Most demigods are born with the ability to make the oceans rise, or the earth tremble, or flaming lasers of sunlight shoot out of their fingertips. Unfortunately for Eriargyra Morgan, freelance witch, the last time anyone worshiped her father was before humans figured out how to make iron, so all she gets is some swanky hair.
She'll work for every scrap of power she has, whether that's battling the Justice League Kiddie Squad, hunting interdimensional demons, picking at the threads of the Loom of Destiny, or tearing the fundamental secrets of reality from the universe's bleeding corpse. They say it's knowledge no MAN is meant to know it, after all, and she hasn't been a man for years.
Throughout it all, she'll be hunted by her former best friend, Artemis Crock, who mirrors her journey as her equal and opposite. Heartbreak has never been so annoyingly persistent.
Watch Eri's journey to become the Silver Sorceress, one of the most feared mages in the entire world, and the love, loss, heartbreak, and eventually love again she'll find along the way. It's the slow burn to end all slow burns, the idiot lesbians to end all idiot lesbians.
Heavily inspired Assimilation, We Are Legion, and dozens of Catradora fics. Setting is Young Justice, but it's a heavy AU, incorporating things from all over DC. No prior knowledge of Young Justice required.
Cover Art is a shoddily modified picture of Pidge, credit for original to cookiecreation on DA
This is technically a re-write of an (extremely bad, don't read it) quest I ran several years ago, but honestly, I've reworked almost everything about it to the point they have virtually nothing in common.
I've been going over it for a week at this point, but I'm still not entirely happy with the first chapter, so please give this fic at least until the next post before you put it down.
Also, just FYI, the first set of chapters is pretty heavily focused on setting up the relationships between the characters, but it'll get more focused on the actual cape-ery in the second.
I was born as a poor, lonely orphan boy.
Which is a bit strange, because I'm female, but that's just how life is sometimes.
Shoddily modified picture of Pidge, credit for original to cookiecreation on DA
I grew up in St. Vitus's Orphanage, right in the heart of of Little Sicily. My mother dropped me off in the front room, gave the nuns a name (which she claimed was my father's), and then took off for parts unknown.
When I was four or five, I distinctly remember the nuns at the orphanage telling me that I nice young boy like me should be out within the year, because with my unique coloring, who wouldn't want to adopt me? With silver hair and purple eyes, I'd have families crawling all over each other.
I've honestly never seen how. Silver hair and purple eyes aren't common, sure, but it's not like they're unheard of. I know of at least three celebrities that have one or the other, just off the top of my head, and one girl at my school.
Unfortunately for me, most of the nuns were pretty old, and didn't understand that at a time when more and more "weird" things are popping up every year, and have been for decades, the last things parents want is a child that's different.
It didn't help that my name, Eriargyra — that's a hard "gi", like the karate robe, not a soft "jy" like the thing I was unfortunately born without — was very obviously Greek in a territory defined by its Sicilian identity, and I refused to have it changed. Part of it was because every name they suggested was both extremely male and extremely religious, but another was that it just didn't feel right, labeling myself as anything else. Like trying to shove a square peg into a hole that's just a tiny bit round: you could probably do it, but you might not like how it pieces get chipped off on its way in.
Luckily, the only good thing my mother ever did for me was giving me one of those last names that's also a first name, so I eventually compromised down to just "Morgan". Sure, it kind of made everyone sound extra formal (or like an evil schoolteacher), but honestly it might have been better that way. Easier to make sure I didn't get attached, since we all got shipped off to foster homes at ten.
I'm comfortable with "Argyra" now, but to this day all the kids from St. Vitus's think I'm a weird, stuffy little freak.
Besides that though, the orphanage was… fine, I guess? I've always been very independent, so having a lot of time to myself wasn't a bad thing. I could go without the bullying, but honestly, it's pretty hard to take kids calling you "stupid and poor" seriously when you're wearing clothes handed down from the same charity bin.
Little Sicily isn't exactly the wealthiest part of Gotham, you see. Or, to put it more bluntly, it's poor as shit, and the only options to not be poor are to join up with the Falcones or get the hell out of dodge.
Now, don't get me wrong! The area still has some jobs, and the Falcone Gang aren't the worst in the city. I shudder to think what would have happened if I'd grown up someplace ruled by the Lucky Hand Triad, or gods forbid Bane. It also has a real sense of community spirit, where everyone knew everyone else, if only through some cousin of a cousin, and people are willing to share what little they had with one another. Well, a lot of that was just simple ethnic solidarity, but even us outsiders got grandfathered in by growing up here.
Also, you could always feel at least somewhat safe going out on the streets at night, that was a big plus. Say what you want about Carmine, but he likes his territory quiet and orderly.
If I'd been born an orphan in Walton Park, on the other hand, I'm pretty sure that I would have been a strung-out venom junkie by age twelve, and dead at fifteen when Bane sent me out to die against one of his numerous enemies.
But that's not to say life was easy. Not in the slightest.
People are generous, but everyone with any money to lend works somewhere connected to the Falcones. Carmine's capes are nice and friendly to everyone, but the Bertinelli capes they keep fighting like to burn down whole city blocks. You can walk down the street to school without worrying, but most of the kids you're walking with will graduate directly into selling drugs or smuggling guns for "the Family", if they graduate at all.
I suspect that if I'd been born into one of those nice, rich families that live near Grant Park, I'd probably be in college by now. I'd have all the nicest tutors and test-preppers, and a media exhibition as I tested into the advanced track at Gotham U, and maybe an international speaking tour where I talked about the pressures of over-achievement on young women that would let me retire to a bungalow in the Hamptons at 35.
But I was born in the ass-end of Gotham, to a school where a fifth of the class doesn't even bother showing up enough to graduate, so I had to work.
Every day and every night, I worked. I finished all my homework the day it was assigned, and then would read ahead in the textbooks. After I was done with that, I'd go to the library, to read more. History, physics, philosophy, chemistry, literature, it didn't matter. Everything I got my hands on, I just got in a way that everyone else around me just seemed unable to. My plan was to work my ass off, try to get into college early and turn that into a career as a respected research scientist.
Yeah, it didn't earn me many (well, any) friends, and the other kids all either thought I was a weirdo or some brown-nosing teacher's pet, but I didn't care. My grades soared, and I would earn A after A, doing well enough that I'd one day in the future manage to get into the prestigious Gotham Academy on an academic scholarship.
Then, on my tenth birthday, I received a dream.
I dreamed of a middle-aged, bearded man, with a blindfold wrapped around his eyes. He told me that he was my father, the god Tiresias, and I was his child.
I was elated: I knew I was special, knew I was different! There was just something about me destined for grander things, superior to all those mortals I was…
…
…
...I'm sorry, this encyclopedia says he was who now?.
Yeah, let me tell you, looking up my father's name in the library was was an abrupt wake-up call. He isn't Zeus, or Poseidon, or even someone mid-tier like Pan or Helios. He isn't even one of the minor gods, like Geras or Phorcys! Nope, my divine father is the theological equivalent of an ant, one of the tens of thousands of minor figures venerated at one particular time, in one particular place, by one particular people, the vast majority of whom have been swept away by the winds of history.
In my case, that ant was Tiresias, son of Chariclo, the blind Theban prophet so renowned for his wisdom and sagacity that he was venerated in his home city as a divine hero, who blessed Kings and generals for centuries until he was cruelly forgotten and cast aside by an ungrateful populace.
Well, that's at least how he likes to tell it. Actually knowing him, I have some pretty serious doubts.
Also, as you might have guessed by the reference to "Thebes", it's that Tiresias. The one from Oedipus Rex.
And boy, is he pissed about that being how he's remembered, by the way.
"Two hundred years, kid, two hundred fuckin' years giving prophecies and wisdom to the line of that ungrateful asshole Polydoros, and giving prophecies as a ghost for just as long, and what do I get? Am I 'the man who saved Thebes from the Seven'? Am I 'the only man to defy King Creon'? Am I even 'the ghost prophet'? Nope! It's 'Oh hey, the incest guy!' 'Look everybody, it's the incest guy!' Hera's tits, you tell one kid he's fuckin' his mother, and bam! That's it forever."
Over his life, Tiresias became so respected as the advisor and oracle of the royal line, that people started to call on him even after death, setting up a heroic shrine and praying to him for knowledge and prophecy.
It was enough to catalyze the divine spark in his soul, letting him ascend into a full-fledged god, capable of sending visions, bestowing minor blessings, and all that other good deity stuff.
