February Open Prompts/Catch-all

[pummelgranite]

WHO: Persephone vs everyone
WHERE: various cities
WHEN: through February
WHAT: A few prompts, please poke me if you want something else
WARNINGS: discussion of violence/depression/disordered eating likely as always

A. Nona- A Strange Performance in a Tiny Jazz Club

[ It's not her typical venue, not by a long shot. It's a small space, with a simple stage. She even lets them use their own lights instead of miracling up herself something more impressive. There's no dance floor, and they hardly advertised for her at all. It's more a jazz club than anything else, too small for her sound, really. But that's alright. She's not here to perform her normal mass.

She isn't in high heels, or armor, or war paint. Rather, she comes out in a simple black dress and veil, ornamented with white flowers. What she sings is no persistent climax. The rage and defiance and violence usually typical of her songs is missing as well. Instead, it's something bittersweet and heart-wrenching. It's like an intimate aria sung in that same untranslatable language, but the message is clear: winter will always fade, spring will always come, but there are still so many things lost that can never return. Just because spring is coming, does not mean you will live to see it.

The piano and cello duet that follow her aren't bad either. After her performance, it might seem like anyone else would pale in comparison, but if anything the opposite is true- they, too, sound breathtakingly beautiful in the space that she's blessed. The goddess herself makes her way to the bar. Her normal companions seem absent, and most of the patrons don't dare to make eye contact, let alone approach. Do you? ]


B. The Hotel Castille lounge/lobby, evening

[ Persephone WAS at the bar. But now she's in the beautiful, glittering lobby. She is sprawled in a chair that looks like it cost several normal human's paychecks, in a way quite disrespectful to the quality of the upholstery. Her feet dangle over the back, and her head hangs towards the floor. There's a soft cloud of colorful hair beneath her. In her hands is a notebook, and in her mouth is a pen. Every once in a while she takes the pen out of her mouth to jot something into the notebook, but mostly she's just chewing on the pen.


C. Maurtia Falls Art Museum, reasonable business hours

[ If one were to happen into the museum that day, it would be hard not to miss her. She parks herself on a bench in front of a particular piece of art, and doesn't move for over an hour.

The art in question is probably no surprise- it's a Renaissance work by a not-so-terribly-famous artist, depicting Orpheus playing for Hades and his queen. There are headphones in her ears, and the only sign she gives that she's not a statue herself is pulling out her phone every so often to change her music. ]


D. South Maurtia Historic Cemetery - literally any time you'd like, day or night

[ What the fuck is she doing now? Is she sleeping on a grave? It's a single grave in a family plot, but the headstones are all so old that the names have long since faded. So... yeah. Sleeping on someone's grave. Cool, cool, cool, cool, normal. ]

Comments

D

[abandon_hope]

[ It's dusk when Nico shows up, walking through the graves himself. He's stopped in a section from roughly the WWII era, pausing to read names. What names are readable. What names he can read.

He turns after a moment, spotting Persephone. It's been a little while since they'd talked, probably; he'd helped search for Inanna, of course, but had otherwise laid low. ]

Whose grave is that?

[pummelgranite]

Nico. Hey.



Uhm, dunno tho. Someone young? Does she mind or something?

C

[apotheoppose]

[Tara visits the museum on her day off, in what she's come to think of as "civilian mode." With her new mask-and-illusion power imbued in a hair clip near her face, the blue mark that would ordinarily mark her as her is hidden. For all intents in purposes, Tara looks like an ordinary -- if quite tall and stylish -- member of the public. Even if Tara had made her masked goddess self public, no one would be able to connect that person to the person she is now.

The problem with her new mask power is that it doesn't work on people who've already seen her face. People who, like Persephone, in another life, have seen Tara perform the song of her godhead, mask off, face bared. It might take a moment before Persephone's knowledge overrides the power in Tara's hair clip, but when it does...

It's rather strange to see Tara out of goddess mode, isn't it?]

