maskormenacelogs | We often smilin at sights of violence

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We often smilin at sights of violence

WHO: THE SHAMTHEON
WHERE: The fucking idk hilton equivalent ballroom
WHEN: August 2nd
WHAT: BIG PARTY ROUNDTABLE
WARNINGS: will edit if needed!

"Once again, we return," Woden's voice is musical, but the twist is ironic, the way it quirks, and he walks around in a circle. He'd gotten the biggest, baddest circular table in one of the Ballrooms of the Heropa hotel, where twelve chairs were arranged around a table. Woden's hands behind his back, and the large buffet of food, drinks, and sweets was laid out so kindly by the service staff. Woden, of course, wasn't indulging. Wasn't this whole thing enough for the god?

"Someone said that to us, once," he explained to the new set of gods. "She wanted us to be here to stop the Great Darkness, and save the world. Such a burden won't be for you," he tipped his head. "I wouldn't burden you with such a thing," as if he were the magnanimous one, here. "So please, introduce yourselves, I want you all to get to know each other well."

Woden, of course, had his own chair separte from the rest, like a figurehead, or a king. He thought of himself as such, after all. He wasn't about to correct them.

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Woden is the worst.

Seriously, he is the absolute fucking worst. When Utena first came here, she thought he was just a nuisance, but time after time he's proven what a monster he really is. If he steps into her life ever again, she's going to kill him with her own bare

Ugh, Woden is the worst. The absolute worst. When Utena first game here, she thought he was just a nuisance, and he didn't do much to prove her wrong. There were rumors that he was more than that, but those were just rumors, right? Even so, she has no idea how much she can actually trust

Woden is a friend. An annoying, smug kind of friend, but a friend nonetheless. Sure, there were those rumors, and he didn't exactly handle what this world threw at them with grace. But nobody really got hurt, did they? And he's always been so willing to lend Aion a helping hand. This isn't the first time he's given her such amazing gifts, and she adjusts her new glasses as she looks around at her new Pantheon, the lenses hiding the quiet awe in her eyes.

They're going to change the world. She just knows it.

But first, introductions. Aion swallows the petit four she snagged from a serving tray, and holds her hand up, announcing her presence before she speaks.

"I'm Aion," she says with a hint of pride in her voice, "God of time and eternity... oh, and the zodiac, too. But I don't do horoscopes, though - I do this."

And with a flourish, she conjures a bright orange flame in her hands, and she lets it dance between her fingers before she clenches her hand into a fist and extinguishes the small fire.

Cassandra had known just how dangerous Woden could be. Shiva, however, doesn't care. She finds herself not focusing on that thought whenever it crosses her mind, more interested in the agenda at hand. Like the role she is to fulfill. Or tucking into a plate piled high with hors d'oeuvres.

Wait. Right, yes, introductions. Shiva removes her sunglasses, hanging them from the neckline of her shirt. "Shiva," she says, firmly. "God of destruction, rebirth. Balance... and knowledge." She glances around the table, eyes ringed with blue, forehead bearing a mark in the same color. She briefly considers a power demonstration, but her skillset matches what Aion has already shown off, so. Not much point there.

This is a stronger symbol to embody than the Bat. A more powerful legend to be a part of. The tides of hatred and ignorance, of violence and rage, they can all stop it. Leave a better world in their wake, on the ashes of this one.

"We have work to do."

Edited 2018-08-06 06:58 (UTC)

While some of the flashiness that's come along with some of the other introductions has Peklabog uneasy, the lack there of tied in with that ominous we have work to do makes him wish he at least saw it in Shiva's respect.

"How, uh," he gulps, peering her way; she's almost perfectly framed by the placement of candlesticks from his angle. "How...do you plan to work, then?"

"Make the natives understand. Change hearts, minds. Help them... build something new." Even if they have to tear down everything that was already here. Shiva's gaze is piercing and level, sizing Peklabog up between the candlesticks.

"We're here to... change the world. Right?"

"Um, well..."

