You Might Want To Hear This (any immortals)

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Ding. The elevator stopped moving and, a moment later, the doors slid open. Technically speaking, he wasn’t supposed to be up here. However, he had a message they might want to hear. So he left the elevator and started making his way across the floating stone bridge some six hundred floors about the city streets. Ahead, Mount Olympus loomed tall and intimidating. Gold glittered everywhere, especially in the light of hundreds of braziers ablaze with licking flame. Temples and statues and everything that made the ancient Mediterranean so wonderful (at least, the northern Mediterranean; let’s not even get into Judea or Egypt or Persia or any of those, though Prometheus was plenty familiar with all of them). He was sure he would not be welcome here, as technically, he’d been in hiding for most of the last millennium or so. He only came out when the world needed him, or so he saw it. Now, he figured, was one of those times, and he was going to start this time by showing his allegiance to the gods of Olympus so they wouldn’t get their togas and chitons in a twist about him not taking sides or taking the ‘wrong’ side or something.

He got to the other side of the bridge and started through the grand city. Music filled the air, plus the smell of ambrosia and flowers. It had been a while since he was here, since the time Saturn – er, Kronos – had attempted to rise some three years ago and he had ended up pleading his case before Jup- er, Zeus. Curse these Roman and Greek forms. They confused him enough, even when he really had no Roman form to split his mind like so many others. Yes, in the 1860s, the latest time, this place had been in hysterics more or less, as all the gods here were trying to figure out which version of themselves they really were as their Greek and Roman children pulled the entire nation into a bloody Civil War.

As he passed, nymphs and other mystical beings paused to watch him go, obviously knowing he was not meant to be here. The funny thing about being him was… sure, he could change his appearance like all the other immortals, but one thing carried from every appearance to the next: his scars. Even if he took on the form of a cat – he had once out of curiosity – he appeared a beaten alley tom with notches out of his ears and rough patches of fur. He couldn’t avoid his past. Which in part made him bitter, yes, but more made him cautious. Only pick sides when you know you will win. He didn’t regret stealing fire, of course, as mankind had needed it. However, the punishment still haunted him. Finally, the grand flight of stairs flanked at the top by ridiculously huge statues of Zeus/Jupiter and Hera/Juno came into side. He paused in his walk to look up at the statues. Behind those statues was the throne room. He would have his audience or the gods would learn a lesson the hard way.

Tag: any immortals
Word Count: 520
Notes:

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Mars had been relaxing and lounging. Olympus had much to offer for the god of war. Venus for example, the thought of harrassing his "favorite" brother, Vulcan. And by favorite, he meant his least favorite. It was always nice to see mother of course. Bringing tales of his latest conquests and favorite battles. The Nymphs, they were nice looking too. Oh man did he mention the food? Well it wasn't anything like fried fish, or hush puppies, or fried shrimp... well you get the idea. Mars loved his fried food, but the food on Olympus you couldn't get anywhere else. It was quite amazing. He even basked in the glow of his own children's acomplishments as well. MAttie was amazing, Remus and Ken were both worthy to call themselves Sons of MArs. Even Ty and Nick were worthy of his name, though the former was claimed by Jupiter that ugly over pompous airhead. Charlie was a bit disappointing. She wasn't living up to his expectations ad he had even made it clear that she was some what lax when it came to children of Mars. She needed to be more. Though the child would do her own thing, no matter how stupid or unbecoming a child of mars it was.

But as he came to the throne room, a goblet of ambrosia in his hand he spotted something or someone that usually didn't grace the presence of the throne room. come to think of it, it had been a long time since he had seen the Titan of Forethought. Prometheus, was quite responsible for giving mankind fire, and if he was alone in his opinion he didn't care. Mars quite liked having his sacrifices roasted and fired. It tasted better that way. Even he thought it was a bit much for punishment what Jupiter did. But then again, everything that Jupiter did pissed off MArs. He liked Prometheus since Jupiter didn't, it was on principle. "Well what do we have here?" Mars stated as he approached the Titan, looking him over to see if he meant to be a threat or if he was here on pleasure or business. "What brings you up to this slice of hell, think I saw Pluto slinking around in the shadows somewhere so it really is Hell. Even more so when that wind bag jupiter shows up." He laughed as he offered Prometheus an extended hand to shake. He didn't like Jupiter and anyone that screwed with him, titan or otherwise, was alright in MArs's books.

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Prometheus wasn’t supposed to be here. Then again, this was sort of a big deal. If he could get an audience, that would be perfect. A proper audience, not just a faun or muse. Someone of consequence who could pass the message on, or several someones. Though… it seemed this place was unnaturally silent today. Still. Peaceful, really. Nothing like the thoughts in his mind. He climbed the steps leading to the throne room, glancing up at the imposing and oversized statues of Jupiter and Juno on either side as he passed them. Silly, he thought, being so ostentatious. Then again, he was not the one who lived here. He still liked to think himself better than the two actual beings whom the statues were cast to look like. He didn’t flout around with mortals and dryads and anything with two legs and have more children than the myths could count. Nor did he, assuming he had said children, throw them off mountains in vanity. No, Prometheus was the silent observer, and he liked that position very much. Just this time he figured he shouldn’t be silent.

Ah, the throne room. Once upon a time, he’d wished for a throne here. Who hadn’t? Recognition, loyalty, love among the mortals. It was all quite good really. Though he liked to think he held a different kind of immortality in the minds of men. Bringing of fire, had a nice ring to it. He had all sorts of things named after him. Ceres couldn’t brag that, yet she had a seat here. He was unusual. One of the very few Titans who still held respect among men. Even his brother couldn’t say that about himself. Hmm, he should check in on his brother sometime. Poor Epimetheus, rather a fool. Hadn’t seen him in at least a decade. He did try to keep their meetings short though. His younger brother was not the most… enlightened being.

He knew he was there before he spoke up. Partly because it was hard to miss an aura like Mars’, partly because, well, foresight. He waited for him to speak though, to seem polite. When he did, he turned with a cool smile. “I suppose the old scars might be fading then?” He was joking of course, just a play on how it was probably pretty obvious who was here. He meant no harm by it, but with Mars, one never knew. Not even him. “Slice of hell, hmm? I trust you would say that, since there really isn’t any fighting here, except what I’m sure ends up the occasional verbal squabble. Must be a tad boring for you.” He chuckled. “Ah, so Pluto is breaking the rules as well?” He smiled and took Mars’ offered hand and shook it. “Probably better that the, ah, wind bag didn’t show anyway. I have a feeling he would not hear me out.”

Tag: Mars
Word Count: 483
Notes: