Log:Confused as a Cat
There are enough strange souls in Urania's circle that they take up more than one trailer when traveling. It's somewhat convenient, as it means they can keep one with an end open facing the rubes, while the rear leads back to the other trailers, and is covered across the triangle with tarps in a makeshift courtyard where the dancers can practice. It's precisely the sort of setup perfect for getting rowdy, which, tragically, the muse never does.
The open end is near the main camp enough that it's easy to duck right in, and the 'closed' sign -- while up -- is one the carnival's crew and performers know does not apply to them, ever. There's always room and time for the wonders among the troupe.
There's more hustle and bustle than normal. More nervous faces. Milton is still copying over the details he noted earlier, with Mae, still in her robe and sleeping gown from morning now at dusk, helping out. His script was a tidy calligraphic sort... early in the day. Ten copies in, it's gone to hell. Mae's is Catholic school perfect, still, but it's unlikely to last in the lamplight at the small table where the pair are stationed. The dancers are, for the moment, off performing the scripted piece from the daytime show. The two 'guests' of the troupe -- Miranda, a former dancer, and a nervous looking man in a dowdy suit with drawn features -- hover around the entry to the tent like moths batting themselves against a lantern with the way they're pacing.
Kemen is wearing his most formal tunic and is made up to look as much like a human as he can manage. He comes with a basket of fresh tomatoes, cucumbers, and zuccinni, ripened especially for the occation in defiance of season. He watches the hub bub with some concern, but sticks with his mission. He is here for a reading. Still he smiles and nods to Urania's people.
Diamanto is in the area, having gathered clothes drying on a line not too far away. Her girl Philomena is with her and carries a laundry basket on her hip filled with folded shifts and some lacy underthings. What Diamanto carries is her husband's clothes, neatly folded in a pile in her arms. Already, she settles into the life of a wife. Her hair is held back in a braid, and she's in a formless light blue cotton dress, her feet bare. Diamanto slows her steps as she spies Kemen, then she alters her course to follow him. "You go on ahead," she tells Philomena, who says, "Okay, Dia," and heads back toward their camp. With her husband's Henleys and jeans still in her arms, she wanders up. "What are you doing?" she asks Kemen.
There's something charming in the way the cluster frets, and yet, Miranda's seen Kemen before, and she's able to manage a smile and a welcoming wave. Milton and Mae barely even look up from their work: they're making best use of what light remains, while it does. There's precious little of it under the tarps, and less in the trailers.
When the muse appears at the mouth of the trailer -- there's something to be said for precognition, it means one always seems to know when there's company coming by -- she's carrying a limp, somewhat irritated-looking cat slung over one shoulder. It's an impossibly calico tom, which suggests Loki's sense of humor, if the bright carnation yellow bow tie the cat is wearing doesn't completely give it away. There is simply not enough in him as yet to deal with the day's news and people pants.
"Evening," she greets, and without hesitation, she offers as real a smile as she can to both Kemen and Dia, given the stressful circumstances. "Come in, if you like. Or we can... " She draws a deep breath, and lets the cat down, only to watch him leap up on the table and sit right down on what Milton is writing. Sprawl. "...stay out here and get some fresh night air."
Kemen's eyebrows goup at all this domesticity in the Maenad, but he has toomuch sense to comment, "I was hoping to see what our chances are wih transforming the acts and starting the lecture series saving us. So how is married life treating you, Lady of Blood and Milk? Is he enjoying your cooking?" A flash od that gap toothed grin.
Kemen barely knows Loki, let lone that he shares a particular habit with a certain Goddess. He eyes the cat and comments, "I don't think that's one of ours." H turns his smile on the Oravle, "I come baering a gift of fresh vegetables." He gives her one of his deep courtly bows, "Whatever suits you best."
Diamanto lifts her chin and says, "He finds it pleasing enough." A small smile tugs at the corners of her lips. Then, with a glance at the clothes in her arms, she adds, "If I gather his laundry, then my scent is on his clothes, and he'll think of me." She's got this all figured out.