Briefly, his gaze flickers back toward Woden, as if to be certain he was still there, still watching and listening.

"He...he did say we're not here to...to change the world. Erh, I mean--" He grimaces. "Save it. So--well. I...I guess you must be right, then. It's different, isn't it?"

"There's no saving this," she agrees, nodding. Yeahhhh Peklabog you're getting it, good egg. "But we can... help them save themselves. Maybe." Shiva's pretty ambivalent on it, really.

Under the table, Peklabog's legs kick idly, his toes just barely missing the floor below them. It's at least a nice means to vent some anxious nerves mostly unnoticed while he chews on the inside of his lip and considers her answer.

"I...The thing I was before was made to help humans, so..." His shoulders go up and down. "I, I mean. If...doing more than...what I'm supposed to do now is the right thing to do, then...then I don't mind, I guess."

"Pe...Peklabog."

His voice is still nervous and small, and justifiably so: he's surrounded by incredible gods worthy of praise and respect. In his case, it's not a matter of being worthy, but...being made worthy, thanks to Woden. Woden, who was gracious enough to look this pitiful creature's way a second time and decide to raise him up to a greater purpose.

"I can hear them," he adds, when the silence and watching eyes beckon him to speak more. "The dying, I mean. I have to help them find their way to...to the next step."

His grayed-out eyes flicker toward Woden's high seat.

"That's...what I'm meant for."

Set lounged in his chair, lazily picking at a leafy salad from the buffet, watching the rest of the pantheon settling in and introducing themselves. His staff was leaning against the table at his side, twin spear points resting on the ground for now, the gold glinting in the low chandelier light of the ballroom and catching the brilliant red of his suit and shining like blood spilled at sundown. His red-lined eyes glance around the table over a glass of dark liquor as he takes a sip.

"Set," he says, very much like he's addressing someone who should already know who he is. "God of chaos, violence, and storms, friend to foreigners, and Lord of the Red desert."

He paused to spear another leaf of lettuce with his fork and eat it.

"I'm not demonstrating my powers inside, lest our generous host," he gestured at Woden with his fork, grinning slyly, "lose his deposit on the ballroom."

Edited 2018-08-06 19:15 (UTC)

"Enjoying your salad?" The serpent smirks, slithering around his nemesis to sit beside him.
"I'd be careful with the dressing. You wouldn't want to lose another kingdom before you've even begun, usurper."

Set takes another bite of salad, chewing as he looks around the room as if confused. He even looks right at Apep, but acts as though he can't see him.

Turning to a different god, he asks, "Did you hear something just then? Almost like the impotent hissing of a pathetic snake?"

"Hoping that salad will solve your little fertility problem? You know, for a god with so many wives you seem to have no children." Apep sneers at him, leaning back in his chair. Let Sutekh play pretend. He knows the score, knows what he has planned.

More ambition than everyone else in this room he suspects.

At Apep's dig about children, he pointedly avoids looking across the table where Anubis is sitting. Fucking Nephthys—at least his sister hadn't been awoken for this pantheon. He sighs and sets down his fork.

"And for a snake with so few friends, you seem to talk an awful lot." He took a sip from his drink and lounged back in his chair, looking at Apep as he speaks for the first time. "Are you in such a hurry to find yourself at the end of my spear?"

“Phrasing, Set.” Apep smirks at the man, leaning back slightly in his chair.
“Despite your role and mine in our nightly battle, this vessel is- Dare I say- stronger than yours. I imagine I could twist that spear around your head and make you choke on it.”

Edited 2018-08-07 20:10 (UTC)

"You are eager for it, aren't you?" Set laughs at him, drinking from his glass again, his free hand reaching to rest idly on his staff. It's easy to dismiss it as a casual gesture, the way his fingers buff out a smudge on the gleaming gold. "You underestimate me as always, serpent. Were you to dare put your hands on me, you'd find that you'll be the only one choking on anything."

