there’s blood in the water

Rhea Diamondis, Masquerade

The danger is I'm dangerous And I might just tear you apart

There’s a silence that lingers in the air, as Elene weighs her offer. She is not one to leap before looking, not anymore, after such behavior had only led her into trouble so long ago. Her trust can be so hard to earn, sometimes. There is too much still shrouded about this, not enough information offered, it has her wary. “You ask of me to assist you, and yet do not even offer your name.” She says pointedly. Though it is clear the other rift is much aware of who she is, Elene cannot say the same in return. “How can I work with someone I do not know? Do not trust?” Only a fool would make such an agreement. 

-

It is now or never and she throws caution to the wind. “I am Medusa. Though I go by Rhea now.” The persona she has curated for this new life of hers is very much her own now, but that does not forgive her past mistakes and she finds herself standing there with her hands clasped together feeling a bit like she’s about to be scolded. Like she is waiting for the other shoe to drop. Medusa has no idea how long Helen has been in Corinth, how much she knows, if she’s going to turn her away. It is a risk, but it’s one she’s willing to take and perhaps that will be enough. “I’ve heard a great deal about you over the years. I cannot apologize enough for what has happened to you.” A woman hated, a woman blamed, she’d seethed on the subject many a time.

It feels almost too good to be true, this quiet moment between them. Like the hammer could come down at any moment, shattering it to pieces and sending them back into the chaos that they’ve endured these last few months. But they’ve earned this — a small reprieve, sheltered together in the empty tea shop long past closing hours. A picture of what their life could be, maybe. Ophelia can see it, somewhere far away from this place and all the trouble that it brings. Somewhere where things can be simple. “You’re one of the strongest women I know. You would have found a way.” There’s not a doubt in Ophelia’s mind that the rift would’ve been capable of it, with or without her help. “I love you, Rhea.” The words come out gentle, barely a whisper, but it doesn’t need to be any louder to be heard. Her hand falls down to sit at Rhea’s waist, lingering nervously in the space between them as her confession hangs in the air, ignoring the impulse to hold the other woman close. It’s the first time the words have been spoken, even if not when they’ve past through Ophelia’s head, but she doesn’t know how they’ll be taken. 

-

It hits her like a wave hitting what she’d thought would be a brick wall. It isn’t, because the wall she had been built centuries ago, the one she’d reinforced when Scylla had died, has always been susceptible to the woman before her. Ophelia knows her as Rhea, she knows that tale of Medusa, and sometimes, she has told herself that the fury only likes the new her. The one who is pretty again, not the gorgon, and yet, sometimes she doesn’t know where Medusa and Rhea separate anymore. She is both, and Ophelia sees that, sees her, and no one has ever done such a thing. Standing there close, she opens her mouth to speak only to let out a light laugh. It’s a sad sound for a happy feeling, she thinks, her eyes wet. Her head shakes and she wants to say that she does not deserve love, that such a feat is not possible for her and yet she wants it. She wants everything that was stolen from her, and she wants it from Ophelia, with Ophelia. Her hands come up to cradle the fury’s face and her own eyes fall on the gloves and she laughs again, a bit of a broken thing, before she’s leaning to press her lips back to Ophelia’s. Once, twice, three times and then she’s resting her forehead to hers, leather clad thumbs stroking over her cheekbones. “I love you, too. I have for some time.” Since the riverbank, maybe, since her life had been spared. How was she to bring up such a thing? What would a fury do with the love of a murderer? “I did not wish to burden you with it.”

“As long as I’ve been here,” she said idly, wiggling her fingers at the shifter who was currently manning the counter and drinks. “I made my changes of course, the last owner didn’t quite understand what made the environment inviting, and I added some of my own things.” A myriad of items that she’d brought from her travels filled the room; a painting from Morocco, a rug handmade in Peru, blown glass that hung in the windows to catch the light. “It’s exactly that,” Penelope said with a quirked smile, settling down in a leather upholstered chair to fold her hands in her lap. “But everything tastes better when someone else makes it for you.”

-

“That is true.” She muses as she follows after Penelope and seats herself opposite her in one of the big leather chairs. Medusa remains near the edge of her seat out of habit. It’s less paranoia, it’s more convenient. She doesn’t know what to expect of any of this, even if the other woman seems thrilled to have met her, there’s no guarantee the meeting will go smoothly, she doesn’t know what she knows about her. If she’d still be a friend if she knew what she’d done, what she’d had a hand in. Medusa decides in the moment that she wouldn’t hold it against Penelope or anyone for being upset with her, she knew what she’d done. “And how long have you been in the bay?” Her legs cross at the ankle, her elbows rest on her knees as she looks across to the other woman.