Her attention shifts to the cat, and she purses her lips in disapproval. It's Loki. But it's also a kitty cat, so she grudgingly makes a kissy kissy noise and offers a hand to sniff. "I would like a glimpse of my path," she tells Urania, "but I have very little to offer. The shirts are Holden's."
"Please, have a seat," the muse offers, even if she has a hint of a growing smile over the maenad's domesticity of her own. She's just hiding it better than she usually does. Her eyes flick toward the cat. "That's Loki. Unless he found another impossible brat of a feline, stuck a bow tie on it, and-" Stopping right there, Urania shakes her head. She wouldn't put it past him. Milton, hearing this explanation, simply gives up on writing, rises from his seat on the bench, picks up a new sheet of parchment, and starts over again roughly three feet down the table, giving the comfortably lounging cat no small amount of side-eye. Mae, indulgent old cat lady that she is, chuckles quietly and shares a tiny grin with Dia. "He's much easier to deal with, this way," she says, gesturing with her fountain pen.
"You all know no payment is required, ever. Especially not in times like these. If you don't mind the moths," she gestures to the cultists circling, "take a seat at the table. And thank you, please, have a seat, if you'd like anything to drink, I can have Lou fetch something up." The pale man in tweed seems content to lurk toward the background of the group, keeping to his silence. Still pacing.
The cat, after briefly considering knocking the pen out of Mae's hand, leans up to sniff at Dia's hand, then plows his head into it fully.
Kemen gives the Maenad a wink, "That is clever." He eyes the cat with some suspicion, "I see. Does he bite?" He watches carefully in case the cat is planning something. Also his claws could be poisoned. It is hard to tell. "Urania, I could bring more vegetables or I have coin to pay for Diananto's consultation. It is no trouble, really." He hands his basket to a random cultist. "I do not want to put them to extra trouble."
"I would take wine," Diamanto says, "but it's not necessary, and I would like to bring a gift on principle." She strokes Loki's fur and gives him a scratch under the chin. "I'm on to you," she tells the cat, but still, he's a cat, and Diamanto can't stop herself. Risking poisoned claws and vicious fangs, she follows up the chin rub with an ear scritch. She keeps an eye on ears and tail. Those are usually the first alert to impending attack.
"If there is one thing I learned from Management's message," the muse says as she sinks to a seat at the table, "it's that now, more than ever, it's time to help each other however we can. Truly, thank you, this is more than generous enough. I'll see if--Mae, would you mind making up that stew for the girls when they come off stage?" As if he's attuned to requests -- especially for liquor, Lou pushes away from the side of the trailer with a tip of his hat to Dia. "Right away, and yourself?" he asks Kemen as he takes the basket, letting Mae know where he'll set the rather precious cargo.
The cat is just soaking this up. Sprawl. The tail flails and flops against the tabletop with a thump-thump-thump, inching closer and closer all the while toward where Milton has re-settled himself, naturally. "He doesn't bite unless you ask nicely. Or specifically ask him not to. Anything in between, I suspect you're usually safe," Urania notes dryly, some amusement shining in her eyes. "Kemen, are you interested in how either of those approaches might pertain to the news from Management, or in a more general sense?"
Kemen eyes the cat, "So am I." He cocks his head, "What message? Is there word from management?" Another smile for Lou, "Wine would do for me as well, Thank you."
Diamanto still looks like she disapproves of the cat, but she nods to Urania and keeps petting him. She's a devil with her fingernails, knowing just where to scritch to reduce a feline to a drooling puddle. "I won't tell you to behave," she informs the feline. "You're a cat, and I know better." She continues to scritch, though her attention shifts to Urania and Kemen as they speak of Management's message.
Lou rounds the trailer, and there's some rattling from the flatbed, typically known as 'the men's bunk' within the troupe. Mae, with a brief look of triumph, murmurs, "Flawless timing, as ever," as she finishes up her last transcription, and offers over the neatly written page to Kemen.
