eachdraidh | video » (unseelie locked)

[ The room is pink. Pink, gold, and are those fluffy, clever bunnies-the-size-of-imps running around adjusting the statues? Might be. ]

Hey! Goddess of Love speaking! Pay attention. [ She's curvaceous, tall, and dressed in enough chiffon that you'd think physics would keep her covered up, and yet. ] Hi-iiii. My name is Aphrodite, you might know me by a bunch of other things.

Obviously this place is like Ares's wet dream with all the war biz going on, but that's not my jam. Love would be the name of my game. Problem is, I don't have anywhere for mortals to leave messages for me when I'm busy and I am so not answering calls for help on this locket indefinitely because, uh, I have a life, so here's the deal; build me a temple near the edge of Dorchadas and I'll give you a freebie. That babe you've had your eye on? I'll make them fall in love with you! Are you ugly as a toad? I'll give you a permanent make-over! This is a one-time thing because I'm feeling generous ... and clearly don't have any offerings coming in, ugh. Speaking of, if you want to leave cute shoes as a gift, I'm a size six.

So yeah! Get in touch.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Kicking back behind a desk. Business-like air.]

Milady Aphrodite. I'm the Brucolac, Baron of Srathmarbh. There's a popular shrine district in my city; not on the border, but on the coast. A lot of trade coming in and out, a lot of sailors thankful for their lives, wanting to get back to their lovers and spouses, or hoping for some friendly relief in the taverns. Build it and they'll worship you.

Tough competition, but...good dividends. We are very devout here.

[And why would you be right for this position?]

Baron of Srathmarf, what? Brucolac, cool, let's stick with that. [ Arms folding, she considers the offer. ] Whereabouts is your city? I'm not map-savvy yet.

The west coast, where the Criostal meets the sea. Follow the river westwards from Caer Scima and there we sit.

I'll check it out. Since you're being so helpful I've gotta ask, what do you want? Level with me.

Taxes.

More people who need to offer shoes to you, the more work the cobblers get. The more work the cobblers get, the more taxes levied. Same with attracting religious tourism, relic-sellers, professional sacrifical butchers and so on.

[He's entirely serious. But, given that he's aware that most people don't find taxes quite so exciting as he does, he plays it off as deadpan--breaks his lack of expression with a quick, rakish smile. Eyes glinting.]

Why, milady, do I look unlucky in love?

You look like a businessman. [ Mmmmhm. ] Fine, fine, that all sounds square. Less of the sacrificial butchers though, I deal more in the cakes-and-fruit slash clothes-and-accessories departments. What would I do with a dead pig in the middle of my floor? Certainly not inspire the senses.

[He tosses his head back and laughs; suddenly his youthful face seems to fit, rather than to jar with his presentation of himself.] Shit! A businessman. That's condemnation.

Sacrificial patissiers, then. Forgive me, most of the gods I'm familiar with tend to appreciate free-given blood.

Ew, no. That's more Ares's purview than mine.

[ But she's smiling too, along with him. ]

Would you stop by and leave me a little something too, Bru?

I may do, though I know very little of either fine dining or fine couture.

As long as it's not gross, I'm sure it'll be fine.

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