IC: EVENT

[bossman]

A TERRIBLE THING IS HAPPENING

reference books detailing myths and legends stolen from libraries...
wikipedia pages wiped clean from the face of the internet...
ancient stained glass windows smashed and destroyed...
historical research centers burnt to the ground...

Someone out there is trying very, very hard to erase all of the possible sources of power and belief of the ancient gods and goddesses. And it hurts. Whilst the powers of the minders are unharmed by the attacks, the gods and goddesses will be certainly feeling the toll: it's now painfully clear that even the simplest of miracles are now becoming almost impossible to perform.

deities, you had better have gifted your minders with some decent blessings! Because now you're going to rely on them more than ever. Someone is out to get you.

Comments

[invidus]

TO: [ the seven princes and minders ]

do tell me that we aren't letting the others catching whoever did this. or for that matter, the horseman.

[ guess who isn't in the mood to forever feel a bunch of envy toward furies or...just about anyone else. this guy. ]

[opening]

TO: [ sevensies and entourages ]

Don't even get me started on those four useless layabouts.

[ When Belphegor calls somebody useless? That's a low blow. ]

TEXT | OPEN for all Underworld...ies + minders

[seedbound]

I want your statuses. If you can, make it to myself and Hades.

[ They are theirs to rule over and theirs to look after, and she will do so. ]

Re: TEXT | OPEN for all Underworld...ies + minders

[miscreantics]

You probably don't mean me but it's nice to know that I'm in the group? New York, not going to be doing any ferrying until I can stand again. Someone should still gather up the dead before we have an overflow of ghosts.

[ text; EMAIL ]

[horrifies]

TO: [ the unfortunate group of deities and minders on his mailing list ]

Despite it all, they do smell better when they're afraid.

[miscreantics]

TO: [Ditespawn: Phobos]

Really not helpful right now, kid.

TEXT;

[weighing]

TO: [ mona ]

You should pack a bag. We need to leave. :)

[counterbalance]

:) ?
Leave for where?

TEXT | to the rivers and their minders

[cleanses]

TO: [ the rivers and their minders ]

h ello ?
is every body ok

[ Three guesses as to who isn't really used to using his phone. ]

TEXT;

[antagonisms]

TO: [ rivers ] [ minders ]

As well as can be expected, considering the current circumstances.

TEXT | to her minders.

[quarreling]

youve got five fucking minutes
to start a fucking fist fight with someone
the get your asses home

now

TEXT

[violentia]

[Marlon is out in the open, part of a scattered crowd. It isn't the first time he's prompted without explanation, even if something about her message feels off -- but he doesn't question it. Not to her, at least. He debates for a moment, wondering purposelessly if he could just get away with ignoring her order and getting through one perfectly normal day.

He finds himself scanning his surroundings for a target when his fingers finally press on the keys.]

thirty minutes.

EMAIL to all angels & their minders | ACTION for ANYONE in London

[judicious]

[ The air of the court room had been stuffy and hot; far too hot for a frigid February weekday. Gabriel had quietly suffered (as was his wont; it was practically in the job description for an angel-on-earth) at his desk, zoning out of the ongoing testimonials of various witnesses as he fought shaking in his hands and the feverish sweating that had given the fair-skinned man a conspicuously waxy pallor.

Still, every inch the professional, he had held out in that room. He'd said his pieces, interrogated his witnesses. He had his commitments, and he would never break them. It wasn't until the court had adjourned that he had excused himself, voice choked with the effort of keeping his balance as he collected his briefcase and slipped through the crowds and out in to the wintry streets outside the Old Bailey.

With his feverish sweat freezing on his brow and struggling to focus on the little iPhone he clasped in his shaking hands he tapped out a message to his brothers: ]

TO: [ brothers ] [ minders ]

Don't trust our fallen brethren. Who else could profit most from the destruction of faith but those who first took up arms against God?

[ With that he sagged wearily against the pale stone wall of the courts, pensive and awaiting the thoughts of his brothers. ]

ACTION

[attends]

[The distance between himself and Gabriel isn't far in archangel terms, but it feels like he has to travel half the globe to get within a few metres of his brother.

