor travels fast. I'm not here for your children. Even if I were, it would only be for business. Not pleasure."

"Very well." There's a thread of weariness that runs through her voice. Small, but enough for Athena to pick up on. "Then what do you want?"

"To talk."

"Just to talk?"

Athena nods. "Just to talk."

They sit in silence for a moment. Lucia stares at the goddess, her expression unreadable. Athena welcomes the scrutiny; she always has. Let mortals look upon her and wonder at her thoughts and motivations. What drives this goddess, so different from the others of her family and yet so similar? A smile tugs at Athena's lips, which Lucia doesn't miss.

"Very well, Minerva. You have my ear."

"That's all I ask."

We all have firsts that impact our lives forever, tell us about the most important one in your life.

The gods mentioned in this story are not meant to represent any of the gods that may currently exist in the variety of prompt and roleplaying communities on Livejournal or elsewhere. They are gods inside of Athena's universe only, and their actions and personalities have no relation to, or effect upon, any other characters but Athena.

Lighter Than a Feather
Duty is heavy as a mountain but
Death is lighter than a feather.
-Japanese Proverb

A great general is also a great murderer. His skill as a tactician will guarantee, without a doubt, that soldiers from all sides of the conflict will die. Hopefully less from his side than the others, but the final victory isn’t always measured in the amount of pawns you’ve got left on the board.

I’m a great general. I’m the best there is, but of course I can’t be compared to the mortal generals, no matter how good they are. Some of them have been really really good.

So follow the statement to its logical conclusion: I’m a great murderer.

I’m okay with that, even though I don’t get the easy out of believing that my position, my country, my religion, my ruler is the right one. I think they’re all right and they’re all wrong. And it’s not that I don’t respect mortal life. Just the opposite really, and I’m one of the few gods that can actually claim to care as much about human life as divine life.

To be responsible for another living being’s death is a lot easier when you’re sitting a thousand miles away, making decisions for a battalion of troops. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think Truman had it easy when he okayed the flight of the Enola Gay, but the decision to kill, the responsibility for that decision, and the act of killing are very separate things. They’re different kinds of war. They’re Ares and they’re me.

But. Ares has to be a good tactician to be good at his kind of war. I have to be a good soldier to be good at mine. My spear has pierced flesh. My sword has hewn bone. Et cetera et cetera.

I really believe that it’s only by taking life, or having the power to take life, that a soldier can really respect it. Every general was a soldier at one time. The first kill changes you.

My first kill was quick. I think Father wanted it that way, because he wanted me to be the best general I could be. To do that, I needed to know what it felt like to take a life.

He was just a man. He was just a thief: a former soldier fallen on hard times, trying to survive by robbing travelers on the road to Delphi. I walked as a mortal and he mistook me for one, and tried to take more than just my purse from me.

When my sword pierced his chest, I saw the shock on his face. I was younger and more arrogant then, and I revealed myself to him. “Congratulations, you are the first to fall by the hand of Athena, daughter of Zeus.”

He died with a soft gurgling sound as he choked on his own blood. I watched his spirit leave his body.

I promptly threw up.

We gods are very similar to mortals in some ways. We have adrenaline, for example. Our body reacts to trauma in similar ways. I had just survived a rape attempt, and had killed a mortal and watched as he died on my sword. I think throwing up was a pretty fair response.

Nike tried to make me feel better. “He was just a mortal.”

“What’s the difference? He was alive and now he’s not.”

I’m a great soldier. I’m a great general.

I’m a great murderer.

His name was Ephranor and he was from Thrace.

Word Count: 573

"Show us where you live."

The gods mentioned in this story are not meant to represent any of the gods that may currently exist in the variety of prompt and roleplaying communities on Livejournal or elsewhere. They are gods inside of Athena's universe only, and their actions and personalities have no relation to, or effect upon, any other characters but Athena.