"I can't even call it a prophecy, but do you recall the dream? The brightness in the desert, the sirens and horns?" Urania inquires, a single brow lofting. "It was a message, for all of us, from Management herself. She could only speak to one of us directly, and she knew I once served in the role of harbinger, in my younger days. It is, specifically, about a technological advancement that-" The man in tweed winces visibly, and the muse seems to feel that unease, even if she isn't looking in his direction. "-I have access to an advisor on such matters that-"
"...is willing to help however he might," the man says quietly. His voice is meek. He's not a loud, flamboyant creature, like the rest of her crowd. It makes him stand out like a sore thumb. "I'm what you might call a, ah... a rocket scientist."
Kemen takes the paper, careful not to smudge it with his hand make up, "We have spoken much of it, some of us. Ouroboras is particulrly upset. something to do with energies... I should probable run an idea about Hollywood past you that he mentioned to one of my people this morning, but later. He hasan interesting mind." He studies the man in tweed with a kind expression, "We are certainly in need of expertese we do not have and thus I am grateful though I am not sure exactly what the great unraveling is owhat those weird artillery shells have to do with it." He scans the page, brows knit with worry, holding it where Diamanto might read without disturbing thefurry trickster.
Diamanto's gaze rivets on the rocket scientist. See, her plan was kill all the people responsible for making the technology. Voila, problem solved. Now there's one such nerd right here before her? She studies the man the way a lioness might peruse an antelope. Her eyes are dark, and they glitter in the evening dimness. Her severe features do not lend her regard any kindness. All she says though is, "Huh," and she shifts her attention to the page to read it while she idly continues to scritch the cat's ears.
Lou's back with a small cask resting on one shoulder, a canteen, a bowl, and a motley collection of tin mugs. The cask is set on the table with a circle of mugs, and, dutiful as ever, he sets down the small bowl, and pours off something from the canteen into it. It isn't water, but mead. Yes, not just a Loki cat, but soon enough a drunken Loki cat. For the nonce, he ignores it. One must always ignore food delivered by the riff-raff, particularly when there are tummy rubs to be had. And papers to 'accidentally' roll onto in the process. With one more round of side-eye, Milton gives up. Milton, zero; Loki the Cat, six hundred or so and counting by now. As Kemen mentions the great serpent, the feline begins to purr noisily with pride.
"There was a time I saw a very similar thing in the future of a certain young man," the muse says gravely. "I sought to steer him toward a different path, for just such a reason."
The rocket scientist pales considerably, though 'young' certainly no longer describes him. "For which I am grateful," he notes. Only one glimpse at Dia and he's studying the dust at his shoes.
"It is a change that will turn the engines of this world at a speed it was never intended to bear. As Management says, it will dissolve their need of us, as we are now. There are four options, going forward."
Kemen says quietly, "I see... I have been trying to organize some of us to... transform ourselves under our own power so we might inspire an teach the humans again. Make our acts into more direct representations of what we stand for. Sebastianus is trying to organize a series of Chautauqua style lectures and demonstrations to try to get some of the more abstract amoung us across more directly to the Mortals as part of the same effort. Even before the dream and Seb's reading I was... resistant to handing our fates over to let someone remake us in their own image. It is too much like what the Christian's did to my wife. I would rather be forgotten than have that happen to me." The purring has him eyeing that cat again. "I will not be another Ishtar, but if there is a way i can help even some of us survive in a form they choose for themselves? That I will do, but I would like to know if there is... more or better I could be doing."
Diamanto rolls her eyes when Kemen starts talking about a series of lectures. Which is like the opposite of getting drunk in the woods and screwing and killing. She rubs the kitty's tummy, knowing it's not a good idea, but unable to resist the soft fuzz. She's got a light hand, though, and goes back to watching ears and tail for any sign of kitty displeasure. "Show me who to fight," she says in a low tone, "and I will tear their flesh from their throats and bathe in their blood."
"Syncretization has been a means of survival for a long time," the muse quietly agrees, nodding once. It is an uncomfortable subject for her, and this is clear enough from the discomfort on her face as she notes, "A necessary evil, I've always called it. Management's take on it was that we should look not to other faiths, but to core ideas, instead, in this particular pursuit, if we choose to follow that path. That we're better at it than these new avatars, and any of us that manage it, we'll prevent them from gaining power. It's what they fear; it's why they fear us." She swallows a breath, and her eyes shift toward the cat. He's still purring, and looking back up at her placidly, though he also rolls his eyes at the mention of lectures, and lets out a long, pained-sounding mrowl.
