846/Sweet Rolls & Secrets

Sweet Rolls & Secrets
Date of Scene:	08 June 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Athenaeum, Ares

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Athenaeum has posed:
It's early evening in the isles of Greece. Sea birds wheel and caw, following small fishing vessels as they make their scudding way back to berth. The sky is clear, the blue darkening at the horizon to start to swirl into the oranges and violets of a sun just kissing the horizon. As always, a soft breeze blows across the small white villa's veranda, lifting hair and tousling clothes gently.

Ysabelle checks the sun again, gauging the time with the ease of long practice. Long before there was ever a clock worthy of the name, she'd been taught how to keep time and old habits die hard. The magician sets out a silver cake stand, filled with various pastries and sweet rolls, still warm from the oven. Carefully she wipes a little flour away with her thumb, sticking it into her mouth with a smile. Guests deserve good food anyway, but sacrifices to the Gods should always be baked with your own hands. A pitcher of wine, lightly spiced and chilled so that condensation slides down it's surface to be absorbed by the doiley beneath. All is in readiness, leaving only herself.

Unsure for the first time in many years, the pale woman had changed, changed and changed again. Finally settling on a loose fitting summer dress of pale green. Covering from her collarbone to mid-calf, with white woolen stockings beneath and open toed sandles of a tan leather finish the outfit.

No jewelry adorns her skin, nor does makeup give her anything to hide behind. Not /quite/ able to bring herself to go completely without, a very subtle dusting of carmine on her lips gives her face a bit of depth, where the start white would otherwise flatten it. With all this done, she stands on the steps of her home, hands clasped behind her back as she rocks on the balls of her feet, waiting nervously.

Ares has posed:
    It had been a brief exchange between them after that curious encounter at the gallery. In some ways the meeting was such an interesting series of events. Normally John Aaron wouldn't entertain a viewing of such material, his interests did not lie along the lines of what high society claims to value. He had his own curiousities that he enjoyed creating a collection out of, but artwork for the sake of art... there must be a touch of the utilitarian for him to truly embrace it.
    But it had been a good experience over all. Perhaps on some level Athena set all those wheels in motion. Such is her way often, to bring people into experiences and try to teach them a clever clever lesson as each piece falls into place. Yet that one at the gallery did not feel quite as... direct as her efforts can be. There was a subtlety to it, and that led to the incognito immortal to ponder the experience after a time.
    A decision was made, another meeting was required. The woman who was in some ways connected to his sister, she has such curious elements to her that if naught else came of the meeting it would at the least be worthy of some examination. It's possible she'll shed some light on matters, but then again he might just wish for an excuse to interact with another who has lived for a good length of time in comparison to the Gods.
    His arrival to the island this time was not as gentle as when she brought him through only several days ago. The shadows grew long, somehow their depth growing all the more palpable and 'real' to the senses. But it's when there's that carnival mirror-like twist to the rent fabric of reality that she'll be able to anticipate his arrival.
    He's there in the next moment, no real transition between his absence and his presence. One moment seems to simply play into the next without bothering to tell the antecedent what had just occured.
    At a glance he is much as she remembered him, though without that tailored suit. Again it is the informal for him, despite the seeming purity of her composed self. He stands tall against the horizon, jeans, a black t-shirt, grey sweatshirt... sneakers of white, and a black baseball cap completes him.
    "Ms. Orion."

Athenaeum has posed:
Unable to give him his due in the gallery, Ysabelle's curtsy here is deep and flawless. Skirts held wide, front knee bent with head and eyes lowered in subservience, it's a pose she hasn't had to adopt in such a long time - yet these things stick in the muscle memory if not in the actual. She'd agonised over the correct title to give him, lacking any knowledge of who /he/ truely is, other than sister to Athena. "Good evening your Grace, I trust the evening finds you well?"

Her voice, though soft, is still warm even with it's tinge of awe. Her eyes stay downcast despite the greeting, the cutsy held - as is proper until released from it.

Ares has posed:
    "Please," She perhaps didn't hear him move as he closed the distance, a hand light upon her shoulder. "It has been several hundred years since anyone has bowed to me, I would prefer for it to be another hundred more, so let us forget about such courtesy." Not really touching her too much save that initial small pressure to gain her attention, he steps back and guides her up with the motion of one hand.
    John takes another step back so they can meet each other's gaze and his lip curls a touch. "I had worried you would have some fool notion of affection for my family, it is a pity that you grant them such deference."
    The tall man looks to the side towards the table, then back to her. "Come, it looks like you've made a fine spread. Let us break bread together and all the social mores will be fulfilled. We will eat a little, drink a little, and then you can trust your safety to custom."