For a good century or two, he was a mid-level player in the polis's divine landscape, and it looked like he could have been something bigger, but well… one day Herakles came through. After you meet the dude who can reroute rivers with his hands, the elderly, feeble old prophet was a far less attractive object of veneration. Mr. Manly gets his own hero cult and ends up one of the most prominent gods in the ancient world, leaving my dad "thrown away like a used spooge-rag after a twelve-hour orgy, kid" (his words, obviously).
So, centuries before Alexander the Somewhat-Decent was a twinkle in his great-grandfather's eye, my dad ends up with a tiny divine spark, no worshipers, no gifts, and the only able to sustain himself thanks to his association with several far more famous ascended heroes.
What does he decide to do?
Go on one giant three-millennia-long bender, apparently. Which, a little over eighteen years and nine months ago, led to him stopping over in Gotham, which led to me.
You know, when I hear Christians say "God does everything for a reason", I don't think the "reason" they're talking about is God getting so blind drunk he loops all the way back around to being able to see, snorting a cubic kilogram of cocaine, and then diving into a ball-pit full of European prostitutes.
Yeah, dear old Dad got real detailed when we were trying to figure out who my mother was.
I think it says a lot about my sperm donor (ambrosia donor?) that the only reason he was able to remember the face of the woman he impregnated is because I knew she was Irish, and "she had the sexiest fuckin' accent, you wouldn't believe it kid". Also, because that particular night was the only time he'd ever chosen to use my name as an alias, because he wanted to fuck with Chryses.
I feel like I should take offense to that on my mother's behalf, but honestly… well, all I'll say is that it was probably a good thing I grew up in the orphanage. At least the nuns are sober, and don't work for a dude named "Traxxalicious".
Seriously, the woman was on so many different pills when I met her it took a good three minutes for her to even remember she was ever pregnant.
So yeah, technically a demigod. Unlike those spoiled assholes descended from one of the big boys though, dear old dad couldn't give me the ability to make the oceans rise, or the earth tremble, or flaming lasers of sunlight shoot out of my fingertips. No, all I got from the old perv was some minor second sight, a spark of magic — and I mean a spark, barely even there — and the ability to shift around my sex like I'm fucking with a video game slider thanks to a youthful misadventure he had with some snakes.
Also my hair and eyes, which I've been reliably informed are "striking", but that's not really an advantage in an orphanage where even having red hair got people bullied for being different.
Now don't get me wrong, I'm thankful: I love my hair and eyes, and just the idea of reaching out to see something and only being able to look with my eyes, or being stuck in one body for the rest of my life, let alone a male one... I'm shivering just from the thought of it.
But c'mon. You couldn't give me something I can actually use on other people? Having some sort of blindness bolt would be super fucking handy in some foster homes, let me tell you. Much more than bright "rob me" hair, or shapeshifting I can only use to gain two millimeters of reach in a fight, and which only showed up once I was in middle school.
It wasn't like the situation was hopeless though: just like with everything in life, I just had to put my nose to the grindstone and work. I didn't have any spellbooks, I didn't have any teachers, but I could still feel the magic inside of me, and that was enough to get a start.
I honed and trained my abilities, crafting spells through painstaking experimentation, and then begged, bartered, and sometimes even stole as much complex magic as I could get my hands on.
My meager (initially, at least) prophetic gifts didn't hurt in making sure I was in the right place at the right time, even if I didn't know exactly why I was there, and soon enough, I had actual contacts in the magical world. As it turns out, seers are highly valued among mages, and I was able to trade scryings and prophecies for favors and knowledge, honing my own divinatory abilities and gaining further resources at the same time.
I studied the secrets of magic, just barely glimpse the threads of the great Loom of the Moirai, and began to slowly to comprehend the true nature of the universe.
Tiresias says that I get it from him, but since I haven't gone blind yet from peering into things man was no yet meant to know, I think I'm solidly beating him in that department.
Although knowing myself, there should probably be a "so far" tacked on to the end of that sentence.
After all, being able to perform a spell is all well and good, but really, what use is it if you don't also understand how you're performing it? If you're going to study magic, I say, why not get down to the heart of it?
I don't just want to know how to levitate a car, or how to teleport, or how to shoot out bolts of lightning from my fingers. I don't even just want to how to live forever, or dethrone gods, or blast cities off the face of the earth.
I want to know... Threads weaved into the Loomeverything.
I mean, you know, metaphorically.
Only a crazy person would think they can know literally everything! And I'm totally, definitely not crazy. Not even a little bit.
I even have a professional certificate confirming it!
So that's how I've lived my life: honing my craft, expanding my knowledge, expanding out my network of contacts (both magical and mundane), while doing well enough in school to keep up appearances.
And at some point along that road, I met Artemis Crock.
The first time I heard the name Artemis Crock, I was ten years and eight months old, and I had just been punched in the face.
credit to nananmi and ghostpainters, respectively
The second time I heard the name Artemis Crock was about ten minutes later, when we'd both been dragged to the principal's office, and Mr. Carlucci was yelling at us trying to figure out why she'd punched me.
As it turns out, she'd heard me snap back against some other kid who'd been making fun of my hair, saying that actually, it was his blond hair that was stupid-looking. As a blonde, she'd taken quite a bit of offense, and quickly monopolized the argument with some truly blistering insults.
The argument escalated, one thing led to another, soon enough we'd decided to express our disagreements in a much more immediate and physical manner.
We both got a day's detention, but I still hold to this day that it was absolutely worth it to knock that smug look off her face.
For the first hour of our detention, we both refused to talk to one another, but soon enough boredom took over, and by the end of the day she invited me back to her place to study geography. Her sister Jade didn't have any room on her motorbike, but by that point it was too late, and a friendship to transcend the ages had been born.
Neither of us had had very many friends up until that point — I don't know why, I'm positively charming — and so we quickly became inseparable. We went to class together, ate lunch together, studied together in the library, and only separated at the last possible moment to go our separate ways.
Sometimes we wouldn't even do that: there were six months when I was in-between foster homes that I was basically lived with her in her bedroom.
That was one of the few cases where her mom's neglectfulness and unsuitability to be a parent may have been a plus, because I'm pretty sure there's no way a regular mother would have been ok with one of her daughter's friends sleeping in her bed every night for half a year, let alone a "boy".
The only thing Paula told us was to wear condoms or stick to oral, because she didn't have the money to support a grandchild.
We were eleven.
Also, she said that if I was living there, I'd attend martial arts classes alongside Artemis and Jade. Let me tell you, even with everything I've done since then, I still have never been as exhausted as I was at the end of one of Ms. Talon's daily sessions.
A month into living with Artie, I finally trusted her enough to show her some of the magic I could do. At that point in my studies it was basically just some cantrips — minor levitation, a basic taser, a ball of light, that type of stuff — but she was still absolutely blown away, and demanded that I teach her how to do it.
She never really had the aptitude like I do, she's always been a much more kinesthetic learner, but she can levitate the TV remote into her hand when it's across the room so I still count that as successful teaching.
To this day, she's also the only person I've ever told about my ability to shapeshift. I think that after that, telling her I was really a girl was much less of a big deal.
I did end up having to show Paula when she refused to stop misgendering me until I could "prove it", but I don't really count that.
I've even told her about my dad! Although she still thinks he's just some random bottom-tier sorcerer, because holy shit do I not want to actually discuss all the implications of gods being real, and what being the child of one means for me.
Or that I desperately fear the possibility that I'm fated to end up like him, his lack of self-control and magical weakness ending up breeding true in his daughter.
When I first decided to apply to the academic scholarship to Gotham Academy in the summer before eight grade, I was terrified that we'd drift apart. That she'd feel left behind, while I was preparing for a bright shining future. I'd be at The Academy, the most prestigious high school in the entire city, the incubator for the future rulers of the East Coast, while she'd be at Regalbuto High, where a fifth of students don't even graduate.
Do you know what Artemis did?
She slapped me over the head, said I was being an idiot, and told me, with 100% complete certainty, that she'd be getting one of Gotham Academy's sports scholarships.
Let me tell you, I may be the seer, but I've never been as sure of something as Artie when she sets her mind to a goal.
Thanks to her mother's insistence on training from a young age, Artemis has always been scarily proficient at just about every fighting art I know of (and probably a few that I don't). So when she figured out that Gotham Academy was setting up a professional archery team, and was open to scholarships to recruit talent?
Well, with some help from her sister Jade, we put up a practice range in an abandoned machining shop we found, and we were off to the races.
Eventually Paula caught on, and called in some favors to arrange a year of intense private training with an "old friend" of hers that was suspiciously knowledgeable about what points to hit on a human body to do maximum damage. I'm pretty sure she didn't actually care about the school thing, she was just happy her youngest daughter was finally showing interest in the "family business".
Gag.
