( how it happened, no one understands. as no one understands the nature of thunder and the pull of the ocean, aside from 'by the gods'. but one day, a stranger in unfamiliar clothing and speaking a hitherto unheard dialect wandered through the city gates of mytilene, and they were all richer for it.
rumour spred quickly, and when gorgo heard, she knew it was the answer to her prayers at the temple. she burned incense for apollo at their home altar, then, and for hera and for zeus, too, and she went to meet the stranger, her father accompanying her because the polyanaktides family was nothing if not skilled in trade.
whatever the stranger had brought along, they would have it.
and they would be richer for it.
like so, the next newcomer will be met in the agora by a redheaded woman and an elderly man who prefers to stay quietly in the background, letting his daughter do the talking, isn't that what a singer is for? wordsmithing. she smiles at them, inclines her head and looks around, gesturing softly but in a deceptive manner.
she is not soft. neither does she mean it softly. )
Be greeted. I can tell, you're not from around these parts. Has your journey been pleasant?
( she asks, knowing from the last arrivals, that the journey is nought in comparison, it is the displacement that proposes the issue. they are not where they belong; they know, and she knows. it is evident for all to see.
yet, she doesn't address it further than that. there is some ironic sting to it. )
[The girl who arrives next may not be the exact mark Gorgo was looking for... Or maybe she is. Who knows? Japanese features, but strikingly bright red hair. For some reason, she doesn't have human ears, but rather fox ears on top of her head, and a bushy fox tail coming from behind her. Her clothes are... well, an oversized modern t-shirt, stolen from a thrift store, with a belt with a pouch at the side turning it into a dress, long socks, and ill-fitting boots.
But perhaps most strikingly, she wears a strange, mechanical device on her left wrist.
She stares back at Gorgo, but she is making no effort to hide her hostility. She's sizing her up for danger- Is she the one who brought her hear? A monster in disguise? Someone powerful? Will she have to fight her? She flexes her hand, ready to start brawling at a moment's notice, but seemingly unwilling to make the first move. She doesn't look very strong, but she carries herself like someone with a lot of confidence in her physical ability...]
"Journey", my ass. Who the hell are you, and what is this place?
( by now, they are beginning to notice, there is truly no limit to what the gods will bring to mytilene, and it is not gorgo's job to judge what can and will be useful to the city at length. there are other people, most of them men, far out of her circles, who make these decisions. she is here to learn, to gather information like flowers. and, naturally, to show their hospitality.
as well as to secure her own reputation and status as the preferred singer of the city, of the whole island.
currently, though, hostility is radiating off the woman who has surely been touched by some god, with those ears and the tail, so hospitality seems a far-fetched thing to send for and to show and to give her. regardless, gorgo beckons for her father who comes over and carefully hands her an amphora, starkly decorated, that she takes and holds out in offer. )
Welcome to Mytilene. This is Lesbos in the great Empire of Hellas. My name is Gorgo. ( the large flask is extended another inch, almost like an intangible nudge. ) Please receive our gift of gratitude.
( the olive oil, virgin and fine in quality, sloshes around loudly inside. )
[Touched by some god... Gorgo is so much more right than she knows.
Empire of Hellas? Mytilene? Lesbos? Well, she is lesbian, but- That's probably not what that means. Right? Unless they're messing with her. But surely not. She doesn't know any of these words or names...
And that gift. A weird jar of... What is it?
She's of two minds. If this is an illusion- Which, of course, it must be- She needs to transform, find the one responsible, and beat them down as fast as possible. But if this somehow isn't an illusion, transforming is giving herself away, and she has to avoid that at all costs. A masked superhero can't work if people know who's under the mask, after all.
She hates not knowing. Normally, she can just throw her power around to find the situation out, but here, having arrived in this state...
It's too dangerous. She's certain she can take this lady and the other guy- Her dad? Uncle? Some weird servant? With ease. But without knowing anything, she might end up trapping herself.]
