saturday morning destiny, janus

[/style][/classy][classy=header][style=text-shadow:1px 1px 3px e3af2c; color:000000; font-size:12px; float:left]There's a boy who is so wonderful,

'cause he is Eros and he's Apollo.

{idk words for vivi/tsun}

Janus pries a few quarters out of the battered black wallet that he had procured from a hapless tourist, fifteen minutes earlier. He supposes that he could have simply applied for a job, but the deity already holds a more demanding work schedule than any clerk or waiter. Besides, it's not as if the money isn’t going into the economy anyways.

He doesn’t see himself settling into a formal career anytime soon. Janus is well aware of how difficult freedom is to procure, and he spends it for others the way that he spends his lifespan.

Wait - that’s not a very effective analogy for someone who has an eternity, is it. He will have to work on that.

Janus will agree with the Biblical stories of old - every once in a blue moon. He remembers when he had considered clothing an admission of weakness and shame. Gods such as he were never meant for such humiliation, and the classical sculptors had paid enough respect to that, at least. Of course, living among the humans was bound to bring him down a few notches - in appearance, at least. The deity had dealt with the humiliation the way that he had dealt with all unfavorable things - he had started to enjoy them.

Janus plops the coins into the slots and places his pile of sweater vests, button-down shirts, and sky-blue socks into the washer. He pushes in the lever and hums a pop tune as the machine groans its own bass. There’s still a good amount of money left in the wallet, and Janus considers treating himself to another pair of shoes. His mind delves into the pages of that fashion magazine that he was perusing last week, but Janus is instantly brought back to reality by the sound of snapping plastic. He is not so engaged as to miss the sight of pastel undergarments strewn across the floor.

At least they were going in the washer anyway. Janus grins in amusement as he picks up a cotton-candy pink pair with white polka-dots. “You have good taste”, he only comments before holding it up by the ends for anyone to see, the shit-eating grin never disappearing from his face.

[/style][/classy][classy=header][style=text-shadow:1px 1px 3px e3af2c; color:000000; font-size:12px; float:left]There's a boy who is so wonderful,

'cause he is Eros and he's Apollo.

{idk words for vivi/tsun}

Janus never saw the need to be especially careful on his own turf. Gods such as himself tend to be above such petty things such as food chains. He regards the girl before him with casual interest - alright, maybe a bit more than just casual interest. Olympus pity those who were able to attract the attention of someone such as himself. It was only a pity that humans never learned. Janus could never imagine the girl before him as a Leda - a Semele, perhaps? He certainly has the power to grant her the fate of the latter.

In the meantime, he doesn't lower the panties an inch. "Yes, this is a very high-class place for a woman such as yourself to deliver your washables" Janus does adjust the angle of his hands so that the girl can see his palms, however. "No dirty hands here." He winks abrasively. "We could always change, that, however. Women with...ah, high class are just so difficult to find in New York these days. You know how it is"

Janus tried not to think about how much the rumbling of the washing machines resembled drumrolls. He was already trying not to laugh out loud.

[/style][/classy][classy=header][style=text-shadow:1px 1px 3px e3af2c; color:000000; font-size:12px; float:left]There's a boy who is so wonderful,

'cause he is Eros and he's Apollo.

{idk words for vivi/tsun}

Ah, so he has chanced upon an Arachne. Janus wishes that he could say that she is a rare specimen, but alas, he cannot. Such is the folly of mortals. He sees too many of them lately - the humans who only proclaim “god is dead” so that they may crown themselves at the end of the checkerboard. It is only a pity that there is a realm beyond the squares of black and red.

Janus isn’t really a merciful god. That’s not it. He simply doesn’t give enough shits about this girl in the laundromat. Not yet. He might reconsider for the last jibe, however. Janus wonders how much pressure the girl’s impudence can hold. Before collapsing under the pressure, that is. He’s getting excited, and it feels as if the groans of the ancient steel washers fall in time with his heartbeat.

(really, he should have been a candidate for one of the Muses)

His life is hardly a taylor swift music video (Zeus forbid). It’s nothing that he hasn’t felt before, but it’s something when your life has been reduced to keeping the wakers behaved and the bitches sated. However, Janus knows that exposing himself to the sleepers is out of the question - despite appearance, he does maintain some semblance of responsibility. He should play the part of the diplomat, the deity supposes. He should settle things like a mature adult, not a three-thousand year old god with too much time on his hands. Let the humans feel superiority while they still can - the joke will always be on them in the end.

