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Extasis, Part One
Reply to Scynneh or visit her websitePosted to the RoswellSlash mailing list February 9, 2001
Title: Extasis 1/?
Disclaimer: (hysterical laughter).
Dedications: Melissa, who gave me my very first fanfic award. This one's for you girl.
Feedback: Oh, c'mon, this one sprang out of nowhere (and Melissa's mind).I'm hoping that's not where it's going..?
Spoilers: AU. Totally, really. (Snicker.)
Distribution: Yep, just tell me, I'll say yes.
Rating: R. Eventually for sex, but now just for the bitching we all find so sexy Pairing: Rath/Tess/Maria- soon, if I get inspired to write sweaty smut. Author's Note's: 'Rex' means king. And 'ex
Gods tend to spend much of their time relaxing on a cloud; surveying the human cattle below for recreational purpose.
Take the union of Europa and Zeus for example; Europa was playing on the beach in her scanties in the tradition of helpless virgins the world over. Zeus spotted her from his heavenly throne, and transformed into a bull- a gentle Ferdinand-type and appeared in front of the maiden. She rode him through the surf like a heroine in one of those slightly out-of-focus French films. Well, he took off with her and politely and incorrectly had his way with her. The product was the god Minos.
Now, such is not the case with all deities, but the nice thing about Greek gods is that they're as flawed as the humans they rule, and they can be beaten. This is evidenced by humans using their superior intellects and outwitting the petty beings that delight in manipulating lesser creatures. And all because they lack entertainment or partners that have the morals of an alley cat.
In my mind, it's kind of like some bizarre soap opera 'As the Heavens Turn: Zeus' conquests', with humans playing occasionally interesting roles, but for the most part getting shuffled to the bottom of the pile as the Heavenly cast wreak havoc with everyday affairs. Yeah, I've had my share of experience with the manipulative nature of the PTB; from day one, my life was something that the tabloids would have snapped up in a flaming minute: 'boy hatches from cocoon, has trust issues and is shuttled through the system with remarkable disinterest, eventually disappearing altogether from the proper crowd.' Oh, I'd be a cover model all right, and maybe even score some spots on a talk show or five, but it would be all I could do to not strike out at the source of my anger: one King.
Yes, it sounds so incredibly clichéd to say that: 'the king ruined my life.' My old mentor might spit out a chaw of tobacco and let a pearl of wisdom fall from between his blackened lips:
'Boy's got a crush on El-vis. He's a little per-vert. Gotta whip that kinda shit outta kids today.' 'Daddy' was definitely a pillar of understanding and tolerance; I still have scars from the times I wasn't able to get away from his belt fast enough.
What makes it even more fascinating is the way my leader's been able to suck things out of me, slowly until I have nothing to offer him that would be useful. I was a mosaic open to the elements and the prying hands of tourists. It was so gentle at first, the control: 'Do this for me, just this once.' Easy, I go behind the velvet curtains while he smiles and shakes authority's hand, then I get caught and he just promises to look after me. Sure, as if that was ever his top priority; home and his family were shoved in the backseat of his battered mental sedan while he pursued the ideal of his own ego, and became too entwined in the idea of Earth that leaving was soon something to dream of on especially clear nights.
See, I used to go outside and stare at the sky, maybe shake my fist and yell 'Why me?!', but my Rex, oh, he had a surplus of time and power that led to creativity, and he got to think. About what it meant to be trapped on the same dingy little planetoid for the rest of one's life, all the while knowing that there might be something better out there beyond the edges of our solar system. And when he got things 'sorted out,' that was when the rest of the group was informed of his decisions. No real time to debate matters, just go along with him because he's the leader and that's how things should be.
The way things went was this: first, home sucked, then I met the rest of my family; the ones I was destined to be with, and after that, things were great. Until the Grand Poobah got it into his head that it was my job to take care of things. So I got together a little business; running things from person A to B, occasionally with a stop at C and D, without offending anyone who might object to our rather liberal definition of 'sharing', of course. But just because I liked what I was doing didn't mean that His Highness was all for it. He was too set on being 'respectable', and as I once told him over a broken nose and numerous contusions:
"You've just been educated way past your intelligence." I'd finally had it up to my trachea with his snotty attitude, and groinal obsession; trust me, even though the bastard obsesses about his body, he certainly is resistible: not a god's gift to anyone.
He objected, and we've since parted ways, and so did most of his funds, he never was very good at picking the broads, his girl was smart enough to know which one of us was headed for adventure, and which was going for the uniforms and uncomfortable salutes. Me, I'm more into leather and useful jewelry, and have become rather good at acquiring them from others.
Hey, I'm not a villain; I just keep my conscience in a box, and let it out on Tuesdays. Unless there's business to take care of.
End Part I
Continue to Part Two
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