maskormenacelogs | At the end of the road you will find the answer

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At the end of the road you will find the answer

WHO: Utena and Persephone
WHERE: A club in Maurtia Falls
WHEN: Late at night sometime in late December
WHAT: Utena finally gets sick and tired of how obtuse gods can be, so she shakes one of them down for answers.
WARNINGS: None yet. Will edit as needed.

Here's the spot that everyone on social media's talking about: the latest club where the infamous Persephone has been spotted. Utena sneaks in through the walls in much the same way she did when she wanted a chat with Woden, but she lacks the chill and confidence she had as Skadi, leaving her very much aware of her age and lack of a fake i.d. If she has any fears of being caught, though, they're not enough to stop her. She has one mission and one mission only: find Persephone and get some straight answers for once.

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Persephone was in no real mood for company. That's why she's dressed to the nines and in the middle of a sea of pressing bodies and pounding rhythm. The noise of the club is louder than the noise in her head. The warm, moving bodies beside her kept her skin from feeling dried-blood sticky. Sure, she still wants to rip all their throats out with her teeth, but the rhythm and base (not to mention the alcohol) is really taking the edge off that.

Well that's a crying shame, Persephone, because you're going to have some company anyway. Utena stomps forward, moving out of sync with the music around them. The dramatic march is shortlived, and she ends up getting nearly crushed by the swarm of hot, sticky bodies, and she half dances as she squeezes past.

"Hey," she shouts, trying desperately to talk past the music. The heat is suffocating and the heavy bass is deafening, but she does her best to push past it. "Hey! You got a minute?!"

It takes a moment to get her attention. She looks down at the shock of pink.

"No." And she slips back through the crowd to keep dancing.

"HEY!"

What did Persephone expect? For Utena go oh, I'm sorry to bother you and shimmy on over to the other side of the club? Hell no. Utena dives in right after her, elbowing her way past the other dancers, and grabs her by the arm. Her fingers dig into the sleeve of a jacket that costs more money than she sees in an entire month, and Utena doesn't particularly care if she does any damage to it or not.

"We need to talk. Now."

She's glaring at her with all the fury someone who's fourteen-going-on-fifteen can muster, and anyone who knows a thing about teenagers can tell you that that's quite a lot. Is someone a little fed up with the Pantheon right now? Maybe.

Uuuuuuuugggggggghghghghghghg she doesn't want to deal with this. This looks hard and awkward and she just wants to keep dancing. OTOH, the scene isn't great for her image.

"You have five minutes."

Is all she says, before heading to a back exit. It's smoke time.

It's better than nothing. Utena's quick to follow her, though there's the briefest pause when she feels the cold air hit her face. Funny. Just a week ago the chill would have been welcome.

She shoves that thought aside and steps out, standing close enough to talk but hopefully far enough to avoid a blast of smoke. Utena shoves a hand in her pocket and says, "I need to talk to you about the Pantheon. About all this weird... god... stuff. Like-"

Utena throws her free arm up in frustration, and continues, "Like what are you guys?!"

Eloquent. Truly eloquent.

Persephone just heads on out into the cold wearing the same slinky club clothes. #DivinityPrivilege.

"Children. Gods. Dying. Immortal. Creation. Death." She pulls out her pack of cigarettes, lights her own and then offers it to Utena. "You're praying at the wrong shrine if you want explanations. I'm a mystery goddess. I can't give you a straight answer."

"None of you can give a straight answer," she shoots back. The brewing rant is interrupted by the cigarette Persephone is holding, and Utena waves it away before continuing.

"It's just - why are you bothering with us? What's the point of all these... these games?"

The headgames. The shows. The powers. And whatever the hell it was that Woden did this month.

She gives Utena another long, appraising look. Her own expression borders on unreadable, but there's something incredibly sad to it. Almost conciliatory.

"Do you believe in miracles?" She asks, "Do you even know what a miracle is? Really?"

That question actually stops Utena in her tracks. Her frustrations are forgotten, if only for a moment, and her memories of her prince are quick to take her place. She thought she knew what a miracle was, but her miracle wasn't everything he was cracked up to be. She thought he had showed her something beautiful. Instead, all he had to show her was the pain and suffering of someone just as helpless as she once was.

Funny. She had Persephone to thank for clearing it up.

"I used to, but..."

But... she wasn't discouraged when she discovered the truth, was she? No; she had become more inspired than before. So she holds her head up and looks back at Persephone, and her voice regains the strength her doubt had taken away.

"I don't know what a miracle is, not really. But I think maybe - maybe it's something we make for ourselves. If there's no miracles, then maybe it's up to use to become a miracle."

Edited 2018-01-07 19:30 (UTC)

"Trick question." Persephone admits. She takes a few steps away from Utena, toeing the grimy sidewalk. "A miracle is beyond explanation."

She points at a crack in the cement and clicks her fingers. A single stalk pushes up through it. It sprouts and grows and splits and and suddenly blooms, until there is a beautiful rose bush- bright, impossible pink and perfect in the pool of street light.

"And so are we."

The rosebush hits her with a pang of nostalgia and she can't help but walk towards it. It smells like a rose, yes, but the scent isn't as weak as the sad, wilted bouquets she sees in grocery stores, nor is it as sweet or as captivating as the roses that grew in her school. The scent is darker and richer, like she's smelling the soil more than the flower.

"You know..."

Her fingertips hover near the rosebush, but her hand drops to her side and behind her back, not daring to confirm if it's real or fake.