(what a hypocrite he is)

His laughs wolfishly, although not quite as beastly as the actual furry things. Janus supposes that he must have picked that up from Romulus. “I suppose it would be more tragic if you gave the sleepers a reason to call the local law enforcement.” Janus doesn’t bother to check his vocabulary - slang is pretty loose in a world city like NYC. “It’s your call, really.” Women always liked to feel as if they were in control of the situation, so Janus will offer her that facade, at least. “I don’t suppose that these will look particularly fetching on my person”, he winks. “I’m not used to having to advertise myself, you see.”

Alright, so he couldn’t resist. Sue hiim. Or don’t.

Janus tosses her panties into her washer, as if he were making a free throw. They manage to land in the pile below, but not before a handful of patrons catch sight of them in the air. “Nothing to see here, folks”, the deity’s grin almost convinces them.

[/style][/classy][classy=header][style=text-shadow:1px 1px 3px e3af2c; color:000000; font-size:12px; float:left]There's a boy who is so wonderful,

'cause he is Eros and he's Apollo.

{idk words for vivi/tsun}

In the back of his head, Janus wonders if he has enough loose change to set the washer for another cycle. Just in case this one ended too quickly. Maybe he is a bad guy, toying with a child like this, but Janus can't bring himself to give enough shits at the moment. Doing so would be blatantly renouncing his heritage. It is through stories like these that the gods of greece leave their heritage. All of their powers will eventually be explained by science and mathmatics. Their passions and motivations, however, will not. If Janus wants to play a game with this girl in the laundromat, then by Jupiter, he will.


"Ah, aren't we getting on our high horses?" Janus bends down to pick up the shards of the shattered laundry basket. "I've done nary a thing but converse with such a charming young lady, while you were the one who initiated such a scene. Anger management case, much? Or did your mother never shower you with enough attention?"

So maybe he went a little far. Maybe. Janus could never see the big deal after the first twenty mothers.

The girl's next words stop him short. Janus actually starts laughing so hard that he has to employ his powers to keep the volume at a reasonable level for this early in the morning. The words tug at his pride, which is the only part of a man that a woman has to fear (or break, whichever is more permanent). When he recovers, he snickers, "So you're the reason why children should be seen, not heard" The very streets of NYC are his veins, and the deity knows every crevice of it. He's been here when Queens boomed, rubbed shoulders with the Black Panthers, and played an anonymous security guard in more than a couple Vietnam demonstrations. He's still not about to throw this around, for the sake of the civilians. That would be stooping to this child's level. There is no doubt in Janus' mind that his goals are worth more than that.

"My, my, that hardly sounds like a case of self defense, sweetheart." He grins cheekily. "Why don't you start learning the rules before you play the game?"

She isn't even an Arachne at this point. What a pity.

[/style][/classy][classy=header][style=text-shadow:1px 1px 3px e3af2c; color:000000; font-size:12px; float:left]There's a boy who is so wonderful,

'cause he is Eros and he's Apollo.

{idk words for vivi/tsun}

After a while (or the first thousand years, actually), all the faces start to merge, and he's not sure if he's talked to this girl last week, last month, or last year. He's been here before, he finally remembers. Still, he's here to do his laundry. Everything else kills time. What purpose do mortals serve but to become the sport balls of the gods? Already, this game is becoming cumbersome. Janus grows bored with the little girl who doesn't have anything to offer but a nice ass and a few barbed words to supplement. Not that he minded the ass, but it isn't distracting enough to detract from the main problem: the deity tended to set expectations that the mortal could actually meet.

Let it continue, then. Today, he thinks that he would like to see this little girl fall. It shouldn't be too hard.

"Then your daddy has done a rather piss-poor job, hasn't he?" Janus wasn't actually interested in her life story, but if she was going to offer him ammunition..."Or maybe it's just you? Poor man. I'm sorry that he had to raise you." Mortals simply loved to infuriate themselves over their families, and this girl seems brash enough to fall for the taunt.

"Oh?" Janus cocked his head slightly. He's not sure who has more sway on these particular folks, but the deity figures that it doesn't really matter. "Yes, I suppose that they are."

The attack is little more than a normal punch (albeit by a freakishly strong woman), so Janus avoids it quite easily by stepping to the side before . He's literally been doing this since he was 'young' enough for light-up sneakers and juice boxes. His eyes are far better than that of any marksman, and to be punched in the face would have been a grave insult.

Hm. That escalated quickly. He's not about to pull out his tricks for this puppy, though. Not yet.


"Kitty's got claws." Janus casually turns his body and puts a few more steps of distance between them. "Might want to watch out for the washers, though."