It's more luck than purposeful direction that has him falling from the sky and into an alley just around the corner from the Old Bailey, the sound of the ground cracking underneath him loud. All he wanted was to get to Gabriel to try and... do what he knows he cannot, but somewhere it went wrong and now he's finding it difficult to pick himself up off the decimated cardboard boxes and rubbish abandoned down that alley.]

[Action + open for texts/ emails]

[epicallyamused]

[Guess who isn't even looking at any communications right now? Yeah, that's right. Calliope is furious. How can entire sections just disappear. Do you know how hard it took to get that out there? This was their basis, how they existed. Everything came down to stories, writing them and reading them.

Gone. They were all gone.

Which is why a certain famous newspaper in New York may be in disarray. And she's sitting out on the curb for half a minute before she needs to go back in there and find out all the whats and whys.

Which means dealing with her family. Again.]

text;

[terpsichord]

are you okay

TEXT➨ FABIEN & OLIVIA

[hugsandkisses]

To: [group: minders]

they don't work anymore

TEXT➨ FABIEN & EROS

[advocating]

TO: [ bossmen ]

is it a temporary failure?

TEXT ➥ MINDERS

[epicenter]

To: [group: minders]

Report in. Now.

( open ; text/email/action )

[lyred]

TO: [group: family et all (minders inc)]

SUBJECT: Travel

Leaving Los Angeles soon and headed for New York. Most likely collecting Hermes and co. before continuing on to Europe at some point. Keep in contact and let me know if anything changes.

☀apollo

[ and just consider this opened to action after his arrival in the ny area... or ca before he goes if wanted! emails/texts are welcome etc etc ]

two separate texts;

[terpsichord]

please be okay

dad wants me to inspire someone important to get ppl talking but i cant. i cant do anything but i need to help fix it

open / texts; (the "group" is "philia" aka people close to her)

[terpsichord]

[Terpsichore goes first to a bookstore- Barnes and Noble. She has to see it for herself. What she finds is horrifying.

It's gone. All of it. Not just the books on myth, but the Bibles, the Neo-Pagan books, Midsummer Night's Dream. Even Percy fucking Jackson is gone, and that's when the dizziness she's been fighting all day wins out and she falls like a ton of bricks. Fortunately, she scrambles to her feet before anyone reaches her and slips into a cranny between two bookshelves, where the two shelves butting up against a small nook in the wall form a little dancer-sized hidey-hole for her to curl up in.

And curl up she does. She stays there, knees to her chest, trying to breathe steadily and keep calm. Terpsichore can feel her identity slipping through her fingers- without the old books, people still know the Muses and what that means, but they maybe don't know the names. They don't know their functions. She can feel herself as Dance slipping away, blurring at the edges to something that's simply Muse.

She's still here, but it hurts.]

TO: [ group: "φιλία" ]

guys are y'all okay

TO: [ kit ]

ΣΟΣ nota drill

[text]

[douxdanse]

TO: [terps]

On it!

[To say Kit freaked out at the text is an understatement... Even after she realized that she was wasting precious time by freaking out, she couldn't get herself to do anything straight away. That text was delayed several minutes while Kit spazzed.]

EMAIL | All Norse and minders

[mothir]

TO: [Group: Family] [Group: Loki's brood] [Group: Minders]

Requesting information on everyone's well-being and locations. Any information on what is happening is also requested. Magics do not seem to work any longer.

Stay safe,

Frigg

[ofvictory]

Hospital. Collapsed in the street and cracked my head on a bench.

MIS-TEXT? ON-PURPOSE-TEXT? ONLY YOU CAN DECIDE.

[hoaxes]

TO: [ ——— ]

hickory dickory dock
the deities ran up the clock
the british library struck one
the deities got fucking horrible headaches
hickory dickory dock

happy hour has begun, ladies and gents
if you can find me i will buy your first two rounds

[miscreantics]

[Hermes groans when he gets the text, shaking his head and sending one right back.]

To: [Loki]

Loki, we're friends, I like you. My bossman and the rest of my family? Not really a huge fan of you or yours. If you're behind this for the love of everything tell me so I can try to find a safe way around this that doesn't end with a fucking war.