Inhabit

01. Her fingers move like lightning across the loom. Well, not exactly like lightning. Lightning is something I know well enough that I shouldn't make the simile. Still, she's quick. She's quick and good, and despite her age she's the best weaver in Europe. She must be over ninety now. I visited her once before, when she was young and beautiful. I guess she still is, in a way. I step up behind her and touch her shoulder. She smiles briefly and looks out the window towards the ocean, but her eyes refocus on her work in an instant, and she is nothing but a weaver again.

02. There's nothing but the moment. The wind rushes through my hair, and I know there's a big grin on my face. I look to my left, and the General nods to me, respectfully. His eyes tell the truth. This woman is crazy; I ride with her because she brings me to Victory. My sword connects with a body and the impact is dull and sharp at the same time. This is not what I love. This is what I do because it's the physical expression of what I love. That came before.

03. Before war, there's planning. We bend ourselves over the maps for so long that our bodies forget what it's like to stand up straight. "Will it work?" The question's silly. Sometimes they forget who I am. I take the wine that the slave offers me and I nod. "It'll work."

04. After it rains, I understand why my uncle fought so hard for this city. The sun peeks through the clouds and the haze lifts, and it smells of the ocean. I lean against a pillar and look out to the sea. Behind me, my bed is empty. Iris pulls a rainbow from sea to sky. For the first time in a century, I feel rested.

05. Every time I have ambrosia feels like the first time. I think that's part of its nature. It's always a new experience and always a good experience. It makes my visits to Olympus more enjoyable, even after three thousand years. Aphrodite wants to talk. I walk past Ares, who's glaring as though someone killed his prized slave. Hermes grins and nods towards me. Each passing moment makes me feel worse and worse. Why did I come back? I step into Aphrodite's chamber. She's naked. Oh boy.

You've just learned that someone you thought long dead is instead alive and has been searching for you. It can be a friend or an enemy, the choice is yours. Begin your post with a knock at the door, or a phone ringing to bring you the news.

The gods mentioned in this story are not meant to represent any of the gods that may currently exist in the variety of prompt and roleplaying communities on Livejournal or elsewhere. They are gods inside of Athena's universe only, and their actions and personalities have no relation to, or effect upon, any other characters but Athena. Will Kennedy is my own creation and belongs to me.

The Madame de Pompadour in this story is used with permission (and encouragement!) from the player of ambitious_woman, the only Reinette I'll ever see/hear/write/read, and the player of much_beloved, who created the idea of a vampire!Reinette. This takes place in the Moonlight universe.

The title is from the poem "The Relic" by John Donne.

Something Else Thereby

The phone rings. I don't want to answer. It's really terrible what telephones do to peoples' voices. I've never been able to shake the sense of disconnect and artificiality that I get every time I talk to someone through a phone. I imagine this is what all of us who were alive before phones feel. I ought to ask Josef some time, because Victoria and I really never talk about stuff like that.


So the phone rings, and I stare at it for three rings, not wanting to hear her voice through the electronic speaker.


It had been late summer the last time I saw her, three hundred years before. I had taken my leave of the French court and its king, and waited for her in the gardens to say our more private goodbyes. I'd never liked gardens before that summer, but she gave me a certain appreciation for them. The Court, however, she could give me no appreciation for. I've always been forthright and honest, and I don't play those sorts of games. Am I good at them? Of course. I had played the part of a lord of court that summer - making them think I was a man gave me greater access to things I wanted access to - and now the time for play was done. War still spread across Europe, and I was needed. I'll always prefer the battlefield to the palace.


I met a kid once in 1958 in Detroit, who had one of the funniest hairstyles I've ever seen. When he told me what it was, I laughed until I cried.


The Pompadour.


I let the phone finish ringing. It's not that I'm scared. I don't get scared. I'm just not in the mood to deal with her, and I need time to think over the things that Josef had told me.

They made Reinette a vampire. We gods share with mortals the desire to preserve beautiful things forever, but there are some things that are best left for their eras. I couldn't imagineReinette walking around Los Angeles in 2008. I can't imagine her as anything but a woman of the French court. Louis' woman. My woman, for that summer.

Then again, could she imagine me walking around in Los Angeles in 2008? Probably not.

