netteliax

[netteliax]

Being so close to her brother left Nettelia feeling somewhat uneasy, but she did not wish to speak on Octavian, not yet anyways, not until she knew precisely what it was that she needed to do. The druidess had resolved to the notion that her brother was her responsibility and she would not burden Safiye or any of the other keepers with him. "My time for games is behind me, you did well in your competition, unfortunately there are a number of showboaters present who feel the need to remind everyone just how large their egos are." Unsurprising, really, but the witches, druids, and vampires who competed did so admirably. "How have you been keeping with everything?"

who: @netteliax where: Lupercalia

It had been a day of fighting hellhounds and kelpies, wiping the sweat from her brow, she grinned. It was a pity that she lost but she was in public and so had to keep a good spirit for the crowd. While leaving the arena, she shot a cold look in Octavian's direction -- she hated losing and he was a growing problem. As a Keeper, she choose to remember all of the war and so getting her hands bloody helped to keep her mind clear, a fighters instinct that removed every obstacle that was on the field. She spots Nettelia wrinkling her nose at the warm beer and runs to catch up. Happy that the Archdruid is there. "Are you playing in any games?"

[netteliax]

So many years divided her from when she'd watched Promethean ichor stain the sands of Eden; to this day Nettelia could hear the jeering cry of the Gods as they pelted the man that she loved with abuse. His great rebellious audacity that had sundered their plans in two, she was proud of him - endlessly so; Nettelia had yet to tell him as much, but she squirreled it away for later just the same. Octavian and this infernal force he'd allied with undoubtedly had designs on the Gods, Elysia had fallen, and Nettelia was happy for it. With all this rage and darkness that burned inside the druidess, she was glad to see their fall, and in truth, she had more reasons to join Octavian than to stand against him. Nettelia knew that, but for all that she had to resist the temptation to see her vengeance satiated, it all boiled down to one definitive factor: it was wrong, and Nettelia would not stand by while innocents suffered on this idle quest for domination.

How many people would die before they managed to subdue him? Would they even succeed? It wasn't as if the city didn't have its share of enemies, but this mess was her share; it was the Pyramid's share, and while she wholly believed what had happened to Octavian's acolytes in The End, wasn't intentional, she also felt that it was something the phoenix had not been able to help. "I am, if I must." The question that would follow her tongue surprised her because, for the six thousand or so years she'd spent before the book's forging, Nettelia had accepted nobody's council but her own. Aren had made attempts since her return, ever the older brother, but she hadn't wished to hear it. He and Dionaeia were biased; perhaps Prometheus was as well, but she'd called him her husband once; if there was anyone she would come to confide in, then it was only natural her heart would turn to him. "But should I?"

Prometheus slowed down his steps to be beside her, no voices but their own as they made the two way through the Fey Forest, just as though this were Eden once more. But it wasn't, and the pain in Nettelia's eyes was heavier than he had ever seen in Ulthar's perfect garden. Prometheus had known from the first day his wife came home after meeting her new family that she would love them, and he had seen first hand how that love had grown so quickly, so potently. No doubt the ages he'd been gone it had grown even more - the Archdruids making themselves the truest of siblings. To profess that she would have killed her own brother carried a weight that he knew had to be debilitating for her. And he saw it there in her eyes not a moment after, Nettelia looking at him as though he might hold some reprieve or answers. 

It was devastating for the avariel that there was nothing he might have said that would have eased the truth of the Archdruid's burden. The more Prometheus thought about it, the more he knew that she spoke the truth. There was a time for advice, for teaching for wisdom that a loved one might offer but this wasn't one of those times. How could he ever know what she faced now? If he were in her place, no, Prometheus could barely think it. So instead he stood stalwart, preparing to be the tree within the raging waters that she may be able to hang on to. Her eyes met his with a question; his answer was the tranquility. “Are you prepared to make his fate your responsibility? Would you?” Of course she could. Would was harder, would was a word that might carry with it so many fates.

