deercountry | oh, Lazarus, how did your debts get paid? [ OPEN ]

She nodded, still unable to take her eyes off of the blossom. Everyone's flower was something different. That was another fascinating aspect of the ritual. And she did wonder what hers would be.

They seemed to in some way resemble both the person and the world that person came from.

Ariadne could see shades of Dean in the dahlia. It was a tough little flower. And red like the heartsblood that he was constantly ready to shed for his brother(s) and friends. It wasn't dainty. It wasn't delicate. It was just...Dean.

What flower was Ariadne? There was just no way of knowing.

"Happiness," she said. "Her older sister Rowan is the goddess of sorrow. And her younger sister is Kallista, the goddess of beauty. I've met her. She's very, very beautiful." Obviously. "I always wondered about Dahlia, though."

It's a pretty bloom. Dean's always quietly liked dahlias, something no one really knows. Liking flowers is far too feminine, his father would've laughed in his face if Dean had even so much as mentioned it in passing.

Flowers are too soft, they're easily crumpled, they die when cut. Dean can almost hear John's voice even now.

He clears his throat, glances over at her.

"You've met goddesses and came out alive?"

Ariadne finally pulls her gaze away from the flower. But only to look at Dean in mild surprise. "Aside from the goddess of death, I think most people come out of encounters with the gods alive." There were some old stories about smitings and jealous lovers and that sort of thing. But like most stories, Ariadne was reasonably sure there was some hyperbole and exaggeration involved. Even Alastrians, with their oral tradition, acknowledged that stories had a way of becoming bigger than they started out.

She rose, giving the dahlia one last glance before she turned her full attention to Dean. "Is that not true in your world?"

If so, his goddess of beauty was certainly more violent than Kallista.

"The gods, especially the minor ones, are always present in Valeria. Kallista's children were courtiers in the court of Princess Amanda."

He looks at the dahlia carefully before reaching down to scoop it up. It's going to go in a pot in Cas' greenhouse. He figures Cas will like that.

"Nnnot so much, no. They're usually old pagan gods killing people to keep themselves alive." He gestures for her to follow him, heading back towards the house and the garden and greenhouse. "Nasty sons of bitches."

She wasn't quite sure that the gods of her homeland ever took on the form of dogs, but she decided not to ask what bitches had to do with it. Anyway, there was a far more interesting term to consider there.

"What's a pagan?" she asked, ducking down to scoop up a stray root dangling between Dean's fingers, to keep it from getting caught or tangled.

Really, someone needed to teach him to be a bit more delicate with plants.

And people, if Anakin's assumptions were to be believed.

...and she didn't. Believe them.

Explaining pagan and old mythology (though it's not really myth when most of it's real now, is it) is a little difficult, and he has to think for a moment before replying.

"Well," he says, pausing to let her poke the root back into the little bundle in his hands before continuing on his way, "I guess if you get really literal, a pagan is someone that doesn't worship a mainstream religion. But what I guess I meant the ones that worshipped the ancient gods, the old ones that existed before modern day Christianity. Which," he continues, holding the greenhouse door open for her (it's small, it's a tight fit, but he knows from personal experience two people can fit in here), before following her in, "was a pretty invasive religion if you ask me."

Dean has oPiNiOnS about angels, demons, God and Lucifer.

"They were just as real as western religion, really prominent before Christianity horned in and took over all the holidays and pretty much stole everything."

He shrugs, glancing around, because he knows there's a spare pot-- aha. There it is.

"But pagan gods are usually pretty nasty; they were used to being worshipped and when Christianity wiped out all their worshippers via conversion or just...straight up murdering them, they were starving. So they uh. Like to 'volunteer' humans to be their meal tickets so they can live longer." Frankly, Dean always quietly pitied them, but also they were sacrificing and killing innocent humans in pretty horrific ways so. Gotta go, bud.

Ariadne rather liked the little greenhouse. She turned in a full circle after ducking inside, admiring the way it felt and smelled a little bit like Deleo. A little bit like home.