In Paula's defense though, it worked. Artemis put her nose to the grindstone — or whatever you use to sharpen arrowheads, a belt sander? — and trained, harder than she'd ever trained before. Her teacher actually said that she was one of the most dedicated students he'd ever had, and given what type of people I suspect he'd been training before, that was a major compliment. It meant we barely saw each other for the entire year, but she finally did it, effortlessly beating out people from across the whole Northeast for that single coveted position. I think she ended up scoring twice as high as the second place winner.
She's just that incredible.
It's actually very fitting that Artemis took Paula's… Paula-ness and turned it into something that let us stay together. That's one of the things I admire most about her, that she's always striven to be so much more than where she came from, who she came from. She takes the pile of shit she was given in life, and tries to use it to grow roses.
It would have been the easiest thing in the world for her to follow in the footsteps of her parents, and start preparing to be killer-for-hire like her mother clearly has been training her for. She'd have a lifetime of training, and access to both her parents' extensive contacts, so she could probably have started taking high-paying jobs the minute she decided she wanted to, and lived the rest of her life in the lap of luxury.
The thing is, I don't think Artemis has ever taken the easy path towards anything in her life. Life has made her tough, incredibly tough, but beneath that, in spite of everything, is someone who cares, truly cares about other people.
Her caring isn't a soft, fragile thing though, not my Artie. She's a crusader, a warrior, with that firm, fiery sense of justice and moral indignation at the status quo that can bring the whole world to its knees.
One time in eighth grade, one of our classmates walked in on our math teacher Mr. Buring getting a bit too handsy with Debby, one of the non-verbal girls in the Special Ed class.
Unfortunately for that poor girl, a single witness, who had been swiftly intimidated into silence with threats of expulsion, wasn't enough to convince the principal to do anything, and so the issue looked like it would just fizzle out. Principal Giuliani wasn't exactly the best administrator in usual circumstances, and "Jerry" just so happened to be the man's best friend and pool buddy: there was no way in hell he'd have moved for anything but a filmed confession signed in triplicate (and even then, he'd probably plead shapeshifter).
From Mr. Buring's perspective, it must have seemed like the perfect crime: a victim that couldn't even understand what was being done to her, a witness intimidated into silence, and authorities that were more likely punish anyone who came to them for "spreading rumors" than actually investigate.
I know that last part it true, because that's actually what Principal Giuliani did to Artemis when she tried to get him to do something. After which, Mr. Buring came to her with the same threats he'd used to silence the boy that walked in on him.
Artie kicked him in the balls, and got suspended for a week
So, realizing nothing could be done through official channels, Artemis spent her suspension putting some of Paula's training to good use, and broke into school after hours to bug Mr. Buring's classroom with some hidden cameras she made out of discarded old cell phones.
With some incredibly graphic films in hand, she didn't bother going to Mr. Giuliani, or even Officer Hooker, the cop who'd been shuffled off to babysit us for a year because of one too many brutality complaints — ol' Willy was a real peach, let me tell you, he made life just lovely for the school's non-white students.
Falcone territory actually has a surprisingly large Persian population, its one of the reasons they're are on such good terms with the Sons of Khosrow.
She ended up sending the evidence as an anonymous tip straight to Gotham PD, and it clearly worked: when we saw that rapist asshole being led off in handcuffs she couldn't stop smiling for a week.
So that's Artie: bold, kind, indefatigable, and my best friend in the entire world. Our friendship is strong, solid, in a way that can only really emerge from a lifetime of facing storm after storm together. Some people would say "codependent", but I think that's just a coward's word for people who are afraid of someone truly knowing them, and everything about them.
Well…
Almost everything.
You see, those cantrips I showed her as a kid? It turns out…I haven't really shown her anything more than that.
She still thinks that's all I can do.
I'm pretty sure she's under the impression that it's kind of… I don't know, a party trick? Well, maybe something a little bit more serious, but you get the idea: just kind of a thing that I can do, but not really a major part of my life. Like how learning how to play the guitar for fun doesn't mean you're suddenly going to drop everything and devote your life to becoming a rock star.
And there is a big difference between "can levitate some cans" and "omni-disciplinary sorcerer/scientist who plans to live forever and unlock the fundamental secrets of the universe."
I'm pretty sure she still thinks I want to be a mathematician.
Which I mean, I suppose in a way, I still kind of do. Magic has a surprisingly large amount of math in it, and half of some types of divination are just crunching probabilities. Bayes Theorem put a lot of people out of work, let me tell you.
She doesn't know about my freelancing as an oracle, or my network of contacts, or the trips I've been on around the world, or that I've fought capes to a standstill.
She doesn't even know about the combination lab and library I built into the old machine shop we used to practice her archery.
Hells, she doesn't even know I'm a demigod.
So yeah, there's actually quite a big part of me she's totally ignorant of.
At first, I didn't want to tell her because I worried about making her feel like she was lesser. I could tell that she took her difficulties learning magic personally, and I didn't want to make her feel even worse by just pulling further and further ahead.
Then, once I started getting involved in, as the kids say, the "real shit", I didn't want to worry her. I know she hates when I put myself in danger, and she'd give herself a heart attack knowing I was going off to meet with people who could kill me with the flick of a finger. Or worse, demand to come with me, given that some of my contacts consider baseline humans to be a delicacy.
So I put it off. And then put it off, and put if off some more, because I didn't want to deal with the trouble. And then, at some point, it'd just been too long for any conversation to ever go well.
I mean seriously, at this point, how the hell am I supposed to tell her that all those times I was "busy at work", I was actually having tea with an elf, or getting chased by zombies raiding a tomb, or trading oracle-bone prophecies to a 150-year-old Indonesian jungle witch in exchange for lessons on her tribe's understanding of thaumodynamic resonances?
I want to tell her, I really want to tell her. Fates, you have no idea how much.
But at my heart I'm a coward. Not like her. I can't bear the thought of what might happen if things go wrong.
My best plan? I've been studying enchanting quite a bit lately, and I'm about halfway done with an enchanted bow for her.
I mean… a gift can't exactly make it worse, can it?
AN: "Eriargyra" is the feminine form of "Eriargyros" or "Eriargyres" meaning very/extremely silver. It's not too weird of a name for an Ancient Greek to pick, because "Eri" compound names like that were fairly common. The reference to fucking with Chryses is because "Chryses" means "golden" in Greek.
Also, it took me forever to actually figure out how the "Eri" prefix works with alpha-initial words. I ended up finding two examples in "Erianthes" and "Eriaspidas" that do something similar. I did find a cool new etymology resource from it though, so I'm counting it as a plus.
Just FYI, Tiresias, as far as I can tell, never had a hero cult irl. Or if he did have one, it wasn't big enough to leave behind an historical record. But hero cults were incredibly common in the Greek world, so it's not at all improbable for him to have developed one, although as a non-warrior it would have likely been rarer. There was probably at least one heroön or two around at some point, they were built for prominent figures from a city.
And I know that "cape" is technically a Worm thing, but I'm importing it in, because it's just too useful to not have. There needs to be a good way to describe costumed powered people in general, without the grand implications of "superhero" or "supervillain".
With a groan, I flop down onto the cool metal bench of the cafeteria table, practically sagging against the metal.
I just grunt at the succession of "Morning!"s that get shot my way by my classmates, not even picking my head up off the table.
Fuck me, I should not have stayed up so late decanting those latest alchemical test batches. I think I almost used up all my aqua regia, too. But c'mon, it's magic! Far, far more interesting than whatever the hell we'll be doing in school today.
I don't even get to suffer in the insanely comfy desk-chairs that they have here! Our homeroom has had to meet in the cafeteria for the past week, thanks to some water leak in our normal classroom.
Seriously though, the chairs are nuts, they literally have padding, I'm pretty sure they actually imported them fro-
"Long night?" I hear from behind me.
I perk up, turning around with a smirk.
"Not long enough, clearly, if I have to see you in the morning."
I scooch to the right, moving my book-bag from the bench to make room for my best friend to sit next to me.
"Please, I'm a blessing." the blonde says, plopping her head down on my shoulder as she sits.
There are, of course, some benefits to having homeroom in the cafeteria.
"Really though Eri" she says, with a worried frown, raising her head, "is everything alright? You do seem worn out."
I sigh, slumping against Artemis with an exaggerated groan. "I am exhaaaauusteeedddd."
She laughs, and I pout. "This isn't a joke, Artie. I am literally dying."
She raises a brow, face inches from mine where I have my head perched on her shoulder. "Wow, sounds serious. So I can expect you to not eat two burgers an entire plate of French Fries at lunch? After all, if you're so sick, you don't want to upset your stomach…
"Eheheh… well, maybe…"
"In fact" she says, a smirk pulling at her lips, "if you really feel that bad, maybe I should take you to the school nurse? I'm sure-"
I pull back with a gasp. "You monster! You'd drag me to Nurse Ratched?"