Athenaeum has posed:
Ysabelle seems a little taken aback, touched first and then spoken to like an equal. It takes a few moments for her brain to switch gear, a smile blossoms onto her face. "How can I not hold you family in regard, when the two I've met are so polite and considerate?" It's a far cry from the petty rivalries and jealous intrieges of legend, but everyone softens eventually, right?

Leading him over, she does still wait for him to sit first before taking her own chair, but then again, that too is down to hospitality. "I'm sorry if I've brought back memories you'd rather not think on. I've uh..." A pause, a swallow. She stands again, collecting the pitcher and carefully pouring two crystal glasses. The crook of her elbow, the way her loose hair is never allowed to fall foward to mask the clean line of limbs and face, Ares might now recognise it as a well trained servant from ages past.

"I assumed you'd like red, please tell me if that's not the case." Still she places the goblet before him, re-taking her seat as she sits, finally finishing her earlier scentence. "I've kept to the old beliefs for so long, but you never really expect a personal visit." Or anything really, faith isn't exactly /faith/ if it's proven.

Ares has posed:
    "Ah, there are those who will apologize profusely and smile prettily while they cut your throat, but does it make them worthy of respect?" The Olympian shakes his head and then gives a small shrug, "But that is neither here nor there." He has made his feelings about his family known sufficiently enough it seems, at least from those words now and those that she might have heard at the gallery.
    That having been said he follows after her towards the table and at her gesture to take a seat he will do so, but nods for her to join him as soon as she's able. Though he listens as she moves about making to serve him. When she comes clear enough he accepts the goblet and draws it closer, but will not sip until she's taking her rest too. "Do not worry, of late my thoughts have traveled along those lines whether bidden by you or not."
    He takes a moment to sip at the wine and nods his approval before he turns his attention back upon her. "So I shall assume you have questions. Ask them and if I am not bound by some prior oath then I shall answer."

Athenaeum has posed:
"Oh questions, yes I suppose I do." Ysabelle's smile is still warm, if less maternal now that the man sitting opposite her is known to be even older than she. Still, it's a genuine brightness tinged with excitement.

"Let's see, I suppose I should ask /which/ brother Miss M.. Um, Athena mean." Her cheeks stain a soft pink, remembering what they'd spoken of at their previous meeting. "Other than that, I don't even know where to being. Is Olympus still connected to our realm, how do you even travel between? Is this why you were taught to use magic that commands rather than ask, because it's your birthright? What happened for the Olympian's to lose sway... /Why/ did you turn aside from us and choose /them/ instead? Can you really take and fo..." Once she realises she's rabbiting, that flush deepens ever so slightly, though perhaps with a little more embarrassment than excitement now.

"And uh... As you can see, I'm quite curious about a lot of things. Maybe it's best if you just tell me what you want me to know?" She finally takes a sip of her wine, swallowing quietly as she waits.

Ares has posed:
    A wry smile settles into place at the corner of John's mouth, his eyes meeting hers albeit sidelong. He settles into the chair, leaving whatever refreshments might be available alone for the moment. Resting his hands over his chest and settling in, he says levelly, "She and I are the closest of siblings amongst the Olympians. She represents the mind that is used when one faces conflict, and I the heart. If you will." There's a pause, then he adds, "Or rather I used to. I have walked away from Zeus' court these last two hundred years. My sister is the first to have found me in that time."
    He looks away as he recalls her other questions to memory, and begins to answer them as he can, "As for the rest... Olympus... is Olympus, it is unchanging. And it is possible to travel there any number of ways, depending on if those who hold sway there wish to entertain others."
    There's a pause as his brow furrows a touch, "Unless you mean gaining access to it against the wishes of the Gods. Then you are left with only a handful of possibilities. Or to lay siege." It's clear he's considered this in the past.
    "A small smile reappears as he goes on, "And I was never really taught, in the way you may understand it. It was like..." He lifts a hand to the back of his neck thoughtfully, "Like being shown that I had a limb, and that I should not let it grow lax. For each of it it is different, and the way for me to easily access some control of such was to embrace the feelings of arrogance, anger..."
    He flares his hands slightly, "Why did the Olympians disappear from the world? Some will tell you that they chose to let mankind chart its own path. Others will tell you that they turned their focus upon other realms. I believe they stopped being involved because their charges were surpassing them. More and more often I would visit the court of my father and their eyes would be turned inward instead of looking upon the mortal realm."
    But then he stops and asks of her, "What do you mean /us/ and /them/?"

