God Children
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Marjory tries to convince Amity that they're both something special, beyond the confines of humanity. In a parking lot.

Parkdale, Toronto, ON, Canada

May 2nd, 2013

"Haven't you always felt different… I mean… like there's something more to do. To see."

Through a rare large gap between two buildings the parking lot lies, empty and abandoned at this hour. It's bathed in a jaundiced glow from a perpetual light situated above the cheap Coffee Time that shares the lot with an old Salvation Army. The surrounding streetlights are dead as doornails. By morning, the lot will be filled with elderly men and women in their motorized carts, gathering for coffee and greasy eggs and donuts to discuss the dreary details of their days with the importance of a high council; now, littered with cigarette butts and plastic bags, it's devoid of even that life.

It seems no place for two children of the gods to conspire.

But like they say — the divine can be found anywhere.

Even within a runaway teenager and a wanderer.

The sprint out of the pub has beads of perspiration lining Amity's forehead as they reach the rather scuzzy looking parking lot, and her breath has become harder in her throat. The air is oddly pleasant all things considered, even in the dark, and having space to breathe, will, in mere minutes, depress the adrenaline still coursing through the twenty-something's veins. The parking lot is regarded with vague skepticism as her blue eyes scan its expanse.

There's an eerie calm about the dark haired woman. A calm that will freak her out once the adrenaline dissipates. Her lips press together in contemplation while her hands extend to her head in a pseudo-stretch designed to help her find a sense of presence again. After a few beats, and catching her own breath, Marjory is cast a side-long glance.

"What…?!" is all she can manage. Her eyes narrow and she, quite literally, shakes her entire body like trying to shoo away an unwanted insect rather than wake up from, what is currently one of the most terrifying experiences of her life. The compulsion to stay and ask questions also leaves her in want. Moments before she'd longed to leave, but then the questions— they were just too easy. And needed to be asked. And, in a way, she felt braver the longer they lingered. Even with the threats and complaints from the supposed demon.

Adrenaline rushes through the younger's veins as well, her heart pumping with vigorous health. Any fear she might've felt is being quickly transformed in her system — into excitement, the thrill of an adventure just lived. It flashes in her eyes, the most youthful glow — but, too, so do a a hundred pressing questions dance there. She paces, striding on coltish legs across the parking lot several paces and back. She halts in front of Amity, but her momentum rushes out in word-form. "You're like me." Seriousness deepens Marjory's eyes. She stares into Amity's, fully believing.

Marjory's staring prompts the word once again from the brunette: "What?!" Her eyes turn towards the heavens, the night sky as if searching for answers written up in the stars themselves. But then she wouldn't find comfort in them anyways. "What the heck is your mission anyways? And what was that thing?! Was it really a demon?" As far as being alike her head cants to the side, "I don't actually know what is going on OR what just happened in there…" the adrenaline is fading and confusion has begun to set in.

"Yes, it was!" Marjory whips a look over her shoulder in the direction of the pub. " — I'm almost certain. And I'm also almost certain he'd have no reason to lie about— " Another flick of her hair; the girl's auburn brows raise, her eyes flitting to and fro, searching Amity at hyper-speed. "Are you serious— " A serious question, in and of itself, "You really don't know about any of this— ?! He said you were a god-child."

Amity's lips part wordlessly only to close again. She's been rendered momentarily speechless. The rest prompts her to narrow her blue eyes and stare at the redhead. A few moments pass, and somehow she manages to gain some semblance of composure. "I don't… I don't— what's going on here!? I have no idea what he even meant! I thought he was just trying to psyche us out— I'm me. I'm… god-child? What does that even mean?"

Marjory is still staring back.

It's a momentous moment, telling someone such a crucial truth about themselves. Although the demon would have no reason to lie about that, as far as she can surmise, she might not have fully believed him if it weren't for the fact that there's something… about Amity…

She's not like the others.

She's like Marjory.

Is it her purpose to tell her the truth of the world? Of her blood? Should it be?

Sure.

Yes.

Of course it is!