I've never heard of any of those names. Go.... "Gorgo"?
[She's mangling the pronunciation, but she's actually trying to get it right. She's just not very good at it.]
( different pronunciations are common enough, with travellers and foreigners living among them, that gorgo doesn't react to it. the woman is trying, and that is enough assimilation to pass, to fit in. instead, gorgo is curious as to her unfamiliarity with the oil. do they not know olives where she is from? is she from so far away, a time and place where they don't grow? do they not import it from here as so many other places do that are in a shortage? one eyebrow goes up slightly, and she tips the amphora to pour a small portion of the oil onto the ground.
in her mind, she gives a prayer, so that the valuable foodstuff won't be wasted. the gods can have it. as a libation. )
It is olive oil. For food prepation and for bath. We wish you not to go hungry and to get comfortably clean.
( another nudge of the amphora now, take it, it means. )
I was named after the gorgon, Medusa, whose head Athena wears on her shield. Is that story familiar to you?
[She jumps back as the amphora tips, like she thinks the stuff that comes out might be poison.
Cooking? Cleaning? Most of the food she's ever eaten was either microwaved or stolen, and as for baths... A city fountain or sneaking into a public bath was good enough. She slowly steps forward again...]
... "Medusa"...? [She furrows her brows. She's a little better at pronouncing that, at least- Like she's got some previous familiarity with the word.]
Wait, yeah. That's the word that snake creep who kept turning people into statues kept saying before I blew them to hell.
... Is that oil supposed to turn things to stone or something?
( a smile. it isn't friendly, but it's not hostile or antagonizing either. proud, perhaps. deceptive. she always took pride in being named after the 'snake creep' that held such power, until she was cut down. but all must go the way of the underworld.
she wipes a few stray drops off the edge of the amphora and rubs it into the skin of her fingertips, showing her hand. that, at least, is a friendly gesture. she inclines her head. )
It will smoothen and soften your skin. It will flavour your food. It is a valuable gift from this land.
( her smile gains that recognizable sharpness once more, as if she is a little bit amused. without mockery, only ironic distance. to the girl in front of her. to the situation as it looks to her, a commentary from the gods. )
And since you are a valuable gift to this land, we trade equally.
[Ha. Smooth and soft? Yeah, like a weapon needs that. Her eyebrows lower, and she gives her best withering stare.]
Let's cut the shit. What do you actually want? If that oil's that valuable as you're making it sound, no way you're giving it as a 'gift'. You want something in return.
You're calling me a 'gift', but you mean a 'tool', don't you? So try being honest for a bit.
[She's getting frustrated. Angry. She tries to keep her anger bottled up, but she hates, more than anything else, being lied to. Being deceived. Even if it's not a 'lie', per se, she can tell Gorgo isn't being entirely honest. And that's raising her hackles.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
alpha |
rumour spred quickly, and when gorgo heard, she knew it was the answer to her prayers at the temple. she burned incense for apollo at their home altar, then, and for hera and for zeus, too, and she went to meet the stranger, her father accompanying her because the polyanaktides family was nothing if not skilled in trade.
whatever the stranger had brought along, they would have it.
and they would be richer for it.
like so, the next newcomer will be met in the agora by a redheaded woman and an elderly man who prefers to stay quietly in the background, letting his daughter do the talking, isn't that what a singer is for? wordsmithing. she smiles at them, inclines her head and looks around, gesturing softly but in a deceptive manner.
she is not soft. neither does she mean it softly. )
Be greeted. I can tell, you're not from around these parts. Has your journey been pleasant?
( she asks, knowing from the last arrivals, that the journey is nought in comparison, it is the displacement that proposes the issue. they are not where they belong; they know, and she knows. it is evident for all to see.
yet, she doesn't address it further than that. there is some ironic sting to it. )
no subject
But perhaps most strikingly, she wears a strange, mechanical device on her left wrist.