[netteliax]

"Yes," Nettelia smiled as he repeated her brother's name, "Octavian." She countered once more as Prometheus offered his opinion on the matter. "It wasn't my decision to send him away." It was the senate's, Rome was where she lived and while her word likely carried weight in the Pyramid she wouldn't undermine the established authority there. "But I told him when I returned that if he moved against us then I'd be the one to kill him." The conversation was anything but light, despite the edge to her usual tone, there was a softness that lurked underneath.

"I love him." Nettelia recalled the stalwart brother who'd been by her side to pick up the pieces after Prometheus' demise, the healer and general who'd risen an empire. She remembered a kind man before the madness she provoked had taken him. "But I cannot leave the others to contend with him," the archdruids were made of checks and balances; Dionaeia and Aren's magic was ill-suited to do battle with Octavian, many were; Nettelia was the exception, "which makes him my responsibility." There was a question in here somewhere and when violet eyes found her ex-husband's face they burned, not with rage, but grief. "I would do anything to save him, but I don't know if that's possible now."

The avariel should have heeded Chancellor Robin's warning :(. The Dusk Fields weren't always kind and it'd been days but he was still picking evil little spores out from his feathers. He kept his wings open now, trying to air them out again every few minutes, but was grateful that that that seemed to be one of his biggest concerns. That, and the influx of Gods pouring into the city. Blind to Senate business, Prometheus wasn't aware that Oztalun was a fear; he had been trying his hardest to respect Nettelia's boundaries when it came to the Pyramid and Epi didn't share enough druid gossip. Hyacinth didn't share much of anything at all. But when he saw Nettelia passing through the Moongate, he swallowed down the immediate nerves and told himself that he couldn't be helpful to any of them if he didn't know what was going on.

"It is. Beautiful... Similar," he admitted with an uncertain look on his face. Though a small smile formed, the joy at the relative ease with which they could both speak now. "But Elysia had eons to develop; the elves have a long way to go." He looked at Nettelia, a million questions rising and none of them to do with business at hand which he'd intended. Did she finish that romance book? Was she enjoying teaching acolytes? Did she visit a cinema yet like he did? Or a 'Wendy's?' "... Octavian?" That name put Pros' mind right back into place. "I haven't spoken to him. I wanted to at first but... I don't know what I'd say to him. You were all right to keep him away." Every druid in existence but little Esme had been wiped out in those lost 15 years, as well as Octavian's own Archdruid siblings - two done by his hand. His brother-in-law was certifiably insane and he had no idea what would help him.

[netteliax]

@prometheanpiero location: Moon Gate, Fey Forest notes: another gift for my jestie

"You caught me." Nettelia looked towards the speedster, his rapid footsteps had been audible for a fraction of a second and he'd likely been upon her before she even heard them, but she'd know their sound anywhere. "I was curious. It's quite beautiful, isn't it? I suppose they must have had similar structures in Elysia when you were there." Worlds ago when Prometheus was still young, when he spread his wings without a negative association being tied to it.

In truth there was a large part of her that was happy to see him and glad for the company. Nettelia's mind had been working overtime lately, guilt and regret at the forefront but she couldn't let them anchor her down. This city had been handed off to the next generation and she wanted to leave it to them, she did, but she loathed the thought of passing off a burden and calling it someone else's responsibility. This mess... What she did to Oztalun, this was her doing. She'd poured his pure soul into the damned book's creation, then the Asphodel had gone back and retrieved the other half. Nettelia couldn't right that wrong, not anymore, but she could focus on what could be done, and who could be saved. "Can I ask you something? It's about Octavian."