His story, though, was strangely foreign for her.

"I've heard of Christianity," she said. "With that holiday from the winter? Christmas?" Jack and the Doctor tried to explain it to her, but she had to admit, it was a little puzzling. "I've heard of monotheism to," she added. "There are some who practice it back home. But I don't know that one religion has ever won out over any others. It's all just a matter of what you believe, what suits your constitution."

And hers had changed over time. Her mother might be appalled to know she'd converted to Mudorism. But the way Ariadne saw it, she had no choice. She needed to believe in a world with hope in it.

"In Valeria, most of the Elves practice Mudorism. Which believes in three greater goddesses, and then many, many minor deities. Including Kallista. They all have their own domain, of course. But they exist together. And...don't murder people."

"Yeah, Christmas. Used to be Yule or something."

He plunks the pot he's found on one of the open spaces; this greenhouse is for Cas, so he doesn't imagine that it'll stay empty for very long.

"For sure. I mean, back home it's all kinda real, so it negates the purpose of faith a bit, but I was never the prayin' type anyway." Not unless he was praying to Cas, and Cas can't hear him anymore.

"Yet," he says, dumping some dirt in the pot and squinting, because he doesn't really know how you take care of a flower. "If one ever does win out, could be a bloodbath."

She knelt down beside Dean and touched the back of his hand, before pulling his wrist out of the pot. He had the right idea, but wasn't properly aerating the soil. She gingerly dug her fingers in, and started to churn it, breaking up the larger, drier chunks. As it was, the soil was pretty poor, but there were always some tricks to make it better.

"People can take their faith a little too far," she agreed. "But that usually means they've somehow missed the point."

At least...with the religions she knew. All of them came back to the same point: life is precious.

"Fortunately, I don't think it'll ever be like that in Valeria." The Elves were extremely proud and stubborn. But they weren't fools. Even at their worst...

He moves away, because there's no doubt in his mind she has a much better idea of what to do than he does. He's used to crops, not flowers - and even then, he has a lot to learn. He did most of the grunt work back home, less planting.

"You're lucky," he says, watching her, taking note of how she does it. "It gets messy when it's taken too far."

Very messy.

"Lucky?"

Ariadne smiled. For all of her sunny outlook and optimism, people rarely looked at her life and called her lucky. They saw her lost family, dead parents, her siege life and cramped servant's quarters without windows. She was lucky, but it was a bit funny to hear someone else say it.

She ducked her head, carefully working the soil to a good consistency, before she picked up the dahlia and tenderly began to bury the roots.

"Well, I've seen plenty of messes. Just not that one in particular." She glanced up from beneath her lashes. "You sound like you don't care much for religion."

Dean snorts, settling down on his knees to watch her work.

"That's a nice way of putting it." Dean fucking hates religion, hates what it did to his family, his friends, the goddamn planet. The friggin' whole apocalypse was a setup, and his entire horrific, torturous existence literally created to prove a fucking point.

No, he doesn't care for religion.

She gave him a wide-eyed look. "I'm always nice," she replied. Before her nose crinkled and she laughed a little bit. Ariadne missed many things. But she knew how others perceived her. And it wasn't like she couldn't make fun of herself. Especially if those jokes helped to maintain her reputation.

Damn it, she was still thinking like a spy, wasn't she?

Ariadne wasn't sure she'd ever be able to shake all of that training.

Nimbly, she finished packing the soil, before standing up and brushing herself off. "This is going to need a lot of sun," she told him. "Where's the sun best in the morning?"

"I know." He gives her a confused look, but he lets it go because he isn't overly interested in going into his tragic backstory today, anyway.

"Uh, this side," he gestures, to the right side. "I was out here this morning and the sun came up from that way."

