Seeing that Marian icon so soon after waking up is not helping the brain meats. Not even recounting Mom’s bullshit from yesterday is helping me be all the way here. No neat plot line to follow, just a bunch of apparently unconnected scenes. *CUT*
[Awake] Catching up on the House of Vines, and reading the post linking the Corybantes to the Titanes. A memory pulls me in two and half of me is sitting at the desk reading the post, while the other half is in the memory of the Fearless Legions encountered on the fields of Geburah War. As my waking eyes travel over descriptions of how the Corybantes played their games to hide the infant Dionysus, my other eyes note how the the platoons of black armored soldiers drill with shouts and keen footing. I become dizzy in both worlds as I try to dodge the association. The Fearless Legions are the armies of Mars. Right? What is another phrase for the art of practicing war? War Games.
I suddenly hear tambourines on the fields. I look over and watch a small troop of men, disguised as women preparing for some ritual, practicing playing musical instruments and singing loudly in falsetto. Behind them, are other soldiers hard at work. Some are preparing artillery munitions. Others are practicing field repairs of weapons and armor. The false women are covering up the sounds of the hammer on the anvil with their shouts and play. The association becomes too much and I fall out of the what I thought was a memory. I almost fall out of the chair at my desk as the dizziness takes its sweet time to pass.
~~~
[Awake] While looking over my ToDo list for Noxporium (Some changes are in store for the WDTDS rotation. I have more reading systems than I have days in the week.), the room suddenly becomes pitch black. Power outage? Unlikely as my tablet and my laptop were both on. An outage would have only darkened the table lamp, not the entire room. As I begin checking myself to see if I’ve passed out, a gleaming human skull appears in my hands. Oh, I’ve gone sideways again. Wait, this isn’t Horatio’s skull. Horatio appears behind me to confirm that I am not holding his trinket, physical or spiritual.
I greet the skull and ask it for its purpose. The skull shivers and becomes a fleshed, decapitated human head with skull markings on its face. A shadow of a top hat shimmers on its crown. The eyes open and stare into mine with severity. I know this entity, but it is clear this is not a pleasant meeting. «You and I have some shit to talk about. Don’t keep my man waiting when he comes for you tonight.» *gulp* “Yes, sir.” The eyes close and the skull dissipates out of my hands. Just as quickly as I was snatched sideways, I was released back into my room. The clock measured no more than three minutes had passed during the episode.
~~~
[Dream] I’m pacing back and forth before a cave. A Mediterranean youth watches me as he leans against an olive tree. The youth is naked but for his sandals, a thong about the waist, and his cockeyed cap. (Do all adolescent males wear hats cockeyed like that? I swear, it’s across all cultures.) He is fiddling with a reed, but I’m too impatient to see what exactly he is doing with it. “For someone that was ready to throw me into a forge two weeks ago for the suggestion of [something], you’re awfully eager to get started. You know you’re not ready for what’s in that cave.” I snap back that I know I’m not, but I’m now ready to throw him under the forge if I don’t get started soon. It’s an empty threat and we both know it. Mutual chuckles confirm the word play was thrown and received in jest.
“Did you learn nothing from the Chariot?” He tests his flute after asking. I stop pacing. “You can’t move forward by desire alone, remember. You need something to transport you, to shape you. And yes, with the Chariot, you supplied your own transport. But for [this endeavor], you’ll need [that particular tool] just to begin. It will arrive when it arrives. That is completely out of your hands. You have prepared yourself the best you can, so be patient, child. Be patient.” He tested the flute again and found it shrill. As he worked more upon it, I asked him what was in the cave. “You’ll find out when you’re ready, Pythias.” I whined that it was unfair for him to speak Greek to me and stomped my foot in as childish a manner as I could. But my smile gave away that I was not really upset about the puzzle he just handed me. He laughed at my bad acting.
“Trust me?” I thought about answering snidely. Instead I said honestly that I was trying to. I said that I have been burned so many times before with those words. The youth nodded in understanding. “He will be quite upset if I brought harm to you, or allowed you to be harmed unfairly under my watch.” I knew who the youth was referring to, and I was surprised. “And while I have a multitude of reasons to be cross with him, I’d rather not have you add to that list. Knowing that, will you trust me?” He stepped away from the olive tree into the bright light. The sunlight made each skin cell sparkle. He held out his left hand to me. His face was the softness of 16 years of age. His eyes were as unyielding as diamond. I understood I am being offered a rare gift. I chose to take it. I took his hand and stated that I trust him. “Then come away from the cave. You are not ready.” I let him lead me away from the cave and out of the dream.
