! - Trigger Warning: Discussion of Abuse Dynamics
A/N: Hello again! So glad to say that ForeverACharmedOne figured out the voice actor reference in the last chapter (and I had a feeling she would). Dakota Goyo, who voiced Jamie Bennett, also played Young Thor in the first Thor film. I was also so happy to see AkariWolfPrincess reviewing again! I have not been doing review responses in the notes like I did before but I am still so pleased when you guys leave me a review (and I do frequently send private messages to respond to many of them). So, once more, hope you enjoy the chapter, let me know what you think!
"Auspicious?"
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Cycles
Urania had visited the Moon Clipper numerous times before, more than any of the Guardians in her role as messenger. Most of the time she was summoned, though on occasion Calliope would ask her to give a message to Tsar Lunar and she would drop by.
Today, she was summoned by a friendly (but faint) moonbeam lurking around Mount Parnassus and trying to find her. Soaring through the sky like a shooting star, she was at the Moon Clipper in a few short moments, and seated near Tsar Lunar's globe a few moments after that.
The small man sat in the other seat by the globe, examining it curiously as he spoke.
"Thank you for meeting with me, Urania," he said.
"Of course," Urania said. "What message do you have?"
It was obvious that this was why she was there. It wasn't as though Tsar Lunar ever called upon anyone for a social gathering, and while Urania had more of a relationship with him than most, she wouldn't go so far as to say they were friendly.
It was always a professional relationship: polite and courteous.
"I wanted to check in. I notice that everyone has been… secretive. Sneaking around. Secluded," said Manny evenly, glancing back up at the woman at last. "I hope no one is planning to retire."
"Oh no, not to my knowledge," Urania said, shaking her head.
"You understand my concern, of course," said Manny, leaning back in his seat, clasping his hands together. "The last time the Guardians became secretive, began having discussions where I couldn't see them, is when Nightlight, Katherine, and Ombric decided to retire. I can't afford to lose anyone else right now."
Urania shook her head again. "No, no, we've been trying to stay low-key since the blueprints were stolen, that's all."
Manny nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Good… good."
"May I ask why you don't keep their portraits up?" Urania said, glancing to the wall with the obvious blank spaces.
"Ah, I am afraid that I still miss them terribly," Manny said. "It is still too painful to see their faces. Perhaps someday I will put them back up."
Urania nodded. She was one of the younger Muses, only older than Terpsichore and Euterpe, and therefore hadn't been around to know these past Guardians. She had only heard stories every now and again and had seen a few sketches. It was odd to consider that the group had once been bigger, but she supposed it was also odd to remember that there used to be fewer Muses.
"How deeply you must care for them, to still be so affected," Urania said.
Manny nodded. "Please remind the Guardians that I care deeply for them, and that I am here if they so need me."
"I shall," Urania said. "Though, I do think it would mean more coming from you directly."
"Ah, I have already left my post far too frequently in the past year," Manny said, waving away her comment. "You know as well as I that Apollo and I have duties that must be tended to away from the Earth."
"Right," Urania said, though in the back of her mind she couldn't help but be skeptical. Apollo was not, actually, responsible for the sun rising and setting as the myth claimed he was. Tsar Lunar did not rise or set the moon or determine its phases. It was all science, science that Urania herself had been studying meticulously in her mortal life and had continued to study in her immortal life.
She wanted to ask what exactly it was that Apollo and Tsar Lunar were maintaining that left them out of reach so often, but Calliope had made it clear that for the next few months, at least, the Muses would have to lean on flattery. They would have to use any charm they had to stroke the egos of Apollo, Artemis, and even Tsar Lunar, to keep suspicions low.
Beings this ancient and powerful were rather susceptible to flattery, and didn't tend to find it suspicious when it was showered upon them.
A fatal flaw, indeed.
"Of course," Urania continued. "I would never expect you to physically leave just to send a message, not with everything that you constantly on your plate. I am humbled that you trust me with these words of comfort that will no doubt lift the Guardians' spirits significantly. It has been a very trying year in particular."