Ah, but Apep dares. He's eager to flash his fangs, to feel the newfound power that might just be enough to beat Set into the dirt. That might just be enough to swallow the sun and plunge the world in darkness.

So he moves. He stands. He sits right at the edge of the table, dangerously close to Set. And when he sees an opportunity? Long, pianist's fingers pluck the glass he'd been drinking out of from the table and bring it to his lips.

He drains the glass, not once looking away from his mortal foe.

Set watches him impassively as Apep finishes his glass. He says nothing, just sighs quietly, as if he were only the tiniest bit inconvenienced. He brings the napkin up from his lap to wipe his mouth and leaves it draped over his unfinished salad.

Then he picks up his fork and drives it full force into Apep's hand, pinning it to the table.

Edited 2018-08-08 03:20 (UTC)

Apep, to his credit, does not flinch. He does not back down when that fork stabs through his skin, finds enough force to break through tendons and muscle and find the table below. He does not flinch. But instead, he lashes out, his uninjured hand striking for his throat as swift as a cobra's bite.

Someone might want to break this up before it gets too far out of hand.

A seat or two over, Moros is doing her best to drink an entire bottle of booze in peace. Apparently, fate or some other higher power has different plans for tonight. Whatever abilities Woden has given her, the woman formerly known as Andromache of Scythia still has many of her same old habits: Including her foul mouth, and a habit of solving problems with violence.

She moves without warning — smoothly gets up out of her chair and closing distance. Reaching out to rip the fork out of Apep's hand and redirect it to point in the general direction of his throat. All while holding her half-empty bottle in the other hand. ]

You boys are getting too fucking rowdy over here.

Set takes advantage of Moros' sudden intervention to get his hands on his spear, twirling it up to train its two points on Apep, should the serpent decide to get any smart ideas.

"Sorry, Moros," he says, straightening his tie, which Apep's strike had disrupted. "It seems like not everyone here knows how to behave in civilized company." He smiles, as though he hadn't been the one to plant his fork in Apep's hand in the first place. Woden, it seems, has awoken a few too many chaos gods for one pantheon.

Apep knows when he is outnumbered. With the spear in Set's hand and the knife in Moros's, he backs down. Slowly, slowly, pulling his hand from Set's throat.
There will be time to settle this when he has accumulated more power. After all, he has the blessing of being in the body of a demigod.

"No need to go waving that thing around, Set. We all know exactly how good you are at handling spears, considering how you lost your kingdom."

She doesn't really have a horse in this race, but she's old and she's tired and it gets on her nerves when people interrupt her quality booze time. Woden's gifts have not improved her temperament. At all. But hey, at least she seems ready enough to put the sharp object down. She has little to no interest in sparring spears with anybody here.

Not her idea of fun.

"Just say dick, if that's what you mean," she sighs wearily, taking another swig of her buddy the bottle.

"He'd rather hiss pointless innuendo, I'm sure," Set said airily, brushing imaginary lint from his cuffs. He looks suddenly directly at the nervous looking hotel employee who drew the short straw and wound up attending to a room full of newly awoken gods. As if imPorts weren't already too much.

"Moros's bottle is getting low, and the serpent's petulance is making me thirsty, as well," he said, stating the need more than asking for service.

"Pointless? Then I'll say it straight. You don't have the stones to actually do something about me in this vessel." The serpent hisses, removing himself from his seat on the edge of the table.

"You're as impotent in that body as you have ever been, you thrice cursed son of a jackal."

That poor employee is more than happy for a reason to excuse himself, it seems — and Moros won't complain if that means a fresh bottle is headed her way presently. She peers down into her current bottle, just to confirm that there's only a few more mouthfuls at the bottom. Gods, she's going to need a lot more than that to get through this cute little family get-together.

"You get a bad lay or something, Apep?" Her voice is lazy, almost apathetic in its wryness. "Maybe the two of you should fuck off, find a room, and give it another go so I can drink without your gods-damned bickering."

