shatterverse | (no subject)

Entry tags:

hades,
stranger

(no subject)

So her seven-league boots are on again, in the metaphorical sense.

Which means, if you're on the North American continent somewhere, it's possible you were just bumped into by a slightly dazed blonde girl.

Pay attention to where she's going? That would require sanity! Stranger's kind of all out.

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She closes her hand, and the lilac goes... away.

Not away to any particular place.

Just away.

When her hand falls open and drops to her side, she remembers to stand up. And then to wonder what he's talking about.

"Do people give you flowers a lot?"

"Not frequently. Usually I get sacrifices-- cattle, pigs, that kind of thing.

"Name's Hades," he tells her. "Lord of the Dead."

"Stranger," she says, with what she probably considers a friendly smile. "--Is me." In case he hadn't got that. "I think."

"Is it because your head is on fire?" Short pause. "The flowers. That people don't give you frequently."

"It's... more a goddess-y offering in general."

Stranger? Well, it fit, she was.

Very authoritatively: "You're not a goddess."

A pause, and Stranger looks confused. "Unless you are."

"God," he assures her. "Goddesses tend to be slightly more ample in the chest area."

Well, where he's from they do.

... Okay, except Hera.

And Demeter's kid.

She giggles. He's funny!

Seemingly independent of the laughing fit, her right hand creeps into her pocket and draws out... a small, multicoloured rubber ball.

Which goes into the other pocket.

And then a bent paperclip makes the same journey, followed by a felt finger-puppet of a zebra, a slightly mushed chocolate bar, and a diamond the size of a cherry tomato.

The giggles fade off into an absent "No, no, no..." as Stranger discounts each item.

"Lose something?"

If she starts pulling out one of those endless scarves, he's outta here.

Stranger holds up a finger in the universal gesture for 'interruptions discouraged' and frowns.

"They're being obstinate," she explains, digging around some more.

The action produces a small grapefruit, which she considers for a moment before stuffing it in the reject pocket.

...

The laws of physics-- heck, the laws of geometry-- protest at the idea that all that stuff could fit in one pair of jeans. And she's still going. Next up: a very shiny coin, followed by a string of pearls.

Hey, Hades violates the laws of phsyics all the time. Blue flames are supposed to be hotter than orange.

But he folds his arms and waits, curious now.

Pair of scissors. Bottle of hairspray (expired; she wrinkles her nose and tosses it in the sand). The same rubber ball from before-- how it migrated pockets is a mystery for the ages. Travel shampoo. Tube of glitter. A single purple sequin, which she handles with solemn delicacy. A live mouse-- or at least a mouse-shaped thing that squeaks and flails briefly before being stuffed into the proverbial rejection pile.

When her hand reaches into her pocket this time, her entire demeanour becomes one of 'aha'.

Triumphantly, Stranger pulls out a closed thermos.

"It's good for you," she says, quite earnestly.

Apparently in her world, the proper thing to do with a god is hand him some chicken noodle soup. (Against all probability, it's still warm.)

Offering accepted, if in a bemused sort of way. "I'm sure it is.

"Blessings on you, you crazy diamond."

Weird world, this one.

Stranger beams.

"They're charming!"

...it helps if you realize that's a Pink Floyd lyric, really. Or three words of one. Which is enough for Stranger, apparently.

Nutty mortal.

The thermos disappears to... somewhere. As things do.

"The people who get pulled into this world..." Even if they weren't exactly flashbanged.

Oh, Stranger was flashbanged. The seven-league boots are a local power.

And one that just gave out on her.

Absent frown.

"I wish," she says vaguely, "I could pull an airplane out of my sleeve."

It would be the most sensible solution to being stuck in a desert with a god...

...right?

It's barely possible she's being metaphorical. Good luck figuring out what the metaphor describes, however.

"You know, I'd say you need bigger sleeves for that, but I'm not sure.

"Where is it you want to be? Flowers, right?"

What the heck, he can put the crazy girl somewhere in bloom, right?

She beams at him, and nods firmly.

"They're pretty!" Hey, he needs the reminder.

"Uh-huh." Well. Where in this world has... no, not there, those'll just eat her...

There's a place.

And past a whiff of smoke, there's a garden. It's mid-April, and the little town in northern California is warm and in bloom, and despite the fact that the residents of the house are long gone and the garden is a little weedy and overgrown, there is wisteria.

And roses.

And alyssum, lots of that, tiny puffs of white flowers spilling over the edges of things.

There is jasmine, too, and an ornamental pond that hasn't had any fish in it for a while but is rich in water lillies. There is ivy and there are bright orange California poppies. There are ornamental cherry trees, in pale pink bloom, and there are orange and lemon trees, with clean white flowers just starting to open. There are lillies in several varieties, shapes, and colors. There is lupine, purple and blue and pink.

He actually does know they're pretty.

...BESTEST GOD EVER :D :D :D

Yes, Stranger will be indulging in some glee now. And some sprawling. And some very careful flower-sniffing. And some more glee.

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