04-05-2023, 04:21 PM
The towering heights of Moscow City still amazed her. She came from an island where trees and mountains were the tallest things in existence. She'd traveled the world, still man made structures were breath-taking, but she showed little emotion outward. Jaxen was quiet. Mournfully so -- he'd killed, perhaps for the first time. Perhaps not. He stood up to his capabilities, and still took her home with him. Said a lot about his priorities.
It wasn't the first time she'd entered one of these fancy buildings, but killing monsters rarely lead you inside them. Few and far between. Killing Gods was usually left in hospital beds of the suffering. Until recently none had proven so hard to kill. The Ascendancy, Jaxen and the Durante boy all had multiple attempts on their lives -- if you counted her failing attempt to take out the god before her. There were others too who had escaped their fates. How many more would survive to this power. And they had nothing to fight them. That had to change!
They were greeted by the doctor. Rich men afforded many things. Her battle care would have worked, but he'd probably not enjoy the scar -- but wasn't there a saying about chicks digging scars? Zef was left in the luxurious room with a glass and a bottle and she poured two fingers before downing it. And then pouring a second then turned to stare out into the darkness beyond the illuminated pool. It really was a nice place. A child could do no better than a father with this kind of money. Not that an Atharim needed money. The hunt was the life and the life was all that mattered.
But there was something about the knowing you wanted for nothing that appealed.
When Jaxen returned Zef turned to watch him sink into the couch. He was handsome if still a bit shaken. The tattoo glittered in the lights and was intricate which only a closer look could decern the details. Much like her own. Though nothing nearly so fancy sat upon her skin. Just the story of Atlantia and her clan that followed in her footsteps. He came right out and said it. He'd asked before, and he thought she was playing games. Now he said the thing he already know.
A knowing smile spread across her lips as she stood with an arm crossed across her body, and the other holding the drink she was idling sipping, tapping a nail against the glass. "Since the beginning of time." It may or may not be the truth, but for as long as anyone could remember long into legends and myths, they had been Atharim or whatever came before. "I didn't go to Kallisti to kill a godling. I went to make a deal. No reason that deal can't change hands. I scratch your back, you scratch mine."
Zef's hair hung past her shoulders her only weapons had been flung and unretrieved. They'd be returned to the armory after cleaning, and she'd just get another set. No loss there. But she was unarmed. "Besides. My only weapons are gone." She pouted tossing her hair over her shoulder as a reminder. She pulled the straps from the dress and let the fabric fall to the ground. "Unless you expect me to kill you with my bare hands." She could. Maybe. But not before he could wield the power of the gods and make mince meat of her.
"I want a godling Atharim. The boy on stage is too headstrong. And you as fabulous as you are, are not cut out for the work. Too pretty. So I offer a trade. I will get the Atharim off your back -- forget you were ever a godling, might even get you the inheritance I'm sure you deserve. You give me two children to carry on my line, in the way I see fit." Zef sipped the vodka and smiled at the man before her.
It wasn't the first time she'd entered one of these fancy buildings, but killing monsters rarely lead you inside them. Few and far between. Killing Gods was usually left in hospital beds of the suffering. Until recently none had proven so hard to kill. The Ascendancy, Jaxen and the Durante boy all had multiple attempts on their lives -- if you counted her failing attempt to take out the god before her. There were others too who had escaped their fates. How many more would survive to this power. And they had nothing to fight them. That had to change!
They were greeted by the doctor. Rich men afforded many things. Her battle care would have worked, but he'd probably not enjoy the scar -- but wasn't there a saying about chicks digging scars? Zef was left in the luxurious room with a glass and a bottle and she poured two fingers before downing it. And then pouring a second then turned to stare out into the darkness beyond the illuminated pool. It really was a nice place. A child could do no better than a father with this kind of money. Not that an Atharim needed money. The hunt was the life and the life was all that mattered.
But there was something about the knowing you wanted for nothing that appealed.
When Jaxen returned Zef turned to watch him sink into the couch. He was handsome if still a bit shaken. The tattoo glittered in the lights and was intricate which only a closer look could decern the details. Much like her own. Though nothing nearly so fancy sat upon her skin. Just the story of Atlantia and her clan that followed in her footsteps. He came right out and said it. He'd asked before, and he thought she was playing games. Now he said the thing he already know.
A knowing smile spread across her lips as she stood with an arm crossed across her body, and the other holding the drink she was idling sipping, tapping a nail against the glass. "Since the beginning of time." It may or may not be the truth, but for as long as anyone could remember long into legends and myths, they had been Atharim or whatever came before. "I didn't go to Kallisti to kill a godling. I went to make a deal. No reason that deal can't change hands. I scratch your back, you scratch mine."
Zef's hair hung past her shoulders her only weapons had been flung and unretrieved. They'd be returned to the armory after cleaning, and she'd just get another set. No loss there. But she was unarmed. "Besides. My only weapons are gone." She pouted tossing her hair over her shoulder as a reminder. She pulled the straps from the dress and let the fabric fall to the ground. "Unless you expect me to kill you with my bare hands." She could. Maybe. But not before he could wield the power of the gods and make mince meat of her.
"I want a godling Atharim. The boy on stage is too headstrong. And you as fabulous as you are, are not cut out for the work. Too pretty. So I offer a trade. I will get the Atharim off your back -- forget you were ever a godling, might even get you the inheritance I'm sure you deserve. You give me two children to carry on my line, in the way I see fit." Zef sipped the vodka and smiled at the man before her.