He has not chosen to yet. But the pessimistic thoughts do not make it past Ophelia’s lips, and instead she simply nods her head. In truth, she knows it is likely an unfair opinion to have of Hyacinth, when she does not truly know the other rift. It is only her protective nature that leads her to such suspicions, the need to make sure that no harm befalls Rhea. She had meant it, the night of the masquerade when Ophelia swore she would defend the rift against all. Nothing else matters to her so much. The fury leans into Rhea’s touch, closing her eyes for a brief moment as she inhales softly. “I trust you,” she says softly, before brown eyes open to meet the other woman’s. “I only worry because I care.” More than care, this is something deeper, something that’s wrapped around her chest and burrowed in with hooks. To carve Rhea out would be to take Ophelia’s entire heart with her. “If something happened to you, I would not be able to withstand it.” She leans in, closing the gap between the pair to pull the rift into a kiss, a hand framing her face gently. Their foreheads press together when she pulls away, a soft smile upon her lips as she enjoys the quiet intimacy of the moment. “It is no less than you deserve. I hope they turn out to be everything you hope.”

-

It is a tender moment, one Medusa does not entirely thinks she deserves. But she stays there, practically nose to nose and chest to chest with the other woman and something deep within her aches. It’s no secret they mean a lot to one another, but it has gone on to be this unspoken thing. She thinks it began as admiration, loyalty, but it’s grown to be something more and Medusa truly doesn’t think she could be without the fury. She’s part of this new life, she’s kept her grounded, she’s shown her the greatest mercy she could ask for. She returns the kiss but the moment they part, her gloved hands are cradling Ophelia’s face, thumbs sliding along her cheekbones as she regards her fondly. “I could not have done any of this without you, you know.” She had come to Corinth full of rage, but there was something about Ophelia that seemed to soothe the monster within her, the person everyone thought she was. Without her, she might have delved more into it, might have continued to strike those who opposed her down directly. Perhaps she would have died for her cause already. “I can never thank you enough.” And then she tips her head, connecting their lips together once again.

“Ah, my apologies! Yes, how silly of me.” He laughed nervously despite the lack of humor behind her words. If he was in her shoes, he would say the exact same thing. Having a complete stranger step into your space unannounced, it was disrespectful and showed that the other didn’t care. But this was different, Krys wasn’t just anyone. He was special and he was sure that she would understand. He could feel it deep in his soul. Clearing his throat, Krys stood up tall with his back straight and arms to his sides. “I am Chrysaor. Also known as He who has a golden sword, the brother of Pegasus, the son of–” Gag. “– Poseidon and the Gorgon Medusa.” He said her name with more care and power, easily matching how he viewed her. “It’s nice to finally meet you, mother.” 

He apologizes, he straightens up, and it doesn’t make her feel any less uneasy and Medusa finds herself braced against the counter. It’s after hours, her gloves are off, she likes to sit at the pottery wheel herself, she doesn’t need to conceal her power for such a thing. All it would take would be a touch and he’d be a statue right there in the middle of the studio. The train of thought is derailed at the sound of his name, at the sound of Poseidon’s and her eyes widen.

She knew it’d happened, that she’d died and there’d been that damn horse. As far as god’s went, it was a fair way to claim children and yet the mere idea that Poseidon had anything to do with it….

“That’s not possible.” Her voice is quiet, as if all the air had been sucked from her lungs. Mother. The word feels like she’s being stabbed. She moves from the counter to move past him, not even sparring him a glance as she stands by the door. “Go. Whatever trick you’re playing, take it and go.” 

“Disappointing, I’m sure.” He’d seen victims of Medusa before, yet it seemed like so long ago. Taken from their temple long after Perseus had visited to create the shield. He had no plans on leaving, though his place around this place was unsure. “I’m a manticore, I don’t think we’re well liked. Especially with…” he held out his hands, nails extending into the venomous claws that defined his kind. “I almost miss being a sex demon. But why are you staying?”

-

A sex demon, the idea of such a thing brings a tiny smirk to her mouth. Tainted cubi, that’s what she ultimately thought of them as. It wasn’t all that fair, to get them locked into Tartarus, and yet, perhaps their new powers were a bit of a blessing. Medusa’s shoulders raise and she lets out a light scoff. “It is here or a little cave in the Underworld surrounded by statues, waiting for people to come poking around to kill me.” There are days she misses it, but they are few and far in between. This is her second shot at a real life, it was what she should have had the first time. “And I’ve made attachments. What about you? Why here?”

