sweet tangerine,

[punnish]

By the time the atmosphere of merriment from the festival--not to mention the drink--fades from his mind, Kittos is kneeling in front of the altar, wrists bound behind his back.

His cheeks are burning with rage and shame (which probably just looks like an attractive blush). He should have known the way the townspeople treated him was too good to be true. Of course they chose the useless bard, the orphan no one will miss, as an expendable sacrifice. He shouldn't have expected any better.

(The truth doesn't occur to him: they simply thought he was the most handsome virgin youth available.)

"If you're going to try to kill me," he says to the altar, "get on with it! I'm ready to fight!"

He says this even though he's obviously not ready to fight: on his knees, hands bound, dressed in nothing but breezy pale silks and some jewelry.

Comments

[punnish]

That's what all the stories say.

[ --he mumbles it, rather sheepishly now, still blushing.

He blushes rather more as she touches his hair. ]

I...can't give you an answer to that, goddess. There's nothing I could pay. I'm penniless and I have no family. All I have are my songs.

[fungusamongus]

Don't be so trite, mortal. When you offer payment to a god or goddess there are more things to barter with than money or status. Things that have no physical form have just as much or even more value as those that do. Ideas, belief, faith, praise, worship, and so much more could be used to bargain with. Do you not know the cards which you hold? You could offer your songs, your service, and so much more.

[Her hand slips forward to cup the column of his neck. It rests delicate underneath her fingertips as she looms over him from behind. Aphaea's dark hair falls forward like a black curtain sheilding them from the light of the torches in the altar room.]

[punnish]

[ He bites his lip the instant she touches his bare skin. ]

Um--my service? Do you need a court bard?

[ He's breathing a little fast now with her so close. Of course, he's never been so near to a goddess before, and she's beautiful--much more beautiful than anyone he ever thought would touch him.

He swallows hard. ]

[fungusamongus]

[It would be so easy to crush his neck like this. His frail windpipe under her hand would crumble easier than a stick of compressed charcoal. Such a simple thing it would be to end his life. However Aphaea is not in the business of killing mortals. No, the whole reason why she stays isolated on this island is because she wants to protect them.

As long as they praise her, of course.

But it's been so long since she has had a companion. Years and years of being stuck in this temple have left her bored and lonely for company — which is why the towns harvest didn't do so well. Her mood has influenced the growth (or lack thereof) of the plants, and this year it wasn't much of a good influence.]

I would not go as far as to say I need you. Wouldn't it be more accurate that you need me?

[Look, she's a goddess. She has an ego that needs to be stroked.]

[punnish]

[ He hesitates and bites his lip, a single unconscious gesture of uncertainty and vulnerability-- ]

Definitely not! I've never needed anybody but myself.

[ He tries to tell himself that it's true--that he'll get out of this fine on his own power, like he always does, like he's gotten out of every scrape and scrap in the past with his wits and his stubborn charm.

(It occurs to him for a moment, as he kneels there with her hair falling all around him so pleasantly, that he's always gotten out of those situations alone. He pushes that thought away.)

Still, he shifts uneasily in place. ]

...although, I guess this whole experience here is something I can sing about once I've escaped from you. I could--I could talk about how beautiful you were.

[fungusamongus]

Mm, no. I believe you are grossly mistaken. Your life here is forfeit to me. It is mine, and I shall keep it. However, I could be convinced to allow you a life here if you serve me. Your duties won't encompass even the majority of your day, but you cannot leave the temple.

[The warmth and comfort of her closeness no longer embrace him as she allows him to feel what it's like without her to provide it. He becomes exposed yet again to the chill of the air.]

[punnish]

[ The blush starts to return to his cheeks, this time out of indignation (or so he tells himself). ]

That's a waste of my skills! Keeping me locked up in a temple, sweeping the altars...

[ But his voice falters a little, and he steals a glance back at her in surprise as she moves away. ]

Well, that is what you'd have me do, right? Sweeping altars. Cleaning offering bowls. Um...