"I know a bit about myths - the Greek stuff, mostly," she says, her voice breezy and casual, like she's talking to a friend. "I'm not an expert or anything, it's just something I started to read about back home. But I noticed something funny, something I didn't really think about until now. It seemed like whenever the gods in those stories wanted something... it seemed like the mortals always got hurt, somehow."

She turns to Persephone, the smile on her face gone, and she holds her stare. There's a question that she leaves unspoken: is the Pantheon the same? Will everyone around them get hurt by their desires?

Edited 2018-01-07 20:21 (UTC)

She tries to meet her eye with the same inscruitable authotity that she likes to carry herself with, but for some reason her gaze just looks tired, and sad. Here she is: the pitiable witch who calls herself queen, the maiden who sings so beautifully while impaled on the thorns of her own garden.

"Uh huh." Behind Utena's back, the rose bush is already starting to wilt.

Edited 2018-01-07 20:28 (UTC)

She wants to remain bold. She wants to stand strong against the would-be gods that would hurt them. But Persephone doesn't look like a goddess right now. She's just a girl, only a few years older than she is, but more exhausted than she can even dream of. Utena glances back at the ground, unaware of the rose bush's rot behind her, and breathes out into the cold night air.

"But I guess mortals aren't the only ones who get hurt, huh?"

Get. Present tense, not past. She doesn't know what's going on in Persephone's life; she doesn't know about this Persephone. But she knows about the original. While mortals were crushed under the weight of Demeter's grief, they weren't the only victims in that story.

That last question she doesn't bother to address. It's too obvious and she's already feeling far more vulnerable than she'd care to.

"Every ninety years, we get two. We are loved. We are hated. Within two years we're all dead, and life goes on. We do what we do, and then we're gone. Who we really were, what it means, how the world changes, that's all up to everyone who's left."

Edited 2018-01-08 00:22 (UTC)

She's heard this speech before, though she doesn't remember which god she heard it from, but either way it's a well-known fact. Why would Persephone bother to repeat it now? Utena furrows her brow, but whatever thoughts she has on the matter are interrupted as something brushes against her ankle. She startles and turns around, just in time to notice the fallen leaves and petals of a rotting rosebush.

What excellent timing.

She stares at the bush, though she can't explain why. Is it a distraction? Or does she feel dutybound to watch the dying plant in its final moments? She's felt sentimental over stranger things, after all.

"So," she says, her voice tired, "Why bother at all? With the concerts, the miracles... with any of it."

Utena's not a nihilist. She found her own reason to live in a world that's temporary, her own meaning in a life that she once felt was pointless and hollow. But as far as she knows, there's no Anthy Himemiya in their lives, no tormented damsel in need of a dashing prince. Woden has ego and self-indulgence, but what about Persephone?

More and more petals fall, the first to bloom are the first to fade.

She can't answer Utena's question, not really, not the way she wants. The answer is too complicated, and she used to think she had some pretty good idea, but then reality came along to show her how naive she really was. Is there a point to what they do? Who's to say this world wouldn't be better off without her here it. Maybe her own world would be better off without the whole lot of them.

So, then, why does she still sing? Why does she keep performing when all kinds of different forces have tried to stop her, or ruin her, or hurt her fans? Why does she care about her fans at all?

"Faith."

It's the only answer she's got. One last drag, and she drops the cigarette. The last petals fall from the last blossom as her heel grinds out the embers, and then she's heading back inside. This conversation is concluded.

Faith? Utena tears herself away from the rosebush in time to see Persephone walk off.

"Wait!"

Utena takes a step forward, and while she wants to say something, she doesn't know what. She takes a deep breath, and says, "Thank you. I never said it, but- thank you. For the show, I mean. There's a lot of weird stuff going on back home, and..."

God, she's rambling. Utena kicks away a pebble standing between her and Persephone, and says, "It helped me figure some stuff out. It wasn't nice, but... it was worth it. So, thanks."

She pauses when Utena calls out, but doesn't turn around. She never likes introspection. At the best of times it's like pulling back a bandage and exposing an open wound to the elements. At worst it's like someone else yanking off her bandages.

What Utena's telling her now is important, she knows. She should pay attention to it. She should help guide her fan from here.

"Uh huh." Is all the reply she gives as she heads back into the club and the sea of bodies.

She pauses and tips her head to the side. What was it Utena had heard in her song? She tries to remember: the ringing of steel against, the smell of roses and ash, the comfort of a coffin. Not so surprising that it was her own song that helped the kid make sense of that. Utena doesn't have to tell her that it was unpleasant; no one is that fond of pine boxes when things are going their way.

So it's . . . nice. Nice to hear she's helped. Or at least for Utena to say so. Who knows.

"Sure." In the end she only barely looks back, but there's something a bit less stormy in her eyes. "No problem." And then she's heading back into the club and the sea of bodies.

It's not much, but Utena knows by now that Persephone is not one to share information so easily, especially about herself. If somebody wants answers from her they have to shove their hands into the dirt and dig for it themselves. But for a brief moment, she thinks she sees something softer in Persephone's eyes, something strange and new and perhaps even kind. It might just be her imagination, but she'll take what she can get.

She does not linger on the thought for long, though. The cold cuts through her thoughts and sentiment, and soon she's scurrying back into the club, not to follow after Persephone but to seek the warmth that had been so overbearing just a few moments ago.

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At the end of the road you will find the answer

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