"Indeed," Manny said. "I am pleased, though, to hear that the Muses have reiterated their loyalty to Apollo. I daresay that whole situation must have been very overwhelming for you all."
"Oh, yes," Urania said. "We only regret that our loyalty was ever in question at all. Apollo is the obvious choice, particularly when it comes to our relationship with the Guardians. We would be fools to risk that."
Manny nodded again. "Indeed. I… don't suppose Apollo has mentioned anything about the fate of the latest Mortal Muse?"
Urania furrowed a brow. "Oh, no, he never tells us anything about that. We will find out on Rowan's anniversary, just as everyone else does."
"Ah, of course. Apollo works in mysterious ways," Manny said. "I was only curious. I know Jack cares for her very deeply, and obviously I care for Jack. I must confess, I fear for a repeat of North and Yelena."
"I suppose we will all cross that bridge when we get to it," Urania said, unsure what else to say. "Jack has incredible strength and compassion, as you know. I think he will get through this, but it will be difficult, regardless of the answer we get."
"Yes. I suppose that is true," said Manny. "Do let the Muses know that I wish them luck with the anniversary, and that I am also here to help them should they need anything. And that I hope Calliope, Clio, and Erato are recovering well."
"I shall," Urania said. "Thank you, Tsar Lunar."
"Of course," Manny said.
"Will that be all?" she asked.
"There have been no updates on Pitch Black?" Manny asked. Urania shook her head. "I see. Yes, that will be all. Thank you, Urania."
"Thank you, Sir," she said, rising to her feet and offering him a slight bow out of respect.
Jack enjoyed libraries.
Small town libraries, big university libraries, libraries with historical texts that required special permissions to peruse. Libraries with audio equipment and music to borrow, libraries with old films and informational slides.
Fictional books were the first he usually would go to, devouring anything that looked the tiniest bit interesting. He had read best-sellers with waiting lists and obscure paperbacks that had never been checked out. He had read graphic novels and individual comic books.
When he spent enough time plowing through fiction or found it uninteresting in the moment, he would check the encyclopedias, the self-help books, the obscure texts in the non-fiction section.
He had, in a decade of particular boredom, memorized a series of equations from a physics textbook that he thought would be helpful in his pursuit to have the best aim in any snowball fight.
He did not wish this level of boredom on anyone, though he could still do some of the equations in his head rather quickly.
Today, he found himself sneaking into the Burgess Public Library yet again. It wasn't the grandest library he had ever visited, but it was cozy and he liked it all the same.
It wasn't very busy today, despite it being the weekend. Jack had waited about half an hour to see if anyone would come in or out so that he might sneak in without the door appearing to open by itself. When no one did so, he quickly slipped in, hoping that the woman at the front desk wouldn't notice.
She did, but only glanced up curiously for a brief moment before returning her focus to the computer she was seated in front of.
The computers were one aspect of libraries that Jack had never taken part in. He could only make a guess at how they worked based on the times he had observed someone else using them, and anymore a library card was required to even sign into one.
He knew they were incredibly handy for research purposes, remembering Rowan looking up various sewing techniques in mere seconds when she was working on her dress for the New Year's Eve Ball. But, even if he did know how to use a computer, one suddenly working on its own would be a bit hard to hide.
Thus, Jack found himself creeping along the nonfiction shelves, brow furrowed as he scanned the titles.
When he found one that seemed useful, after being sure no one was paying attention, he discreetly set it to the very top of the tall shelves to circle back to later. A stack of books levitating as he lugged them from one row to the other would also be difficult to hide.
He did this a few times, in a few different sections, before flying to the top of the shelves and beginning to gather the books he had left scattered about.
The tops of the shelves were dusty and the books left behind square imprints. He finally landed on a shelf near the town's historical archives, no one bothering much with this section in the times he had visited before.