[netteliax]

[netteliax]

You taught me the courage of stars before you left How light carries on endlessly, even after death With shortness of breath You explained the infinite And how rare and beautiful it is to even exist

w. @prometheanpiero

[netteliax]

According to Trip Advisor the druidic Pyramid was a must-see in Rome, oh, how things had changed. "And yet I do neither of those things." Nettelia shook her head, "And if you're seeking divinity in the Pyramid you're going to be disappointed, trust me, I've searched." The ordeal that these demigods had been through wasn't one that she would have wished upon anyone. Death was far kinder than a complete lack of autonomy, she thought about how in her youth she had hoped that Oztalun would have chosen her as his vessel; now Nettelia could think of no greater offense.

"As if you didn't know that already." Maybe he was being dramatic, but he'd always had a flair for that. Prospero was a fan of making a spectacle if he had to hurt someone. This was certainly no different. He had a bone to pick with any god that would listen to him for even a second. It didn't matter which one it was. "You know...I don't think you had to use that tone. Awfully disrespectful. I'll take it up with management at the Pyramid." He paused for a second. "I at least have the address to that place. 1 Pyramid Way. Follow the sound of barking and meowing and you're almost there."

[netteliax]

"So dramatic." Though he and just about every other person in this city seemed to have come to the same resolution. Kill the Gods, down with the Gods, as if people hadn't been screaming just that for thousands of years. "These Gods you want to kill, they're in the city then? Do you happen to have their address? It'll certainly make it easier for you to hunt them down." There were Gods everywhere these days, the mortal realm was teeming with them since Elysia's fall, but there were very few that were of any real significance. Even less that had absolutely anything to do with what had happened to Prospero.

Why did he come here? That was a question he was still trying to figure out the answer to. The flat answer would have been that he was here to settle a score. The gods had come to him while was on vacation which was actually so disrespectful of them. Honestly, they could have at least waited until he was...well, actually, Prospero was always on vacation so there was never a good time. Not that he wanted to be possessed by the gods anyway. The last time he'd seen such a thing, his mother had been killed and he had rained hellfire down on a brother he barely knew. Well, not literally. In actuality, he'd simply boiled the blood of every person in the room. It hadn't been as satisfying as he would've liked, but it had happened nonetheless. Now he was here so many years later and the gods had spit in his face again. "That's a loaded question." A hand rubbed the back of his neck before he shrugged. "The gist of it is that I'm angry. I want these gods dead and I will not accept anything less. I don't care what it takes."

[netteliax]

Nettelia would have sent him away at the door were it not for the box in his hand; she could admit that she'd developed a weakness for the indulgences of this age. There was more wealth in a simple flat littered with bottom-rung electronic devices than in the grandest estates of her age. Nettelia had briefly lamented that of the great wonders she might have imagined for this world, in her wildest dreams, she never thought that there'd be an age that turned miraculous inventions into commodities that were commonly taken for granted.

"Offering accepted, you can come in. Just watch for trap doors. The acolytes of this age have a terrible sense of humor." Nettelia led the nephilim within, though the creature was far more than any common halfblooded, if he had come here for answers, then she could only give him disappointment.

@netteliax Location: Druid Pyramid so he can find Mr Miyagi (again)

If Nettelia said she was sick of seeing him, well, Zagreus would probably run away and cry. Either way, he was here, at the home of the druids, hoping that he could find some answers to what he wanted to know. His mother had told him something about ancestors, powers and fallen aasimar, but he wanted to see what Nettelia had to say. All about control, about how he could make sure that he didn't have another instant blackout. He'd missed her presence, and maybe he wanted to see how she was doing, "I brought pizza. Mostly because I wanted to say hi but also because...I thought it'd be cool to talk."