"I mean" she says, "if you really are almost dying, after all… Also, stop calling her that, it's mean."
I turn my head upwards, giving her my best pleading expression. "B-But Artie…"
She just snorts. "I'll give it a four"
I widen my eyes further, really doing my best to make them shine.
"…Six."
I sit up, scoffing. "You just don't respect my craft."
"Eri, I have never respected you once in my entire life. I mean, c'mon, you once tried to stick a knife in an outlet to try to get electricity powers"
"I was eleven."
"Pretty sure most eleven year olds are still smart enough not to do that."
I laugh, butting my shoulder against hers. "Fuck you, Artie."
The blonde smirks. "You wish, perv."
I laugh, and then give an exaggerated leer. "Absolutely. Have you seen your ass? To climb that mountain..."
She starts sputtering. "T-that…"
She eventually settles on "shut up, idiot" and slaps my shoulder, but I can see the bright red staining her cheeks, and the goofy smile she tries to hide behind her hand.
Heh. Score one for the demigod.
"A-Anyways," she says, "if you're feeling fine, you should drop by my place after school. You can use that calculator brain of yours to help me study for Dr. Brownlow's exam."
"Only if I get to cook!"
She pauses, before slowly manhandling me up by the shoulders so she can stare me directly in the eyes.
"Eri, darling." she says carefully, "I love you to death… but I would rather gouge out my eyes with a rusty poker than eat another one of your home-cooked meals"
I gasp. "I am a great cook!"
She pinches the bridge of her nose. "It's what you cook that's the problem! Seriously, Igbo-Korean Octopus Tex-Mex Fusion? What does that even mean?!"
"It means deliciousness in your mouth, if you'd just give it a chance."
"I did give it a chance. I had diarrhea for a week."
"It's not my fault that your bowels are too weak.", I mumble to myself, pouting.
"What was that?"
"Nothing, dear."
"That's what I thought."
I sit and stew in silence.
"…Screw you, I'm a good cook. I would make a great housewife, you know."
"Eri, last year you almost burned my mom's apartment down by microwaving cereal with the spoon still inside the bowl. Then you almost burned it down again by leaving the stove on when you tried to cook bacon to 'make up' for it."
"Ugh" I say, I falling backwards into her shoulder with my hand against my forehead, "you are somean to me, darling. Why do I even tolerate your presence?"
She nods sagely. "Probably mental illness."
I have to hold back a chuckle.
"Also" she says, "I recall you said something about my 'A-plus ass'?"
I glance down, to where her absolutely divine posterior is sitting against the metal bench. "Hmmmmm…"
I shrug. "Nah. It's a five, max. Also, get better at quoting me, I would never unironically use 'A-plus' as an adjective."
She raises a hand to her chest. "Excuse me, I'll have you know that-"
Her response is interrupted by a cough from across the table, and I look up at the two figures who I only now realize have been sitting there the entire time. "Hello Argyra, hello Artemis, how are you this morning? I'm fine, personally."
I clear my throat awkwardly. "Ah… right. Sorry. Morning Brianna, Nathan. Good to see you guys."
credit Jimmy Jing Xia
Man, for a seer, I really need to pay more attention to what's right in front of my face sometimes.
Artemis brushes a lock of hair behind her ear in the way she only does when she's embarrassed. "Hey guys, sorry I didn't see you there. How've your mornings been?"
Brianna and Nathan are… alright, I guess? We share homeroom together, and they're fun enough to talk to. Honestly, they're more Artie's friends than mine. Brianna's a bit too much of a hall monitor for my taste — comes with being the daughter of "Hardback" Bock, the Deputy Chief of Police, I suppose — but she can be really fun when she lets her hair down. And Nathan is… uh…
Ok full disclosure I don't actually know Nathan all that well, alright? All I know is that he moved to Gotham City from Taiwan when he was in middle school, his dad is the "Senior Vice President of Home Appliances" at Wayne Enterprises, whatever that means, and that he once tried out for the football team as a linebacker but didn't make the cut. Also that he's got a good sense of humor, but that's a prerequisite for anyone that wants to be Artie's friend.
Brianna glances, down at her lap, glaring. "My Dad is being really annoying, but other than that I'm fine, I guess."
Nathan shrugs. "I'm good, nothing much to complain about."
There's a bit of an awkward pause, and he waves his hand. "It's fine, you two can go back to doing your whole codependency thing, or whatever, don't mind us."
Artemis narrows her eyes at him.
I stick my tongue out, and then deliberately turn my head away from them and back to my best friend. "How was your weekend, by the way? I'm sorry I wasn't able to see you, we were swamped at work."
Hey, don't look at me like that, those alchemical samples were really delicate.
She rolls her eyes, but obligingly looks down at me where I'm resting on her shoulder. "Nah, it's cool" she says, nudging me, "work had me super busy too, so I probably couldn't have done anything fun anyways."
"Yes," Brianna says quietly to herself, "because it's tooootally normal for platonic friends to apologize when they don't see one another for two days while practically cuddling each other. Just friend stuff."
Artemis and I turn to glare, letting out mutual groans.
"I'm straight." / "I'm not dating Artemis"
I can practically feel Artemis roll her eyes. "I don't know why this is such a thing with you. I am not a lesbian, Bri. Not even a little."
"Suuuuuure" Nathan says. "Definitely not. In the slightest."
My eyes narrow at his exaggerated wink.
Artemis rolls her eyes. "Fuck off Nate."
He turns to me. "Argyra, help me out. Can't you at least tell me when you will start boning? Papa needs a new Playstation, and the betting pool up to 800 bucks!"
Brianna slaps Nathan on the shoulder, a light blush on her cheeks, "That is so inappropriate!"
I just roll my eyes. "How about this, Nathan. I'll doctor some photos, and we can split the pot 50/50."
He hums. "60/40"
"69/31"
I laugh, even as Brianna huffs.
"So, uh… what is it you do for work, anyways?" the black girl says, in a clear bid to change the subject, "I know Artemis is busy because she works at that sporting goods store, but she's never mentioned you have a job too."
"Oh" I say, sitting up Artemis so she can't feel my tells and ignore how fucking guilty that makes me feel, "it's nothing special. I work at an occult shop."
I shrug, careful to make my town casual. "I man the register, lift boxes in the back, that sort of stuff. It's run by this little old lady, so she can't actually do any of it herself."
That "little old lady" is Madame Szeréna, the owner of an actual magic shop across town who could kick my ass through three different realms if she learned implied that her age has made her in any way feeble.
Seriously, that woman is scary. When I do my monthly divination sessions for her — her price for corroborating my cover story — most of what we do is scrying her various enemies to see if they're dead yet (and if they're not, to figure out why, and how to change that).
"Oh, cool. How's that been treating you?"
"Oh you know" I say, a charming smile on my face, "it has its ins and outs, its ups and downs. Sometimes I'm busy all night, other times I basically have the day free."
She just nods, an inscrutable look in her eye.
A voice sounds from behind me. "Oh, are you talking about Auntie Bi's, Yra?"
Oh hey, I was wondering where Lonnie was!
"No, it's not Auntie Bi's, I'm pretty sure she would literally murder me within three days of working there."
He snorts. "Yeah, I can see that. She's always been… mercurial."
Well, it's less that, and more that Auntie Bi was one of those enemies that Madame Szeréna keeps having my scry for, and I know that the Chinese woman is absolutely a good enough mage to know.
Shame, too, she has some of the best alchemical reagents in town. No, I'm not bitter at all about having to pay a marked-up price for all the dijiang claw I've been using this month, how can you tell?
"Ah, that sucks" he says, "I used to live right near there, I could have dropped by."
I nod, careful to not let anything show on my face. "Well, that's life."
Weirdly enough, Lonnie might actually be my best friend here, aside from Artemis, obviously. We met in my sophomore year, when I got assigned to show him around the school, and we ended up bonding over making fun of all the ridiculously extravagant facilities. Because c'mon, seriously, plush seats?
He's one of the few people here who really gets me, aside from Artemis. He's smart, maybe even smarter than me, attending on the same academic scholarship that I am. He grew up in the heart of Chinatown, in Ghost Dragon territory, the child of a prostitute who died right after giving birth to him. After that, he was apparently more or less collectively adopted by the girls at the brothel she worked at, and was raised by about two-dozen "aunties".
One I realized the thematic mirroring between us, the seer in me wouldn't let us not be friends.
