all the stories you will leave
Anubis loved the meetings of the Gods so much his expression mirrored one of a convicted felon resigned to his sentence, all the while he stood in the heavenly throne room of the gods, studying the way fire from the magical braziers reflected on the too polished marble floor. Over a day (by godly standards, mind you, by mortal time at least two to three weeks passed by) wasted listening to Horus spouting his self-righteous babble about protecting the Empire. And people accused him of being backwards on the times. At least he knew the Empire was over for a while now. Current state of affairs was a joke; a bunch of technically American and Canadian citizens botch fighting – was that the expression young people used now? – over who's old ways were superior. It was embarrassing to just glimpse them in positions of state power. Fortunately his domain almost never crossed into state affairs. He glanced at Isis, wondering how could she bear watching it from a position of true influence without sending out curses by the dozen. But then, maybe she did. He didn't see her nearly as much as he would like in his domain. Usually it was only when she visited Osiris, and those visits were largely private for spousal reasons. Or discussion of matters that didn't concern him.
Politics and war were never Anubis' preferred glass of wine, exactly one of the points on which he clashed with Horus. Then there was also the matter of his parentage, his good relations with Osiris, his stance on various issues (in some cases a complete lack of one, really, or a polar opposite of Horus'.) If he weren't attending as Osiris' ears he didn't doubt notifying him would slip the King's mind. Not that he would have minded if he didn't have children at the camp now. Irene's children.
Provided the arrogant ibn il-Homaar had his wish and there was a bloody war of vengeance against the Romans, guarantees of their safety were nonexistent. Almost like she sensed what he was thinking about he noticed Bastet glare at him, probably still sore about the tail trimming his two jackals administered to her cats the last time they'd used her car as a scratching post. Throwing her a tight, sarcastic smile he mouthed 'linen?' as discreetly as possible, finally entertained a little when she puffed up indignantly. Bast was a complicated chapter in the death god's life - one moment he was irritating her with rolled up balls of linen, another he chased her off in jackal form, or she would attempt without success to scratch his eyes out; all so it could come down to nil when their odd chemistry took effect.
At least it used to, until a certain mortal managed to hold his attention for fifteen human years. Feelings were hardly Anubis' forte – how few children he had over the eons compared to some of the others was a testimony to that – but even a moody god who lived for death could grasp the differences between the two. He was never at ease around Bast like he became around the mortal mother of his children (who knew when she'd feel up to another attempt at showing her claws), nor did he ever trust her intentions. Even now, standing as perfectly poised as the rest of them (save for Babi, who was scratching his butt at the moment) he guessed she wasn't having the most noble thoughts. Well, neither was he. Only his were about to drop him further down on the popularity ladder with their beloved ruler.
Tearing his eyes away from the cat goddess he pinned his gaze to Horus in the middle of his most redundant speech, bracing himself for every pair of eyes to turn to him. Even his mother's, who always just stood to the back and said very little. This would get even Nephthys' attention unlike anything else he ever did, but he wasn't bitter. Most importantly, it would keep the argument going longer and give the demigods more time to smooth things over without the gods butting in. Unlike the Greek and Roman gods, Egyptians were eager to interfere in mortal affairs. Except for him, they all chose to sample humanity through possession before. Sometimes he wondered what that felt like, though not nearly enough to try. Mortality was so fleeting, so delicate, and so intimate he couldn't fathom sharing that experience with anyone but his canine companions. Another thing that set him apart.
Taking a breath he opened his mouth, inevitably condemning himself to a prolonged torture of a part of him having to stay longer.
"I beg your pardon, Horus, but would it not unleash a substantial amount of chaos to start a war at a delicate time like this? I do not pretend to be an expert on military tactics, it merely seems like eventually it might come down to each camp standing for itself. Treacheries, bloodshed, and we have yet to address how the situation arose in the first place. Surely the camps wouldn't just stumble on one another in spite of the magical protection of Isis without something being amiss." Silence fell over the room as soon as the words rolled off his tongue. Anubis hazarded a look at his mother, almost satisfied when his estimation was confirmed. She noticed. Their eyes met for the briefest of seconds and he knew she had her doubts over whether Set was involved in some way. He was never invited to these meetings lucky bastard, so neither could gouge his face for a reaction. He was certain if anyone could tell just with a searching gaze, it was Nephthys. She knew Set better than anyone, being the closest to his heart.
The brief spell was broken when Horus' jaw set, the war god shooting him a look of contempt. But he could not dismiss what was said easily; if Anubis trusted anything about Horus, it was that he loathed Set more than he disliked him. He had to fight down a satisfied smirk when the arguing started, purposefully avoiding Isis' pointed look. He would rather not know if she approved, if she thought something was wrong herself, or if she saw right through why he played this most desperate card. Osiris would, certainly. Later he would likely hear about this in the Duat, but Osiris was always fair towards him so he figured he wasn't in too deep a trouble for briefly impeding the war efforts.
Truth be told, he cared nothing for the Romans' well being. He despised them as the next self-respecting Egyptian. Back in Egypt thousands of mummified Romans lay in their tombs, stuck for eternity with their dried flesh because of incorrectly performed rituals he inspired in the priests in charge of the remains. Men, women, and children alike were still awaiting a journey to the afterlife that would never come. He didn't want their souls - they were condescending, irritable, and they never did anything but belittle his home land. They could rot away forever. These new Romans were not his enemies yet, however. All they had was his indifference to their fate, and they were lucky for it. As the spirits left in the tombs upon tombs could confirm, he was an unforgiving enemy to have.
With everyone on square one again Anubis decided he needed a partial intermission to keep going.
Shifting about half his present consciousness back down to earth he left only enough to avoid looking suspicious, to reply, and still gather the results once the long council was finally over. The rest inhabited his favorite graveyard in New Orleans; the one Irene lived in the middle of. Still clad in the formal Egyptian attire of a god he materialized just behind the couch, his arms folded neatly behind his back. All of the dogs perked up to attention immediately, bowing their heads lightly, reporting on the optimal safety of his companion as they insisted to title her. He supposed it was fairly accurate, if a bit lewd thing to call her. She was not his concubine, she was not his wife, and she did provide him companionship. It still didn't seem quite as the right word. Anubis' lips twitched when he spotted Kneph in her lap, his loyal jackal playing the dog part perfectly while assuming the strategically best guarding position in case of an attack. If Irene knew what he really was she would tease him for mortal weeks. Nodding his approval to the small army of her guardians, his gaze shifted to the eternally wobbly table packed with food. And among them...
Cookies. Bird shaped cookies representing Horus, who was now fuming in the heavens since Isis acknowledged his concerns as valid, pleasantly surprising his remaining conscience up there. How he needed to take a bite out of his head right now, even if the head was not real. None of the other goodies piled on the table caught his eye as much, a fondness for the woman in front of him pushing his irritation with Horus slightly to the back. "Have the children departed for Camp Isis recently?" he asked, alerting her to his presence. Hopefully she wasn't too immersed in her movie, which seemed to contain a musical number. Unsurprisingly, he was not familiar with it.