He brushed the dust off the top of the shelf with his sleeve so he might have somewhere to sit properly, spots of dust showering down slowly to the carpet below. He was up high enough that no one should notice his small pile of books, nor the fact that every now and again the pages would be turning on their own.
Even if a child that did believe in him arrived, the kids would likely be in more interesting sections of the library, not here with old census records.
He should be able to do his research in something resembling peace.
Jack took one of the self-help books and turned to the table of contents first. Flipping the pages again, he stopped when he reached, "Chapter Three: Signs of Emotional Abuse."
He wasn't sure if he was looking for proof that Bunny was right, or that he was wrong. If he would find it more comforting to believe that he had been through "a rough time" rather than "abuse." Regardless, he glanced through the pages, reading lists of examples.
Hyper-criticism. Judgment. Downplaying emotions. Humiliation. Ridicule. Controlling behavior.
A lack of boundaries. Isolation. Shifting blame. Patronizing comments. Cutting off support systems.
Disputing emotions. Suspicion when apart. Guilt-tripping. Financial control. Trivializing. Withholding affection as punishment.
Belittling interests. Denying things that are known to be true. Indifference at distress.
How could there be so much? Jack's head spun at all the examples, finding that his memories with Melpomene fit nicely into some but not all of the things listed.
She couldn't exactly cut off Jack's access to support systems if he didn't have them in the first place, for example.
Money had never been a factor in their relationship.
She never seemed suspicious of him when he would travel without her for a time. In fact, she seemed confident that if he ever wandered off, he would wander right back to her soon enough.
She hadn't been wrong.
She would, however, make snide and belittling comments when he would try to find joy in children playing in the snow, even if they couldn't see him. She would remind him at every given opportunity that they could not and would not see him, and remind him that she could.
But could she truly isolate him if he was already so isolated?
He was beginning to wonder how much a book meant for Mortals would help him in this regard.
A nagging voice in the back of his mind kept repeating "ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP! IT WAS AN ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP!"
The fact that he related to any of this surely meant that it was true. It wasn't as if there was a magic number, where he was supposed to check off so many boxes before it truly qualified.
He closed the book, sighing deeply and still feeling confused.
There was movement below, and Jack glanced down. He found one of the librarians leading a teenage girl through a door that held more records. He recognized her as one of the girls that had been playing with the Ouija board in the cemetery on Halloween, Mandy. She still wore an ankh around her neck and exclusively black clothing.
"Hm," Jack said, supposing she must have a project for school or something if she was bothering with this section.
He had begun flipping through another one of the books he had obtained when the librarian and Mandy reappeared, Mandy holding three binders in her arms.
"Now, remember, you've been signed in as having these in your possession," the librarian said to her as she set the binders down on a table. "These are old, delicate records, and if anything goes missing or is damaged, you will be fined steeply, do you understand?"
"Yes," Mandy said, taking a seat. "And I can't check these out?"
"No, they do not leave the library," said the librarian. "Again, steep fines."
"Got it."
"When you are through, come get me, and we'll put them away," said the librarian, Mandy already flipping through the plastic sheets holding old and fragile papers.
"Okay," she said, and the librarian was off to return to her desk.
Mandy was far enough away that Jack couldn't see exactly what it was she was looking through, and he figured that meant she was far enough away to not take any notice of his own research, returning his attention to the book in his hands.
It is an imperative step for the recovery process to accept that any abuse experienced is not the victim's fault, nor is it their responsibility.
Jack's frown deepened at the word "victim."
He closed this book, wondering if perhaps that was enough self-help books for the day before pulling over a thick text on Greek mythology and beginning to leaf through this instead.
Melpomene, initially known as the songstress, later became the Muse of Tragedy. Often depicted with the tragedy mask, she has long been favored as an auspicious presence to poets.
"Auspicious?" Jack said, making a face and shaking his head. He flipped to an earlier portion of the book.
Arachne, who challenged the goddess Athena to a weaving competition and defied the gods by weaving depictions of the gods' abuse of mortals. Athena became enraged, both at the subject matter depicted in Arachne's weaving, and at the far superior quality that Arachne's work displayed. In a jealous rage, Athena turned Arachne into a spider, condemning her to weave for eternity.
