mycursedface: (Zili to Asilah)
Mauretania Tingitana was what the province was called. Is called. Definitions are hard when the legions are left, and people still live under Roman names. And Phoenician, and, yes, still Amazigh names, and, really, Zili is just another trading town on the outskirts of an empire that mostly forgets about it.

It's a quiet town, a little run down, maybe, but the farms sprawling out over the countryside are still prosperous. It is also a town that remains mostly unaware of Hera's Garden to the north, and the Gorgons' cave in the south.

All six sisters have worked hard at that, magic and protection and twisting of reality until unless someone knows exactly how to get there, finding either sets of triplets is pretty much impossible.

Especially when the sun will set soon.

(Luckily for Epimetheus, the Gorgon girls are out and flying)
mycursedface: (smile in the dark)
Medusa had spent the morning sparring with Stheno (Euryale had run off to town). Hard and fast and nasty and, in the end, Medusa had snapped her sister's wrist. Stheno had kicked her into a wall; the Gorgon girls had always played rough.

Which is why it's a good thing that they can fix each other.

So, when Medusa walks into the library (a large cavern under the earth, floor to nearly ceiling bookcases with laders with wheels that roll across the shelves, and there are tall, narrow windows to catch the breeze and light), her curls are damp from a shower and she's rolling her shoulder back. Magical healing or no, you do feel sore.

"Lucifer?"

Today her nosering (India left a lasting impression, and it's a look that suits her) is a nosestud, a little golden spider with a ruby on its back , and her walk is marked by the chiming of the tiny bells around her right ankle. Not that it's easy to see said bells, given that Medusa's taste in skirts tends towards flowing things long enough to reach the tops of her feet.
mycursedface: ([Sam] in your arms)
It's not dawn, not quite. The skies are grey and pink and fading from night fast, but it's not quite dawn. The world is waking up, birds and insects and the flowers, but Sam and Medusa aren't paying any attention at all.

Instead, the pair are still sitting on her father's granary, entirely wrapped up in each other.

This may not be an entirely wise idea...
mycursedface: (insert ellipse here)
Medusa, like the other two Gorgons, is very good at waiting. They are raptors, after all, and no hunting bird gets far without being patient. The Gorgon girls can spend hours aloft, scanning coastline and scrub for game, and have their nerves just fine. But this another kind of waiting, and one that Medusa hates. Wait for the next nightmare, the next bad day, and it winds her nerves tight as a noose around a dead man’s neck, and it is exactly that kind of thinking that makes Medusa stalk into the kitchen with a swirl of gold wings, black braids (and snakes) and red skirts.

"Fine!"

Stheno and Euryale look up.

"If you are going to yell at me," Medusa continues, left hand on her hip, "then shall we get on with it?"

"You're in a fine mood today," Stheno says, drily.

Medusa gives her a tight smile in reply.

"We're not going to yell at you," Euryale says calmly.

"Oh?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because Ali has pointed out that it won't do any good." Stheno's tone is long-suffering.

Medusa eyes her triplets, warily. They smile back.

"What's the catch?"

"I'm crushed that you don't trust us, Meda. Crushed."

"You'll get over it, Euryale. Trust me. What's the catch?"

"Weeeeeell," Stheno says, slowly, contemplating the bread dough in her hands, "we have to meet your boy."

"What?"

"Your boy," Euryale says patiently. "We need to meet him."

"Talk to him," Stheno put in.

"- ask him his intentions -"

"- and why he's worth your attention- "

"- and let him know that if he breaks your heart -"

"- we will eat him."

Medusa stares at them. Euryale smiles back, bright and cheerful. Stheno just hums, and so Medusa does the only thing she can.

Bury her face in her hands.
mycursedface: (bad day)
After this...

Atton had healed her, mostly. Healed the deep, deep scratches across her back, her legs, but the exhaustion and bloodloss was still there. It did not help that her tunic was ripped and bloody, either. There ss the cold; the deep, biting, bone-deep cold of snow and metal, and Medusa just wants to lie in the sun and warm up.

Maybe clean the blood off, maybe find some new clothes, but when she walks back into her father's house, all the little Gorgon wants to do is be warm.
mycursedface: (my cursed face)
Guilt is the source of sorrow; 'tis the fiend,
The avenging fiend, that follows us behind
With whips and stings.
- Nicholas Rowe


contains self-harm )
mycursedface: (Mistress of the West Gate)
For all the Gorgons’ call their home a cave, it is actually something far more grand. A cave-system, with caverns and passages both above and below the level of the ocean and far, far more room than the girls could ever need. But that was never the point of their home, really.

The reason why they live in this cave-system is situated well within it, built into the west wall of a cavern that is now perfectly at sea-level. When the tides come in, the floor is covered in water up to knee-level. Now, however, it is only up to Medusa’s ankles.

Or, would be if she were walking.

What the little Gorgon queen is actually doing is sitting, and waiting. Sitting on the top step of the West Gate, and waiting for her sisters. It is easier, waiting down here. She’s away from her body, away from the squalling of the baby and the abandoned confusion in the eyes of the foal.

If nothing else, the sounds of the Underworld drown out whatever noise her children are making.

Ghosts are silent, some say, but this is not, and has never been true. The ghosts of those gone and dead, the souls both lost and too poor, too uncared for to be given the fare for Charon’s ferry; they all make noise. The brides and unwed youths and old men who had suffered much and girls with their tender hearts freshly scarred by sorrow and great armies of battle dead, stabbed by bronze spears, men of war still wrapped in bloody armour who haven’t yet been herded through the final Gate…Oh, yes. Death takes all pride away, all comfort, and so they cry. They cry and they scream and they wail and they curse, and Medusa just closes her eyes and listens.

Eventually, there are footsteps.
mycursedface: (shore's edge)
It is low tide, and Medusa is out walking the beach. She often does this, and has ever since she was a little girl with tumbleweed curls and a nestling's wings and a never-dying curiousity about the world above the sea.

The little girl grew up and no, she didn't get the prince (you can never be too careful, with curious girls who live under the sea). Her curls are snakes now, and her wings are broad enough to carry her in flight and yet she still walks along the shore at low tide, eyes on the sand and picking up whatever catches her eye. Shells, seeds from a distant land carried by the ocean currents, wood and all manner of things from shipwrecks. In this, she is little different from most people who live by the shore.

But then again, most people do this in daylight.

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