GODDESS
Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me. They are all property of the Wachowski brothers and Warner Bros.
Warning: This is a seriously goof-off work I've decided to do to ease my writer's block. So bear with me while I attempt some REALLY BAD WRITING here . The situations are going to be smutty, the lines are going to be corny. But what the heck..I'm having fun! So here goes.
This 'What if' story came about after watching The Matrix: Reloaded. I couldn't in the world fathom why Persephone asked for just one little kiss from Neo for betraying her husband. If I were Persephone, I would sure as hell heck ask for a LOT more than one little kiss.
Chapter 1: An indecent proposal
Rated PG-13. (Later chapters might be rated R for smuttiness).
There he was, in the flesh himself, standing in front of her. Impassive, emotionless, like a pale statue decked out in vivid black. He was a lot larger than she had thought he would be, perhaps 6 feet tall, with a frame so lean she could tell he had not a spare ounce of fat on his body. This was of course obscured by his clothes, which were almost monastic in design, so that he came off as rather prudish in appearance - like a cleric who had just taken his wows, only with lots more style. He had a button-up collar that went up to his neck, showing no skin whatsoever, and below, his coat parted like a cape to reveal black woolen trousers. His eyes were hidden by a pair of trendy dark glasses, though what he was doing with dark glasses in a restaurant, she had no idea, other than to perpetuate a further sense of style.
Or maybe it was a new monastery fad thing.
Persephone supposed that was what came off from being The One. She had met previous Ones before in her long, very tired life. Although they had all looked dissimilar, they were all bonded by the same curious apathy, a deadly confidence that could only come from possessing near- invincibility. Oh yes, she had heard about this particular One. He was new in his role, as most Ones are wont to be, seeing as they never lived that long in their roles. He would find that out soon enough.
She had read his bio. He was older than the previous Ones they had freed - 35, or so it said. He didn't look 35. He looked younger. He also looked ethnic, not fully Caucasian. She wouldn't be able to tell unless he took off his glasses. Maybe a little Polynesian/Asian mix, it was hard to tell. Whatever it was, he was exotic looking, like so many citizens of Zion. She wondered how he had found Zion, that mass of slavering, debauched revelry, with its own peculiar sense of grandeur. She had no wish to ever find out, not that she would be able had she wanted to.
I am A.I, she thought. I am a program created by the Gulf nation of 01 to entice and seduce men over the centuries. I am fully sentient and I know my purpose. I would have it no other way.
Now why did that make her so sad?
He was accompanied by his Zion cohorts; who were dressed similarly in black, with the requisite dark glasses and humorless stares. Morpheus she had heard about - the errant ship captain who was a pain in the everyone's butt. Trinity, she found rather more interesting. She was his lover, they said, though she looked more like his sister. She was beautiful in an unconventional way. Her body was trim and sleek, her hair was cut short to make her appear androgynous. In fact, they complemented one another perfectly. She had masculine overtones; he had feminine undertones. When they melded together, they would flow into one continuous Jungian stream, like an anima to an animus, neither knowing which was which.
She found it so perverse she wanted to clap her hands in glee.
Trinity had loved him, so they said, before she had ever met him. It was destiny written in her prophecy, she had been programmed to do so.
Lucky her.
Persephone wondered what that felt like. Love that was programmed. Love written in code. Oh yes, she had no doubt Trinity loved him, and he her. But still, she wondered what it was like to be manipulated. And by someone who was none other than her husband's nemesis, that curious sentient who called herself the Oracle.
And what about this? This fascinating attraction she was feeling for him now. Was she being programmed to do so as well? Was this part of her purpose?
Neo. The name rolled off her husband's tongue liquidly. It was so simple and practical, yet suggestive and seductive. Neo. The name opened up myriad possibilities, like delightful secrets in a Chinese puzzle box. The name suited him to a tee. She wondered what it would feel like to actually say his name on her tongue and luxuriate in its sensuality.
Oh, but she was becoming as debauched as Zion.