[netteliax]

never grow a wishbone, daughter, where your backbone ought to be.

for donottalktomeinthemorning

[netteliax]

Monsters weren't born, they were made. Nettelia couldn't place the blame on Prometheus' crime, Oztalun's blessing, Tisiphone's vengeful arm, or all that had transpired afterwards. Through each moment, Nettelia's nature and her soul resisted. Yet, she had followed every virulent decision one after another until there was nothing reminiscent of the woman she had been before. At least, not to her; when Nettelia looked in the mirror, she didn't see the exact reflection staring back at her as that girl by the river. Epimetheus treated her the same. Prometheus claimed by some miracle to accept what she'd become, and the others handled her like no time had passed. The truth was that Nettelia's soul was irevocably changed, she made a brave face when she told people that she had no regrets. All that Nettelia had done had been to release Prometheus and ease the anguish that she felt that while she walked free, her husband suffered.

The pair were martyrs; Prometheus was resolved to absorb the heat from the pyre that his actions had caused, to shoulder the blame for how his choices had rippled across the ages. He couldn't have known what Nettelia would have done, just like Prometheus could not have known what something like free will would do to humanity. He gave them a chance, and he set them free.

Nettelia told everyone that she had no regrets; she stood in front of them with unwavering confidence and said that if she had the choice to do it all again, then she would. In the night, the archdruid heard the screams of the many who'd fallen to bind the pages of the book; she heard her father's warning, and now, despite her best efforts... Nettelia felt in her heart that the enemy had not been truly defeated. Her family was more broken than ever; Prometheus was within her reach; truly, all she had to do was reach out and claim him, but even that felt beyond her.

Prometheus' certainty was a cold comfort; it soothed in the way that warm blankets felt when sheltering from a storm. He was bedrock amidst an otherwise tumultuous sea, but Nettelia had always been a force of nature, bellowing like a hurricane and raging like lightning. Loneliness had an addictive quality to it, and the mind was so very much the muscle that people claimed it to be. This was why grief was so hard; a person's absence didn't suddenly eliminate the familiarity of their presence. The brain remembered what it was to have them, like muscle memory. Prometheus was not a stranger; he could never be a stranger, and despite all the time that had passed, it was easy to imagine for a moment that the warm light of the fire was the Laurelin of Eden.

"I am made of mistakes." Nettelia admitted, violet eyes on the flames ahead, "Regrets." She shook her head lightly before she faced Prometheus, thinking about Lucretia and how much pain her niece had endured because of her. How much pain the world had endured because of her. "Sometimes I wonder what would have happened had I refused Oztalun's blessing; maybe someone else would have done better. Things might have ended differently if I'd just lived a normal, human life. We were happy, that's more than most people get. I was selfish to try for more." Someone else wouldn't have caused all this pain; someone else wouldn't have inadvertently poisoned Octavian's mind. Nettelia turned and touched Prometheus' shoulder; what did mortals say in this age? Right. "Merry Christmas, Prometheus." She moved past him and opted to place her offering in the fire, the end of a year, the end of an era, and the beginning of something new.

[netteliax]

Therefore do not bend, Ancalime. Once bend a little and they will bend you further until you are bowed down.

[netteliax]

Anya Chalotra in The Witcher (3.05) as Yennefer of Vengerberg

[netteliax]

Power’s not given to you. You have to take it.

[netteliax]

"Afraid not," Nettelia commented as she looked at the phone in EPimetheus' hands. She didn't have one yet, and at this point, the archdruid was adamantly refusing. "I'm still working through antiquated literature and Greek Classics; I suspect I won't reach modernity for some time." She was catching up on the many things she'd missed, Nettelia loved to read, but the archdruid could only read so quickly. Via osmosis, Nettelia knew the function of the device he had; the cellphone was a convenient way for people to keep in touch. "I believe a person is supposed to give you their number for it to be there, though." She'd read that in one of the saucier materials she liked to read at night; the latest was a story of subterfuge between two rivaling spy corporations. A great deal of words were dedicated to the description of throbbing members and bouncing breasts, but Nettelia never claimed the books she read for leisure or hobby were any good.

