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fandomweekly2017-02-27 01:07 pm
iluvroadrunner6) wrote in fandomweekly2017-02-27 01:07 pm
Entry tags:
[#034] Can You Swear That I'm Not Screaming? (Original)
Theme Prompt: #034 – Signs and Portents
Title: Can You Swear That I’m Not Screaming?
Fandom: Original/Mythology
Rating/Warnings: PG
Bonus: Yes.
Word Count: 999
Summary: It’s been centuries since Cassandra has laid eyes on Apollo, the man that made her fake her death, the man who ruined her life, the man who turned her into something she never wanted to be. But she’s seen the visions of the coming decades, of the coming days, and she knows that she needs Apollo in order for the three of them to survive this.
Notes: I have an original universe for a series of novels where one of the main characters is Cassandra of Troy, so this fic is mostly original but does have some mythological ties.
Cassandra doesn’t want to be here.
It’s a rainy, muddy night in Atlantic City, and she doesn’t want to be cutting her way through the city, to the club of a man that isn’t really a man at all, but more of a thing who has grown too old to realize that everything he want’s won’t always be his. It’s been centuries since Cassandra has laid eyes on Apollo, the man that made her fake her death, the man who ruined her life, the man who turned her into something she never wanted to be. But she’s seen the visions of the coming decades, of the coming days, and she knows that she needs Apollo in order for the three of them to survive this.
Their friendship won’t. Noah, she will get to keep, but Deirdre will break from her somehow. But the important thing is that Conchobar will have to spend a few more decades searching for the woman he destroyed the way Apollo had destroyed Cassandra.
The irony of this scenario is not lost on her, but she is trying not to think about it.
She steps into the speakeasy with a quiet intensity and the room seems to go quiet with her, but she does her best to stay on task.
“I am here to see the manager.” Her eyes roam over each of them, daring each of them to try and keep her from her goal. One of them points to the back room, where she could already hear the sound of laughter and revelry. She continues on her way, the silence remaining in her wake. She feels the eyes of the room boring into her shoulders, but that’s not important now. She needs to simply open the door, and facing her demon head on.
They’re playing poker in that back room: booze, cigarettes and other vices surrounding them. All of the participants are men, which is odd, considering the company that the god usually chose to keep, but she also doesn’t miss the affectionate way that Apollo’s hand is sitting on one of the men’s shoulders. She should be surprised, but she isn’t really. Apollo’s appreciation for beauty had always transcended silly constructs like gender. The room still goes silent when she enters, but Cassandra’s eyes do not leave Apollo’s, and he is still beautiful in the way that a storm or a fire or a powerful animal can be beautiful – good to view from a distance, but terribly deadly if you’re on the wrong side of it.
He’s quiet for a moment, surprised, before tipping his head to the side. “This is a surprise.”
“I am here to request an audience.”
“Well, sorry sweetheart,” a portly, cocky man bearing the green aura of a witch takes another drag on his cigar, “but we’re in the middle of a game here.”
“Clear the room.”
The order comes from Apollo himself, and the man whirls on him as though he’s about to immediately question that order before he realizes what a bad idea that is. Apollo silences him with a look before he can even start, then continues.
“Cassandra of Troy is welcome to an audience with me at any time.”
The man’s face pales, as does the rest of the players in the room, and they are quick to leave their cards at the table, only taking time to gather their winnings before they escape. Apparently none of them trust the god to not manipulate the game in his favor. Perhaps they’re smarter than she gives them credit for. Once they have all disappeared and the door is closed, Apollo smiles, before gesturing to the seat next to him.
“Please. Sit.”
“I would rather not.” Her hands form into fists, not wanting to risk the chance that he could touch her. “I am here to request a favor.”
“A favor? From me?”
“You are the only choice I have,” she replies, the sneer on her face making clear her distaste. “There is no time to go elsewhere and more importantly, convince her that she needs to do so.”
“You had a vision.” Apollo grins as he leans forward at the table, more pleased with her own work than anything else and it makes her stomach twist in disgust. (Why him? Why here, why now?) “What did you see?”
“Are even you immune to the curse you placed upon me?” She raises her eyebrows at him, and when he doesn’t respond right away, she continues without giving him a chance to answer. “Deirdre MacNessa is going to come to you for help, and I would like to request you give it to her.”
“And why should I do this for you?”
“Because you owe me.” The words are ripped from her throat with a force she hadn’t intended, but it’s clear she could only keep the anger back for so long. It’s been centuries, and she’s still grieving for the girl she used to be, and the one she can never be again. “Because you took my life and my innocence from me because I tried to keep my life as mine and not cave to your every whim. So you will do as I ask.”
His face softens for a moment, a conflicting emotion she isn’t sure she understands because she isn’t used to seeing it on his face. Something that maybe, could even be regret, if she wanted to believe he was capable of such an emotion. She doesn’t let herself look at it too long, however, and her scowl remains in place.
“So will you do this or not?”
Apollo is quiet for a moment, before nodding. “I will.”
“Good.” And she turns to stalk out wanting to put as much distance between her before his voice rises again, soft and uncertain.