     It was true, Freya had been going through a very rough time. But that had been a while ago now, and she had gone through that time alone. She had come out stronger like so many other times before, and that was it. Freya simply arched her brows as she listened to Medusa, her fingertips brushing against the tabletop. “What do you need help with?” Freya had met a few of the other new rifts in town, but she did not know many of their goals or intentions. Dreki might be the only one who she knew more about — but she liked to keep to herself too nowadays, so she could not blame them.

“I’d like to maybe form a bit of a system of support for us women. And the few men that have aligned their ideals with ours.” She’d been told that her head, adorned with snakes, had been used as a symbol for women since her death and it was something she didn’t want to take lightly. “It’s a work in progress, but I figure we have one another, I hope to have Penelope and Helen. I figure if I cannot have the veil destroyed and Corinth has become the playground for the god’s pettiness, I can make sure nothing happens to anyone like it happened to me.” Medusa is confident in her decision, but her voice is soft. It is too easy to call upon her rage, she has to figure how to control it. Letting out a gentle huff of breath, she smiles at Valkyrie across from her. “I do not know what such a thing would require, small favors from time to time, I imagine. I do not wish to burden you, if you’d rather be let be, that is your choice and I will only come to call upon you as a friend.” Because that’s what she was, that’s what the few other rifts needed to be now, she thought, with the emergence of manticores and Anastasia awakening.

“What… What are you?” Marshall remembered seeing something before the woman had turned him to stone, her magic was apparent through the wolf’s eyes but it was unlike anything that the man had encountered before. Wolves, vampires, witches, reapers, she wasn’t any of those things. What could turn a person to stone with touch alone? Marshall’s mind rattled through the possibilities but naturally he came up short, he loved horror movies, but that was the extent of the man’s supernatural knowledge. “I take myself out here every full moon, they were working for a while but I started breaking free the last couple months.” Marshall admitted, he’d woken up in a field, a a ditch, then most recently an alley in the city. Somehow he always felt like he was searching for something. 

-

“To you? A friend. Or at least a friendly acquaintance.” For the moment, until he gave her reason to be wary of her. Medusa didn’t trust men on principle, the few in her life had proved themselves to be loyal. But she does feel...Sad for this one? He’d sounded so worried when she’d approached, like he was genuinely concerned for her safety and it was enough for the moment. Besides, she didn’t quite know any of the wolves of Corinth, it might not be a bad idea to know a few. They were cursed, weren’t they? She wonders how they must have felt when the veil fell, if they were relieved. “How long have you been a wolf?” Did they get stronger over time? Weren’t they supposed to get more control? Perhaps something was wrong with him and so she regards him with curiosity from behind her coffee cup.

“Yeah, you dropped the fact that you were a gorgon and left,” Paris looked over at Medusa, then back down at the drink in his hand. “But I don’t think I’ve caused half the stir you have. I heard about the party at the coven. How you popped some greek statues up in Anastasia’s garden then ran off.” He grinned a little, finding the thought amusing. He almost wished he’d seen it for himself.

-

She was the gorgon, she thinks, as far as history would say. Her sisters, she hadn’t seen them in what felt like centuries and Medusa could never help but think such a thing was fair. She’d been able to live a relatively normal life. When she’d first been cursed, she’d thought perhaps it was her comeuppance for being so fortunate. “Yes, it was quite a time. I’ve made a few statues since then. They don’t last as long here.” The words are almost wistful in nature, there’d been that one vampire on her lawn she’d hoped to see there forever cast in stone. But she looks to Paris with a small smile, her hands in the pockets of her jackets. “I’m sure I’ll make more. Are you planning on sticking around to see?” 

     Freya had not come to Corinth to make friends, but it had happened along the way. Still, she expected no one to throw their lives away for her, or to put her first. Half the town despised her, and so to stay on her own hadn’t seemed like such a bad idea. Now she was moving through the room; pottery had been something she enjoyed once upon a time. Now not anymore. “It’s nice,” she offered, a smile accompanying her words. “I have been spending my time with the horses and the ravens. In nature. That’s where I prefer to be.” Her lips pressed together as she let her fingertips dance along the table top, then she shrugged her shoulders. “You don’t need to apologize. There’s nothing you owe me.”

“I do. You were going through a rough time, the last time we sat and talked.” Arguably, her own rough patch had popped up right afterwards. Still, Medusa smiles softly at Valkyrie as she perches herself at the small table and immediately picks up one of the muffins she’d selected earlier for such an occasion. “A lot has happened, but I think things are beginning to settle. There are more like us now, here in the bay. I hope they’ll help me in a few endeavors. More women, two that history has not been kind to.” And they could be here for one another, they could have a semblance of a team again now that their numbers had dwindled.

