Even under the blue sky, she was radiant. She could force men on their own journeys, to surrender to her current, and in the end come beholden to her whims. She was the sea, as untamable and just as cruel. She was utter beauty, packed neatly by God into a perfect form. As for why she could exist, perhaps it was the necessity of Heaven to bring about some purpose in the tidy, neat lives of the ordinary. She chambered her whims tightly into her brows, and never did her slouched eyes ever detract from the picture. She was far too keen to allow the whims of her mind to overtake her.
Her hands were free from any jewelry, not that she lacked in any fashion. No, it was the belief that any jewel, no matter how fine, would pale in front of her, merely obscuring her radiance. At least that's what she had been told, and had come to believe.
Her beautiful, long, golden hair stretched down, soaking her light blue dress. Where her feet fell, flowers graced her arrival. These flowers were wearing dresses of no less quality, and with hair just as beautiful, and still, they were overshadowed by her glow. They were furious, and jealous, and yet these flowers had brilliant, bright smiles, as they called her name as if it were a hymn, as if the only word in their minds - Venus.
She was very little, in fact, many could see that; they preyed on that. She never truly had any big ideas that stretched far beyond the day; she was captured in the moment, the passion of the moment, it soothed her far better that way. Anything else she feared would rob her of what, though she never truly cared to understand.
Her blue eyes caught close attention to each able-bodied man, scanning over their features. In her mind, she calmly collected these bits and wrote a list; she never would speak aloud. It was a calming matter to her.
Suddenly, she turned to a voice that filled the room. A rash and heavy voice, carried by a man of an equal temper. He had a wrapping of scars over every uncovered part of his skin, and insisted on exposing them. He was entertained by a bustling crowd of similarly dressed, all young, men. It was difficult to find him out of place, perhaps the only significant difference being the sheer size of his body compared to others.
They struck out among this crowd of class and sensibility. Though no one put in either the effort or dared to chase them away.
Aloof was the beauty, though. As if everything stood at the very ends of her pointed fingers, crafted solely in her design. She did not care as they grew more and more unbearable, for she knew with a single glance she could force anything into existence, even death.
Into the canvas came a figure, his tallness a unspoken hum among the guests, though in truth he stood an equal head with most men. It seemed like the Heavens bespoke hymns, and in those hymns, the magnificence of a man was solely captured by him. His appetite stood greatly countering this, and unknown to him, it humbled him into an inconsequential soul.
He was so sure of his opinion, his beliefs, and so he grew distant from the crowd. He was sure he was cut from a different cloth.
His features were not as unruly as his peers, containing a quite laudable dignity. Though his hair had grayed, the action itself showed no weakness. He stood uncompromised for in his life he had never once done something he did not want to do, perhaps irredeemably so…
He knocked his knuckles, drawing the attention drawn elsewhere. His voice was not raised a pitch, kept in a solemn peace, and as he spoke, every ear perked to hear.
He first said a few useless pleasantries, a tiresome fact he had become accustomed to, though very tiredly did such a thing come about. He felt rather the echo of pursuit, now ventured deeply into a compromise of power, and though he held no lament or regret, he felt a bit dispatched, compensating for his many years of youthful stubbornness.
He felt, though, this action was never a denial of himself, but rather an eventual and purposeful disguise, or perhaps better still, a convenience to accept higher honors, to take what should rightfully be his. In his mind, this was an appearance he had carefully schemed.
They welcomed his eloquence and chattered with a carefree attitude even as what they spoke of could mend Heaven and shatter earth. Yet, perhaps the righteous rage of the masses was far too removed from his beliefs and worries. For no matter how much havoc the raincloud caused for the earthly men below, it was still pure and carefree in the sky.
He then brought to the attention of the crowd and said quite enthusiastically, "We welcome our cities decorated captain. Her actions, as always, protect us, though she ought to keep herself still. A day passes, and a day is lost. In the end, her self, regardless of her success, ought not be lived outside amongst the grit of the day. She ought to let us men come forward; we ought not to be humbled again and again. She has beauty far beyond any convenience, a certain man's flower she ought to be. Held tightly by a gentleman's hand."
He seemed to be refined, but inwardly, his approach only served his machinations, and though only those who knew him deeply could see how dirty his words were. To everyone else's eyes, he stood strong and uncompromised, yet within it was another story.
However, as all eyes turned to her, all heads turned to attention, neatly bowed in appreciable decoration of her aura, she stood lonely, hefted against the hunger of the world. An imposing obelisk, she could stand against the winds of impermanence tearing against the human self. She devoted herself, far beyond the necessity, the vile need of her wants. She possessed the indomitable presence of a woman; she was utterly captivating, as if the sunlight banished the darkness.
Whether that sun served to blind the world in its light or free the weary souls, it could never be seen. For in the feverish pitch of the strict white she drew her beliefs from, there was nothing but herself. It allowed nothing else, nothing to contaminate it. She was, in effect, fixed. Yet, in the end, is there anything different between the light that rejects everything and the darkness that swallows everything? She was twisted and maddened, but not an inch could be seen either by herself or anyone else, in fact.
She wore a captivating crimson and gold, adorning armor, even though the occasion ordinarily scoffed at such an attire, it somewhat accompanied her, never beyond her reach. It was as if bondage, she took on to serve her conviction, a compass to morph the world into something she could not escape or lose control of. It was, after all, a challenge to endure anything. The world defeated beliefs and dreams, no matter how tall and strong. So one must prevent there from being a choice if they hope to do anything. That was her way of living, of striving.
She was something akin to anarchy, something unable to accept the confines of human decency, fighting and destroying the rational and accepted, causing chaos and madness even though it was quite reasonable in a sense; she brought a certain chaos with her unyielding and burning ambition which was not dulled by human compromise.
Her eyes were a piercing black, and it was dangerous to peek into them. She was very closed, and inside the eyes lay the nature of man.
Her opinion needed no explanation, nor any voice. It stood confidently in the air, and none could dispel it.
Even Jove, who stood confirmed in his place as a voice, and who first spoke, could utter nothing to the silent assertion.
He stroked his gray hair with a peaceful smile, unwilling to allow anything else to escape.
"I am, though confident that without the beautiful Minerva, to guard our little city, it would surely be encroached by the passing turmoil of the times. Our nation is at war! Without her efforts, we would be taken over by thieves and rogues! A horrible thing to even imagine. Thus, even though it hurts my pride to admit we cannot easily relieve you of your duties. These days, suffering and anguish rest upon every unmanned corner of this land. No soul rests in ease. We must do our best to ensure that this city has peace."
Composed, he languidly discussed the circumstances that led to this war that engulfed their country. Though it was true there was not a line of deception, it struck each soul here as a fantasy that such a thing had overtaken their lives. How even all their power and wealth held no sway outside these walls, how humble and fickle they were. Yet, as quickly as they drank and enthused themselves with some slaves, that mind-burning horror became something that held no bother to them, for in their straight, secure walls, what doubt could grow?
Indeed, as he continued, a few hissed and hummed. The sheer way he spoke made it far more imaginable; it created a hint of a question in their minds. Yet, they who had not known a single trouble in life quickly assured themselves again and again. Gathering courage by breaking apart the slaves nearby and drinking a family's worth of food. They continued to fall into their delights to comfort the restlessness until there was no more panic.
Jove stared at the eyes around, which tried and did anything for peace. They were willing to kill and burn just to regain their prized and valued power and composure, and so he smiled, and said, "In light of the pressing dangers, I wish to appoint my son Ares as vice captain, hoping he will eventually grow into a promising beacon for the people of this city to depend on."