“Cassandra – how long until we’re even?”
She pauses for a moment, fingers curled into fists before responding. “The fact that you feel you should ask means we are nowhere close.”
Title: Can You Swear That I’m Not Screaming?
Fandom: Original/Mythology
Rating/Warnings: PG
Bonus: Yes.
Word Count: 999
Summary: It’s been centuries since Cassandra has laid eyes on Apollo, the man that made her fake her death, the man who ruined her life, the man who turned her into something she never wanted to be. But she’s seen the visions of the coming decades, of the coming days, and she knows that she needs Apollo in order for the three of them to survive this.
Notes: I have an original universe for a series of novels where one of the main characters is Cassandra of Troy, so this fic is mostly original but does have some mythological ties.
Cassandra doesn’t want to be here.
It’s a rainy, muddy night in Atlantic City, and she doesn’t want to be cutting her way through the city, to the club of a man that isn’t really a man at all, but more of a thing who has grown too old to realize that everything he want’s won’t always be his. It’s been centuries since Cassandra has laid eyes on Apollo, the man that made her fake her death, the man who ruined her life, the man who turned her into something she never wanted to be. But she’s seen the visions of the coming decades, of the coming days, and she knows that she needs Apollo in order for the three of them to survive this.
Their friendship won’t. Noah, she will get to keep, but Deirdre will break from her somehow. But the important thing is that Conchobar will have to spend a few more decades searching for the woman he destroyed the way Apollo had destroyed Cassandra.
The irony of this scenario is not lost on her, but she is trying not to think about it.
She steps into the speakeasy with a quiet intensity and the room seems to go quiet with her, but she does her best to stay on task.
“I am here to see the manager.” Her eyes roam over each of them, daring each of them to try and keep her from her goal. One of them points to the back room, where she could already hear the sound of laughter and revelry. She continues on her way, the silence remaining in her wake. She feels the eyes of the room boring into her shoulders, but that’s not important now. She needs to simply open the door, and facing her demon head on.
They’re playing poker in that back room: booze, cigarettes and other vices surrounding them. All of the participants are men, which is odd, considering the company that the god usually chose to keep, but she also doesn’t miss the affectionate way that Apollo’s hand is sitting on one of the men’s shoulders. She should be surprised, but she isn’t really. Apollo’s appreciation for beauty had always transcended silly constructs like gender. The room still goes silent when she enters, but Cassandra’s eyes do not leave Apollo’s, and he is still beautiful in the way that a storm or a fire or a powerful animal can be beautiful – good to view from a distance, but terribly deadly if you’re on the wrong side of it.
He’s quiet for a moment, surprised, before tipping his head to the side. “This is a surprise.”
“I am here to request an audience.”
“Well, sorry sweetheart,” a portly, cocky man bearing the green aura of a witch takes another drag on his cigar, “but we’re in the middle of a game here.”
“Clear the room.”
The order comes from Apollo himself, and the man whirls on him as though he’s about to immediately question that order before he realizes what a bad idea that is. Apollo silences him with a look before he can even start, then continues.
“Cassandra of Troy is welcome to an audience with me at any time.”
The man’s face pales, as does the rest of the players in the room, and they are quick to leave their cards at the table, only taking time to gather their winnings before they escape. Apparently none of them trust the god to not manipulate the game in his favor. Perhaps they’re smarter than she gives them credit for. Once they have all disappeared and the door is closed, Apollo smiles, before gesturing to the seat next to him.
“Please. Sit.”
“I would rather not.” Her hands form into fists, not wanting to risk the chance that he could touch her. “I am here to request a favor.”
“A favor? From me?”
“You are the only choice I have,” she replies, the sneer on her face making clear her distaste. “There is no time to go elsewhere and more importantly, convince her that she needs to do so.”
“You had a vision.” Apollo grins as he leans forward at the table, more pleased with her own work than anything else and it makes her stomach twist in disgust. (Why him? Why here, why now?) “What did you see?”
“Are even you immune to the curse you placed upon me?” She raises her eyebrows at him, and when he doesn’t respond right away, she continues without giving him a chance to answer. “Deirdre MacNessa is going to come to you for help, and I would like to request you give it to her.”
“And why should I do this for you?”
“Because you owe me.” The words are ripped from her throat with a force she hadn’t intended, but it’s clear she could only keep the anger back for so long. It’s been centuries, and she’s still grieving for the girl she used to be, and the one she can never be again. “Because you took my life and my innocence from me because I tried to keep my life as mine and not cave to your every whim. So you will do as I ask.”
His face softens for a moment, a conflicting emotion she isn’t sure she understands because she isn’t used to seeing it on his face. Something that maybe, could even be regret, if she wanted to believe he was capable of such an emotion. She doesn’t let herself look at it too long, however, and her scowl remains in place.
“So will you do this or not?”
Apollo is quiet for a moment, before nodding. “I will.”
“Good.” And she turns to stalk out wanting to put as much distance between her before his voice rises again, soft and uncertain.
“Cassandra – how long until we’re even?”
She pauses for a moment, fingers curled into fists before responding. “The fact that you feel you should ask means we are nowhere close.”
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