Her husband was prattling off again, of course; that pompous prick who liked to affect all things French. Oh, but he could talk. And he was talking, of course, on and on, the syllables flowing into one another like codes tumbling over a hillock, all about cause and effect and his philosophical bullshit. She had stopped listening long ago. He was so boring he was becoming the very bourgeoisie he despised.
And then he spoke. Neo, the One himself. He was saying something to her husband, like 'No thank you.' And 'You know the answer to that question.' He spoke without inflection or emotion. She liked his voice. It was young, and she found it sexily appealing.
She was finding everything about him appealing.
In front of her, the food lay untouched, all in pretty little arranged pieces. She rarely ate anymore, it was just for appearances. Beside her, one of the twins passed her a glance that would have been lascivious had it been permitted. She detested them, these albino, dreadlocked henchmen of her husband's. They were Ghosts from a previous version of the Matrix, and that was their specialty - intangibility. Some people - both women and men - found them attractive, though it was not a closely guarded secret that they only had eyes for each other. That fact amused rather than repulsed her.
Some too would call you a vampire, my dear, her husband would sometimes remind her.
And you the King of Hades, she would retort. This obsession they had with human mythology ..it was unhealthy. They would have to create their own mythology. She knew though why they continued to be obsessed with all things human. After all, she thought wryly, they created us in their image.
Now he was doing his cake trick. Yes, her husband, the Merovingian, trafficker of information, Emperor of the Underworld. Stooping low enough to play sexual programming games, like a teenager with a spy camera in a ladies' locker room. Trying to impress his visitors with his programming panache. It was so old that she wanted to roll her eyes. The last time it was a leg of lamb. And before that, a bowl of soup. This latest victim was a platinum blonde with an amazing décolletage. He always chose blondes, especially the ones with a bad dye job, just to spite her.
Later, he would go to her, this orgasmic Barbie with the brittle hair and green eyes, just for the challenge of it. He knew that she knew about his little love trysts; it was almost as though he was daring her to do something about them.
And maybe I will, my love, she thought.
Sadly though, she understood the reason as to why he had to have his little releases. When you have been married to someone for centuries and reigned as King and Queen, disillusionment settled in over time. It was the curse of being immortal. His little games were what kept him aflame. And the why of course. The knowing of the why gave her power.
That's why the mainframe sets out to have us deleted when we have passed our prime, she thought. To keep us from getting too bored of each other.
All too abruptly now, her husband was ending the meeting. With a threat, naturally, as with the nature of all things connected to him. 'Tell the fortune-teller,' he was saying to Morpheus, 'her time is almost up.' With a slinky grace, he got up to leave.
'Where are you going?' she asked him, knowing the answer fully well.
'Please, ma cherie, it is causality. I drink too much wine, therefore I must go take a piss.' He nodded at his dubious guests. 'Au revoir.'
Go then, my love. She had already made up her mind.
She watched the visitors being escorted to the elevator. Neo. She liked watching him. He moved with an easy confidence, a cat-like grace. She wondered how he would look fitted in tight knitwear. If things went according to her plan, she might have to wonder no longer.
They would be in for a surprise, these visitors from Zion. She would make sure of that.
Arising from the table, she exited the restaurant through a back door and took a staff elevator down to the ground floor, where she knew they would arrive. She wondered what he thought of her. Was she beautiful to him? She knew she was beautiful to look at, there was no doubt about that. She had been programmed to invoke desire. But perhaps he was too far gone with his PVC-clad lover to even notice anyone around him anymore.
There was only one way to find out.
She waited in front of the main elevator. She did not need to wait long. The doors yawned upon, and she found herself staring at him again. And his lover.
'If you want the Keymaker,' she said, training her eyes on Morpheus, 'follow me.'
*
She swept them into the gents', which was as good a place as any to make parley. There was a man in there, pissing into the waterfall that hung like a swishing curtain across one wall.
'Get out,' she ordered. And he did, running away like a scared little lamb.