[pummelgranite]

[ The clack-clack of heels cuts through her music and catches her attention. She's not sure why this woman's caught her attention, why she can't look away from the ornament in her hair, until suddenly it clicks. There's a moment where surprise plays across her face, then the briefest little prickle, before it smooths out to neutral.

She gives a little nod to the other goddess. Acknowledgement at the very least, and an invitation too if she wants it to be. ]

D

[dendarii]

[ As she rests there peacefully on that worn gravestone, there's a sudden commotion from a few graves down. A pack of crows have gathered around a very small, very stubborn little kestrel, who has a snippet of something tasty in his mouth and is absolutely refusing to give it up. He clacks his beak at one of them, wings spread wide to try and look bigger than he is. Which mostly just means that one of the bastard crows slips in behind him to try and peck at his wings.

It's not a life or death fight - the little bird's talons are far too sharp for that, and the crows keep enough of a distance - but he's losing it all the same. Stupid crows. He hates crows. ]

[pummelgranite]

[ As a general rule, she's bigger on carrion animals than predators. It's a thanatotic thing. But still, it's only natural to root for the underdog, and the little bird is clearly getting it's ass kicked.

She remains lying exactly where she is, but with a flick of the finger, a few little tendrils pop out of the earth to tap some of the crows from behind, sending them all flapping and squacking in disarray. ]

B

[purple_reign]

[Inanna's actually just coming back from an exceptionally late night out the night before. It was a really good time. They pause on their way to the bar and tilt their head curiously, finally leaning over to try to get an awkward look at what she's doing.]

What are you doing?

Re: B

[pummelgranite]

Inanna . . . ? Working on set designs.


[ She passes the notebook up to them. The pages has sketches an notes on a variety of flower-covered thrones. ]

A

[heckblazer]

[ Lord knows she'd done enough looming and creepily watching him from the distance during the time they'd known each other. So John can't help but do it himself, just once, just to get even.

He'd been in Nonah in an attempt to patch things up with some fling or another he'd pissed off when he'd heard rumours, some sort of murmur of a "surprise guest" at a jazz club. Because John is not a complete idiot he could make an educated guess at whom it could be.

Fortunately, the joint isn't the stomping grounds for the Godlings' usual fan club, so there's room to breathe. The club operators don't recognize him and badger him with a million questions. He situates himself in a far corner, a gunslinger seat. He hasn't got an agenda in mind this evening, but it's better to keep a back to the wall and keep an eye out for people that maybe did. For once, he's even drinking something non-alcoholic, enjoying a warm chai tea. He's pleasantly surprised at how competently it's made considering the quintessentially American vibes of the whole place.

During the girl's set he looks curiously around the hall. There's no fighters, lovers, or pass-outers like at her usual gigs. This ground is more adult, more discriminating, the types who like music, rather than the high from a divine voice. But still, they are enraptured. Even those whom aren't effected by her seem fascinated, nodding avidly at her stagecraft. All in all there's only about one or two people whom get up and walk out. It's all so... weirdly peaceful that John wonders if he shouldn't set something on fire, just to get things going to their usual pace.

There's a bit of commotion between sets as the stage is cleared, equipment changed up and new acts preparing. In the meantime patrons shuffle around to chat with each other or get more drinks. John makes his way through the length of the space, trying his best to look unassuming, and gets up behind Persephone once he's positive that she's preoccupied with the drink menu and won't notice him: ]

Bravo, love. When were y'planning on telling me 'bout this?

[pummelgranite]

[ It's impossible to explain, even to herself, why she chose to come her and hold this lachrymose instead of her normal bacchanalia. Her normally so chaotic mind had been oddly calm in the days since the blackout. She'd been feeling almost . . . better? Then why this? Well, it's not like she owed anyone an explanation.

Fact is, though, she's been up in her head even more than normal this evening trying to understand it herself. So John's right, she hasn't noticed him. She is well and thoroughly snuck up upon.

But pensive mood or no, if John was expecting any reaction besides her spinning around and breaking his fucking nose with the palm of her hand, well, then that's because John is a fucking idiot. ]

C

[overanalytically]

[ Spock doesn't indulge in artistic pursuits often, but he's done so enough times over the past year to exhaust the museums in De Chima and Heropa so today he's extended his indulgence to Maurtia Falls. He sticks out as an obvious non-Human presence among the other patrons, but he's as nondescript as he can be in his art absorption, going through each room at a slow rate and not calling attention to himself.

He comes to a stop behind the bench Persephone has parked on, just to the side of her shoulder. He doesn't greet the other museum-goer because A) Vulcan, and B) this person as earphones in anyway so striking up a conversation would be both difficult and most likely unwelcome. So he merely stands there for a number of minutes, taking in the artistic value of the piece before him.

But he is standing there for an awfully long time ... Surely he should have moved on by now?? ]

[pummelgranite]

[ Even if she gives no indication, she knows he's there. And somehow, she suspects that he knows she knows. Still, she doesn't break the silence of the room for quite some time.

In its frame, the Underworld is an intimidating visage. The stone looks rough and cold and lifeless. What little light filters down does little to illuminate the scene. Only Orpheus, with his shining hair and golden lute, seem to be alive and warm. His eyes roll back in his head with his all-consuming grief. The Persephone in the painting covers her face with one hand, but tears are still clearly visible on her cheeks. Hades' expression is impossible to read.

Finally, after some five or ten minutes, she pulls out exactly one ear piece, but doesn't turn to face whoever is behind her. ]


Something I can help you with?

D

[performance]

[ Cemeteries are a totally normal and chill place for happenin' teens to hang out, right? Right. It's a little after sundown, all the stars coming out, when Robin interrupts Persephone's grave nap by flopping down onto the grass just next to her. ]

Hey. Come here often?

Re: D

[pummelgranite]

[ Graveyards might have been more Baphomet's schtick at home, but dang it all if they hadn't grown on her here. All the normal benefits of being above ground, but generally without people. Not that this one was entirely unwelcome, mind you.

So she turns her head towards him and lazily pushes a puff of hair out of her face. ]

Uh huh.

D.

[quemar]

[Persephone's sleep gets rudely interrupted somewhere in the dead of night, by a man tripping violently over her.

The man curses, acrid with panic and fury, kicking out at her in his mad scramble to get upright again, to keep running away like he had been before. Blindly, through a graveyard. In the middle of the night. The man, as it happens, is one of those 417 escaped convicts still at large an entire month after the blackout.

But someone is looking to change that. The thing that the escapee is running from stalks into view moments later, deliberate and measured in his pursuit, and blindingly bright in the dark cemetery: a skeleton, in leather jacket, lit on fire.

Good morning, Persephone.]

1/2

[pummelgranite]

[ First thing's first: and that means it is also time for her to swear a whole bunch. Confusion and displeasure and grogginess makes her usually mild London accent considerably more pronounced as she snaps back at the con. He may have managed to get back upright after his stumble, but with a click of her fingers, a faintly glowing bramble tangles itself around his feet and back down he goes. ]

[pummelgranite]

[ She's just about to push herself up to go over there and really give the guy a piece of her mind, when A FLAMING FUCKING SKELETON shows up. She just sort of watches him a long moment, then turns back to the convict, who is growing all the more hysterical as he tries to free himself from her greenery. Then she looks at the skeleton man again because god damn that is a serious #look that he is serving. Like, she knows style, and this guy is obviously it. Probably this is the coolest thing she has seen all week? Maybe all year, tbh.

After a moment's consideration, she sits back against the headstone again, and starts rummaging through her pockets for smokes. Obviously she's gonna see how this one plays out. ]

[Private for Batman]

[pummelgranite]

[ The perimeter alarms pick her up much more quickly this time- and further out as well. Whether it's due to his improved security, or if it's because she wants to be known is hard to say. She doesn't ascend the cliff face, or move around. She just sets out enough by way of flowers and vines that the faint glow of them is just barely visible from his lair high above.

That's where she parks herself at about five AM, and that's where she waits. ]

[the_caped_crusader]

[Bruce is busy planning a mission, sitting at his place at the computer that might as well be his true home. He watches the silent alert go off on one of the small side monitors and watches from the camera as the vines creep up through the cave with a heavy sigh. He doesn't turn his chair around, but he does call out to her.]

I thought you wanted to be left alone, Persephone. This is a hell of a way to accomplish that.

A is for uhh... A Good Cry

[redhott]

Hey... [ His voice isn't its usual exuberant self. It seems inappropriate, actually, to be too loud in this small intimate space. Still, it's warm for his friend as he stands beside her by the bar. His blue eyes are red, likely from crying, but he doesn't seem sad exactly. Rather he seems a little blissed out from a good shot of catharsis. ]

[pummelgranite]

[ How did anyone even find her?? She'd really done her best to keep this one under the radar. Or... did he just like jazz??? ]

Kyle?

A(yyyy)

[sincendiary]

[ Needless to say, she fits in pretty smoothly around the mood of a jazz club, too. And of course she'd follow Persephone around and sit in on a performance, why not risk fucking herself up a bit while she's here? Worth it, business as usual, et cetera.

But with far less chaotic intensity to fuel her this time, it's the slower burn and descent she thought it might be. Which doesn't change the fact that she's used to none of those. Nothing a bit of refuge in the cigarette smoke can't help, surely. Like she's going to get up and miss out on her song, as if she even can turn away from the familiar sound of a light burning long after both of them have gone. ]

[pummelgranite]

[ Suffice it to say, this is not one of those make-eye-contact-and-the-girls-cream-their-panties kind of concert. There's no moment of profound connection made for Lucifer alone, but rather a blurry, indistinct sort of sorrow. But sure, even if Persephone never sees her, she can probably connect the dots herself. ]

[ Private for Constantine ]

[pummelgranite]

[ It's about 2 AM when the call comes in. And well, no, there hasn't been any trouble yet. She doesn't seem mad or like she's looking for a fight. But the fact remains that she's been here for a solid seven hours, and the staff has concerns. And so they called in the one person who for some reason they think might be responsible here.


. . . they thought wrong. ]

[heckblazer]

[ Good intentions on the part of the bartenders don't make John show up any faster, nor any more soberly.

He trips out of a cab around 2:38 after having contended with the porters and Sunday drivers on a Saturday night. But getting into the downtown of Maurtia Falls gives him a certain cleansing calm. Should really just bite it and find a flat here with how often he ends up out this way anyhow. Usually to deal with various Persephone-shaped messes, he realizes.

He's not as far in the bag as she is when he strides into the bar, which is impressive, given what it takes to tip an ancient one over. Still, that's more empty bottles in front of her than he expected.

The staff look exhausted and the other patrons weary, all unsettled by the brooding goth and the kind of space she takes up, her presence even when sitting, drinking and chatting infectious.


Most folks should like to go about their lives in peace and quiet, and don't rightly know how to handle an emotionally volatile teenaged Goddess. Its why she gets patronized so bloody much with questions loaded with backhanded concern for her mental state from folks wirh only their own normal, dry lives to compare. John, for his own part, at least prided himself on not treating them like fragile children. ]

C'mon now, dove. This place is crampin' yer' style.

[ Said with a lean against her table and a casual tone as if he were talking about the sports jerseys hung from the walls, rather than her possibly-mania-induced urge to dig her heels into a place and drink her own face off.

Fuck if those were some tacky jerseys though. ]

D

[purple_reign]

[Let's be real here, it's not the first time Inanna's caught her sleeping on a grave. Doesn't make it any less concerning, but at least it's not a shock, just a bit of a downer.

Only a bit though.

Inanna had been nearly vibrating with a delighted sort of energy when they sparkled their way into the cemetery, and finding Persephone being exactly as morbid as usual only drops their grin to a soft smile. They sigh in fond exasperation and lean over to shake her shoulder gently.]

Come on, dear, you don't want it to rain on you again.

[pummelgranite]

[ She blinks the sparkles out of her eyes. ]


Mmh- . . . Inanna?