Athenaeum has posed:
Ysabelle listens with rapt attention, absorbing facts and opinion with equal interest. Now and then as he talks she takes a small sip of the wine, never more than that however, it would after all, be improper to get inebriated. Finally his words come to an end though, and the magus is left flushing again.

"Oh, no, that was a foolish, selfish question. I shouldn't waste your time on that." She takes a moment to straighten the already straight lay of her skirts over the chair, giving herself time to think on wording perhaps, or else hoping that the issue will be dropped if it's left long enough.

"However you had questions too last time you were here, and I would imagine it's curiousity that brought you again? Or else, confirming that I will keep your secret for you, now that I know." A brief pause as a particularly belligerant seagull squarks overhead, eyeing up the pastries. "Which of course, I will. I've always believed that peoples secrets were their own to share."

Ares has posed:
    He holds up a hand, "No, the questions you ask and the reason for asking them are as important as the questions themselves. So finish, repeat the last two. Us versus them, and the one you failed to fully give voice." Ares looks to her sidelong, watching as she sips her wine, his own regard taking in aspects of her as he watches as if /she/ were the curiousity on display here and he was seeking his own amusement.
    "As for my questions, I would mainly know what you attribute your survival to. Are you someone's creature and if so what do you owe them? For you seem to act with... agency, but it is a checked thing, as if you were truly not entirely free to follow your inclinations." There's a pause then as he considers her, but then he adds.
    "At least that is my impression, I have been known to be wrong. But not often."

Athenaeum has posed:
Ysabelle let's out a small sigh from between slightly parted lips. Joined with the squaring of her shoulders, and the way her eyes come up to attempt to meet his sidelong gaze with a full on, steady one.

"Why did the Olympian's abandon Greece and side with Rome? What did we do that lost so much favour, that their war machines ran roughshod over our entire civilisation like so much dross?" A hard edge has crept into her voice, a survivers edge or rather, one that a small girl watching something horrific with no understanding of /why/ the parents she assumed were unstoppable couldn't protect her... A shudder runs through the magus' body as she pushes the memory away.

"You see now why I called it selfish. I'm the only one I know still alive that holds that particular greivance, it's an answer only I would care about." She shifts in her chair, mildly uncomfortable at having been forced to confront a Diety straight on. But only mildly it seems.

"The last question was more frivalous interest, can you really take any form you choose? Or is that gift reserved mainly for Zeus himself? I've never been able to work out shape-changing... It just seems one step too far against the worlds restrictions..." Another pause, a little smile following with a quick shake of her head. "You asked me to stop the last time I tried to tell you my history. But no one controls me now except me, if that is the more important question. I have my own rules and desires, which dictate what I may or may not do. Who exactly would I put my faith in, when I have seen so many cultures thrive and die?"

Ares has posed:
    "Ah," John furrows his brow as he listens to her question, it is one he has at times asked himself. He looks down for a moment and leans forwards, resting an arm upon the tabletop and then lightly tapping a fingertip upon its edge as if discerning aspects of the surface, as if trying to plumb its depths and consider the way to phrase just the answer for her in a way she would perhaps understand. From his perspective.
    "Alexander was mine. Oh Athena would tell you that he had aspects of her. And that may be true. But he was mine, he was the moment, he was conquest and victory and the fruits of such. Each moment was to lead to a larger moment." There's a narrowing of his eyes as he looks across the way at her, "He wept when there were no more lands to conquer. That much is true, but then he retired and drank himself to death. Here I had given him such a gift. I rode with him at his side, standing upon the mountains of the dead, exulting with each city that fell."
    Ares draws himself up and she can hear the subtle anger in his words, the rage that still lives there only a moment of reverie is needed to conjure it back to the fore. "I showed him the vision of what would come. A great sweeping rulership, the next phases of control that would require sacrifice to insure the birth of an empire that would last hundreds, perhaps a thousand years. And this man, this golden man whom I loved. He grew weak with fear."
    For a moment, Ares' features contort, as if the betrayal were fresh, were new. He shakes his head and then meets Ysabelle's eyes, "He could not make the sacrifice he said, he did not wish to be remembered that way. The creator of an empire that would fight wars for an age. Instead that coward retired to his tent... and fell into a bottle. And died."
    He pushes a rough hand over his head, the stubble bristly as he murmurs. "The coward." Yet it's a double-edged thing, for this betrayal remains so real to him... and yet he named his son after this man.
    "But then I saw what could come from that small salt crossroads. Saw what could spawn from it. I turned my eyes away. Oh I would look back now and again. I would see the Spartans being spurned, ignored and treated ill for the sacrifices they made. Athens, my sister's city swollen with pride in itself. And ah, my sister's ever so protective guardianship. She had your people well in hand did she not?" He lets those words trail off, as if what came next were self-explanatory. And there, quietly, the tale falls. Any of her other questions lie forgotten in his tirade and for once he seems... taller now, the shadows darker and longer. And now it is not so far a stretch to imagine this one, this being as the God of War.