PS if this was you I'm going to kick you in the nuts next time I see you just f y i.

OPEN if you'd... like..?

[worldserpent]

[ jormungand had been outside when it hit. as a year-round beach resident, his back yard was a strip of golden sand and the ocean. a pier led up the dune to his little house. the ocean, of course, was a source of many things for the midgard serpent: comfort, as the only thing he'd known for a very, very long time; loneliness, because he'd been so utterly isolated; and cold. there were days even now when he couldn't quite remember what it felt like to be warm.

he'd been on the pier, sitting at the edge in no more than jeans and a shirt, staring down into the water. he's not sure now what he'd been thinking about, because those next moments had just been-- so awful. it hit him like a blow, all at once and with pain shooting down what felt like every nerve ending. he'd writhed, and the next moment he'd been falling, and then-- the water closing in above him, the sound of the ocean and his own thrashing filling up his ears. it had felt like drowning.


--he's on the shoreline, now, shivering and half-frozen, coughing up sea-water as he struggles to keep his human form. snakeskin covers patches of his body, rising to the surface and being re-absorbed as he curls in on himself. it hurts, but he doesn't want to be a monster again, and a part of him knows he should call for his minders, but the other part doesn't want them to see him like this. they've never had to see the real jormungand, and he never wants them to have to, either. ]

TO THE RESCUE

[sunrock]

[ The news would come in grim to some. For this pair of minders, it was nothing short of a panic attack. The Midgard Serpent was of the world, specifically of the sea. His coils could and would reach far, as was his nature, and his caretakers had to grant him that freedom. Times like this (well, there had never been a time like this before, not in Brandt's memory, though that admittedly wasn't very long), however, their tolerance seemed to have put them at a severe disadvantage. Jormungand could be... anywhere. Anywhere among the waves.

Having often spent the days watching the windows of the beachfront home, they at least had the comfort of knowing that the snake had recently been to shore. He couldn't be far, and if he were being tossed among the waves, neither Sandine nor Brandt need fear drowning anymore.

Unfortunately, neither of them were gifted with heat sensing or seeing in the dark. They had to go out on foot.

Correction, they went out on four wheels. It was a time like this that Brandt was quite thankful that one of his hobbies had been to go mudding with his friends (and occasionally a date), because the jeep was coming in handy right about now, mounting the weed-laced dunes meant to break the rising tides. The highbeams were on, a beacon briefly skybound before they scanned the chop. It was quite illegal these days to drive on the beach, but there were worse things to worry about than mortal confinement. Somewhere out there, their charge was suffering from cold, if not shock. ]

Do you see him?

[ He asked the Master, one arm stretching out unconsciously to brace her as they went careening down the hill and slammed down, the suspension under those ridiculous wheels bouncing them right back up. Brandt twisted the wheel one-handed and hit the gas, tossing up a spray of sand behind them but carrying them swiftly toward the wave-slicked sand. ]

text;

[philomides]

[To all pantheons]

Whomever did this, remember this. Death is so quick and final. Perhaps I should give whomever a little present?

[remember Eos?]

[text]

[ladymoonlight]

TO: [helios]
SUBJECT: Checking in

How are you holding up?

~S.

[daylit]

TO: [ sel ]
SUBJECT: re: Checking in

S

me and the boys are holed up in rhodes. lots of believers are still around and none of the attacks have reached the island yet. you should join me. where are you?

H x

[ text ][ untraceable ] ACCIDENTALLY SENT TO EVERYONE - masters, apprentices, deities. EVERYONE.

[(Anonymous)]

hey just so you know i did it for the family you ungrateful fucks

[ text ] PIGGYBACKING THIS TRANSMISSION | open to everyone | ALL PANTHEONS

[perjurer]

I know something you don't know.
Or rather, someone else did. About this whole rigmarole.

And they're not telling.

Oh, dear.

[tome]

[hey whores guess what

I heard you're losing all your sources of worship

SO I'M GOING TO BE THE NEW GOD

aka Payton has taken this wonderful opportunity to start his own cult in some random town. Somewhere. There are people worshiping him. They're all changing their last names to Janet and their offerings are nothing but junk food. This is just as ridiculous as it sounds.