"I... think there is likely room for education, but I couldn't tell you precisely what, how, or where, as yet. And precisely so-" The mention of the Christians has her wrinkling her nose in distaste. "-they really are horrid, aren't they? I haven't been to a proper orgy since they got a hold of me." No wonder everyone in this camp is having more fun than the muse. The cat rolls his eyes again, and wriggles up along the table just enough to tip the edge of the bowl with one paw and lap some mead out of it, all the while careful to not get out of scritching range. The muse may be no fun, but that has never been his problem.
Kemen flashes the Maenad a fond smile. "I think I would also like to know more about this... resistance. This stopping of the thing coming." He smiles bitterly, "I am very old and have been fading since the Christians ate my wife and spat out a stranger more than a millenia and a half ago. I am no good for fighting, but as I was reminded the othernight, battles can be faought with words and empathy too."
He takes a deep breath, "I hold Apis in my belly and a dozen tribal Gods in embryo. I have have had Dionysius in my skin and have been in his. I am still me, but their Mary is not my wife, not any more. They took her titles. They crossed her name out of hymns and wrroe in that new name. They stole rituals and processions and prayers and purpose." His eyesbeg urania, "Could Ouroboras bringback Ishtar and purhaps my beloved wife through... purification? Is a rescue like that possible? To... sluff off the accretions and leave only the essence?" He eyes Urania, "Wht did the Christians do to you? I am sorry. I tend to lose track of things that happen too far from the Nile."
"If you want an orgy, just come ask Dean for an invitation to the next party," Diamanto says. "The Christians declared him the devil, so he's still pretty much the king of the orgy and every other fun thing the Christians want you to want but never have." She doesn't stop giving the cat attention, stroking his fur as he drinks his mead. "They rounded up my sisters, and the ones who weren't murdered were converted. They faded soon after and were no longer women that I knew. Dead-eyed housewives with no spirit left in them. They were obedient." She spits the word. "I will never be obedient."
"I'm afraid I know nothing of Ishtar," the muse murmurs sorrowfully. "From what others said, it... does not sound likely." She takes the first drink from her mug, and sets it down on the table, her head shaking. "I am, in the minds of their poets, 'the pure universal love of all'." Her lips wrinkle. "Their sort of purity is not to my taste." She's Greek, after all. She should be merrily cavorting naked somewhere right now. "It is trivial, by comparison."
"But the more of their thrones we claim, I think, the better chance we have to stand against them. If enough of us manage it, perhaps enough power can be accrued that-" The thought gives her some small comfort even before she speaks it. "-we can rescue our taken kin."
"I believe this is a better idea than driving ourselves to a final end, but that isn't my decision to make and I will not sway anyone choosing another path. Management was most insistent on this point as well: that whatever we choose, we should support one another in that choice."
She looks to Dia, and nods emphatically. "Fuck obedience." The cat begins to purr ever more loudly. "That alone is enough for me to tell the radio and its fellow avatars their offer has no appeal." Her eyes lower, then, but the look is anything but demure. "There is one final option. As we are, when we are gone, we simply cease to be. But we can choose to become human, with all it entails." Her voice grows quiet. "We would then have a soul, and the eternity that comes with it."
Kemen clasps Diamanto's forearm and gives ita quick gentle squeeze. He is almost fanatical in his ferver, "Good. Never let anyone tame you. If you must die, do it with their flesh between your teeth and their blood dripping down your chin."