She strode to the mirror, and took out her lipstick. 'I'm so sick and tired of his bullshit..on and on, pompous prick.' She gazed at Neo's reflection in the mirror as she delicately outlined her lips. He looked so pale, like a ghost in the lamplight. She supposed it was his natural color. On him, it was very becoming. 'A long time ago, when we first came here, it was so different. He was so different.' She paused, curving her lips up slightly. 'He was a lot like you.'
When he didn't reply, she turned. 'I will give you what you want, but first, you have to give me something.'
'What?' he asked.
She breathed in sharply. Really, she had nothing to lose. 'I want you to make love to me.'
'Excuse me?' Trinity interjected, her voice laced with an edge.
'That's what I said.' She turned her gaze upon his lover. Like her husband, she could read the code behind the dark glasses; she knew what Trinity's eyes betrayed. 'A night, that is all I ask. You already have him for a lifetime, whatever time is left to you both. A night with him is all I ask.'
It was amusing to look at them both. The corner of Trinity's mouth was twitching with barely suppressed rage. Neo's face recovered its composure, though she could tell he was a little shocked by her effrontery. Let them get used to it. After all, she was programmed to be hot-blooded and Latin, and she was enjoying every moment of it. Only Morpheus remained stoic.
'Why?' Neo finally asked.
'She loves you, and you love her. It's all over you both. A long time ago, I knew what that felt like. I want to sample it, that's all.'
'We don't have much time,' Morpheus said. 'The Sentinels are burrowing. We have less than 72 hours.'
'I will take him to the Room Without Time. We have such a room within our chateau. It is a matrix within the Matrix, quite a feat of programming, I assure you. It is the brainchild of my husband, The Merovingian. What passes perhaps as a lifetime in it would seem only mere minutes to you here. I promise you, he will be returned to you before you even know it. And then I will deliver to you the Keymaker.'
When they did not reply (too stunned, she noted with pleasure), she added, 'Think about it. Talk about it, if you must. But don't take too long. Remember, the Sentinels are swift.'
TBC
Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me. They are all property of the Wachowski brothers and Warner Bros.
Warning: This is a seriously goof-off work I've decided to do to ease my writer's block. So bear with me while I attempt some REALLY BAD WRITING here . The situations are going to be smutty, the lines are going to be corny. But what the heck..I'm having fun! So here goes.
This 'What if' story came about after watching The Matrix: Reloaded. I couldn't in the world fathom why Persephone asked for just one little kiss from Neo for betraying her husband. If I were Persephone, I would sure as hell heck ask for a LOT more than one little kiss.
Chapter 1: An indecent proposal
Rated PG-13. (Later chapters might be rated R for smuttiness).
There he was, in the flesh himself, standing in front of her. Impassive, emotionless, like a pale statue decked out in vivid black. He was a lot larger than she had thought he would be, perhaps 6 feet tall, with a frame so lean she could tell he had not a spare ounce of fat on his body. This was of course obscured by his clothes, which were almost monastic in design, so that he came off as rather prudish in appearance - like a cleric who had just taken his wows, only with lots more style. He had a button-up collar that went up to his neck, showing no skin whatsoever, and below, his coat parted like a cape to reveal black woolen trousers. His eyes were hidden by a pair of trendy dark glasses, though what he was doing with dark glasses in a restaurant, she had no idea, other than to perpetuate a further sense of style.
Or maybe it was a new monastery fad thing.
Persephone supposed that was what came off from being The One. She had met previous Ones before in her long, very tired life. Although they had all looked dissimilar, they were all bonded by the same curious apathy, a deadly confidence that could only come from possessing near- invincibility. Oh yes, she had heard about this particular One. He was new in his role, as most Ones are wont to be, seeing as they never lived that long in their roles. He would find that out soon enough.