There's a knock at the door. Great.

Of course it's her. Of course. Of course she came out in broad daylight and afternoon traffic to see me. Of course.

"Athena."

"Jeanne."

She really does look like Beth. Or, I guess, Beth looks like her. Mortals and their genetics. But Beth, as lovely as she is, lacks the spark that has always been inReinette's eyes, even when she was alive.

What a lovely reminder that she's not alive any longer.

"Are you going to invite me in?" Her lips twist into a smirk. Another reminder, and she knows it.

"I thought that went without saying." I step away from the door and she comes in. I watch her as she walks, as she removes her sunglasses and comments appreciatively on my UV blocking glass. She runs her fingertips over the edge of a very old engraving and turns to look at me. I try not to shiver.

"Do you keep trophies of all of us around?" She's already moved on, and comes to stand near me again.

"Us?"

"The mortals you spend your time with. You know, I always thought you were supposed to be a virgin. I was just too polite to say it then."

Why does everyone say that? Man, move on people. "You still consider yourself a mortal?"

"You're not answering the question." She takes my hand in hers. It's cold. I don't know what I was expecting, but it's so cold. "Yes. I can die. Immortality is a guarantee of forever, and I don't presume I'm guaranteed anything. I heal. I don't get sick. These are all great gifts."

It's amazing that after so long I can still read her like an open book. Then again, I can read most people. There's nothing special about JeanneAntionette Poisson. She's just like the other mortals I've known. Yeah, it sounds real good in my head, doesn't it? "But?"

"But it was never a gift I asked for." She lets my hand drop and wanders to the fridge. "Josef tells me you keep blood around in case he drops by."

"So he won't whine." I'm glad her back's to me now; I don't want her to see my face. "I'd really rather you not."

Obviously she doesn't care, because she pours the blood anyway. She turns back to me, that smirk on her face again. It's a strange smirk, and I realize that's because I'd never seen her smirk like that before. Three hundred years of death can change a person. "Oh come on. You're a goddess, and you can't handle a little blood drinking?"

"Not from you."

The cup is at her lips, but she pauses and puts it down. When she looks at me again, it's like staring into the face of the woman I once knew. All of the pain and cynicism is gone, and here is only her bright light left. "I didn't choose this."

I shrug. "Most of you don't."

"You could have stayed. Could have... protected me from them."

"No." This is pretty much exactly how I picture the conversation going, which is exactly why I wanted to avoid having the conversation in the first place. "I couldn't have stayed." But I could have protected her. We both knew it. I'd asked her to come with me, to be my companion, and she'd said no. It was her choice to make, but I was hurt enough by her rejection that I didn't go back to France for a sixty years.

I missed the French Revolution because I was being a big baby. Not one of my finer moments. Then again, the French Revolution wasn't one of the finer moments in modern warfare, so maybe it was for the best. That wasReinette , really: a hidden gift wrapped in layers of cloth and bone corsets. I think Louis and I were the only people who really appreciated her.

"You want me to go." She puts her glasses back on and, wham, it's like a barrier between us.

So I take away the barrier. We're both three hundred years older, we're both three hundred years wiser, and this modern world makes cynics out of everyone. But she was still the little queen. I take her glasses off. "No. I didn't want you to come, but now that you're here I want you to stay."

Her eyes stare into mine for a moment and then she nods, almost imperceptibly, and moves to the couch. She's clearly waiting for me to join her and, after a second, I do. I hate when mortals can tie me up like this. This is why I used to look down on my family and their constant entanglements. Then Rome happened, and now look at me.

I live a long life, too long for regrets.

"I can't believe, all these years, and you didn't know. You're a goddess, Athena, how could you not?" There's no accusation in her voice, only curiosity. She's not angry at me. Good.

I laugh. "I'm not that kind of goddess. It's not my job to know who's alive where, or who's dead where, or who's doing anything where, really. I've got a sense of the minds of all weavers and warriors, but I don't just walk around constantly knowing who's doing what where. You told me no, I left, I heard you'd died, that was the end of it. I'd lost companions before. And since."