Athenaeum has posed:
"It seems we were all betrayed." Ysabelle answers softly, her own anger a pale comparison next to his own. Pale enough to drift away on the evening breeze after the God's heartfelt explanation. She doesn't comment on the mention of Athena, Olympians have a habit of blaming each other after all, and that's certainly no where she wants to dip a toe in, let alone have her hand cut off for meddling.

"What's done is done of course, and there's no going back to change it." Or rather, there's nothing that she'd be willing to do to go back, the cost of messing with time was just too high. She takes another sip of wine, running her mind over the conversation so far, she remembers something else.

"Ah yes, you asked how I came to live so long. An accident of all things, I mis-cast a spell that dealt with Time. In my hubris I pushed myself out of sync with Time, and managed to age my Master and all his home into dust." She tells the story without inflection, just another fact among many. Though her eyes do flick away now and then, showing the guilt is still there, under everything else. "Since then I've been as you see me now, never a hair or a wrinkle added or removed."

Ares has posed:
    "And you have not tried to undo the spell?" Ares asks her as he returns to his seated posture, his arms folding over his chest and his eyes upon hers. "A positive benefit from this miscasting, took the lives of innocents and enjoy the fruits of such a fortuitous event? Or are you still seeking to undo the spell upon yourself and grant you the end that you most likely feel you deserve?"
    Since she asked her question there is something more... adversarial in him, as if the old ways were easier to embrace when forced to reminisce about what has passed. Or perhaps he seeks to draw forth a reaction by those comments. He tilts his head as he considers her features before she answers, but then perhaps cuts her off momentarily to add, "But then again, it would be a difficult boon to let slip from one's fingers. Were I a mortal I imagine I would have difficulty."

Athenaeum has posed:
"You do me a disservice Mister Aaron." Ysabelle remarks cooly. "I do not /deserve/ to be released from this shell any more than I deserve the unaging nature it has bestowed upon me. Accidents are accidents, we do what we must to set things right. In this case, any research I have been doing is into how to return my Master to the world, along with the repository of knowledge I destroyed at the same time."

She pauses, sipping her wine to whet her tongue. "/If/ I ever work that out, only then would I be in a situation where I could let go and take my rest in the underworld."

Ares has posed:
    The tall man meets her gaze, "You have a curiously discriminating sense of morality." For a moment he again taps his fingertips lightly upon the surface of the table, but then he extends a hand to push his own drink away and to the side, sliding it on the surface away from him and then planting his hands flat to help him push himself to his feet.
    Gaining his feet, he rises fully and looks askance towards the home she calls her own on this island, brow furrowing a moment before shifting his attention back to her. "But I have seen worse in mortals." At least a passing approval or a judgement not as severe as might have been passed. He adjusts the hang of his jacket with the sweep of one hand, then pushes a hand over the stubble upon his scalp. Old muscle memory, performed by rote. "I think we have each gained insight. For now I must tend to Alexander's departure." His lip twitches slightly, "Summer camp after all is a hectic time for a child."
    With that said he slides his hands into his pockets and moves back towards the way he came from, perhaps to conjure the gate in reality there as something of a courtesy to the boundaries of her realm.

Athenaeum has posed:
Ysabelle's smile drops at the words and sudden departure. She stands when he does though, offering a lowering of her head in respect this time, after his comments on it before it seemed unwise to repeat her earlier curtsy.

As he brings his will to bear on the world, it almost looks like she might say something, before thinking better of it and standing in silence as the Olympian forces a gate out of reality. Once he is gone, the old magician goes about clearing up the table - not a single pastry having been touched...