She had read his bio. He was older than the previous Ones they had freed - 35, or so it said. He didn't look 35. He looked younger. He also looked ethnic, not fully Caucasian. She wouldn't be able to tell unless he took off his glasses. Maybe a little Polynesian/Asian mix, it was hard to tell. Whatever it was, he was exotic looking, like so many citizens of Zion. She wondered how he had found Zion, that mass of slavering, debauched revelry, with its own peculiar sense of grandeur. She had no wish to ever find out, not that she would be able had she wanted to.
I am A.I, she thought. I am a program created by the Gulf nation of 01 to entice and seduce men over the centuries. I am fully sentient and I know my purpose. I would have it no other way.
Now why did that make her so sad?
He was accompanied by his Zion cohorts; who were dressed similarly in black, with the requisite dark glasses and humorless stares. Morpheus she had heard about - the errant ship captain who was a pain in the everyone's butt. Trinity, she found rather more interesting. She was his lover, they said, though she looked more like his sister. She was beautiful in an unconventional way. Her body was trim and sleek, her hair was cut short to make her appear androgynous. In fact, they complemented one another perfectly. She had masculine overtones; he had feminine undertones. When they melded together, they would flow into one continuous Jungian stream, like an anima to an animus, neither knowing which was which.
She found it so perverse she wanted to clap her hands in glee.
Trinity had loved him, so they said, before she had ever met him. It was destiny written in her prophecy, she had been programmed to do so.
Lucky her.
Persephone wondered what that felt like. Love that was programmed. Love written in code. Oh yes, she had no doubt Trinity loved him, and he her. But still, she wondered what it was like to be manipulated. And by someone who was none other than her husband's nemesis, that curious sentient who called herself the Oracle.
And what about this? This fascinating attraction she was feeling for him now. Was she being programmed to do so as well? Was this part of her purpose?
Neo. The name rolled off her husband's tongue liquidly. It was so simple and practical, yet suggestive and seductive. Neo. The name opened up myriad possibilities, like delightful secrets in a Chinese puzzle box. The name suited him to a tee. She wondered what it would feel like to actually say his name on her tongue and luxuriate in its sensuality.
Oh, but she was becoming as debauched as Zion.
Her husband was prattling off again, of course; that pompous prick who liked to affect all things French. Oh, but he could talk. And he was talking, of course, on and on, the syllables flowing into one another like codes tumbling over a hillock, all about cause and effect and his philosophical bullshit. She had stopped listening long ago. He was so boring he was becoming the very bourgeoisie he despised.
And then he spoke. Neo, the One himself. He was saying something to her husband, like 'No thank you.' And 'You know the answer to that question.' He spoke without inflection or emotion. She liked his voice. It was young, and she found it sexily appealing.
She was finding everything about him appealing.
In front of her, the food lay untouched, all in pretty little arranged pieces. She rarely ate anymore, it was just for appearances. Beside her, one of the twins passed her a glance that would have been lascivious had it been permitted. She detested them, these albino, dreadlocked henchmen of her husband's. They were Ghosts from a previous version of the Matrix, and that was their specialty - intangibility. Some people - both women and men - found them attractive, though it was not a closely guarded secret that they only had eyes for each other. That fact amused rather than repulsed her.
Some too would call you a vampire, my dear, her husband would sometimes remind her.
And you the King of Hades, she would retort. This obsession they had with human mythology ..it was unhealthy. They would have to create their own mythology. She knew though why they continued to be obsessed with all things human. After all, she thought wryly, they created us in their image.
Now he was doing his cake trick. Yes, her husband, the Merovingian, trafficker of information, Emperor of the Underworld. Stooping low enough to play sexual programming games, like a teenager with a spy camera in a ladies' locker room. Trying to impress his visitors with his programming panache. It was so old that she wanted to roll her eyes. The last time it was a leg of lamb. And before that, a bowl of soup. This latest victim was a platinum blonde with an amazing décolletage. He always chose blondes, especially the ones with a bad dye job, just to spite her.
Later, he would go to her, this orgasmic Barbie with the brittle hair and green eyes, just for the challenge of it. He knew that she knew about his little love trysts; it was almost as though he was daring her to do something about them.