She nods and smiles. "Purposeful ignorance from the goddess of wisdom."

"Are you trying to anger me?"

"I no longer fear death. What's the worst you could do to me?"

Well okay then. Fine. "Force you to hear one of Josef's lectures about how capitalism is the greatest thing to happen to vampire kind since the Red Cross."

She laughs, and it's an old and happy laugh, and I think I've missed that a lot in my life. I realize in this moment that Will reminded me a lot of Reinette, except gayer and more masculine, and I really miss him for the first time in a long time.

"Got me, I won't say anything else about your ignorance." She smiles playfully. "Purposeful or otherwise."

In that moment I want to hold her and to have her hold me, but I'm afraid of how she'll feel. Can I make her human again? Is that in my power? Even if it's not, it would be in the power of one of my relatives. But it would be like handing her a death sentence. Besides, I can't just go around curing vampires. Even if I wanted to, there are rules about that sort of thing, and I can't go giving the angst-ridden vampire population any false hope.

Who am I kidding? I'd do it in an instant if she asked.

Reinette touches her fingertips to my chin and I realize I must have zoned out. "You're thinking of something."

I nod.

"Me."

I nod again.

"I won't ask you."

Damn her. "That's not what I was going to ask."

"You're a liar, ma belle guerre." I must've made a face, because she laughs again. "Very well. What were you going to ask."

I take a breath, and I can almost forget that she no longer breathes. "Will you stay the night, Jeanne?"

"Yes."

"And after?"

"After, I don't know."

It's a start.



Word Count: 1618

Author's Notes: For some reason, I decided to answer this response in the form of a sonnet. I think discussion of original sin and the fall of Man sort of warrants that, because I consider it a fairly classical/Miltonesque topic.

I also noticed that this prompt was from last August, but not until I'd already had it written. See, I got confused and clicked on the giant "prompts" tag on the main community when, really, all the prompts are in a new community now and are meant to be done day by day. Oh well. It's very hard to write a sonnet, for me at least, so I'm using it anyway.

Any similarities to a Dr. Suess story are purely unintentional and are all his fault for ruining the seriousness of rhyming poetry.

The idea of this is, roughly, that some medieval and/or Elizabethan poet writes a sonnet about why Athena doesn't go to Church anymore. Kind of. That's why I tried to do it in the more classical sense instead of a modern, unrhyming sonnet that would've let me use less awkward language.

Thanks to the players of eternityticking and thisway_comes for being sounding boards, encouraging a strange idea, and giving me valuable feedback.

This note is now longer than the prompt response. I win.

The Fall

Stained glass illuminated by the sun;
The image of an apple on a tree.
Eve, frozen in time, looks up, sin begun.
Beside her the serpent uncoils with glee.

The wisdom goddess stands before the glass,
Her golden eyes survey the ancient scene.
A smiling priest approaches her and asks:
"From this story, what do you, a woman, glean?"

She: "I have tasted the sweet fruit of knowledge
And have thus sinned against your single god,
But man, as well, rests on the razor's edge,
Yet on woman's back alone do you trod."

A woman first, the bright goddess of war,
From that day forward, seeks our God no more.

Notes: If you haven't seen The Cutting Edge, this probably won't make much sense. If you have, I hope it's as hilarious for you to read as it was for me to write. I thought Athena deserved a little lightheartedness.

The gods mentioned in this story are not meant to represent any of the gods that may currently exist in the variety of prompt and roleplaying communities on Livejournal or elsewhere. They are gods inside of Athena's universe only, and their actions and personalities have no relation to, or effect upon, any other characters but Athena. Will Kennedy is my own creation and belongs to me.

Invest in Blindfolds

Athena, the goddess of wisdom and warfare, around since the beginning of civilization, was crawling across the floor of a hotel room in Dallas, Texas, looking for something. She was looking for an earring, in fact, one of a pair that she had received in tribute from a Crusader nearly eight hundred years before. It was 1999, and the arms business was booming. This year's summer convention had drawn record numbers, all registered with the hotel as copier manufacturers, including one miss Athena Salpingos.

Watching her search was Will Kennedy, an arms dealer from Ireland that she'd spent the last few years hanging around. He was a good partier, a better businessman, and the best poker player she'd ever met. It made all these arms dealing conventions – such as the one she was currently in Dallas for – much more fun. “You know what this reminds me of?”

“If you say The Cutting Edge, I'm going to kill you.”

“Well, it does.” Will was also one of the most flamingly gay men she'd ever met – and she'd been around during the height of Greek civilization – and watched some of the cheesiest movies she could imagine any human mind coming up with. He also was completely different in his business dealings, coming across as a macho man's man. The dichotomy was what had drawn her to him in the first place, especially since it was fairly well known that Will was gay, which meant the act was mostly for his own amusement. She liked that. That, and he had been the only one in Bosnia who hadn't hit on her.

“That's it. Dead. Besides, you're wrong. I'm not even remotely attracted to you.”

“Of course you're not, honey. If you were, I'd be the person in the room down the hall, not the one watching a goddess crawl around on her hands and knees looking for an earring.” He smirked. “I'd have gone with the 'I'm not an ice skater' thing first.”

Athena sat back on her haunches and stared at him, annoyed. “I could just make this room explode, you know.”

“You could, but then you'd definitely never get your earring back.” Will neatly folded the corner of his magazine and set it beside him on the couch. “So, who's the lucky guy?”

“No guy.”

“Lucky lady?”

“No lady. Are you going to help, or are you going to sit there and play twenty questions?”

“The latter. Lucky cow?”

“Hey! That was my father. Jesus.”

“Your father is Jesus?”

Athena pinched the bridge of her nose and stood up. “Okay. I'm going to go take a walk. If you happen to find the earring while you're stewing in your own brilliance, bring it down to dinner with you. If you don't, I'll just look later when you're not around to annoy me.”

Will smiled as Athena walked out the door. “Don't get drunk on too many tequila shots and regret it to Bessie in the morning, only to find she's cheated on you with a Jersey.” As the door slammed, he added, yelling: “Toe pick!”

Notes: Frank discussion of a woman's body, including genitals. This is an exploratory piece and I go very great lengths to keep it clean. There's no sex or masturbation. But you've been warned.

I've also decided to keep track of all the interesting things I research while writing a story for Athena, whether I end up using them or not. So from here on out they'll be listed at the end of the story.

The gods mentioned in this story are not meant to represent any of the gods that may currently exist in the variety of prompt and roleplaying communities on Livejournal or elsewhere. They are gods inside of Athena's universe only, and their actions and personalities have no relation to, or effect upon, any other characters but Athena.

The Meaning of Things
"To love oneself is he beginning of a lifelong romance." - Oscar Wilde

Athena stands in her atrium before a mirror of pressed and polished silver. She is naked; her linen garments are folded neatly over a nearby banister. Her dark hair falls past her shoulders. It is exactly midday, and the sun seems to rest in the sky, taking its time along its course towards nightfall. The heat is stifling for mortals, but only the thinnest sheen of sweat covers the goddess’ body, and it is only there because she chooses for it to be.

This body has been hers for centuries, and yet she’s never explored it. Aphrodite had asked her: “How can you love anyone else’s body until you know your own, Sister?” Athena didn’t bother to point out that she had no interest in loving anyone else’s body. Hers, though, suddenly felt like a mystery to be solved.

She breathes in. Her chest rises and her stomach sinks into her body. She holds the breath. The muscles of her abdomen stand out against her bronze skin. She breathes out. She turns so her back is to the mirror and watches over her shoulder as she breathes in and out again. She can see the ridges of her spine pressing out as she holds the breath. As she turns to face the mirror again, she sees the shadow of her rib cage bridging the space between front and back.

A breeze makes its way through the enclosed yard. Goose pimples rise across her skin and her nipples harden. She waits, completely motionless. Minutes pass. She watches as her skin slowly reverts to its smooth state, fascinated by the peaks and valleys that the tiny muscles beneath her flesh can create.