He is currently in the study of a humble house rummaging through a pile of papers.]

Janet. JANET.

[tumbleweeds]

[ Well. This was not what she expected when she took a break from tending to Coyote (who insists that if it's time, it's time -- ugh). It might be a good distraction, though; this whole situation has given her a lot of pent-up emotion, and she would like to take it out on someone. ]

What are you doing?

MESSAGE sent to the seven crown princes of hell

[oppose]

We're on the lookout for some asshole named Payton.
Delegate as need be, but do NOT disseminate any more information than is strictly necessary.
Call me with any further details.
It's a wide net, I know, but it's the best we've got right now.

Also, any of you (or any of you with minions) stationed near items relevant to Celtic mythos, particularly the crows, have it secured.
ADDENDUM: SECURE, NOT DESTROY.
ADDENDUM 2: The same goes for the actual crows.

[acrimonies]

TO: [ the seven ]

CROWS?
ARE YOU FUCKING WITH ME?

MESSAGES sent to the morrigan and to persephone

[oppose]

TO: [ ME ]
BCC: [ morri ] [ persephone ]

Forgive me if this message comes off as rude, but I'd like to talk.

[seedbound]

TO: [ lucifer ]

Unless it's to tell me what you learned from Flauros or to hand him over to me on a silver platter, I'm not particularly interested.

ACTION | THE COOLEY PENINSULA, IRELAND | open

[crowmother]

[ The Cooley Peninsula. Once the site of the Táin Bó Cúailnge or Cattle Raid of Cooley, where the Morrígan's most favored warrior — Cú Chulainn — singlehandedly fended off the invading Ulster armies of queen Medb of Connacht.

This is where she has come for respite in these desperate times. With her are her minders, Alphonse and Callum, as well as a meager flock of her crows. Some struggle to reach her but die midflight and the more than fall from the sky the more her Sight wanes and grows dim. Where once she could see so much of the future stretch out before her like an open road, it is now a muddled and foggy landscape. She is not a vain goddess, like so many from other pantheons, but sovereignty and war each have their pride.

Soon, the others will come, looking for her. Looking for answers, some of which she holds and some of which are far beyond reach now. Today it rains. Tomorrow, company. Or perhaps the next day. She cannot tell.

Still. Soon. ]

[oppose]

[ It takes some doing — both in convincing Esther that he's fit to do this and in getting here at all — but by hook or by crook, Lucifer and his master minder turn up on the Morrígan's doorstep. He looks worse for the wear of travel, even paler than he had been previously, but he stands resolutely enough as he knocks upon the doors to the castle. (He is a visitor, here only thanks to her grace. He doesn't plan to waste that.) ]

OPEN TO ALL

[threetimesgreat]

((all this is after Lucifer has spoken to the Morrígan and Persephone, I think, if he's still planning on telling her something. Thoth had to do ~research~ and that shit takes time.))

I have spoken to the Morrígan. Her Sight suffers, but she was able to pass on a few clues. They are as follows:

Payton.

Penn.
Janet.
432,000.
200.
A usurper, to be trusted.

And an angel.

I am doing research. 'Payton' was given separately from the rest, but 'Payton Penn' appears to be a name of some kind. "Payton" means "Settlement of Pœga". "Penn" means "One who lived near a fold or hill", as well as being short for the state of Pennsylvania. Nothing particularly interesting there, though if he's used credit cards, he can be tracked. Janet, of course, is also a name. It means "God is gracious", though personally it also reminds me of Janus, who as we all know is a Roman god; beginnings, transitions, doors, endings, time, etc.

"432,000" could mean a great many things. Of particular interest to us is its significance in doomsday scenarios. The number of years in the Hindu Kali Yuga (the current chaotic stage of the cosmic cycle of existence, for those of you who don't read) is 432,000. The number of fighters said by the Norse to go to war against chaos at Ragnarok is 432,000. The number of years between the founding of the city of Kish and the arrival of the great flood was 432,000. The number of the years in one full circuit of the Zodiac, multiplied by 60, is 432,000. Also interesting -- the number of times that the heart in a healthy human male beats in 12 hours is 432,000.