closed starter for @netteliax location: pyramid note: this thing SUCKS

In theory, maybe Epimetheus should have gotten Enzo's number before he bothered to get a cellular device. His intention hadn't really been to call anybody though. He'd just really wanted to watch all of those animal compilation videos, but he'd wanted to watch them with Enzo. And now he didn't even know how to contact the lycan. Usually they just ran into each other somewhere and then they'd hang out for a long time and kiss and stuff and it was always super fun. Anyway, he had to find out a way to actually get Enzo's number now. Hence why he was scrolling through the World Wide Web on this cellular device to try and find the lycan's number within it. He typed 'Lorenzo Valentin', but everything else but a number showed up. "Dang it." He scrolled further and still nothing. He was a second away from throwing the phone when he felt a presence behind him. Turning his head, he gripped the cellular device in his hand as he spoke. "Oh, hey. Hi. Hello. Do you know how to find numbers?"

[netteliax]

Monsters weren't born, they were made. Nettelia couldn't place the blame on Prometheus' crime, Oztalun's blessing, Tisiphone's vengeful arm, or all that had transpired afterwards. Through each moment, Nettelia's nature and her soul resisted. Yet, she had followed every virulent decision one after another until there was nothing reminiscent of the woman she had been before. At least, not to her; when Nettelia looked in the mirror, she didn't see the exact reflection staring back at her as that girl by the river. Epimetheus treated her the same. Prometheus claimed by some miracle to accept what she'd become, and the others handled her like no time had passed. The truth was that Nettelia's soul was irevocably changed, she made a brave face when she told people that she had no regrets. All that Nettelia had done had been to release Prometheus and ease the anguish that she felt that while she walked free, her husband suffered.

The pair were martyrs; Prometheus was resolved to absorb the heat from the pyre that his actions had caused, to shoulder the blame for how his choices had rippled across the ages. He couldn't have known what Nettelia would have done, just like Prometheus could not have known what something like free will would do to humanity. He gave them a chance, and he set them free.

Nettelia told everyone that she had no regrets; she stood in front of them with unwavering confidence and said that if she had the choice to do it all again, then she would. In the night, the archdruid heard the screams of the many who'd fallen to bind the pages of the book; she heard her father's warning, and now, despite her best efforts... Nettelia felt in her heart that the enemy had not been truly defeated. Her family was more broken than ever; Prometheus was within her reach; truly, all she had to do was reach out and claim him, but even that felt beyond her.

Prometheus' certainty was a cold comfort; it soothed in the way that warm blankets felt when sheltering from a storm. He was bedrock amidst an otherwise tumultuous sea, but Nettelia had always been a force of nature, bellowing like a hurricane and raging like lightning. Loneliness had an addictive quality to it, and the mind was so very much the muscle that people claimed it to be. This was why grief was so hard; a person's absence didn't suddenly eliminate the familiarity of their presence. The brain remembered what it was to have them, like muscle memory. Prometheus was not a stranger; he could never be a stranger, and despite all the time that had passed, it was easy to imagine for a moment that the warm light of the fire was the Laurelin of Eden.

"I am made of mistakes." Nettelia admitted, violet eyes on the flames ahead, "Regrets." She shook her head lightly before she faced Prometheus, thinking about Lucretia and how much pain her niece had endured because of her. How much pain the world had endured because of her. "Sometimes I wonder what would have happened had I refused Oztalun's blessing; maybe someone else would have done better. Things might have ended differently if I'd just lived a normal, human life. We were happy, that's more than most people get. I was selfish to try for more." Someone else wouldn't have caused all this pain; someone else wouldn't have inadvertently poisoned Octavian's mind. Nettelia turned and touched Prometheus' shoulder; what did mortals say in this age? Right. "Merry Christmas, Prometheus." She moved past him and opted to place her offering in the fire, the end of a year, the end of an era, and the beginning of something new.

