2 – ATHENA
TEN MINUTES EARLIER
“Spun is THE brand of the moment. Wearing one of Arachne’s designs would probably cannonball you into?—”
“I’m sorry, I thought we were avoiding the spotlight?
” I grumbled. These fundraising meetings were once something I looked forward to, back when I was na?ve and optimistic about changing the galaxy.
I knew better now though; these firms were leeching from my popularity under the guise of social impact.
“Why can’t I just wear what I’m comfortable in? It’s for charity.”
My Pixie publicist grimaced before shaking her head. “As general, you should wish to collaborate and flaunt brands who share your values. Spun is also one of the sponsors of the event.”
‘As general’ this. ‘As general’ that . It took an incredible effort to keep from rolling my eyes.
I’d only taken the role to show the public that I, a disabled femme, could. Zusicia, the Titan of War and Peace, hand-picked an impressive and diverse militia for the Council; however, I was still the first with a broken wing to hold the highest-ranking position below her.
My right wing was maimed by a cursed blade in a skirmish. It caused a host of other issues I had to train my body to compensate for. Especially in battle, as it threw my balance off, but I never backed down from a challenge. There was no quitting until I reached the top.
Now that I was theoretically there, all goals met?
I honestly wish I hadn’t bothered. That I’d spent the last six decades traveling for leisure instead.
My title might’ve been general, but I was more of a spy; typically tasked with hunting the worst of the worst. As you can imagine, seedy beings tended to live in lackluster locations, so my deployments weren’t exactly pleasant.
I’d just returned from a three-month-long mission last night.
Hardly had a chance to breathe, let alone catch up to the nuances of settling into civilian life.
Yes, there always was a transition. It didn’t matter that I was now nearly two-centuries old, my brain struggled to shift from soldier back to Athena each and every time.
Then there was all the attention that came with being home; I couldn’t leave my flat for groceries without being roped into over a dozen selfies. As if all of this between the transition and attention weren’t migraine inducing enough, I was now being shoved into uncomfortable clothes next week.
“Alright. So, I wear this brand to further my support of the cause. How much is this going to cost me? Not just financially, but in time?” My question stemmed from the need to mentally prepare for this shit.
“That depends on how much you’re looking to raise for the orphanage.
There’s not enough rooms for the children.
The more you spend, the more others are likely to contribute,” the publicist goaded, wagging her brows and bee-like wings in unison.
“Plus, the better you look, the faster that buzz and widespread support will accumulate.”
She was unfortunately right, which was why I conceded. “Set up the call then.”
??
I didn’t expect her to get ahold of this fashion designer so quickly, but here I was, staring at the most beautiful femme I’d ever seen. Even scowling through her hologram, she was stunning…
Also entirely unexpected.
As was the navy office we were standing in; every inch was the midnight shade. Instead of feeling like a hole, it was somehow cozy and trendy thanks to the array of patterns and textures from the floral rug to the checkered wallcoverings.
When my publicist claimed this was the most renowned brand in Idyll, I anticipated its lead designer to be a stick figure; a copy-and-paste of every other in the fashion industry; not a perfectly curved, gorgeous, curmudgeon.
One who was grimacing at my clothes like they personally affronted her. “What do you want?” What a fucking greeting.
Her bluntness was something I didn’t know I was missing; my smirk was immovable.
Sure, Arachne had the high maintenance tells I typically avoided. Like her perfectly slicked-back, cobalt striped ponytail. Or the thin slash of eyeliner only a masochist could slash on. Don’t even get yourself started on the long nails.
In spite of the plethora of glaring flags, my heart went into overdrive from her grunted greeting. The curve of her pouty lips was so distracting I nearly forgot to respond. As was the low dip to her white dress, exposing just enough cleavage to leave my mouth dry.
Beautiful and powerful women always had that effect, and Arachne clearly didn’t take shit from anyone.
I found myself wondering what her subspecies was. The one downfall to holograms was how you couldn’t sense the caller’s prestige signature. Since she wasn’t winged, pointy-eared, or in a subspecies-specific coloration, it was impossible to say.
“What are you?” The rude question flew out before I could hope to stop it. An inappropriate ask; the first rule of immortal niceties they teach hatchlings.
“That isn’t any of your concern,” she snarked. “Could you please get on with it and share why you’re here?”
I couldn’t help the laugh that burst from my chest.
No one outside of my inner circle spoke to me like this anymore. Not since the general cape graced my shoulders. I was genuinely delighted, grinning from ear-to-ear as I taunted her with a raised brow. “Last I checked, I outrank you, Arachne.”
Steam all but shot from her heavily decorated ears.
Whatever her subspecies was, it had multiple eyes. When she blinked, likely fighting to keep her composure, the additional pairs slipped free; lining her cheeks and forehead. They disappeared in the next second, though.
She was a control-freak for sure; most would struggle more to regain composure after a severe slip. You rattle her . I couldn’t say I didn’t love that.
She had eight eyes in total. Arthropoda… A spider adjacent shifter then. The way she carried herself made her seem rarer. However, it was more endearing knowing she was a common zoatalan, like me.
“Listen, Athena,” Arachne started, making my grin spread. I lived for the way she spat my name like a curse. “I know the whole city worships you for slaughtering ‘villains’, but I do not. I couldn’t care less. General, The Great, Titan, Councilor, your title is irrelevant in this building.
“You’re here because you need something from Spun, not the other way around.
So spit it out.” Her cheeks were darkening against her chestnut skin, the only tell that I was continuing to peeve.
It was impossible to read her pupils, her irises were so deep, so pitch and uniform they didn’t differentiate, not even to my Aves owlish eyes.
Taking a step toward where she lorded behind her desk, her spine straightened in her throne, pushing those tits into a more tantalizing view.
Spending most of my time around meat-heads had likely rubbed off, because I suddenly no longer cared what her sexual preferences were.
My ego was feeling enormous as I volleyed, “Come to the Council Gala with me.”
Those glossy lips popped open in shock before she hung up.