Set laughed like thunder to the lightning flash of his teeth, smiling Logan's most charming grin in Moros's direction. "In his wettest and most fervid dreams," he said, settling back into his seat again, fully ignoring Apep's ranting and speaking as if he were no longer there. "His isn't the sort of snake handling I care for."

Perhaps if he ignored Apep fully, he could enjoy the rest of the Pantheon's company in peace. Moros's in particular—who had the added benefit of their existing acquaintanceship as Andy and Logan—he wouldn't mind enjoying just now. No snakes required.

The serpent wrinkles his nose in disgust, a clear indication that he wouldn't even dream about it, not in 10,000 years. The man is his mortal enemy. He who he would rather devour and dismember than have in his bed.

Instead, he stands, and ignoring Set and Moros completely, bows to their leader. Woden.

"If I may, I have plans to attend to. More than whatever paltry parlor tricks the lord of the barren wastes wishes to serve, I'm sure." With a flick of his cloak, he's on his way out the door.

These violent delights will have violent ends. And his delights are only just beginning.

Woden is a terrible man. A terrible god. A terrible person.
Woden is everything he wants to destroy. Full of himself, so self-important he has forgotten his duties.

Woden is a terrible man.
At least that's what David thinks.

But David isn't David anymore. It's like something has changed overnight. A snake shedding its skin and becoming something so. Much. More.
Perhaps it was never what he had intended, but he does not mind. Doesn't care when all this power- this ability to make real change, to purge the world and start it anew courses through his veins.

He does not join the others around the table. Leans against the wall. Arms crossed over a bare chest covered in nothing but chains and a dark cloak-like jacket that reveals the scars across his chest, his navel, underneath his ribs. A serpentine crown, bronze, wraps around his head. Sharp talon-like armor adorns his fingertips, drumming against the soft leather that protects his arms.

His serpentine eyes pass from one to the other as they speak, and when it is finally his turn, he answers.
"I am Apep. I am the embodiment of chaos, injustice, and violence. And to demonstrate my powers, well... I'm afraid nothing would be left here."

He smirks at Set and Anubis in particular.

Set visibly rolls his eyes, a roll of thunder audible in the distance outside the hotel.

Unlike most of the other gods, Haru didn't know Woden all too well before her awakening. Prior to this meeting, she had only spoken to him once when she had arrived and that conversation had unnerved her back then. Something about Woden seemed off, seemed...

... come to think of it, she can't remember what it was anymore.

Not that it matters when he's freed her. He might be an oddity, but she does owe him for helping to release her and the others.

Seated with proper posture and her hands on her lap, Pachamama's smile is warm and friendly as she gestures to herself slowly.

"I am Pachamama, Mother Nature herself reborn, goddess of the harvest and fertility." Followed by a soft giggle: "I'm afraid demonstrating earthquakes might be a bad idea unless you all want to hide under the table."

Moros arrived with Peklabog and had pointedly sat in the seat behind him. Whatever Woden's influence had done to lessen her animosity towards him, whatever remained of Andromache was still protective of the child and stubbornly refused to leave his side. All the better for this pantheon, maybe — their powers complimented one another with her there to prepare the masses for their doom and Peklabog to guide them.

She sits back in her seat, nursing a bottle of something strong. No glass — even godly powers can't give her that much class, or break her old bad habits.

"Moros," she introduces herself with an almost dismissive tone of voice. She's always hated the ritual of exchanging names. "God of impending doom. Death's inevitability. All that fun shit."

Woden was a dick, and Adachi wanted to rip that helmet off and beat him with it.

Of course, that desire was a distant thought in the back of his mind, considering it was her that was the one in charge here. She was curled up in her seat with one leg bent so her foot was resting on the seat itself, looking disinterested in this round table of egos. She rested her head on her knee, barely managing to pretend she was part of this.

"...We are Izanami," she said when it was her turn for introductions, and that was all she was offering. If they wanted more, they were going to have to ask. Nicely.

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We often smilin at sights of violence

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LMFAO SORRY IDK WHAT I WAS DOIN WITH MY FORMATTING???

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Apep

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