Wary eyes linger on the other rift’s face, judging the truth in her words. They are pretty, it’s true, but Elene has learnt long ago that doesn’t mean they’re trustworthy. Her skin has been burnt before, by those who promised similar, only to use her momentary weakness to drive in their knife. “Women around the world seldom find themselves in favorable positions,” she remarks, a small cant of her hand towards the other woman. Though she does not know her name, nor her story, it is a truth that Elene knows to be universal, and she doubts the other rift has been spared. “Some would say it is merely a fact of life,” her words are light, carried like a dismissal, but the truth is Elene feels anything but. She has always wanted to help women avoid similar fates to her own, to stand in the way of them and harm — but she does not even know this person’s name, much less whether they are true in their intentions. “What would you have done about it?” It’s an easier line to toe.

-

What would she have done about it? “The world is changing.” Really she should have come prepared with some kind of speech, but there hadn’t been time. But Medusa knows she needs Helen, that she could be detrimental. “Men will always be cruel, but we are making things better. We still have a ways to go, but progress is being made.” It’d been something she’d looked up after her first few weeks in Corinth. But as to where she would start, she wasn’t entirely sure as of yet, how to go about her goal. There isn’t much a pitch to give the woman, but she has to try. “I want to start here. I have power, I wish to share it to help the women of Corinth, those that have been wronged by the gods in general. I think that’s something you’d like to be a part of.”

“Are you certain that he can be trusted?” It is not Ophelia’s place to question Rhea’s relationships, but she cannot help but feel concern regardless. The last thing that she wants is to see the rift hurt, even by someone she considers her own. Though they may have been on the same side of wishing to see the veil fall, that does not make him trustworthy, in Ophelia’s eyes. Perhaps even less so, due to her own personal bias in the matter. “If that is what you say,” she nods her head lightly. It is not a matter she wishes to fight Rhea on, the hill is not her own to stand on when her interactions with the other rift has only been once. If Rhea believes in the best of him, then perhaps Ophelia should as well. “She sounds wonderful,” the fury says, a smile crawling back upon her lips. The women of history are seldom ever treated fairly, remembered more for the men that they were attached to rather than their own merits. She thinks that she would like to meet this one for herself. “And like a good friend to have.” 

-

“I do. He has had every chance to harm me and he has chosen not to.” She’d perhaps wanted to harm him that first time she’d met him at the temple solely for his lineage, his connection to Perseus. He was the grandson of the man who had killed her and been hailed a hero for it. Medusa can see the suspicion there in her partner’s eyes and she understands it. Gloved fingers come to rest at the side of the fury’s neck, her thumb stroking across her jaw. They haven’t really talked about that night since it happened, the night by the river, the one where Anastasia Vidalis had exposed her. She’d fully expected to lose everyone she’d gained in this new life and instead, people had pledged allegiance to her, Ophelia and Hyacinth included. She smiles a little at the memory of Ophelia kneeling before her on the bank of the river. It’d been where whatever this was between them had really blossomed, she thought. “Helen’s here, too. I hope to befriend her as well. There will be more of us, women willing to aid one another here in Corinth. She owns Caffeine & Caffeine, that little place that overlooks the bay. She was excited to meet me.” It’s something she can’t even say without grinning. Her, someone had been excited to meet her.

“There’s many,” Penelope noted wryly. “But it is to mine that I’d invite you.” Her hand lifted to gesture towards the sign, handpainted in a scrolling script: Caffeine & Caffeine. Between the shop and her work at the university, she found herself challenged enough to not desire other things, what was said about idle hands was not without its truth. The cafe was intentioned as a place for community, and the large board against the wall was indicative of such a thing, pinned and layered in notes, pictures and advertisements. Penelope reached for the door, “I get my blends from a local witch. He’s very talented, I’m fond of many of them.” She wanted to ask more, to know more about what life had made of the great Medusa, but instead she pulled at the handle, gesturing for her to step inside. “I go by Naida,” she piped up, an afterthought. “Though I forget often.”

-

“Rhea.” She offers with a nod of her head in thanks as she steps through the door. The place is nice, it’s modern and yet cozy, she’s had a bit of an affinity for it. It’s the way that it’s the closest of the beverage shops to the water and she thinks that’s why she likes it. She could gaze out the window and look upon Poseidon’s domain and feel a semblance of peace knowing she was overlooking it. “How long have you owned the place? I’ve popped in from time to time, though I’ll admit I’ve been trying to do the iced coffee thing at home with little success.” Her nose scrunches just slightly before she’s letting out a soft laugh at her own expense. “I suppose it’s not just ice and coffee in a cup.”