A few inches further down on the same page, Jack found the lengthy entry for Artemis, and several pictures of art depicting her, many including both Artemis and Apollo. Jack briefly wondered how far off the depictions of Artemis were, considering that the leathery Apollo didn't much resemble any art Jack had seen.
He honestly couldn't be sure of the accuracy of any of this. There were so many different versions of these myths and he knew that Erato, at least, had been split into multiple beings. Surely that meant it was likely some of the other Muses had been, too. The way it had described Melpomene only left him more skeptical.
He closed this book as well, wondering yet again what he was really looking for.
Nearby, Mandy was taking a picture of one of the old documents with her cell phone, trying to keep her trembling hands steady.
Melpomene lay on the old bridge that crossed the river, staring at the clouds in the sky as they turned pink and orange, the sun setting in the distance. She listened to the river pass, a calming sound.
Her memories of this place from her mortal life had faded significantly over time, but the bridge, the water, it all brought a specific feeling of comfort that Melpomene considered was only possible with memories of a past life.
Oh, to be a mortal again, a girl with a bright future, optimistic about all the possibilities. To be able to daydream about what was yet to come.
Optimism seemed so foolish now.
As the sky darkened, she sat upright, arms around her knees, glancing toward the part of the river where she had first stumbled upon a sad, lonely boy. He was not there now.
She hadn't expected him to be, though he had appeared there a few months prior, sad and lonely again before fleeing when she made herself known.
"Alas, Poor Jack, I knew him," Melpomene mumbled to herself. "Where be your gibes now? Your gambols?"
This was meant to be a place for her. It was her right, wasn't it? To have this place for herself? This place where she was discovered, face down in the river, to be the tragedy she would forever be cursed to be.
But now that sad boy haunted it as well, his presence impossible to ignore, even knowing that he was physically on some other corner of the globe.
The sad boy that used to make jokes that only those who were hopelessly depressed could laugh at. So of course, they did, chuckling through the pain.
The sad boy who used to smile and address her as "My Snow White."
He loved stories so, and she half wondered if she had ruined that fairytale for him.
He had ruined it for her.
"Mel?"
Melpomene furrowed a brow, turning to find Thalia approaching the bridge, mask in hand.
"What is it?" Melpomene said.
"Calliope doesn't want us lurking around by ourselves right now if we can help it, you know that," Thalia said. "None of the others have seen you today, so… thought I'd check here."
"I don't need a babysitter," Melpomene said, indignant as she pulled herself to her feat, the boards of the bridge creaking beneath her.
"Right," Thalia said rolling her eyes. "Well, just saying, I know you like to monologue here but you can be brooding and mysterious back at the base, too, where it's safer. You even have a door to slam there, that ought to add some dramatic flair."
Melpomene rolled her eyes as well. "I'll head back soon. I was just reminiscing, I suppose. Actually, I did want to talk to you."
"Really?" Thalia said, brows raised. Usually, if one of them was seeking the other one out to talk, it was Thalia hunting down Melpomene and cornering her. "I suppose you need me to help hide a body?"
"Not today," Melpomene said. "I was thinking, though, that you're not funny all the time."
"Everybody's a critic," Thalia deadpanned.
"No," Melpomene said, leaning against the railing of the bridge, the supports groaning in protest. "I mean, you aren't defined by comedy. You… get to exist outside of that."
"Yeah?" Thalia said, the other Muse seeming unsure what Melpomene was getting at.
"If… if you get to exist outside of comedy," Melpomene reasoned. "Then I should be able to exist outside of tragedy, right?"
"Well, yeah, that makes sense," Thalia said. "Why the sudden interest?"
"I don't want to be like this," Melpomene said, softly.
"Well, you never have," Thalia said. "What's different now?"