Also, he speaks like a dozen languages thanks to how he grew up, and it's nice to have someone to actually speak Greek with besides Artie. Let me tell you, she and I were extremely surprised when someone else could actually understand that weird Greco-Vietnamese pidgin we use for shit talking people in public (and also super embarrassed, because some of the stuff we say is downright mean). Hell, he actually speaks it better than I do, since I only started learning Vietnamese once I met Artie.
We've since mixed in some Sicilian — everyone who grows up in Falcone territory knows at least a little — and Lonnie politely pretends he doesn't understand, even though he's more than smart enough to have picked up on it by now.
Sure, he can be a little… preachy, I guess, and really, really angry, but he's a good dude. His anger comes from a place of deep, genuine empathy, and a care for the people around him. He's like Artie in that way, but with a whole lot more Che mixed in.
Although I get the feeling that if he thought he could get away with it, he'd hold all the students here hostage in some sort of scheme to extort their parents for funds to send to the Zapatistas, or something.
By the time I refocus, the blond has sat down next to Nathan, unwrapping a sandwich for breakfast. Everyone pretends not to notice the way his sandwich has the crusts cut off, or the note in Mandarin in the bag with little hearts on it, and eight signatures.
His family really is adorable.
We descend into a bit of awkward silence, as Lonnie loses interest and gets absorbed into whatever messages he's typing on his phone.
Brianna, strangely enough, joins him, practically slamming her thumbs into her keypad as she glares at her tiny screen.
Artemis loops an arm around my shoulders to pull me back in to lean against her, and frowns at the black girl. "You alright, Brianna? You've been looking at that thing like it owes you money this entire morning."
Huh, I missed that.
"Oh, it's nothing." Brianna says, groaning, "my stupid dad is just being weird today."
She frowns. "Did something happen?"
"Yeah, it's the- wait, do you guys know the Golden Archer?"
Artemis leans forward, leaving me to sit up. "Yeah, I've heard of her."
Hmm, I don't… oh, right! That new vigilante that's been active, I think they popped up like a year and a half ago? I don't keep too close track of that stuff, but I think I remember something about Two-Face sending a bunch of goons to kill her last month. Poor idiot.
"Well, two night ago She managed to find one of their stashes, and actually took down Electrocutioner. Everyone who hates them has been trying to take a slice of territory now that they're down their strongest cape, so downtown is a huge crapstorm."
Artemis scoffs. "Electrocutioner isn't their strongest cape, that's Killer Croc. Also, her name isn't 'the Golden Archer', it's 'Chryssa'."
She coughs, brushing a hand back through her hair. "Or uh, so I've heard."
I hum. The girl's got good taste in names, at least, even if she'll likely be dead in six months.
Brianna rolls her eyes. "Well whatever her name is, downtown has been a crapshow, and so Dad has been extra overprotective today. It's annoying."
She leans in to Nathan's half-hug. "No, it's fine, I just wish he didn't baby me so much, you know? I'm not a kid anymore."
I reach across the table to pat her on the shoulder. "…That, uh… that's rough? I'm sorry for you."
Artemis pinches the bridge of her nose.
…What? I'm bad at comforting people, alright!
"Or… That's not rough?"
Artemis sighs.
"Artie, help me out here, I'm really bad at this!"
"Oh!" Nathan says, in a clear bid to change the subject, "Argyra, I meant to say: Mary Kong wanted me to tell you to stop ignoring her messages, and something about you being a stuck-up bitch? I'm not really sure."
I roll my eyes.
"I don't know what is up with that girl. Seriously! We got to second base once, and things look like they're going to be fine. We keep talking, say hi in the hallways, whatever."
Nathan raises his eyebrows, and Artemis just rolls her eyes. "But then, like a week later, out of fucking nowhere, she tracks me down on my way to Chem, gets on one knee, and fucking confesses! In front of everybody!"
Brianna gasps. Artemis begins tapping her fingers on the table, glaring down at it like it owes her money, clearly trying to ignore us.
"What? I told her I wasn't looking for anything serious, when we started and she said she was totally cool with that! I did my best to let her down easy, I really did, but she still ran off crying, probably because for some fucking reasons she chose to do it in public! How the hell is that supposed to be my fault!"
Lonnie rolls his eyes from where he's tapping away at his phone. "Please don't end up like Ramona Flowers, Argyra. It would be so irritating having to deal with a gaggle of idiots trying to fight us."
Artemis's fingers have gone from tapping to clenched into a fist, and she looks like she's on the verge of taking a convenient "bathroom break."
Ugh, she always gets so huffy about this.
I snort. "Please, seven evil exes? I don't…"
Wait… I start counting in my head. Just in the past few months there's Mary, Hussein, Olivia, Rebecca…
And if I go back a little further…
Holy shit I'm definitely over seven.
"…shut up, Lonnie."
The table (minus Artemis) laughs.
As Nathan and Brianna start to discuss the merits of the Scott Pilgrim movie versus the comics, I move my hand under the table.
Slowly, I settle in down on top of Artie's clenched fist. She glances at me, and I shoot her my best "c'mon, don't be like that" look.
Gods, she can be such a prude sometimes. Yeah, yeah, I know, you disapprove — in addition to an incorrigible flirt, I may be, just a tiny, little bit of what the kids call a "fuckboy" (gender neutral) — but it's my life, and my decisions, and she needs to respect that. It's not like I'm getting shitfaced at parties and hooking up with whoever, or something, I'm practically a teetotaler! And she doesn't have a problem with Colton, or Sanjay, or Lisa, or any of the two dozen other people in our grade way worse than I am!
She rolls her eyes at me, but obligingly turns her palm up to interlace her fingers with mine. I start stroking my thumb over the back of her hand, and slowly, I can feel the tension drain out of her grip.
Theeeere we go.
I know it isn't the end of this argument, and I'll be hearing about it later, but for now at least we're ok.
I mean seriously, it's just for fun, letting off some steam. She has to know none of these people actually mean anything to me, right? I'm not even dating them, not even casually, but from what she's saying it's like she thinks I'm drawing up wedding plans with each new partner.
I have to hold back a chuckle. Although, with my luck, one of them is going to try to pull a Graduate at our wedding, and Artie's going to murder me.
My eyes widen. Or, uh, anybody's wedding. Or my wedding to anybody. I mean, uh, not that I'm going to marry- I mean, I'd be lucky to, she's wonderful, but- that's not- it's just- what I mean to say is-
You know what? Let's just change the subject.
I am carefully suppressing the mental image of Artemis in a handsome suit holding a bouquet of flowers out.
After a minute or so of Brianna and Nathan playfully bickering, Artemis's eyes go wide, and her face breaks out into a terrible, evil grin.
Oh no.
"Hey" she says, cutting off her friends while shooting me a wicked smile, "did I ever tell you about the time Eri got caught shoplifting?"
I lay my head down on the table and groan, and I can feel Artemis gripping my hand smugly. I don't know how one manages to grip a hand smugly, but she manages.
This is her revenge for the talk about my hookups, isn't it.
I sigh as Brianna stares at me in shock. Right, daughter of the #2 cop in Gotham.
"That was one time. You're never gonna let me forget that, are you?"
The blonde smirks even wider, "Nope!"
"Shoplifting! Are you serious, Argyra?"
Wait… Lonnie and Brianna at the same table…
Idea!
I let out a loud scoff. "Oh calm your… whatevers, Brianna. It's not like it was some mom and pop shop. The store probably didn't even notice."
"It's not that, it's the principle of the thing! Stealing is wrong."
I have to suppress a devilish grin.
Lonnie gives her a sardonic look. "Oh yes, I'm sure those shareholders are hurting terribly because of Yra's theft. If you are truly that worried about the profits of some cabal of leeches, rest assured, virtually all stores have a certain amount of shoplifting baked into their budgets."
Brianna glares at him. "Oh, can it, Red Army! I know you like to get so high and mighty, but shoplifting hurts ordinary people too! Those 'leeches' are going to be fine when the store closes because of lost profits, ordinary people won't be!"
"You know" Lonnie says, smirking, "it's an incredible magic trick. Your mouth opens, but the voice of the people paying your daddy's paycheck comes out!"
"Alright, that's it! You want to-"
"Alright, alright guys!" I say with a laugh, "how about we agree to drop the subject, okay? You guys clearly aren't going to change each other's opinions."
And there. No story, or else Artie risks making those two erupt again. Damn I'm good.
Suddenly, I feel a hot breath against my hear, and I freeze.
"That was a good trick, Eri."
She's playfully walking her fingers my lower back, emphasizing each of her words with a "step".
I, uh… It's…
Um…
I…
"But… you forgot one thing."
I… ah… what? That's, um…
"Nothing unites people like laughing at an idiot."
She pulls back, a victorious smirk on her face as I try to control my blush.
