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There are no proper temples anymore, not by ancient standards. Instead, there are spirals of metal, glass, and concrete, buildings that stretch into their domain, separated by that thin veneer of belief, fluttering around wars and art and everything that makes humans, human.
It’s a requirement, now, that they spend time among the humans that sustain them, that they sustain in return.
(Their elders didn’t, and where did they end up? Mere shadows of themselves, gasping on the vestige of belief in children’s stories and the sparks of artists – nothing like the rivers of nectar that once flowed through their halls, glistening like a golden dawn with the intensity of all the stars in the sky.
They learn. They adapt.)
~IiI~
He starts somewhere in what they call the Midwest, these days. He’s born, he grows, he learns, he fights; he adapts.
Sometimes, he thinks there’s too much of his great-grandfather in him. Other days, he knows that his mother would be proud of him, even if his father wouldn’t.
(There are some things that his human parents can’t understand; there are some things he can’t understand, as a godling in human skin. Tension has always dogged his footsteps, preceded him as his own personal banner, but this kind of fight isn’t one he can win.)
So he buries those parts in him, seals them in his soul, tries and mostly succeeds in losing his status in the body and life of the one who will become Eliot Spencer, and doesn’t touch them until he turns 18 and has to get out of a town that is stifling to a godling. The days of small towns are passing – they will always exist, and there will always be a place in heart for them, but he cannot see all of humanity in this particular microcosm.
He does his father proud – does as he always does, and goes to war.
~IiI~
Somewhere else, his brother is causing some kind of havoc, but he’s here and rediscovering a new form of fear to strike into the hearts of man.
See, back in the old days, kings and the rich would keep their money and jewels close. You could threaten them, could even steal from them, but it was almost always easier to cause them to fear for their reputation, not their material goods.
That’s not the case, these days.
Technology was never something he’d ever really meddled in – oh, he did more than his brother, but that’s what fear is for, anyways. But this, now this is a whole new world of opportunities laid out in front of him.
“Alec? Are you still up on your computer?”
He blinks back to himself, hunches down and locks the memories down for another rainy day, before replying, “Yeah, Nana. I’ll go to bed soon, I promise!”
“Now, child, you’re going to bed now!”
“Yes, Nana!”
~IiI~
Her new name is Parker, Mr. Bunny is her’s, and she’s never been more appreciative of her time spent honing the skills that are her birthright.
Sure, she distains the pomp and circumstance most women are forced to go through for society, but that doesn't mean she doesn't have a keen eye for things that sparkle and can be traded for money to keep her fed and warm and safe. Money is also wonderful on its own – soft, and supple, or crisp and fresh, she’ll take all of it.
It beats huddling under bridges and in other people’s cars and being forced to move.
She’s quick, she’s strong, but she moves by choice, her father’s inherent restlessness deep in her own bones. She does not move for humans, even if she wears the skin of one now, has the name of one.
She learns to fly in the body, and it’s almost better than being in her godly form because now she has to work for her flight, calculate, rely on bone and sinew, and adrenalin – there are few opportunities for second chances.
~IiI~
“You’re more useful than you look,” Phobos grins at his brother as Deimos gets offended at the insulation. As if Fear would ever be useless. He’s just picked up some new skills, a nuance to the fear he brings in this incarnation.
“And what do you do?”
Four guards down in less than 30 seconds.
“That’s what I do.” More of the same, but with an efficiency, a smoothness to his movements that speaks to what he’s been doing in this life – he’s physically comfortable in this human skin, that his brother can never quite manage in the same way. But he is Terror, and what terrifies powerful men more than a single figure in the night, with the power to destroy them in more ways than one?
“And I’m the one with the exit plan!” Because Palaestra is always ready to run, even if she’s fine with wrestling as needed. She’s her father’s daughter after all.
“And I’m the one with the plan.”
As if Pallas would ever be without a plan and a war to rage.
Phobos -- Terror, Son of Ares and Aphrodite, brother to Deimos, occasionally depicted with a lion's mane, and potentially Ares' favorite.
Deimos -- Fear, Son of Ares and Aphrodite, brother to Phobos, shows up in fewer myths, or at least specifically him, from what I've managed to find/remember.
Palaestra -- daughter of Hermes, major tom boy, super into wrestling.
Palla -- Titain, married to Styx, potentially holds dominion over warcraft and the spring campaign season
Didn't really do much research on these guys, so if I'm missing stuff, let me know!
I also don't know anyone from Oklahoma, nor have I lived there, so I'm not sure which region they consider themselves to be part of.
As always, kudos, comments, and concrit welcome! And feel free to poke me at fins-illusion.tumblr.com
~Fins