With the breeze gone, the air warms again. A bead of sweat trickles between her breasts, down her stomach, and into her navel where it disappears. Her gaze follows it down and then wanders over to the rounded peak of one hip. She presses her fingertips into the protrusion of one bone and studies the white impressions left against her dark skin.

Her attention shifts from hips to hands, and she turns her callused palms to the mirror. A goddess needs to carry no scars or markings upon her body, but no one who has held a spear or sword on the battlefield should have a smooth hand. Athena chose to retain the calluses that roughen the skin of her hands.

She drops her arms to her side. Her fingertips brush her thighs. Apollo’s chariot has moved since she began, and the sun now rests just above the edge of her roof. Dusk approaches and the shadows fall more deeply across Athena’s skin. Her thighs seem almost pale in the low light, and the dark center of her body stands out in contrast.

This part of her body is one of the few things that can strike fear in the heart of the war goddess. She knows what it is and what its purpose is, in a clinical, removed way. But the power that it seems to hold over mortals and gods alike – she shudders at the memory of Hephaestus’ chase – is beyond her comprehension. She turns and bends, exposing more of herself to the mirror, blushing at the thought of what she is doing. Not because she is embarrassed by what is hers, but because she has never really known before now. She is hairless, as are most Greeks, so when she spreads herself, the hidden folds of her body are revealed.

Time passes. Athena stands straight again, legs together, and curls her toes against the cool marble of the ground. She watches her nails scrape against the stone and tries to reconcile the feeling, sound, and sight of it. She bends at the knee and watches the muscles of her thigh contract. An owl calls. Night comes.

Her face she has saved for last, and she leans forward in the dying light. She smiles, and her teeth flash brightly. She runs her tongue across her lips, and waits for a moment for the moisture to dry. She leans even closer, and explores the irises of her eyes. They are a blue the color of Tritonis in the summer sunlight, flecked with the grey of Zeus’ storm clouds.

“You are beautiful,” she whispers, her lips nearly brushing the silver of the mirror. This is a moment no one will ever share. Athena will never tell anyone of her afternoon with herself. But she will never be the same. She has always known of her beauty and been sure that it is superior to mortals, in the removed sense of a scholar that knows the definition of a word but does not understand its use or understand its true meaning. Today she has become a student of her body.

Athena dresses herself and dons her armor. She rests her shield across her back and hefts her spear. She leaves the atrium.

Word Count: 821

Research: Mirrors, goose pimples, nipples, pubis, grooming in ancient Greece, hair/body hair in ancient Greece, Lake Tritonis, geography of Athens.

What are five ideas/concepts/etc you keep in mind while writing your character that you believe are essential to accurately depicting them? Why did you choose them? How do they relate to the character’s over all persona?

1. Athena is really really old. (Sorry, MJ, snagged this one!) Even though I play her in a "realistic" sense, in that she's only as old as the religion which first told stories about her, that's still pretty damn old. She's seen a lot of things and, because she's the war goddess, she's been involved in a lot of Very Important Events. But at the same time, she's been stuck on Earth, bound to its people, with a dwindling population of worshipers. It's a very peculiar situation, and I have to balance the cynicism of old age with the jaded views of a once popular goddess, without letting her turn emo. I hate emo.

2. She may be a goddess, but she's not omnipotent. She's not even omniscient. The Greek gods were all super powerful but, for the most part, they were specialists. Athena's not much of an artist, for example, and she really doesn't get love (just like the rest of us). If you had nothing to do with any war, conflict, or crafting, she probably has no idea who you are. She learns quickly, and she's very intuitive, so she can often seem like she knows something inherently, but that's not the case. It's hard, especially when there's a wealth of information in a character's userinfo, not to have her just know it and hand wave it off as "hey, she's a goddess!"