I groan, some extremely conflicted feelings bubbling inside my chest. I'm just glad I went with girl parts today.
…Score one for the Archer.
"Alright guys, so the first thing you have to understand is, Eri was really, really hungry."
I sigh, cheeks still flaming red. Looks like we're doing this.
"Now normally, in middle school, we'd always get lunch from the Subway across the street, and-"
"Wait" Brianna says, "you guys could just leave your school to go get lunch?"
Wait, what? Is that not normal? Also yes, change the subject, please!
Artemis looks just as confused as I do. "Uh… yeah? Could you guys not? I mean, you technically weren't supposed to, but pretty much everyone did anyways because none of the teachers really cared enough to stop us."
"Anyways" she says, "whether it's normal or not, Eri and I would get Subway for lunch."
I groan as I cradle my head in my hands. Looks like we're doing this.
"Eri just loved this one particular sandwich, one that she had to get the people at this subway to make for her special. What was it again, dear?"
I drop my head to the table, hoping desperately the cool steel will muffle my words. "…Salami and spinach on Rye."
She pauses, looking at me with an arched brow.
I close my eyes in defeat. "…with double mayo, ketchup, and barbecue sauce."
She raises her other eyebrow.
"…and a dusting of cinnamon and chili powder."
I sigh as the table breaks into exclamations of shock and horror.
"I know, right! But little middle-school Eri ate it every single day."
"But one day" she says, "our Subway was closed down. We couldn't go anywhere else either, because where else would make such a weird fucking meal?"
She slaps a hand on my shoulder.
"So you see, Eri here had a brilliant idea. Once school got out, why not make her own sandwich!"
Six years later, and she still won't let me live this one down, god.
[who the fUck ish prayin- oh dash rite, kiddo! Ur doin great buDdy, nail tha bLonde bish! Chip off tha ol' block, girlsh got titsh like a fukin…]
[UhHh…]
Right, have to remember not to think that word.
[Yeah, uh, yOu can dO, wHatever it iS… OhfuCk I'm gonna- *hurk*]
Yeah, good to hear from you too, old man.
[woAw, tHas a new color…]
Glad to see at least one of us is having fun.
[Wat… wait, fUck! Dat fuckin drag quEeN took my fuckin wallet, im gonna-]
Well, for a relative value of "fun", at least
[aH nah she was just usin' my crediT card to cue up a line'a blow! I fergot how much i fUcKin luvVvvv Mykonos!]
Back in the motherland, are we?
Wait, I thought you said you were banned from there for the next decade after you trashed one of Athena's gardens?
[nah uH we're cOol. 'Scool now]
…and what exactly inspired her to do this? I can't say I know Athena to be a particularly forgiving god.
[shE'n my mOm were uh… yeh iz uh.. complicated. y'didn think yoo got thOse pareNtal ishyoos from nowhere, didja?]
A, I don't have parental issues, and B, even if I did, I wouldn't say that, because parental issues actually have a very clear source. It's literally in the name.
[wHa-? oH that bish, she did take my card! i'm gonna tUrn her inna a fuckin STASHUE, tha' lil'- oh fuk thish thing's shtill on, lemme jush]
Ah, dad. Never change.
Shaking my head, I turn back to the conversation, and see Artemis finishing the story of the one and only time (thank you very much) I ever got caught shoplifting.
Key word being "caught", of course.
Nathan is almost insensate with laughter, Lonnie has the widest smile I've ever seen on his face, and even Brianna is giggling despite herself.
"And then, right as she's arguing with the manager while she's got a glass jar of ketchup and a raw log of salami stuffed down the front of her pants…"
The blonde makes a long pause, with her usual perfect dramatic timing
"…the seam of her pants rips, and everything inside falls right out the front."
Is Lonnie actually laughing?Audibly?
"So she has have this giant foot-long log of meat sitting there at her feet, covered in ketchup from the shattered jar… and then she starts yelling 'help, help, I've got a medical emergency! My penis just got ripped off, and it's this man's fault!'"
Fates, I think Nathan might be howling. The other tables are definitely looking at us.
Thankfully for my dignity, the bell rings before they can get too much teasing in, we're dismissed to head to our various first period classes.
As we leave, Artemis and her friends split off, leaving just Lonnie and me to walk to our shared first period, American Literature with Mr. Bruce "No it's with an 's', I'm not related to him so stop asking" Swain.
"…"
"…"
"So Yra…" he eventually says, "I have to ask… salami, ketchup, and barbecue sauce? Really?"
I put my head in my hands and groan. "Ugh, I can't believe she told that story."
"It was very funny."
"Not for me! I ended up getting locked in one of those little store back rooms they have, with the security cameras and everything! They tried to call my foster mom!"
He raises an eyebrow at me.
I smirk. "…and yes, of course I used the time when they were calling her to delete all the security camera footage, who exactly do you take me for?"
He chuckles.
"Honestly," I say, rolling my eyes, "I could barely even code back then, and I could break the security easily. Who the hell designed that thing?."
"What store was it?"
"Uh… Stop-and-Shop, I think? Why?"
"LordTech Infomatics Systems."
"What?"
"LordTech Infomatics Systems. That's who 'designed that thing'. They probably went with Lord because their stuff is cheap, but they really shouldn't have. Lord products are notoriously easy to hack into."
"…you know, I'm not going to ask how you know that, or what crowd exactly LordTech's hackability is 'notorious' among."
I like this a lot so far<3
Do you have any plans for her to get tangled up in the Greek bullshit or is that going to be more window dressing besides her father do you think?
It would be kinda hilarious if her dad shows up drunk one day and she's just like, hanging out with great great grandma primordial Nyx eating night sky cookies with Artemis or something, just so we can all watch the idiot freakout xD
As a historian, I personally despise the common cultural depiction of Zeus as a horny fuckboy with zero sense of responsibility, because it's virtually the opposite of how Zeus was historically understood by the people who worshiped him. But don't worry, that aspect of him will play a role, just maybe not in the way you think.
After saying goodbye to everyone, and making vague promises to "consider' some party that I know I won't follow through on, I finally manage to extricate myself from school.
Instead of going to my dorm, I make my way towards a secluded alley, and teleport away, returning to my true home.
My Sanctum.
As I arrive in the entrance in a flash of purple and silver light (with a little black anti-light, mixed in), I let out a breath of relief. There's always something so relaxing about being around my work.
Once Artemis got the archery scholarship, there wasn't a need for our rinky-dink little practice range anymore, so I decided to repurpose the abandoned machine shop we'd set it up in.
It's basically perfect: it has a spacious floor plan with few walls and extraneous rooms, and plenty of space for a single person, all without being large enough for someone to want to reuse it. It has one giant main room, where the work used to be done, alongside two side rooms, for lockers and a managers office — which I repurposed into a containment room for dangerous experiments and my personal library, respectively. There's also a tiny entrance, where the door used to be, but even since I learned how to teleport I sealed that thing up with an incredibly strong blood lock keyed to me and Artie, so now it just serves at the spot for me to teleport into.
Also, it's really out of the way, which isn't a problem for me with teleportation, but adds an extra layer of security.
Over the past three and a half years, I've — as the kids say — tricked the hell out of this place. Wards against everything from fire damage to mold to dust accumulation, wards to stop sound and light from escaping to the outside, and illusions to make the inside look abandoned even if someone manages to get past the attention-diverting wards.
I actually used a modification of those light-filtering wards, combined with some divinatory elements, to sense the weather outside, and amplify the light coming in when it's cloudy, so my workspace is always well-lighted by sunlight. It's the same base spell as the Moon Laser I use when I want something disintegrated.
Let me tell you, I am very glad I already had my accelerated healing spell when I was working on that one, because I didn't calibrate the divination element to be quick enough to take in lightning It is not fun to have a lightning flash beamed directly into your eyes at ten times magnification.
The interior is pretty plain, because, I haven't yet figured out how to get wood paneling installed here, and it's not like I can put wallpaper over bare concrete. I once tried plastering the drab grey walls with a bunch of posters an acquaintance got me for the cheap from a print shop he worked at, but it was from a canceled order intended for a school, and wall-to-wall "hang in there!" and alphabet posters just made me look like a serial killer. I eventually went with just installing curtain rods at the top of every wall and hanging some nice brown curtains to make it look a bit homier.
But even with the interior, I'm still so happy to have this place. It's been an absolute blessing to have a location to work and study uninterrupted, with enough space and privacy to perform experiments.
I've actually been exploring some of the "slower" magics the past year. I'm already a damn good warder, and a decent alchemist so I've mainly been focusing on expanding my knowledge of the latter and getting into and enchanting. I went in expecting it to be a challenge, a totally different way of looking at the world, like a physicist trying to study psychology, but it proved to be… not that.
