PMOCT- Round 2, Prologue
The night hung low, the only lights coming from the streetlights, the shop windows, and the tiny red dots that scuttled anywhere one cared to glance. The figure approaching the little shop didn't bother glancing though. Athene did. Several times. The screen on which he appeared seemed to be magnetic, drawing her to see what the figure was up to.
A few minutes later, she saw exactly what he was up to. And who he was. Rather, what he was.
In a large room lined with old-fashioned books, a man sat typing at a laptop. He glanced up when a woman in a blue jumpsuit appeared out of the dusty air.
Hestia shifted the straps of her vacumn, then turned to face Apollo. "Hey," she said. "Athene said you needed me. Is the bathroom still alright?"
"The bathroom is working wonderfully, thank you," Apollo closed his laptop and gestured to an old armchair before his desk. "Sit," he invited, and Hestia obliged, her face subtly curious.
"Alright then," she crossed her arms. "Let's hear it."
PMOCT- Round One EpilogueArtemis waited, leaning against the wall. A spider-cam approached her, and Artemis glanced down sharply to it. "Well?"
The spider-cam blossomed into a figure. A woman, her brown hair loose around her shoulders and wearing old-fashioned clothing, floated beside Artemis.
"She'll be ready for you in a moment. They're still checking for shock," Athene said.
Artemis nodded. "And the other one?"
"He's still out cold." Athene rose an eyebrow towards her fellow G.O.D. "The scientists aren't happy."
"Really now? I expect they're running about like frightened pigeons trying to wake him up?"
"Well " Athene considered this. "Yes." Artemis exhaled sharply.
"I used what the lab-heads gave me, and it got the job done. I'm not about to apologize."
"No one's asking you to," Athene replied, rolling her eyes imperceptibly.
"And I suppose I should thank you," Artemis added stiffly, "for alerting us to the prisoners' location. Even if you did decide it would be a good idea to just watch them fo
PMOCT- Round One, Part ThreeSorrel stumbled. She didn't like that. She decided to tell whoever was pulling her along that she didn't appreciate this ridiculous little half-tripping. Either she was running or she was walking, and that was the end of that.
"Hgzm," she said angrily. The only answer she got was a loud huffing sound.
Her ribs hurt, she realized. They really hurt. Oh lord, they were killing her.
She became slowly aware that her legs were trying to run, hence the stumbling, and that she remained pressed against a body that smelled like sweat and leaves. That dang huffing in her ear was driving her crazy.
She was going to try to tell the sweaty, leaf-smelling huffer to stop the stumbling thing again, when they stopped suddenly and Sorrel felt herself being lowered to a cool, hard ground.
She peeled her eyes open and caught sight of the tree-man with his hands on his knees, his narrow chest heaving. She tried to sit up, then hurked when something shot through her ribs. She fell back to the ground with a p
PMOCT- Round One, Part TwoWhen Sorrel stepped onto the floor of the stadium, she realized there was no sun. Sorrel had been hoping for sun. She blinked blearily up at the ellipse of space above her, above the churning crowds, and felt her eyes ache from the sudden flood of unnatural light.
She lowered her face and looked at the walls of humans before her. They sounded distant, and blurred, and their individual faces had run together into a pattern of fabric that draped and wrinkled itself across the stadium. Sorrel turned away. No need to get nervous before a rustling bit of fabric.
And then she saw him, across the stadium.
He was a man, she supposed, thin and sparsely clothed. There were sticks in his hair. Sorrel realized that her feet had been carrying her forward, without her permission, and so she stopped herself a few long paces from him.
A voice pooled across the stadium air, and the fabric shushed and rippled as if agitated by a sudden, strong gust of wind. The two opponents studied one anothe
PMOCT- Round One, Part OneDuck.
Sorrel jumped back and tried to snap out a kick at her invisible enemy. She frowned as her foot only barely reached waist height, feeling the pants restrict her movement in ways the dress never did.
Sorrel had only given in to wearing the pants and shirt that had appeared beside her cot after her dress had become unbearably itchy and dirty upon her skin. She'd had some trouble figuring out the metal baubles that kept the cream-colored pants up, and the underclothing was a mere loincloth of fabric, but she'd managed in the end, even if she did feel like a man. At least the simple gray shirt fit her well enough.
Sorrel dropped her arms and panted in the stale air. Then, wiping at the thin film of sweat on her brow, she went to the small silver sink and bent down to scoop water into her mouth. As she wiped her chin, the door clicked.
Sorrel's heart jumped into her mouth as she whirled around to spot a tall woman with blue hair. That threw Sorrel for a few seconds. Th
PMOCT- Round 1, PrologueArtemis looked annoyed. Or, more accurately, more annoyed than usual. In fact, Athene mused as the G.O.D. strode past one of her spider-cams, Artemis looked downright unpleasant. Exasperated. Ready to toss anyone in her way towards the nearest wall.
Athene wasn't sure that she could blame Artemis of course. Athene herself had spent the last few days trying to "track down" escaped prisoners and reminding Artemis not to call her Spider. But why the head of security would be storming in the direction of Minos's office remained beyond her.
Artemis turned a sharp corner without slacking her brisk pace, and the blue-haired nymph behind her did the same with only a tad less dexterity. Her curiosity piqued just enough, Athene flowed into a spider-cam that sat perched above the secretary which Artemis and her nymph approached. There were a few words exchanged, and within moments the doors behind the secretary glided open. Artemis moved past the desk into the room without so much as a glance aro
She DancesShe dances
Across the stage
With a whirl of movement
And a burst of unmitigated energy
She grabs at their attention
And twists herself up in it.
But I cannot help but see
With every soaring success
Shadows behind her
Young faces, eager faces
Unseen to most
Barely felt by her,
That when she swoops
Trip and soar behind
And as she grabs at the audience
Watch behind her
And when the show is done
The seats vacated
The theater gutted and echoing,
I stand alone
And still their shadows flit
In and out of memory,
For I see my own visage there among them
Walking the path of what might have been
Across an empty stage.