She takes it on like a new mission, suddenly grabbing Amity's arms. Their ages seem to reverse, for the moment: she, the elder, the wiser, taking the younger, the lost, in her hands. Except that Marjory has always been solitary, and this is altogether new territory.

"There's no going back once you know this," she advises, dire. "It'd catch up with you anyway sooner or later. The world isn't as you know it," Marjory explains. "It's— " Epic prose dances in her head and stumbles as she tries to express herself as clearly as she can— too fast. Her lips press together and she manages instead, " — really — really big."

"Isn't there no going back from anything we know though? I mean once something is known it can't really be unknown— although I suppose a person could a concussion and some random case of amnesia like in every daytime soap ever written…" but she digresses. In a way, the digression is a defense mechanism. The seriousness of Marjory's expressions and manners is enough to unsettle the older of the two. Marjory had a mission… has(?) a mission and evidently knows something about something because whatever was in the pub was hardly from this world.

"But the world is really big…" counters Amity, still wholly unsure of what Marjory means. Yet there's a measure of expectation in the words left to linger in the air.

"But there's more," Marjory explains without explaining. A twinkle comes to her eye: a girl excited to reveal that magic is real and she's known all along! "Not just demons. There's better than that. Lemme ask you, d'you know both your parents? Your biological ones? I bet you don't, I bet at least one of them you've never met."

Amity's eyes shift to the horizon. Her lips press together tightly as Marjory begins to convey things about Amity's life— things she definitely hasn't shared. Something strange is going on, and Marjory seems to know things. "My father died just awhile ago," the words are almost cold. "But my mother," her head shakes. "We never talked about her. He refused. Every time I asked he would clam up."

"Your mum then," Marjory hurries on, only to pause, her fingers shifting suddenly unsure of their bold purpose where they grip Amity's elbows. Her pause is also the visible swallow in her slender throat and the sigh she heaves and hovers in; a sigh that lifts her shoulders, but she does go on, bearer of big news, yes, biggest yet. "She's a goddess. Like mine. You're not human— well, you're part human, you're bigger than human. You're more. Like me."

Subconciously, Amity's arms draw around herself, over her chest, not defiant, but not open like her usual self. Her body closes off some, while her mind works to process what she's being told. Goddess? That doesn't sound real. Maybe Marjory has lost her marbles, or possibly never had them in the first place. But then, there are many extraordinary things in the world, what if— but who would ever believe such a thing? Amity releases a breath, it's almost a question of how such things could be believed, but she doesn't ask it. And then, finally, she says, "It's not possible," but even the words sound skeptical, like maybe there's something there to be considered. Does she believe her own declaration? She's never felt like she belonged anywhere, what if she actually doesn't? "…is it?"

Her head cants to the side as she begins to pace the dreary looking parking lot. "How— how?" she manages. It's not that she's conceding to believe, but she's certainly conceding some of her doubt.

Broken from her grip on Amity, Marjory's hands sway once at her sides. She's otherwise stationary, a fixed point watching the older woman pace. "Because the gods exist, they're real," she's enthused to reveal, "everything from mythology, books you've read," books she's read, "gods and goddesses and creatures and stories, from all over the world. They're here."

It seems not to matter to Marjory that the world she gestures to with a stiff little sweep of her arm, meaning to be more splendiferous a display than it is, is a trash-ridden lot outside a closed coffee chain-restaurant and a musty thrift store whose charitable purpose seems far removed from the neon sale-ploy posters in the window, altogether human inventions. The red-and-white form of a streetcar with a movie ad plastered gaudily on its side whizzes by, mostly empty, just a few figures staggering drunkenly in its aisle.

"And— sometimes— the gods need someone to … " A furrow worries the girl's brow a moment as she tries to find proper description— no, purpose. " … carry their legacy," she decides. Though the words are bold, a faint tremor of uncertainty dances behind them. With a blink and bright eyes, she goes on, trying to remain the font of amazing information, vastly educated in the ways of the gods, here. "Haven't you always felt different… I mean… like there's something more to do. To see."