The Fertilit God makes a face, "Ah. They confuse purity and virginity, as if those two things had anything to do with each other. I am sorry for tthe burden that places on you." He nods, "What we've been offering by way of assistance is offered freely and not forced. I will need to know more bout this other rocket science option," he gives the man in tweed a reassuring smile, "To choose between the onl two reasonable options for myself, but I will support those who chose diffeerently. Force was never really my way, even when I ruled. I was more inclined towards gentler methods." He shakes his head, "I love the humans. I taught them to till and irrigte and live in tune with the rise and ebb of floods. I have filled their bellies, guided and judged them and sent them on to the after life if their hearts were light enough for the journey, but I can not change so much, not and be me. If I fade, I fade. Five or six millenia is a good run for even one of our kind. If that is all I get, I am at peace with it."
Diamanto sighs quietly as she does continue to stroke the cat, because she knows he's a Bad Kitty, but he's soft, and he's purring, and she can't just not pet the cat. She eyes the rocket scientist when Kemen talks about dying with their flesh between her teeth and their blood dripping down her chin. She just eyes him. One brow arches.
Since reading the room has told her it's not okay to eat the rocket scientist, she says, "There is nothing the radio has to offer me. What idea could she turn me into? I'm the wilderness made flesh, and humanity can't conquer me fast enough to suit it." She spits in the dirt. "I will go with my husband, and he says we will fight."
"I have some rough notions of some directions I could go," the muse murmurs, still thoughtful. She would, yes, appreciate it if no one ate her rocket scientist. He's all stammery and adorable, in his way. If they need someone to be in awe, well, he's right there, quavering while his wife, Miranda, more familiar with the carnival, looks on with a slow shake of her head.
Only then does Urania eye the cat, as though she knows he's playing with fire. "There are... " Her lips purse. She straightens, primly, but then tosses back the whole cup of her wine before setting it back down on the table with a clunk, her cheeks blooming with pink already. "I am no tactician, but it strikes me that there are a variety of ways to fight even within the framework of options we've been given."
"Some of us, redirecting our energies and abstracting, will diminish their numbers, but that isn't all there is to that. I think we can be in the grip of that process and at the same time, sticking it to them with a more direct assault."
"Essentially... no one actually said we could only choose one of the choices."
Kemen eyes the cat, "I wonder what you and my Brother would make of each other, but I suspect that would end in a lot of deaths. If only we could point you both in the right drection." He meets Urania's eyes, "Combining options is my inclination. What do you need me to do?"
The cat, meanwhile has been taking his just due in pets from the lovely nymph while she isn't trying to stab him currently, it's a nice trade off. The bow tie is especially adorable, isn't it? There's a soft prrt of curiosity that comes with Dia's confession about the radio and her place in the world. It is uplifting to know his kin is so well cared for. But that is, frankly, enough of that he decides and promptly turns around to give the stroking hand a very light nipping. At which point she recieves the traditional butt-in-face goodbye that comes when a cat is fond of a new person. Those bright eyes shift over to Kemen and the cat tilts its head like it might understand and be contemplating that question.
That all goes up in smoke when there is a distraction, his tail to be precise, its always doing what it wants! With a rather fiesty meow, the handsome tomcat proceeds to chase his own tail on the table for a good twenty seconds before promptly getting dizzy and tumbling into Diamanto's lap before spilling out onto the floor in a tussle of fur and impossible color. At which point Loki sprawls out on the floor and yawns, still wearing the bow-tie! He doesn't speak, and his eyes still retain those slits as he purrts and kneads at the ground before turning over and curling up again like nothing's happened.
Diamanto takes the nip in stride and lays off the stroking, and she tolerates butt diplomacy, because that's the way it is with cats. Yes, yes you are a tom, she sees it. Even though she knows -- she knows! -- that the cat is her enemy (she appointed him herself), he's cute and fuzzy, and when he tumbles to her lap, she holds her arms in a loose scoop so he doesn't... alas, to no avail, down he goes.
Then it's Loki she's looking at, sprawled on the ground in only a bow tie. She snorts and says, "Bring back the cat." Then she tells the others, "More than one choice? Like how?" Poor thing isn't much of a thinker.
"I can't make that choice for anyone else, and all of this is nearly as new to me as to everyone else." The muse glances to Kemen, a single brow arching as her head cants to one side, and she watches something around him for a space of seconds more than she can be said to look at him directly. "It occurs to me that-" Her favorite cat, now, has some sort of death wish, or is possibly having a seizure.
