Watching the other “kids” sit down and settle in, talking and speaking of a game, Sator was bit irritated. One was off in what seemed to be a little fit of anger, a small one at that. Another seemed to shyly watch everyone else with utter apprehension and anxiety.
Sator thought nothing of all of this. Truly so. Perhaps he was even skeptical it was happening before his eyes, especially the whole gods-thing. Hermes came to him one night, just as he was laying in a particularly comfortable patch of corn, to tell him that Demeter, Lady of Agriculture, was his mother. Of course, Sator shrugged off this raving, naked lunatic with, “Hmm… that’s nice. Would you like to have sex?” Hermes was probably most obliged, though out of fear of Demeter he rightly rejected.
So was Sator the child of Demeter? Eh, maybe. Sator was a Christian, however. He didn’t believe in gods, let alone Greek ones, and he wasn’t sure what to think of all this. He wasn’t sure if a farmer finally hit him on the head with a rock and he got knocked out what. But it would make sense, all of this, Sator supposed. It would explain why Sator suffered and enjoyed such a dichromatic life, and would put to rest the question of who exactly his mother was. But he didn’t need a mother, and he didn’t need a father. He was an independent man. A virginal man, yes, but a man just the same. “A manly man, indeed,” he thought to himself. His only mother in life was the Virgin Mary, and he no pagan usurper could ever convince him otherwise.
He eyed a most becoming young woman sitting at the foot of a column in the commons. She was a bit near the large group of the kids. “Mmm… she is most delicious,” Sator thought. The others were not ugly, and some were certainly gorgeous, but had yet to capture his attention. What better way to catch their attention and prove his manliness than to catch her eye.
She seemed to be a rancher girl of some sort, a lil’ pistol packin’ mama it seemed, dressed in a cute little blue dress and a leather vest. Her hair was pulled pack in a pony-tail, and her eyes seemed generally enthusiastic. Sator strode gently towards her, his boots clacking against the marble floor, each calculated step purposed toward gathering attention.
“Excuse me, mi’lady,” Sator spoke, his accent leaking out a bit, attempting to catch her attention. Her smiling eyes caught up to his and he glared deeply into them. He grabbed her hand, catching her unawares. “Ah, you are indeed very beautiful,” he began to inch her hand closer to his mouth, “I am Sator Cereris Terensis, but you may call me Saturday.” He kissed her hand and looked back up to her eyes.
“Get up off me, or I’ll be fixin’ to open a can’a whop ass!” she roared at Sator. “Ain’t no man touches this lil’ girl!” Sator jumped back up, surprised and embarrassed. His lips were sputtering for some type of salvation.
“Listen up men!” Victoria called out attention to the whole group, specifically those with the dreaded snake-organ, “Ain’t none of ya’ll ever touching this! Neve’ eve’, and ya’ll can just keep your hands down each others’ pants, ‘cause I like ladies and ladies alone.”
Bowing her head in a last grace of Southern ladylike behavior, “Thank ya’ll.”
Ain’t no man ever touchin’ without her consent. It made certain sense that Ares was her father, she was as tough or tougher than him, and she was prepared to get into the nitty gritty of things. But Victoria knew that at the heart of things, women were stronger than men, and her mortal mother was a helluva lot tougher than any man, God of War or not.