She stares back at Gorgo, but she is making no effort to hide her hostility. She's sizing her up for danger- Is she the one who brought her hear? A monster in disguise? Someone powerful? Will she have to fight her? She flexes her hand, ready to start brawling at a moment's notice, but seemingly unwilling to make the first move. She doesn't look very strong, but she carries herself like someone with a lot of confidence in her physical ability...]
"Journey", my ass. Who the hell are you, and what is this place?
no subject
as well as to secure her own reputation and status as the preferred singer of the city, of the whole island.
currently, though, hostility is radiating off the woman who has surely been touched by some god, with those ears and the tail, so hospitality seems a far-fetched thing to send for and to show and to give her. regardless, gorgo beckons for her father who comes over and carefully hands her an amphora, starkly decorated, that she takes and holds out in offer. )
Welcome to Mytilene. This is Lesbos in the great Empire of Hellas. My name is Gorgo. ( the large flask is extended another inch, almost like an intangible nudge. ) Please receive our gift of gratitude.
( the olive oil, virgin and fine in quality, sloshes around loudly inside. )
no subject
Empire of Hellas? Mytilene? Lesbos? Well, she is lesbian, but- That's probably not what that means. Right? Unless they're messing with her. But surely not. She doesn't know any of these words or names...
And that gift. A weird jar of... What is it?
She's of two minds. If this is an illusion- Which, of course, it must be- She needs to transform, find the one responsible, and beat them down as fast as possible. But if this somehow isn't an illusion, transforming is giving herself away, and she has to avoid that at all costs. A masked superhero can't work if people know who's under the mask, after all.
She hates not knowing. Normally, she can just throw her power around to find the situation out, but here, having arrived in this state...
It's too dangerous. She's certain she can take this lady and the other guy- Her dad? Uncle? Some weird servant? With ease. But without knowing anything, she might end up trapping herself.]
I've never heard of any of those names. Go.... "Gorgo"?
[She's mangling the pronunciation, but she's actually trying to get it right. She's just not very good at it.]
... Is that some kind of drink?
no subject
in her mind, she gives a prayer, so that the valuable foodstuff won't be wasted. the gods can have it. as a libation. )
It is olive oil. For food prepation and for bath. We wish you not to go hungry and to get comfortably clean.
( another nudge of the amphora now, take it, it means. )
I was named after the gorgon, Medusa, whose head Athena wears on her shield. Is that story familiar to you?
no subject
Cooking? Cleaning? Most of the food she's ever eaten was either microwaved or stolen, and as for baths... A city fountain or sneaking into a public bath was good enough. She slowly steps forward again...]
... "Medusa"...? [She furrows her brows. She's a little better at pronouncing that, at least- Like she's got some previous familiarity with the word.]
Wait, yeah. That's the word that snake creep who kept turning people into statues kept saying before I blew them to hell.
... Is that oil supposed to turn things to stone or something?
no subject
she wipes a few stray drops off the edge of the amphora and rubs it into the skin of her fingertips, showing her hand. that, at least, is a friendly gesture. she inclines her head. )
It will smoothen and soften your skin. It will flavour your food. It is a valuable gift from this land.
( her smile gains that recognizable sharpness once more, as if she is a little bit amused. without mockery, only ironic distance. to the girl in front of her. to the situation as it looks to her, a commentary from the gods. )
And since you are a valuable gift to this land, we trade equally.
no subject
Let's cut the shit. What do you actually want? If that oil's that valuable as you're making it sound, no way you're giving it as a 'gift'. You want something in return.
You're calling me a 'gift', but you mean a 'tool', don't you? So try being honest for a bit.
[She's getting frustrated. Angry. She tries to keep her anger bottled up, but she hates, more than anything else, being lied to. Being deceived. Even if it's not a 'lie', per se, she can tell Gorgo isn't being entirely honest. And that's raising her hackles.]