"Perfect," she said, setting the pot down near the glass. She loved the bright burst of color in the flower's petals, set against the drab backdrop of Trench. It wasn't an awful place, but it was very, very gray. Which could be a little bit gloomy. Ariadne was quite sure colors impacted mood. No surprise that her favorite color was red. Not blood red. Cheerful red. The red of a cherry or a rose petal or the enormous ruby she'd once stolen for Princess Amanda.

She stepped back, then clapped her hands on her thighs, turning to face Dean.

In that moment, she realized, there was really no way of avoiding it. She was going to have to talk to him about Anakin.

"I'm not supposed to be here, you know," she said. "Anakin Skywalker doesn't want me talking to you."

He thinks Cas will be satisfied with their work - the pretty dahlia in all its carefully potted glory.

Dean's staring at it, rolling over in his head how he's gonna present it to Cas when Ariadne speaks again.

"Excuse me?" Dean lifts a brow, drags his gaze up to fix on hers as he folds his arms. "You're allowed to do whatever the hell you want. Wait-- who doesn't want you talking to me?" Frickin-- what?

Edited 2021-09-13 01:02 (UTC)

Ariadne was well aware of the fact that she was entitled to do as she pleased, but she did appreciate the affirmation, all the same. It put Dean ahead of Anakin, at least. He seemed to think that because she shared his wife's face, he was entitled to boss her around. Like some sort of child.

She wasn't a child.

"Anakin," she said. "Anakin Skywalker. He's a Sleeper. Like us."

Ah...it's becoming a little clearer, now. The pissy voice messages, Ariadne's insistence she isn't Padmé...

It's like a lightbulb was turned on.

"I know of him." Dean's seen the movies, but that's another discussion for another time, if even at all. "Well -- lemme ask you this. Do you wanna be here?"

She stared at him as if he'd started speaking a language she didn't know. And she knew all of them. But after a moment, her eyes crinkled up a little and she tilted her head. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to," she replied. "You're my friend. You called me family."

It was a little word, but it meant more to her than she could possibly say.

A lot of people came through the multiverse with friends. With family. With people who understood their worlds.

She was alone.

Family was the one thing she needed most.

"And I meant it."

It means a lot to Dean, too. He doesn't throw that word around lightly - not this Dean, not to anyone. Dean's family back home had been nonexistent; Lucifer was wearing Sam to the prom, Cas was a spaced out druggie that Dean has essentially led straight into debauchery himself, Bobby was dead, Ellen, Jo, Ash...everyone else was dead. Dean had almost no one.

"You're always welcome here, and no one will ask you to leave."

Yes. Because Ariadne knew what kind of man Dean was, for all of his bluster. The issue at hand was less what she knew, though, and more than Anakin seemed to think he knew. And what he thought was good for her. "I know," she said, unaware of the weight and irony that phrase carried.

She hopped up on the shelf beside the plant, crossing her ankles. "Just like I know you would never try to 'take advantage' of me."

Ariadne still wasn't convinced there was anything worth trying to get out of her, anyway.

He leans back against the opposite shelf, arms folded, his face twisting into some combination of confusion and irritation.

"Course I wouldn't." Dean slept around plenty back home, but he took no for an answer, and he didn't take advantage of people. "Is that what he told you?"

"He also said you were a 'sleemo.' I don't actually know what that means, but the entomology doesn't seem nice." Certain unkind words just sounded unkind. Although Ariadne didn't curse often, that didn't mean she didn't know a lot of curse words.

She knew them. All of them.

Back home, anyway.

"Yeah, I don't think it's a nice term."

Sounds sleazy, and sure Dean's a douchebag, but he isn't slimy. He takes personal offense to that, thanks very much.

"Let me guess - he feels like he's got some kinda claim on you cause you look like his wife."

"I think that perhaps 'claim' is a bit of a strong word. I'm quite sure he has no desire for me to be his mate."

She just had the misfortune of looking like her. And snarly males often got very territorial where their mates were concerned. Snarly females too, if she was being honest and if her family history was any indication.

No one got between her mother and the people she claimed as her own.

"I suppose I'm the wrong person to ask. I know nothing about love."

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