She just stares. Stares like a cat stares, she's just not remotely anything like a cat at all, other than the staring. The staring is spot on.
As he lands, and uncoils into more or less himself, in more or less his altogether, her shoulders sink by degrees as though the simple weight of existence left her utterly at a loss. "Cat!" J'accuse! Peevishly nonchalant, she knocks the remaining mug -- that the mead in the bowl could have been poured off and into -- into the dust with a hollow clank. Oops.
Then she continues explaining, because that's what Urania does. "There's nothing to say that our efforts to transition into a new being will succeed, but even the effort will drain off some of their devotees. Even if there's no intention of staying into the next age, it's a choice means of weakening them. It would never prevent you from going in for the kill, so to speak, later."
Low-Key gives Dia an appropriately appreciative look for having tried to catch at least, it was more than he could say for gravity, not that it was terribly painful all things said and done. There's a lazy, laconic kind of look in his eyes as his pupils round out to their proper shape as he yawns again more purposefully as if duh, humans can you not see that I am still coming to? He hears the call of Cat and blinks slowly up at Urania only to catch that mug with a deft little reach and he peeks inside of it, "Can't have that," he decides, because entropy is no fun unless he exercises some now and then.
Standing up and dusting himself off he gives Dia an apologetic look, "I am always the cat, dearest in-law, it is whether or not the cat is me," he explains with a shrug before waggling that empty mug at Urania with a 'this needs mead in it stat' look of puppy dog eyes.
"If we give them anything, they've gotten everything," he sighs before finding himself a chair. Probably Urania's lap if she hasn't found him mead by now, how ever is she going to accomplish his demands now!? "They would see us diminished instead of praised, it's sad really." he shrugs and then glances back and forth between the others.
Kemen glances at the transforming cat, not particularly impressed as he sees something similar pretty much every day only with more dignity. He looks over Loki's anatomy with a similar expression, then turns back to the women, "My patheon was never particularlywarlike though we have two of the four most dangerous amoung us here. I will talk to Sekmet, but it is likely best someone else approach my Brother. Preferably with care, as he is... ambitious and not prone to cooperation." He opens his hands, "I will resist, but I can not fight. It's not in my nature. I can organise. I can think. I can talk. I am helping some of us with organizing and reimagining. I can help the wounded, though not as well as Colorado, but I am fundamentally.... I was a Pharaoh and a Judge and a god of agriculture. It was sekmet who could level cities.
Diamanto wags a finger at Loki in wordless warning. Surely he must be used to peevish looks, but only a murder nymph can look that put out by a sociological inability to commit heinous violence. Finally, she says, "You're lucky you're trade." His lack of clothes doesn't faze her. Clothes are something she escapes from at every opportunity.
"I can fight," she says to Kemen. "What's there to orgnaize? Sekhmet has the right idea. I still say we should go to Hollywood and raze it to the ground. Let the wild reclaim it and teach those would-be 'stars' their place in the universe."
She has seen those puppy dog eyes before. They were just on a giant wolf at the time, which is, at least, fitting. Urania rises to her feet, crooking a finger at the former feline without a word. The other hand snatches up the canteen, and lets it dangle just out of reach. Here, kitty kitty! This naturally just gives him leave to steal Her chair... again. Eyes narrowing again, she cat-stares at him again as she continues to dangle the canteen. "Education," she continues, not missing so much as a beat, "is a worthy effort in this case. We need to find out what, out there, is catching the imagination of the masses. Those of us who have fallen out of touch with things in the modern world will have a great deal of catching up to do."
"The Stars is what I'm thinking of, myself," she adds more quietly. "People have always looked at them for answers and they still do, now."
