xenforo_design
What gods are these?
Jin glared at Mara as she continued her monologue. A unique display of self control. Her eyes were cold, bordering on cruel, a trait she seemed to inherent from her maternal lineage. Her mother flashed those same, icy-furious eyes to her when Jin was all but banished from their Taipei home. And she can easily recall the frigid sneer from her grandmother's lips when Jin had first mentioned her stepfather.
"He is no father of yours, 外孙子," she said smoothly. She looked like a matriarch from eras past, sitting proper in a golden throne, not a plush prayer-mat in the Guanyin temple. Her hair was sleek and black, peppered with strands of silver, the few evidences of her aging. "Do not forget; you were born of a blessing; I prayed years for your mother's belly to round, and finally the golden Buddha descended, and he touched your mother's forehead in blessing, and only from such a force could she bear such a fruit…"
You would think that her grandmother's voice would soften as she spoke of a wondrous thing like fertility and birth. It didn't. Her voice was thin steel, wire that could be wrapped around the tail of a plane and bar it from flight.
"You would do well to appreciate your heritage, child," her grandmother smiled. "You have no idea what lengths I went to give you shape, form, life."
Jin had long thought she was just some kind of a nut. She retreated from her grandmother's cold embrace and called her father, whose kind voice restored some warmth to Jin's chest. How she wished she could be with him now…
"You are going on this quest, Jin," the girl began. And Jin laughed, a mockery of the girl's fiery conviction.
"Now I'm going on this quest? Wasn't it you, moments ago, who proudly offered to go alone?" Jin spat bitterly, turning her head again.
"When the King of the Gods orders you to do something, you drop your shit and fucking do it before he decides to roast your ass with a lightning bolt."
Quiet rage burst through the seams of her carefully guarded temper. "Don't you understand? He has no power. He has no lightning bolt, you idiot, that's what he wants to send us on an errand to go find, because this king, this dishonorable king, he cannot even lay waste to a dead boy without that stupid bolt! If he is so strong, why doesn't he just go recover what he's lost? He has nothing! And he's not my fucking father! I have a father-- a real father-- and he's waiting for me in Taipei. So stop following me around and leave me alone."
And Jin stormed into the Hermes cabin, drawing nervous looks from its inhabitants. She violently rifled through the things next to her bunk before she found her bag and stuck all her clothes in it. The sword lay under the bed, next to Great Expectations in her knapsack. She pulled it out, still missing a sheathe, and snatched up the knapsack after a second thought, too.
"This is the only place we can be safe, and we are -trying- to have a good time about it."
Mara's words echoed in her ears. Jin needed to think. She needed a night alone, away from these terrified children, though she could have easily been one herself.
She made her way through the back door of the large cabin and over to the Zeus cabin, which looked more like a temple. And she paused. Luthius was gone. This building was her birthright, as much as she hated it.
She pushed the door open, stepping gingerly inside. He'd left his marks behind. That hideous helmet, that ugly flail. Impulsively, Jin raced over to it and punted it as hard as she could. It didn't quite sail across the room, but it did hit the wall with a satisfying thunk, and something vengeant seared happily in her throat despite the pain in her toes.
She walked with a slight limp to an empty bedroom, desolate save for a sleeping bag on the floor. And she dropped her belongings next to it, before she crawled inside, somewhat pitifully. She curled up like a tired dog, under the cover. She would need to think.
A lilting memory came to her, perhaps teased and kneaded by time. A bearded man with broad shoulders and electric eyes, approaching her at the park. Jin could not have been older than four. He reached his hand out to her and she gripped it and it was warm, almost crackling, and there was something right, and Jin laughed as she freely did only when she was young…
"You're not my father, sir, my father is at home making lunch!"
And the man's hand fell away and Jin had never seen someone look so sad. She might have apologized for causing that look on his face, though she wasn't really sure how she did it, but her mother called out for her.
"Jin!"
And the man was gone, and Jin was being wrapped up in her mother's slender arms, and she was worried, so worried, "Jin, who were you speaking to? Was someone with you? What did he look like? You were talking to someone, weren't you?"
And the dazed four-year-old whispered, "Mama, where's my father?"
And her mother's beautiful face hardened, and she said, "He's home, Jin. Your real father is home, cooking for us. He loves you very much, Jin. That's your father. Don't you listen to what anyone else tells you, 宝宝."
But then Jin was twelve and her lunatic grandmother raved about Buddha and his golden blessing. She told Jin she was special, and she was so fervent that Jin began to notice when the lights in her room flickered when Jin got angry. And there was Bei Fong, who taught her to control her qi, who told her that her tingling fingertips were merely a side effect of her powerful energy. And then Jin was fifteen, running to a dead boy and meeting the King of Gods and sleeping in his temple, wrapped up beneath an old sleeping bag on a hard marble floor, chased by self-righteous teenagers who were probably more right than they were annoying, though just slightly. Jin sniffed, wet heat pricking her eyes. She needed a few hours of sleep, and then she would have to figure it out from there.