Most hermetic texts — and most texts from other traditions I've read — tend to treat magic as if it has some various "types" which is can be clearly and obviously divided into, natural categories of different types of magic: divination, floromancy, demonic summoning, alchemy, et cetera.
But if you really start to study theory in depth, really dig in to the academic side of things in a way most mages don't, you start to realize something: most of those "clear and obvious" that magic can be divided into exist more in the mind of the author than anything else.
There's not really a substantive difference between a "ritual" to make a house fireproof and a "spell" to make you fireproof. It's the same theory, the same math, the same logic, same everything. They're just done with different materials, on a different scale, and lasting for a different amount of time.
It's less a biologist trying to study psychology, and more a physicist trying to study chemistry: at a deep enough level, you just end up studying the same thing.
Now I haven't reached this level, not anywhere close. If I'm sticking with the metaphor, I'm still trying to understand Aldol condensation .
But I can feel myself coming up on something, something big. Some new understanding, the type of thing that I have a sneaking suspicion every "big name" in the magical scene figures out one day, from Doctor Mist, to Felix Faust, to even that bastard Zatara…
But regardless, even with my lack of deep, true understanding, my studies of the slower magics are preceding apiece.
Some more than others, honestly. I've been having a bit of trouble with enchanting. The culmination of my studies in that field sits behind me, and it's…
…ok, not all that impressive. I took a plain metal fighting staff, welded on a staff-head I picked up from a pawn shop in Chinatown, and then added some enchantments. Nothing much, just something to magnify the force of my blows, and something to "glue" other metal to it (like, say, an opponent's sword?)
Yeah, it's no Ruyi Bang, but it's something, and it's useful. Out of all the martial arts classes Artie's taken me to over the years, I've found that Aikido and some of the Tai Chi-based arts have fit me the best. I've always had a very… avoidant approach in combat, preferring to avoid or redirect an enemy's energy rather than confront it head-on, and a staff is a perfect weapon for that. It lets me keep people close, but not too close, letting me control and deflect their attacks from a safe range.
…I'm just going to ignore the very obvious implications about my personality and social life there. That's for my non-existent therapist.
Speaking of things I should really probably do, but haven't because I secretly hate myself, I need to finish up that enchanted bow that's my "please don't be pissed off at me" gift from when I finally break the news about magic to Artie.
It's got twice the shooting power without actually increasing the draw weight, is about three times as hard to break as normal carbon-fiber, reduces the feedback into your arm after launch, and will automatically string itself!
I just need to add on the "return to hand" function if she ever drops it, which I'm building out from the basic matrices of my telekinesis spell. Right now, it only works in a straight line, but hopefully I can work in some divination in a future model to make it actually fly around obstacles to get back to her.
I refuse to contemplate the possibility of the discussion going bad, and losing her forever.
I've honestly had a bit more luck with alchemy than I've had with enchanting. I mean, chemistry and alchemy are already basically the same field, just approached from different directions, and I'm already working at a graduate level in the former…
I look down my alchemy station (which definitely just isn't a bunch of old chemistry equipment I snuck out of school), checking the progress of my current project: unlocking the secrets of Venom.
It's not any of the distilled stuff Bane's underbosses use, let alone whatever the hell Bane himself uses to get that strong, just the plain stuff his suldati constantly try to get everyone hooked on. But it's enough to make his goons three times as strong as they should be, and able to take incredible damage without going down.
Although honestly, I'm pretty sure that last part is less the Venom, and more all the opiates I had to distill out of it, the ones that the dealer I got it from curiously neglected to mention.
Seriously, fuck Bane.
The more I study it, the more I'm shocked the bastard has been able to stay around for as long as he has. I thought I knew how addictive this stuff was, but Fates, it is so much worse. You basically have to be on it 24/7, or all that enhanced muscles mass it builds pretty much instantly starts breaking down. Not to mention the reduced intelligence, shortened lifespan, increased aggression…
The purified stuff has to be safer, otherwise Bane would be replacing underbosses every five years. Honestly, even if it is, I'm kind of shocked Bane's still alive, with how he's constantly coming on and off it. My theory is that he has some meta-gene which makes it safer and hyper-effective for him. That would explain just how much he bulks up when he's on it compared to everybody else…
Whatever, there's no way to confirm that without actually getting access to DNA samples to analyze.
I've been able to get quite a bit from the Venom though, I could probably reproduce it at this point. Hell, if I got enough of it, I could purify it to get the good-quality stuff, that's the easy part. Strength and durability enhancements though… they're almost entirely biological. I think I've got a handle on the mechanism they work through, but I'll need to advance my studies of biomancy to figure out how exactly the effects propagate throughout the body without tearing it apart.
Ugh, I've been procrastinating on that. The only reliable merchant I know with biomancy texts is fucking Shuangfu, and I reaaallly don't want to have to deal with their whole… everything.
Seriously, I know they're half-naga and all, but do they really have to be such a snake? You'd think a fellow shapeshifter would give me a break, but if anything, they're just more annoying.
It'll be worth it though, because once I'm done with Venom, I have something much more potentially profitable on my plate.
Acting on a precognitive hunch, and using a borrowed tuxedo, I was able to get recruited as a replacement waiter for a swanky upscale party three months ago. Imagine my shock when Poison Ivy ended up trying to spike the champagne with pheromones!
I mean, I was actually kind of shocked. I expected for Man-Bat to bust through the wall or something, not to only just barely avoid being dosed with mind-control pheromones as a plot for Gotham's resident eco-warrior to swindle the richest citizens of Gotham out of a few million to fund her… whatever she had planned.
I shiver.
Whatever, doesn't matter. I didn't get mind controlled, and managed to swipe a bottle from before it was dumped out for my trouble.
To actually get at the goods, I had to use partition microextraction to separate the particles out the wine and water, first. Yes, water, because those cheap fucks always water down their wine. Actually, wait there was some fluoride in there too, if I'm remembering right. Holy shit, were they were cheap enough to use tap water? Jesus. Jack D. Ripper was right all along, I guess, the fluoridators are trying to mind control us.
So, after I got rid of the extraneous material, I managed to get an actual vial-full of pure, activated mind-control pheromones.
Hey, don't look at me like that! I have no intention of turning into the next Mad Hatter, that's a line I won't ever even come close to crossing. But, well, there's a reason pharmakon can mean either "poison" or "antidote" in Greek. You can't exactly prevent mind control without actually understanding it works in the first place.
And yes, being mind controlled is one of my greatest fears, thank you very much.
Thankfully, SCIENCE! allows us to conquer all fears.
And eventually, one day, the universe! Mwahahahaha!
I snort. Yeah, as if. Far too much paperwork.
I turn to the other side of my lab, where the other gem of my collection rests.
I keep my eyes (both literal and metaphysical) open for all interesting finds, not just magic, anything. Supertech's a lot more valuable to mages than you'd think.
Sitting on another shelf is the prize jewel of my supertech scavenging, something that I managed to sneak out of police custody with a few well placed glamours: an actual working Freeze Ray from Gotham's resident ice-themed criminal.
I know, I know, I impress myself too.
Now, I'm not engineer — I've obviously chose to focus my talents in another direction — but that doesn't mean I can't get anything out of this. Electrical engineering isn't that far from physics, after all. And like I said before, once you really get into it, most fields are connected at the base level.
I am learning so much stuff about biostasis thanks to this thing, and I've barely even scratched the surface! My ultimate goal is to use it to improve one of the mainstays of my combat repertoire, Medusa's Lightning.
Last year, my dad ended up beating a whole host of other minor gods at poker, and ended up winning a book aetherically breaking down the mechanism behind the Gorgons' petrification.
A few days later I got a package in the mail from him, as he grandly proclaiming he'd decided to make up for 17 years worth of missed birthday gifts. Apparently, he hoped I wouldn't realize that as a non-mortal non-mage, the spell would have been completely useless to him, making his gift substantially less altruistic.
I smile. Despite that, it's been incredibly helpful, and even though the mechanism for the actual petrification has eluded me so far, I've still managed to create a spell using lightning as a carrier wave to propagate the effect, creating a potent addition to my combat arsenal. I can only imagine what I'll be able to accomplish once I actually figure out how the heck the Walking Snowman manages to accomplish basically the exact same thing, just with ice.
I give into the urge, and rub my hands together with a giant grin. I am going to be a busy, busy bee in the future. Dozens of projections of research, each covering multiple fields, their secrets sitting there like boiled lobsters, ready for me to crack open.
I lean back with a happy sigh. Fates, this is the life.