She had never told him that burgundy and gold suited him and now, without any forethought, Prometheus found himself being well-aware that future would include beelining towards those very colors every chance he got. What fools emotions made of people, yet he wouldn't have it any other way. They were painful and they could be embarrassing, if not completely damning, but Prometheus had already begun to realize that love and its brethren had only ever brought out the best in him. Likely they would have brought out the worst too, if he had ever been given the opportunity to be a monster for the ones that he loved. But it didn't take away from the beauty of the best of him. And what was a monster, truly? They would say love had made a monster of his wife but she stood there as the picture of peace and grace. She looked more radiant than the purest of Godlings and elves. Angel, he might have called her, if the mortals weren't so very wrong and the seraphim were not objectively horrifying for most to behold in their truest form. He saw Nettelia's wild joy and innocence and that was once her true form to him, her true and beautiful form. Though it wasn't truly that anymore.

Prometheus had designed humans eyes to look like nebulas, neurons and the function of the brain to resemble the cosmic network of the galaxies. Each seraphim was birthed of galaxies, billions of stars almost the exact number of the billions of neurons in a brain. The birth of a cell looked like the destruction of a star. The double helix nebula was almost identical to the strands of their DNA. Seraphim were horrifying to so many in their largeness and complexity but if Prometheus had found beauty there enough to replicate, then could he not find it in the dark and corruption mingling with the light that Nettelia still radiated? He looked at her and he realized he could. Her complexity would likely be difficult to learn and navigate but as long as she was being open with him, he was willing to try while their lives permitted.

What if's had been the basis of his existence for 15 years alone, wishing and wondering what life might have been like if he had only done things differently. Prometheus did not think of that now - holding on to this precious present moment instead. But Nettelia posed her question and it was oddly welcoming. Her honesty and vulnerability a refreshingly good sign that they might find the comfortable trust and amicability that they had once known before love ever came for their throats. "No," he replied, only pausing the fraction of a second to wonder what Nettelia might think of his answer. "What I did caused a lot of horrors and a lot of pain. Suffering that will likely echo until the end of time, if I'm so presumptuous." His small smile was wry and humorless as he finally looked back at her again. "But that wasn't all that my decision to steal the Flame brought. So I stand by it... My choice and its many consequences." He could go on about the reasons, deep and complicated reasons, but he'd all but forced her to hear him out not long ago and that wasn't tonight. She could decide what she was willing to learn and digest while they stood in front of the warm fire and in cool evening air. He only considered her question once more. "... Maybe I just wish I'd said and done more with you while we had the chance."

[netteliax]

That menace Hyrsam had demonstrated a great deal more power than any satyr was capable of producing, though where he'd gone after the celebration remained to be seen. As amusing as Nettelia had found it that so many she despised had been made fools of, she herself had been included in that mass of humour. At the very least the archdruid could take a joke, though the indulgence on human flesh was where Nettelia drew the line. "Was that all you wanted to talk about Dionaeia?" Nettelia was metaphorically putting the coffee on but if her sister had more she wished to say then she could make the time to oblige.

"Yeah, I had forgotten the strength of them," Dionaeia says finally, her sister's words both a balm to her worries and a heavy weight on her shoulder as the reminder of everything Tisiphone has done hits her all over again. The realization that despite what she had seen on Midsommar, despite the glimpse of something familiar she has seen on her eyes, despite the dream like quality of their encounter, she cannot allow herself to falter. Part of her fear when talking to Nettelia is born from the growing empathy she feels for the Erinye, the growing care, but her sister's words are a reminder that she has to kill that understanding. She has done far worse for less, and for as much as she sees Tisiphone and thinks of could be— She remembers Nettelia's pain, Nettelia's devastation. Part of her has always known that it was Prometheus' capture that drove her to create the Necronomicron, to do unspeakable things— and she is her sister. The one that she killed. Dionaeia has already done far more to her sister than she has ever wished to, and she cannot do this as well. Whatever she had hoped— wanted with Tisiphone. It cannot happen. "I am beginning to see that, yes."