"Apollo, when we saw him last, he said something," Melpomene said after glancing to the horizon to be sure the sun was fully set. "About Artemis. He said, 'She will never understand you all the way I do.'"
"Yeah, he's full of shit, what's new?" Thalia said, still not understanding.
"I used to say that to Jack," Melpomene said softly, unable to help it when her eyes fell from the horizon to the spot where she had first seen him. "When we were together, when I could feel his spirit breaking, I would hold him close and I'd say, 'I know how you've suffered. No one will ever understand you the way I do.'"
Thalia frowned, leaning against the railing beside Melpomene. "Hit differently on the other side?"
"Yes," Melpomene said, eyes fixed to the spot. "I'm… just like him, aren't I? I'm Apollo, forcing everyone to deal with my bullshit for the sake of keeping peace, antagonizing anyone I can because I can. Using their insecurities against them. I used to think that it was just my nature, that I couldn't help it… but he can help it. He knows what he's doing."
Apollo had always insisted that the world needed Melpomene, just the way she was. That the world needed her to be a tragedy, for tragedy was an essential element of the arts.
But more and more she wondered if Apollo wasn't the one, specifically, that needed Melpomene to be what she was. Perhaps Apollo was the one that wanted the power that came with sorrow as a card he could play.
She had become so, so useful to him, a shameful secret to hold against a sad boy.
Thalia seemed to be choosing her words carefully, a puzzled expression on her face.
"I think," Thalia said, "That it would be hard for any of us not to be influenced by Apollo. After all this time."
"I don't—I don't want to be like him," Melpomene said. "Do you think that's something that's even possible? I mean now that we're planning on… well, everything."
She dared not say the word "leaving" while outside the base. She was sure that Apollo couldn't hear, but was anxious all the same.
Anyone who heard her utter a few complaints about the man would be unfazed. Anyone loyal to Apollo had complaints.
"Sure," Thalia said. "The mortals found their way to the moon, a hoard of bunnies made Napoleon surrender once, Erato doesn't know what to do about a crush, anything is possible."
"But how do I—I mean—How do I stop being what I am?" Melpomene said.
"I mean, I don't know," Thalia said. "That seems like a question for Calliope."
"I don't know if I want the others involved," Melpomene said, shifting uncomfortably.
"Yeah, because keeping secrets has worked out real well for you," said Thalia. Melpomene winced. "If you're serious about being better, about not being what Apollo made you, you need to be honest. And you need someone to call you out. Calliope will do that."
Melpomene didn't say anything, eyes still fixed to the spot where the sad boy was not.
"If you just wanted someone to tell you that you're capable of change without making you actually change, then fine. I told you," Thalia said, stepping away from the railing. "But if you want to actually change, Mel, you have to put in the work, and you know talking to Calliope is your best shot."
"There's so much going on," Melpomene said. "She's got so much going on."
"She always does," Thalia said. "There will always be a reason not to do this."
Melpomene finally looked up at Thalia, still frowning.
"I—I can't… not right now," Melpomene said, shaking her head.
"Fine, then don't," Thalia said. "Come back to the base soon, okay?"
Thalia didn't wait for a response from Melpomene, raising her comedy mask to her face and vanishing from the spot.
Oftentimes, Thalia was the most patient with Melpomene. They were the only Muses that were actually related by blood, the only Muses that had known each other in their mortal lives, the Muses closest in age. Thalia was the flip side of Melpomene's coin, her compliment.
But now even Thalia didn't want to listen to Melpomene make empty promises and wistful statements about being a better person.
It wasn't as though this was the first time. Melpomene had made grand declarations of being more than a tragedy in the past.
She always fell back into the comforting embrace of low expectations and antagonism.
It was easier. She knew how to be bitter, sad, and malicious.
She knew how to pick at her own wounds, always leaving them raw and bleeding, and how to dig into everyone else's and leave them the same.
No one was ever disappointed in her when she acted this way. They all expected it.
But the guilt churned about in her stomach now.
Maybe the world did need tragic art.
But the world sure as hell didn't need another Apollo.