3. It's not 1000 B.C. any more. Or, you know, earlier if you count the Aegeans and Minoans. I chose to play Athena as set in a modern world, and I have to deal with the fallout from that. War is different now. The crafting of weaponry is different now. Sweatshops exist. Nuclear weaponry. She no longer has worshipers in the same sense that she once did, mostly just people who study her academically. She's no longer bound by the social values of a now-dead society. Athena is smart, which means she's adaptable. She wears modern clothes, has modern accessories (like cars and computers), does modern things, and interacts seamlessly with modern people.

4. Athena can kick your ass and she knows it. She's also smarter than you. I think it lends her a certain amount of attitude, and a willingness to say things that others might not normally say. It also makes her more willing to interact with people that might normally scare others away, and to forge unique relationships with them. Like Josef Konstantin.

5. This last one's sort of controversial, but because of the nature of roleplaying here I do always have it at the back of my mind. Athena's not a virgin any more. I think she was a virgin for a very long time. But there are two ways around that, even when she was in her original society. First, she could have had sex with women or "done everything but". Sex was only defined as heterosexual intercourse, so she could have remained "intact" and still have had lovers. I don't think she did, not for a long while (I already wrote her first lover as a citizen of the Roman Empire, which was long after Athena's birth), but it's possible. Second, there's some scholarly debate on whether Athena's virginity (or the virginity of the other two virgin goddesses) was really about sex so much as giving one's self to another. I think for the first part of her life, she had no interest in sex or romance, so there was no issue either way. But even goddesses fall in love and, if they're adults, they have sexual desire. Even if she didn't initially, and I do sort of think that's the case, what does she care if she lets down a few modern day academics? There's no purpose in her being a virgin any more, and I don't think Athena would be interested in denying herself love and pleasure just because that's what some books say she used to or ought to do.

My new friend Tonks gave me an L.

- Lazy days. I work a lot, I appreciate time off.
- Licorice.
- Love. What? I don't have to be the goddess of something to appreciate it.
- Linen clothing. On me and on others.
- LAX. That place is like a warzone, which makes it the perfect place for me to people watch.
- Lingering glances.
- Lathi. It's an ancient Indian martial art. I like it because it was simple - a stick form - and was expanded from use in warfare to use in domestic life, such as keeping animals in line. Adaptability is a form of wisdom.
- Le Palais de Versailles.
- Lychee fruit.
- Life, the Game of. That game is awesome. With the little pink and blue pegs and the station wagons? Brilliant.

How many am I supposed to do? I can add more.

Well, I guess the idea is you reply and I give you a letter. I think I'm a bit behind on it, though, so if you've already done it and don't want to do it again, I'd understand. But you could always suck it up and try a different letter.

Notes: Lyrics are here.

The gods mentioned in this story are not meant to represent any of the gods that may currently exist in the variety of prompt and roleplaying communities on Livejournal or elsewhere. They are gods inside of Athena's universe only, and their actions and personalities have no relation to, or effect upon, any other characters but Athena.

Infinite Regret
There are two luxuries of time. There is the luxury of knowing it will never end, and that you will live an eternity rich with experiences. Then there is the luxury of knowing your place in the universe is limited, and that all things – pleasure and pain both – will come to an end. Sometimes I envy you mortals that latter luxury. Regret is a hard thing to bear forever.

When I was young, fresh sprung from my father's body, I was fostered by my cousin, Triton. He was the son of my uncle, Poseidon, whom I would later anger by winning the favor of those you know of as Athenians. We have a very complicated family tree, and Zeus wouldn't exactly win father of the year by any stretch of the term; being fostered with Triton was a good alternative, and I enjoyed my time with him and his family.

I was raised beside his daughter Pallas, and she was my best friend and my sister. At that point in my life, she was more my sister than any of my father's daughters. We spent our time together on the shores of the Lake talking of warfare and battle. We learned to wrestle and fight, with weapons and without, and we learned letters and the ways of words.

But people grow and they grow up. Our games of war became tinged with an undertone of hostility. I was the daughter of Zeus, she was the daughter of the son of the brother of Zeus. My place in Olympus, as a goddess, was guaranteed. She would be a nymph of the sea. Pallas longed for more.