"200" is a bit trickier. It's said that Typhon the Titan, “father of all monsters” had 200 fire-flashing eyes. 200 is also the number of the religion and mythology sections in libraries.

"A usurper, to be trusted" and "an angel" could be... well, that could mean quite a few things. We all know a few usurpers and a few angels. As far as I know, they are all suffering as well.

TEXT - open to Thoth, the Morrígan, the angels + the minders of all of the aforementioned

[judicious]

An angel.

If any of you should receive any more information on this angel then I would appreciate it if you would come to us with it first.

text or action, ota

[haberdashing]

[ after his thirteenth cup of coffee, Vivian seriously considers just buying an iv drip. turns out finding someone in the middle of the fucking congo isn't exactly a ride in the park, and he can't just teleport Ganymede home even though he'd really like to. he's spent most of the day talking into a headset while he watches cc:d emails fill his inbox with the typical infighting bullshit he's come to expect from the pantheon, now with a not-so-subtle undercurrent of concern and outrage. ]

[ by the time a helicopter is on-route to his god, Vivian's no longer really picky about where he gets his information from, as long as he gets it. ]

TO: "Ganymede";

How are you holding up?

TO: group: ALL;

What do we know?

[ and then he takes a book about organic farming and a latte and his cell to the goddamn park because if he has to sit here and tap his foot waiting for the crypic answers to roll back he'll swear to god scream. ]

text.

[hydrokhoos]

[ it's sort of funny, really. ganymede has always been rather self-sufficient; in olympus, after all, he'd been singular, unique, the only one of zeus' extra-marital affairs to actually be brought to the realm of the gods and made immortal. hera had hated him (though the other gods had been kind to him, as best they knew how), so it had been up to him to survive there somehow without going mad.

even now, in this modern world, he's quite independent. he does as he likes and damn the pantheon, because he was never really 'one of them' to begin with.

it's why it makes his relief at seeing that single little question on his phone so very puzzling. maybe he's getting soft, but he's.. painfully fond of vivian. ]

TO: viv

I've certainly had better days, but I'll survive. I'll want a very, very long bath when I'm home, though.

OTA

[miscreantics]

[The thing about being one of the Twelve, the beautiful thing about it, is that there is so much more than myth about them. There's namesakes, paintings, allusion, symbols, and most importantly, planets.

Those large masses out in space that bare their names, those can't be stolen.

The Caduceus misappropriated by every hospital in the world, that can't be stolen.

Hermes is surprised that it's taken this long, but finally, finally, he can move. It was a struggle, and he still can't run as quickly or for as long as he normally could, but being able to speed from river to river and back to his apartment? It was the best breathe of fresh air he could imagine. Even if, given the situation, he still was out of breathe and aching when he got back.

Well, it's something.

It's the first time in ages that Hermes has woken up on his own without a minder tugging him out of bed, but he was up early, before his minders, Apollo and Terpsichore, their minders, everyone making themselves comfortable in his apartment. As soon as he knows he can run again, no matter how limited it is, he sends out a mass text to anyone and everyone who matters.]

TO: [All]

Air Mercury is back on track, albeit with delays and gas guzzling. Tell me what needs being done.

[Once that's done, he commences with stretches he hasn't felt the need to do in centuries.]

of course i'm first 8|

[terpsichord]

[Her phone wakes her up first and she has to detangle herself from Kit (they have a habit of falling asleep on each other) to reach it. However, the instant she sees the text she straightens up, pleasantly surprised when movement this morning comes even easier than it did yesterday.

Because that's the thing about Muses. They can't steal the language. Those artists talking about their muse, the words themselves threaded into language - amused, musing, and of course museums, those latter-day temples. She can move and think and inspire from afar better than she thought, as long as she doesn't try any other miracles.

Still, it's good to know that one of their number is back. She calls him and sings into the phone (sings so only he can hear her, in that beautiful, haunting voice only a Muse can have).]

Muse, sing of Hermes, the son of Zeus and Maia, lord of Cyllene and Arcadia rich in flocks, the luck-bringing messenger of the immortals!