Low-Key lifts his smile to Urania when she goes to fetch the flask and then he drops into her seat. A charming twinkle in his eyes and he takes the proffered thing while she's distracted from waggling it just out of his reach by talking. Pouring it straight into his mouth before she can do anything about it, he exhales a happier sigh for having gotten what he wants. "I'm lucky," he corrects her very general statement about his ability to avoid being skinned alive. It's kind of a thing, he /is/ used to the peevishness though, but it eventually makes him wonder aloud, "Did you ever stop to consider that what I did was for Holden's best interests?" he asks her suddenly. "Can you honestly tell me that you would be so head over heels for my kin if he hadn't been humbled by almost-death?" his voice is still somewhat of a purr, "He hates me, sure, but he is the noble, humility-filled hunk of a man because of me. Honestly, darling, if I hadn't," he asides a rather loud whisper, "He would have been insufferable."
But enough about that, we're talking about stars, and radios and joining this or that side to which the god of Mischief only asks, "Why?" to make them all think perhaps, or because he is still catching up, it's a mystery! "Why give them anything they want and not call their bluff before stabbing their eyes out, you think they know what it's like to suffer pain?" he pffts.
Kemen smiles fondly at Diamanto, "I adore you, and I mean that in the most respectful way possible, Friend." He spends a moment picturing the Destroyer by Fire and the Maenad ravaging a modern city. "I have no doubt you could do it, but odds are, all it would do is burn what remains of poor Ishtar. I don't see how it would harm Radio and whoever might be backing him. I think it is better to strike for head or heart of the enemy, rather than one of the victims."
Kemen, Judge of the Dead, the Foremost of Westerners fixes Loki with hard eyes, "Somehow I do not think his dead brother would see it your way, nor do I approve of a man who tries to get another to carry his Weight for him." His eyes judge Loki and find him utterly lacking.
"I have never thought about that," Diamanto tells Loki, "but I have considered slapping you every time I see you. Just slapping the taste right out of your mouth. It would be my hello, my good-bye, and my conversational filler in the middle. I would just..." She makes a cuffing motion. "Right upside the head. I feel pretty good about that revelation."
She sighs at Kemen's words, then relents, "A more effective target, then. Just don't let them turn Dionysus into Las Vegas. You know they'll make me a showgirl. I don't want to be a showgirl. I want to maim things."
He takes Her chair? She'll just plant herself in Loki's lap -- bare or not -- without a word. It explains them in a nutshell: they're both cats, after a fashion. Particularly as she simply eases out of her grouch the moment she's there. "We're not talking about giving the radio and its bastard ilk what they want at all, my darling," Urania insists with a wry twist of her lips. "We're talking about fucking them right out of the chance to use us for their purposes by stealing those places in the world before they can try them on for size." Did she completely ignore the first part of the conversation there? Yes. In desperate hope that she won't be the only one.
But lucky, she is not. At least, not always. And especially not when this particular cat is around. "And yet," the muse remarks with some gravity, "we will all need to carry one another if we are to get through this. There is no other way."
Kemen says, “Somehow maiming strikes me as very Los Vegas. Still, if I can catch him in the right mood, I will talk to My Cousin from across the sea." He nods, "I plan to help all I can. What strength I have, I will lend. I don't think we can afford to leave anyone behind, nor should we. I just... am not sure if what i am doing will work or what other things i should be doing. Hence me coming for guidance."”
Low-Key listens for a long while, remaining remarkably quiet and unopinionated. Of course that likely has to do with the fact that he now has a pacifier of booze and a lovely Urania to squeeze with his other hand. There's a thoughtful moment where it looks like he might interject but instead he just shakes his head and exhales. "I think time to think is in order, there is a lot on the table and I must discuss a few things with the stars," he croons a little bit and noses his nose into the Visionary's shoulder for a moment before glancing at Dia and Kemen in turn, "I bid you both fair winds this evening, and do give my kin an extra hug for me?" he beseeches Dia towards her husband before promptly scooping Urania up like she's a doll and whisking her off into the darkness in not but his bow-tie and a smile.
She would sputter in protest, dignified muse that she is. But... cat. Or maybe it's the bow-tie, as he isn't a cat any more. "I'll look through the night for you, Kemen, Dia. I'll see what I can scry out of the constellations -- and maybe more. I need to grill the-" There is a pause, and she calls out, "Antonin, don't go anywhere!"