Silence and space consume the parking lot. It's truly an ordinary place to have such an extraordinary conversation. Possibility flurries Amity's thoughts, yet the incomprehensibility of it all leaves her in want. At least a little. Blue eyes track downwards to her feet, which have become undeniably interesting in their black boots. Her red lips thin into a solid line, and when her blue eyes turn up, they have, finally matched Marjory's intensity.

A few beats have the older staring at the younger, not quite challenging or goading the redhead on, but certainly questioning. Yet there is something undeniable in the words. "I don't wander because because I merely want to travel. I wander because I haven't found it yet." Her nose wrinkles a little, "That feeling everyone describes when they've found their home." Again her eyes track downwards, "I never belonged." There's no denying that. She can concede all of that. "But how do you know? It's not like anyone ever spoke about my mother— and now they're all gone." There's no one left to even ask. "And what on earth could I do anyways? Even if I am one of these god-children, it's not like I'm anything incredible."

Now they're all gone … those words prompt Marjory to look away after keenly understanding those that came before, the wandering, not finding of a home. Marred by a thought, a memory; darkness she lives with but puts on hold in order to convince Amity of something brighter. "She'll come to you," she says, so sure that her young voice sounds particularly innocent: as fact that will come to be obviously true. Then again, children speak of their imaginary friends in the same manner. "Somehow or another, and you'll know." A pause. "Besides, haven't you got any powers?"

"…No?" it's a question rather than an answer. Almost asking Marjory if she should have powers. "Powers like what? Like flying and stuff? Definitely not. I'm pretty sure if I could fly I would've saved myself a small fortune on plane tickets." Amity's lips hitch to one side though. "Do you have powers? What kinds of powers?"

The notion of flying, and saving on plane tickets, strikes Marjory as funny — a smile crops up in the midst of it all. "Not like flying…" She bobs her head down, and in considering, shows her youth again— " … that would be cool though." She looks up at the sky — gathering thoughts more than imagining flight — and holds the strap of her bag tight. "Yes," she answers concisely afterward, regarding Amity straight-on once more, proud, "I'm a warrior. I can see things, things that've happened. Great battles and— " Pink lips falter and press; she moves on, taking a step forward. "You'll find yours," she assures, trying to be helpful in her wisdom: "I heard once that it's normal to only come of age when you're already old."

"And what?" Amity's eyebrow ticks up. Just when things were getting interesting, Marjory moved on. "And what do you mean see things that have happened— ?" The eyebrow is lowered, and the older woman begins pacing back towards the younger one. "What if I don't have any powers? It's possible I could have none and be a dud. Or not be what you think I am— " and there it is. Although the idea certainly has allure.

"You can't be like everybody else." Marjory is insistent — perhaps too insistent in her desire to believe, but she sees something in Amity; something she saw in her own self. "Well, I can't show you mine…" she says, almost falling into a thoughtful murmur. "But…" She glances along her shoulder, through the parking lot, down the street, into the city. "I could… show you something else." The idea is still forming as she speaks. "… someone— who could maybe— put you… on your path."

Amity's head cants to the side at Marjory's insistence, but says nothing in turn. She's an adult. Marjory is still a kid. It is definitely possible that the teen is wrong, but then how could so seem right? Decisively, she nods. "Alright. Let's meet this someone." She points back towards the pub with her thumb, "Not your demon friend, right?" Marjory can hear the smirk Amity wears at the comment. "Not that he was that bad." She shrugs.

"No," Marjory retorts strongly, even though she can hear the smirk. "He was— a jerk." Take that, undoubtedly eons old demon from hell, a sixteen year old has called you a jerk from the safety of across the street. "And a killer." Moral high ground is slightly easier to gain from afar.

The teenager fidgets briefly with the strap of her bag, looking out of the parking lot again, charting a rough course, struck with a faint bit of uncertainty before she prepares to traipse off into the night on this new side-mission of sealing Amity's fate. "… do you— want to go now, then…"

The question has Amity taking a pause. A glance downward reminds her of how good she looks— a small consolation for such odd news. And, if she's going to learn her destiny, she'd rather look good than not (way to go, anticipation of mugshot!). "Let's do it!" Pause. "Don't think I could sleep tonight anyways." Knowing the truth is always better than living a lie.

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