The last night I saw Pallas I was seated on the edge of a dam at the northwestern part of the lake. The dam had been constructed so that the settlers north of us could have a proper growing season. I liked it there because it made for good fishing.

Pallas crept up behind me and tickled my ribs, startling me enough that I dropped the pole I had been holding. It was an old pole, and I didn't mind. I was in good humor that night: my father had seen fit to talk with me for the first time in many months.

“Greetings, Sister-Cousin,” she intoned, resting one hand on her hip and reaching out with the other to help me stand. I recognized that look in her. “I thought you might like to experience defeat in the moonlight.”

I laughed and took her hand. “I've yet to experience it in the sunlight, what makes you think Selene will grant you more favor than Apollo?”

“I don't need favor from the family, I have my skill.” Her words had become sharp suddenly, and she tossed me my short sword and struck immediately.

I countered, easily. Pallas didn't understand that my family didn't favor me in battle. Just the opposite, really. My siblings by Zeus preferred Ares; I had yet to earn their respect. It's not as though earning the respect of a Greek god is an easy thing. I think the family fought almost continuously, one way or another, for nearly a thousand years.

Pallas thought I won our battles by favor from the gods, and that rankled me. I was young and stupid, and the insinuation hurt. I responded the only way I could think of: I fought back twice as hard.

Looking back, I'm sure she was trying to raise my emotions so that I would lose my concentration. It was foolish for her to anger me, but it was foolish for me to rise to the bait. I should have known better. I know better now.

The battle was quick. I was easily defeating her. My blood rushing in my veins, I raised my arm for the final blow, intending only to knock her shoulder with the butt of my sword, as was our custom. But then I felt it, felt him: my father. He reached from Olympus, the ægis in his hand, and it was all over. She had changed position to deflect the blow from Zeus and my sword pierced her chest.

My sword pierced her chest.

Zeus was gone, of course. What did he care if some nymph fell beneath the blade of his great daughter? I cradled her in my arms as her blood poured from her body, and I cried out for Triton.

Don't get me wrong; I love my father. I always have, despite his eccentricities. But I love Triton as a father, too. Much of who I am is because of him. When I saw the look on his face as he came up out of the waters of the lake, it was the first time that my heart broke.

I'd like to say it was the last, but there's that luxury of time again.

She died in my arms, and I left the shores of the lake the next morning as the sun rose. I know that Triton knew what Zeus had done, but I could see blame in his eyes nonetheless. I had come to his lake and taken from him his daughter.

I lost my sister that night, in name if not in blood. And so I took her name for my own, so that I would remember her in the years to come.

It has been a great many years, and I have yet to forget.

Word Count: 909

How much research is too much research for a new muse? How much is not enough? When do you know the difference?

I sort of believe there’s no such thing as too much, not only for new muses, but for old ones, too. For some muses, stories just require research. Sure, I once spent over an hour reading about chess and Salamanca for a story, but not only did it improve the story itself, I got to learn things from it.
One of my favorite authors, ambitious_woman, writes detailed, incredibly accurate and lush stories. I aspire to make Athena’s stories come out similar to the way Reinette’s do. If I spend more time researching for a story than writing the story… well, there are benefits (see above).

Because Athena is a character that has existed for thousands of years, I have the wonderful opportunity to research various historical eras and places. Besides the obvious, ancient Greece and it’s mythology, I’ve gotten lost in information about the Crusades, the Inquisitions, India, the Roman Empire and Republic, World War II Europe, the Old West, ancient Sparta, fifteenth century Spain, and modern day New York and Los Angeles. Not only do I research the history of places, but of ideas and items as well, such as weaponry, virginity, religion, and societal norms. I want to make my stories as accurate as possible, considering I’m essentially adding to the mythology of an ancient goddess.

When I create new characters, I always research locations, names and surnames, and any other ancillary information that is necessary (for example: I once researched clerical clothes while creating a character that is a former priest). Some, like Athena, require more research than others, but I’ve never created a single character without doing any research. I feel as though it adds to the fun of playing and writing, for me, and I know that I appreciate interacting more with the characters that have those little, well researched details in their bios.