SirDerpingtonIV
"He is no father of yours, 外孙子," she said smoothly. She looked like a matriarch from eras past, sitting proper in a golden throne, not a plush prayer-mat in the Guanyin temple. Her hair was sleek and black, peppered with strands of silver, the few evidences of her aging. "Do not forget; you were born of a blessing; I prayed years for your mother's belly to round, and finally the golden Buddha descended, and he touched your mother's forehead in blessing, and only from such a force could she bear such a fruit…"
You would think that her grandmother's voice would soften as she spoke of a wondrous thing like fertility and birth. It didn't. Her voice was thin steel, wire that could be wrapped around the tail of a plane and bar it from flight.
"You would do well to appreciate your heritage, child," her grandmother smiled. "You have no idea what lengths I went to give you shape, form, life."
Jin had long thought she was just some kind of a nut. She retreated from her grandmother's cold embrace and called her father, whose kind voice restored some warmth to Jin's chest. How she wished she could be with him now…
"You are going on this quest, Jin," the girl began. And Jin laughed, a mockery of the girl's fiery conviction.
"Now I'm going on this quest? Wasn't it you, moments ago, who proudly offered to go alone?" Jin spat bitterly, turning her head again.
"When the King of the Gods orders you to do something, you drop your shit and fucking do it before he decides to roast your ass with a lightning bolt."
Quiet rage burst through the seams of her carefully guarded temper. "Don't you understand? He has no power. He has no lightning bolt, you idiot, that's what he wants to send us on an errand to go find, because this king, this dishonorable king, he cannot even lay waste to a dead boy without that stupid bolt! If he is so strong, why doesn't he just go recover what he's lost? He has nothing! And he's not my fucking father! I have a father-- a real father-- and he's waiting for me in Taipei. So stop following me around and leave me alone."
And Jin stormed into the Hermes cabin, drawing nervous looks from its inhabitants. She violently rifled through the things next to her bunk before she found her bag and stuck all her clothes in it. The sword lay under the bed, next to Great Expectations in her knapsack. She pulled it out, still missing a sheathe, and snatched up the knapsack after a second thought, too.
"This is the only place we can be safe, and we are -trying- to have a good time about it."
Mara's words echoed in her ears. Jin needed to think. She needed a night alone, away from these terrified children, though she could have easily been one herself.
She made her way through the back door of the large cabin and over to the Zeus cabin, which looked more like a temple. And she paused. Luthius was gone. This building was her birthright, as much as she hated it.
She pushed the door open, stepping gingerly inside. He'd left his marks behind. That hideous helmet, that ugly flail. Impulsively, Jin raced over to it and punted it as hard as she could. It didn't quite sail across the room, but it did hit the wall with a satisfying thunk, and something vengeant seared happily in her throat despite the pain in her toes.
She walked with a slight limp to an empty bedroom, desolate save for a sleeping bag on the floor. And she dropped her belongings next to it, before she crawled inside, somewhat pitifully. She curled up like a tired dog, under the cover. She would need to think.
A lilting memory came to her, perhaps teased and kneaded by time. A bearded man with broad shoulders and electric eyes, approaching her at the park. Jin could not have been older than four. He reached his hand out to her and she gripped it and it was warm, almost crackling, and there was something right, and Jin laughed as she freely did only when she was young…
"You're not my father, sir, my father is at home making lunch!"
And the man's hand fell away and Jin had never seen someone look so sad. She might have apologized for causing that look on his face, though she wasn't really sure how she did it, but her mother called out for her.
"Jin!"
And the man was gone, and Jin was being wrapped up in her mother's slender arms, and she was worried, so worried, "Jin, who were you speaking to? Was someone with you? What did he look like? You were talking to someone, weren't you?"
And the dazed four-year-old whispered, "Mama, where's my father?"
And her mother's beautiful face hardened, and she said, "He's home, Jin. Your real father is home, cooking for us. He loves you very much, Jin. That's your father. Don't you listen to what anyone else tells you, 宝宝."
But then Jin was twelve and her lunatic grandmother raved about Buddha and his golden blessing. She told Jin she was special, and she was so fervent that Jin began to notice when the lights in her room flickered when Jin got angry. And there was Bei Fong, who taught her to control her qi, who told her that her tingling fingertips were merely a side effect of her powerful energy. And then Jin was fifteen, running to a dead boy and meeting the King of Gods and sleeping in his temple, wrapped up beneath an old sleeping bag on a hard marble floor, chased by self-righteous teenagers who were probably more right than they were annoying, though just slightly. Jin sniffed, wet heat pricking her eyes. She needed a few hours of sleep, and then she would have to figure it out from there.
SirDerpingtonIV
Last edited:
