dizzy_land | (no subject)

James and Sirius, for today an accountant and a dentist, respectively, put the finishing touches on the Haunted Mansion (they had started the night before, and upon finding that in the morning their changes were still there, they had been quite pleased and finished up). Now that the room where the ceiling rose was magicked so that everyone would fit in it and still have plenty of space to move. On top of that, they had magically rewired the loudspeakers to the room, put up some spooky decorations, and even completed it with fake, scary looking ghosts (they had both been quite disappointed in the morning to discover that some of their ruder decorations, including hot, naked ghosts, were removed).

Then, James began to write the letters, and started some music.

Crowley,

We're throwing a party at the Haunted Mansion. Do you think you could provide refreshments? Feel free to come as well.

- James Potter and Sirius Black

Then, identical letters were sent out to everyone in the park.

Hey,

There will be a Halloween party at the Haunted Mansion in New Orlean's Square. Come around and have a great time. Also, if you have drinks or food that you want to bring to share, feel free.

- James Potter and Sirius Black

On the bottom of the paper, there's a witch flying on a broom, actually moving around on the paper.

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Psyche laughed, surprised but amused. "Nearly always. Not, I assume, when I was very young, as toddlers, for example, are seldom reasonable. But early enough that I can remember it frequently annoying my family. My sisters especially. There was," she added in fond reminiscence, "a fair amount of hair-pulling that went on."

"That's good to hear," the drone replied. "Because I was beginning to wonder what I found more unsettling: what you are, or your self-possession."

Was that quite possibly a joke? Might the drone's aura have lost some of its steeliness?

Psyche would like to think so. She smiled, and said, "Oh, that. Well, I let people think that's the result of great age and experience, but if you want the truth, it's mostly self-defense. And I'm not always above using it offensively, either; my parents did rather get the rough edge of my tongue when they were weeping and wailing about me having to be sacrificed."

The drone tilted slightly. "You seem remarkably disingenuous, sometimes, for a millennia-old goddess. And do you know, I'm beginning to think that's not really an act either."

"It's hard even for me sometimes to say how much of it's an act," was the wry response. "I try to remain the same person I was, which does seem to require a high standard of self-awareness. But that's part of the nature of humanity, isn't it, the way growing up means fashioning raw potential into a persona one feels comfortable regarding as oneself? It's just a little more conscious, in my case."

"And is that so for all of your kind?" Despite itself, the drone's curiosity really was getting the better of it. "Not all of your fellow deities were mortals first, were they?"

"Oh no, no, I'm very much the exception in my pantheon. Most of the few others who lived mortal lives first were demigods to begin with - Hercules, for example. And the full mortals who come to live with the gods aren't usually made gods in their own right, just immortal attendants like Ganymede or Ariadne."

"No, most gods are...well, I want to say they're rather confused about their identities and origins, but really they don't seem to find it confusing at all. My husband, for instance, is the mischevious young son of the goddess of sex and beauty, with one of, oh, half a dozen possible fathers, or born of an egg laid by Night, or one of the original forces of the universe, just after Chaos. I mean he is all those things, depending on what aspect he wears. It can be rather hard to wrap my head around sometimes, but, well, he is my husband."

"You see, this is the other part I'm having difficulty grasping," the drone said. And the fact that it was actually admitting as much said a great deal. "You and yours seem to exist in a state where story-logic is as real and tangible as, say, the biology of cellular reproduction."

"Yes," she said simply.

"But how is that possible?" the drone exclaimed in frustration. It spun a bit in the air like a top before stopping. "Grief. I must stop asking that question, because I will never get an answer that really satisfies me. Not here."

Psyche looked sympathetic. "Well, exactly so, I'm afraid. And of course in a sense I'm lucky, as, being brought up in the time and place I was, I had little knowledge of such things as cellular reproduction and was more able to accept Story as a force in the universe."

Skaffen-Amtiskaw's aura flashed through a series of colours, finally settling on a formal blue.

"You are fortunate," it said a little stiffly.

She looked up at the drone, watching the colors change with her clear young eyes, and then responded, simply again, "I never forget it."

For once, the drone found itself at a loss for words.

So it dipped slightly in the air. "I suppose I shouldn't monopolise you for the evening. A pleasure speaking to you, Miss Psyche."

"And to you, Skaffen-Amtiskaw," she said, smiling.