And maybe I will, my love, she thought.
Sadly though, she understood the reason as to why he had to have his little releases. When you have been married to someone for centuries and reigned as King and Queen, disillusionment settled in over time. It was the curse of being immortal. His little games were what kept him aflame. And the why of course. The knowing of the why gave her power.
That's why the mainframe sets out to have us deleted when we have passed our prime, she thought. To keep us from getting too bored of each other.
All too abruptly now, her husband was ending the meeting. With a threat, naturally, as with the nature of all things connected to him. 'Tell the fortune-teller,' he was saying to Morpheus, 'her time is almost up.' With a slinky grace, he got up to leave.
'Where are you going?' she asked him, knowing the answer fully well.
'Please, ma cherie, it is causality. I drink too much wine, therefore I must go take a piss.' He nodded at his dubious guests. 'Au revoir.'
Go then, my love. She had already made up her mind.
She watched the visitors being escorted to the elevator. Neo. She liked watching him. He moved with an easy confidence, a cat-like grace. She wondered how he would look fitted in tight knitwear. If things went according to her plan, she might have to wonder no longer.
They would be in for a surprise, these visitors from Zion. She would make sure of that.
Arising from the table, she exited the restaurant through a back door and took a staff elevator down to the ground floor, where she knew they would arrive. She wondered what he thought of her. Was she beautiful to him? She knew she was beautiful to look at, there was no doubt about that. She had been programmed to invoke desire. But perhaps he was too far gone with his PVC-clad lover to even notice anyone around him anymore.
There was only one way to find out.
She waited in front of the main elevator. She did not need to wait long. The doors yawned upon, and she found herself staring at him again. And his lover.
'If you want the Keymaker,' she said, training her eyes on Morpheus, 'follow me.'
*
She swept them into the gents', which was as good a place as any to make parley. There was a man in there, pissing into the waterfall that hung like a swishing curtain across one wall.
'Get out,' she ordered. And he did, running away like a scared little lamb.
She strode to the mirror, and took out her lipstick. 'I'm so sick and tired of his bullshit..on and on, pompous prick.' She gazed at Neo's reflection in the mirror as she delicately outlined her lips. He looked so pale, like a ghost in the lamplight. She supposed it was his natural color. On him, it was very becoming. 'A long time ago, when we first came here, it was so different. He was so different.' She paused, curving her lips up slightly. 'He was a lot like you.'
When he didn't reply, she turned. 'I will give you what you want, but first, you have to give me something.'
'What?' he asked.
She breathed in sharply. Really, she had nothing to lose. 'I want you to make love to me.'
'Excuse me?' Trinity interjected, her voice laced with an edge.
'That's what I said.' She turned her gaze upon his lover. Like her husband, she could read the code behind the dark glasses; she knew what Trinity's eyes betrayed. 'A night, that is all I ask. You already have him for a lifetime, whatever time is left to you both. A night with him is all I ask.'
It was amusing to look at them both. The corner of Trinity's mouth was twitching with barely suppressed rage. Neo's face recovered its composure, though she could tell he was a little shocked by her effrontery. Let them get used to it. After all, she was programmed to be hot-blooded and Latin, and she was enjoying every moment of it. Only Morpheus remained stoic.
'Why?' Neo finally asked.
'She loves you, and you love her. It's all over you both. A long time ago, I knew what that felt like. I want to sample it, that's all.'
'We don't have much time,' Morpheus said. 'The Sentinels are burrowing. We have less than 72 hours.'
'I will take him to the Room Without Time. We have such a room within our chateau. It is a matrix within the Matrix, quite a feat of programming, I assure you. It is the brainchild of my husband, The Merovingian. What passes perhaps as a lifetime in it would seem only mere minutes to you here. I promise you, he will be returned to you before you even know it. And then I will deliver to you the Keymaker.'
When they did not reply (too stunned, she noted with pleasure), she added, 'Think about it. Talk about it, if you must. But don't take too long. Remember, the Sentinels are swift.'
TBC