~~~
[Dream] I… wandered. I fell into many dreaming scenes. Most of them involved waking worries that I could not resolve in a dream no matter how hard I sat down and thought about it. I also remembered that I was supposed to be waiting for… someone… something. I would be easier to find if I wasn’t tied up in other shenanigans, but I had forgotten who or what I was supposed to be waiting for. I found myself walking along a compacted gravel road in some back woods somewhere. It was late at night, and all the sane people had gone to bed or at least locked their doors. Feral dogs gruffed at me in warning not to approach them. A large black bird flew overhead, causing everything on the ground to become silent and huddle in fear. Except for me. I watched it pass silently and admired its wingspan.
I heard a horse-drawn carriage come up behind me. It sounded massive so I moved to the far edge of the road. The thick grasses made it appear there was solid ground there, but somehow I knew there was a deep ditch that would swallow me whole if I fell in it. I stopped to watch the carriage pass. A single black draft horse was hitched to a wagon. The wagon kept changing appearances in my sight, but each view all held the same purpose regardless if trimmed in gold with black curtains or if a half-rotted wagon held together by fraying rope. It carried coffins.
A hulking black man with chalky skin in ragged worn pants and a blood stained vest was guiding the horse from his seat on the wagon. He brings the wagon to a stop so that he was directly in front of me. He leans down and hands me a tarot card. The card also changes appearances, cycling through all the variations of this card that I have seen in the waking. But no matter what deck it appears to be from, it is still the same card. Death. I remember then, who had told me to expect a summons.
I hand the card back to the driver. He holds the wagon steady. I ponder for a second if I’m supposed to ride in the front or the back. Fuck it, I’ll ride in the front. It will likely be my last act of hubris anyway, so better not let it slip away. He says nothing as I climb up beside him and situate myself. I nod to him. He nods back. He slaps the reins and the horse pulls us forward.
I don’t think I’m in deep shit… but I’m in deep shit. There is a lot of symbolism here that has gone so high over my head, it will buzz the moon in a few minutes. The driver of the wagon has brought me to [a character]. Which I was expecting. But he brought me through the front door and into the middle of a formal ceremony. Which I was not expecting. I don’t belong here. I know I don’t belong here. And for all my hubris and arrogance towards gods, ancestors, and spirits, it is my personal rule not to bust into a closed ceremony without one helluva cause. Hell, I still walk behind military formations and I’ve been a civilian for twenty years now! Certain boundaries have to be respected, no matter how much I dislike them. But here I am. I am dressed in a simple white gown with long sleeves, with a white shawl around my shoulders, with white slippers on my feet, and my short waved afro covered with a white headcloth tied up in a certain servant way. In front of anyone else, this would be an act of war. But I am standing in [his] house.
Invite or no, I am an intruder here. I have no power but what the lord of this house allows. And he ain’t allowing jacque shitte. Everyone around me gawks at my arrival. Some are surprised. Some are offended. The driver of the wagon had to guard me to keep another attendant from striking me. (Why is there always that one fucking guy?) There is talk in several languages about unclean dogs. I bite my tongue. I am not here for them. I hope.
[The lord of the house] is sitting on his throne grand chair overlooking the proceedings. He has one leg cocked up over the arm in a very vulgar display. He remains silent as I curtsey my greeting and stand with my head bowed. He takes his cane and taps on the ground before the chair. I understand the command at once and wonder if tonight is the night I die from defying him one too many times. To my surprise, I manage to keep my anger down and curtsey in acknowledgement. I walk to the spot he tapped, curtsey once again, then get down on my knees and face to the side of the chair. I curl my head under so that my spine bows slightly. I’m making a footstool of myself.
He harshly lowers his filthy boot onto my back. The audience erupts into mocking laughter. I keep my anger from rising. I don’t know what he’s up to or what the end result will be, but I know that bucking him publicly will likely be my last living act. “She will be paid well for her service. Just as you will be paid well for yours. None of you serve me as well as she. And none of you will be paid as well as she. She has chosen how she behaves towards me. Just as you have chosen how you behave towards me. Not a single one of you bastards are forced to do the things that you do. Not one! Tell me again how your blood entitles you to greatness. Tell me again which one of you bastards are my children. Lineages break. You are bound by what you do. She is bound by what she does. Choose carefully what you do, and see that you do it well.” His foot still heavy on my back, he calls for a plate of food and a bowl of water. They are presented to him.
He points to the ground below my face. Those that brought him the food and water were dressed in clothes of high rank. They bristled at the thought of serving me and one dropped the plate on the ground with intent of sliding it to me by a well dressed foot. He struck the offender across the face with his cane. “Do well by my dog! I do not tolerate any of mine to be abused! Dog, child, or otherwise!” I kept my composure as other servants cleaned up the mess from the dropped plate, forcing the high ranked initiate to fix a fresh plate of food.
The struck initiate hesitated at getting down on one knee to properly present me with the food. Another initiate took the plate from him and pushed him roughly out of the way while denigrating him for his hesitation. She knelt carefully on both knees while keeping the plate level. “For [his] dog. Eat well.” She placed the plate before me and bowed slightly. I glanced up at [the lord] for instruction. He made the barest of nods. I didn’t answer the initiate, but started eating. (So spicy! I’m going to regret this later, I’m sure.)