CW: gore
Unfortunately, I can't spend whole days holed up in my lab just researching the mysteries of the universe — well, not yet anyways, but that's the dream — so I eventually have to leave.
Duty calls!
Well, "duty" in the loosest sense of the term. Just a general desire to not have shit where I eat.
For the past two months, there have been these weird flare-ups of magical activity all over Falcone territory, enough to break through the general background static of the local thaumosphere. It took me a bit to figure out what the hell was going on, but eventually, I found the answer in one of my old orphanage-mates who now works for Carmine. He told me about some rumors he'd heard, of weird new things popping up during the Falcones' never-ending clashes with the Bertinellis: suldati going into strange rages, shrugging off stab wounds, taking dozens of bullets to kill. Apparently, he even heard from a friend that some of them have "these weird red voodoo brands", and can lift cars straight off the ground. Carmine's apparently being pushed, and pushed hard, with these new pseudo-capes on top of
The other half of the picture came from rumors coming out of Bertinelli territory, of a strange new cult springing up, attracting all the lowest dregs of society. I wasn't able to find much info on them, other than that they worship some sort of "Scion" of something, and there are rumors that they can grant actual superpowers.
Gods be damned, I fucking hate cultists. They're like a virus, taking advantage of poor and desperate people to infest and propagate more of themselves. And the thing is, it never ever works! Joining a cult for magical power is like snorting heroin to learn about anesthesiology! Even if it's legit, you're only going to be borrowing something you won't ever be able to pay back. And when the bill comes due…
Well, just look at what happened to that cell of Kobraites trying to bring about the Kali Yuga last year: drained dry so their leader could get enough strength to fight Batman, and he still ended up losing.
I managed to snag one of their corpses from the morgue, that thing was basically a magical dead-zone. It really advanced my studies of warding and soul magic, but no one deserves that.
So here I am, out in the cold night, trying to track down one of these super-suldati by wandering around with the other product of my enchanting studies.
Despite the appearance, it's not actually a compass. Well, not anymore, at least. Thanks to that — admittedly, quite cheap, it was just an experiment — gem in the middle, it's gone from pointing North, to pointing at the closest large concentration of magic that's not me. I actually made it before my staff, the way it synchronizes with my divinatory abilities made its creation almost easy. I can even use it as a focus to expand my ability to sensory magic with way less effort than it normally takes!
And right now, the needle is pointing right to this burnt out shop.
Carefully, I step inside, casting my Lesser Shield of Antioch in front of me. It's simpler and more maneuverable, perfect for a first defense while infiltrating. Also, I got some of the basic schematics from a Turkish Christian, hence the name.
Slowly, I pick through the trashed interior, channeling a levitation spell through my staff to move the heavier debris.
I feel a tingle, and from long training, I dodge backwards, right before a falling slab of cement can smash into my side.
Shit, that was closer than I prefer. I rally need to improve my precognition when I'm not in combat. I've mainly focused on its combat uses, given I already have plenty of "long-range" (so to speak) options for foresight, but that does leave a few glaring holes in coverage.
It's worth it thought, with how funny it is to watch people's faces as you effortlessly counter every one of their blows.
I have to suppress a smirk. It's been two years and I still can't get over the fact that I actually managed to delve deep enough into the Loom to develop a freaking sharingan.
As if to punish my self-congratulation, it's at that moment I feel myself step onto something very much not concrete.
Oh, don't tell me…
By all the fucking Olympians.
Yep, those are the former inhabitants' burnt-out corpses.
I raise my staff, latching onto the bodies with my telekinetic spell.
Eugh. Of course the corpses are coming apart in mid-air. Thankfully, it only takes about ten seconds to move them far enough away from me to safely fling to the other end of the store without risking getting gore all over me.
What? Oh don't look at me like that, it's not like they'll be using them.
Finally though, after clearing a path, I make it to the center of the store, right where the compass is pointing. And…
Uh…
Maybe if I scootch a bit over?
Nope. Nope, it's still pointing right to the center of the store…
The center of the store, where nothing is.
I'm looking as hard as I can with my loom-sight, and it really does just seem to be totally mundane.
Shit, this is going to be harder than I-
Wait.
My mind flashes back to one of the innumerable lectures Artemis has given me on all the problems with action movies.
People always forget to look up.
Gods damnit, Artie's never going to let me hear the end of this.
…if I could tell her about any of this. Which I can't. Because I'm a coward.
With a rueful shake of my head. I tilt my head to the ceiling.
…
…
…Nothing.
Shit.
Well, I tried my best, but this place is a bust. Honestly, I wasn't that interested in getting sucked into gang polit-
Wait.
Up isn't the only direction.
I mean obviously up isn't the only direction. I mean it's not the only direction, in, uh… shut up, you know what I mean, like directions other than the-
My point is, does this place have a basement?
Sure enough, as I move debris away from the sides of the store, I find it. It's hidden, tucked in the back behind the ATM, but that's a set of stairs leading downward, with a busted-up door hanging off the hinges.
Cautiously, I make my way down, my Lesser Shield hovering in front of me, and a Moon Laser, my oldest and most potent attack spell, prepared at the tip of my staff in my other hand.
At the bottom, there's a door, still locked and seemingly untouched by the destruction. I stop, pausing to heave in a great breath.
Shit, I'm nervous. I've been in worse situations, absolutely, but I hate hate hate this type of uncertain exploration, especially since there are even odds it leads to a fight. I'm a learner, not a fighter, gods damn it!
I mentally shake my fist at the sky. Curse my infernal curiosity!
I let out a tight chuckle. Alright, enough stalling, time to go in. I rear back, kicking the door, my foot ripping the flimsy knob straight out of its socket and sending the door slamming inwards.
The sight I find inside makes me wish there'd been some enemy crouching in the shadows. I've seen a lot of messed-up shit as a mage, but this… this is something that unsettles even my stomach.
It's a ritual circle, the type you can find anywhere hermetic magic is practiced.
Except that this circle is entirely made out of an extracted human intestine, dried out like it's been left to fester. The inner lines of the circle seem to be made out of sinew, and… oh Fates, are those individually separated muscle fibers?
Oh gods, I think…
hurk
…
…
I wave a hand, cleaning my shoes of vomit with a simple cantrip.
I stare at the horrible tableau before me, my fist clenching and unclenching.
What the absolute fuck is going on.
AN: I need suggestions for Eri's cape name. You'll get to name a background character if yours gets chosen.
Also, I need photos for Eri's costume, and I'm not entirely happy with the picture I'm using for Lonnie. If anyone has costume photos, or any good art of an evil-looking blonde twink with the haircut of Leo DiCaprio has in Titanic, please send it to me.
I'm not sure it's a good name, but I think the funniest would be Oracle, not only is it incredibly on the nose, it also is stealing it from Barbara Gordon, who presumably hasn't claimed it yet.
I'm not sure it's a good name, but I think the funniest would be Oracle, not only is it incredibly on the nose, it also is stealing it from Barbara Gordon, who presumably hasn't claimed it yet.
Nah, Babs is still a civilian, I honestly haven't decided what to do with her yet. I originally had her in Brianna's place as Artemis's school friend, but I thought that was a waste, since that character really isn't gong to do much besides being a student in various scenes, and reacting to Argyra and Artemis.
As a historian, I personally despise the common cultural depiction of Zeus as a horny fuckboy with zero sense of responsibility, because it's virtually the opposite of how Zeus was historically understood by the people who worshiped him. But don't worry, that aspect of him will play a role, just maybe not in the way you think.
Depends on who you ask. The idea of there being any sort of complete, unified backstory of mythos for any god is a very modern invention. There were stories about them, some more popular than others, most of which were mutually contradictory.
Fair? I still find most of the Greek pantheons… distasteful so…
I will say that DC Zeus is usually a fuckwit though.
Not going to stop reading this in any case so meh.
Maybe it's just me, but I'd look into a "modern" spin on a Plague Doctor.
Shapeless enough to hide whatever gender Eri is or shifts to. It would also work great for hiding thingabobs or doodads Eri uses or creates. And, well...apparently Nostradamus was a Plague Doctor as well.
Shapeless enough to hide whatever gender Eri is or shifts to. It would also work great for hiding thingabobs or doodads Eri uses or creates. And, well...apparently Nostradamus was a Plague Doctor as well.
just found this and I must say it's very good. watched.
in regards to cape names here is a few: Diana, mántis (Diviner), prognóstis (prognosticator), mágissa (witch or sorceress), góissa (enchantress)
Edit: Maybe throw the general idea at someone who knows AI generation or, better yet, are better at Google-fu than I am to come up with other ideas. Also, as a note; the Plague Doctor from Darkest Dungeon is female...which is more obvious in the second pic (from the second game).