The food grabbed my attention and I lost track of what was going on around me. I didn’t notice when the plate was empty. I barely registered that it was removed. I remained curled up as [the lord’s] living footstool for hours and hours. As long as the pressure of his weight was on me, I paid attention to nothing else.
Then the weight was gone. The house was gone. I opened my eyes to find myself at a table set… somewhere. I smelled cheap liquor and cheaper cigars. A hand patted my face too hard to be comforting. When I raised a hand to answer ‘pat’ for ‘pat’, a glass was thrust into it. “Drink. Remember yourself.” The voice was familiar, so I drank despite my confusion. Hot peppered rum quickly got my attention. As Rummer John laughed at my almost futile efforts to breathe, I wanted to chuck the glass at him. My stinkeye only made him laugh more. The rum settled me, and I could not help but laugh with him.
I could only gasp enough air for one word, so better make it good. “Bastard!”
“If you are surprised, I’ll be offended.” He poured me another shot and waved me to drink it.
I downed it with one chug, and belched a lick of fire in response. He cheered to see the flames. “Welcome back! That was a fun trip, wasn’t it!”
I remembered the scene in the manor and gave him more stinkeye. I chose my words carefully. “It was… different.” He laughed again, but with a sinister undertone that reminded me he could be as cruel as he was fun.
“It’s not over yet. Not any time soon, not by any measure of time.” He poured himself a large glass and drank it swiftly. “Tell me about what that pissant has you running for.”
No amount of rum can warm that chill. He never named the individual that raised such ire, but I could only think of one in my life that would annoy him so. I explained the situation, and what benefits I would gain from going along with the plan. I pointed out that I was not bound to anyone, and that [that one entity] is still the only one with a physical claim to me. I was also under the auspices of [another entity] that would be very fucking quick to shit everything down if necessary.
He grunted sternly and blew smoke into the surrounding shadows. I sat quietly across the small table, trying to relax and enjoy the peace and quiet for as long as I could. A clatter of beads on the table made me flinch. He chuckled at my reaction. “If I’m going to hurt you, girl, you’ll know it’s coming. Now, tell me about these.”
I told. It was a very short story to tell. He asked for the complete backstory. I told that as well, relieved to see him enjoying the tale from start to finish. “You know where these would look good, girl? On that spirit pot that you were supposed to be putting together for [Mxtl]. Yup, these would look very good with it, indeed.”
I suck a tooth and try to be polite. “I need the god damn pot itself, you know. I have [this thing], [that thing], and [these other things] that Mxtl said to put in it. But I’m not racing all over creation and outlet malls to try and find the perfect one that doesn’t cost more than my god damn car to obtain. No more wild goose chases, dammit! I’m going to tell you the same damn thing I told Goldilocks. You want me to have it? Help me get it!”
Rummer John sat back with a very smug face. Shit. I just stepped in it big time, didn’t I. I look at my ankles for any signs of the trap I just triggered. He watches me wallow a bit. “Okay. If I get you the pot, will you commit?”
“What are you asking me to commit to? Because what Mxtl wanted is [one thing]. But what you’re implying is [something entirely different].”
“It is, [Mongrel]. It is. Are you in or not?”
“There will be more humiliations.”
“Of course.
“I’ll be thrown into some shit to teach your children some lessons.”
“I might let you bite some of them, but in the end, this is about you and me.”
I absentmindedly bring the empty shot glass to my lips before noticing it is empty. I think on what Rummer John is hinting at, and what others have hinted at. I slam the glass on the table next to his bottle of murder red rum. “I’m in. Hit me before I come to my senses.”
“Yes’m.” He smiles as he pours my glass to the brim with the hot peppery rum. I bring my face to the glass so not to risk spilling one drop. I know what the gesture means. I suck the quivering fluid from the glass just enough so I can lift it without spilling. In one big gulp I swallow the liquid fire. I feel my body become limp, and in the initial moment of loss of control I realize Rummer John’s rum tastes how the fires of the Boneyard feel. I pass out completely.
I wake up struggling weakly. I am on the ground before [the lord of the house]. Several of his attendants are holding me off the ground. I cry out and a weak flame is emitted from my mouth. I am still dressed in all white as before, but I now wear something new. A dark satin ribbon is tied around my neck. So deeply purple, it appears black.
Someone is fanning me. Someone else is wiping my face with a wet cloth to cool me down. Around us, the fete continues. Drums seize my heart and it jerks in rhythm. There are more than just the attendants and attendees here, but I seem to be the only one that sees them. I say things in a language I do not understand. I am senseless. I am not in control.
I am not afraid.
I want to laugh.
[The lord of the house] laughs instead. He taps his cane on the floor with power. The percussion shoves my awareness into the darkness under the house and I remember nothing more.