From clay wrought

Pandora wakes up at the sound of her front door clicking shut. She stretches like a lazy cat, fingers clawing at the bedsheets. Through the open bedroom door, she smells bacon and eggs. Her companion from last night has left the premises, but there is a phone number in a piece of paper tucked under the plate of small pancakes.

The breakfast doesn't go to waste, but the written note is carelessly balled up and thrown into the recycling bin, where it joins a considerable number of similarly dashed hopes.

After all, she is not searching for Elpis.

She works stone nowadays, but one of her loves will always be working clockwork devices, and such skills as go into the making thereof have not been forgotten by the all-gifted first woman. While her pieces do not have the perfection of the Artificer's automatons - she remembers the Kourai Khryseai, as beautiful as they were useful - they are nonetheless works of art, imbued with love and affection.

Delivered to Hephaestus is a pendulum table clock. The maker's mark is on the back of the watch-face, discreet but clearly Pandora's. The delay is deliberate, for she won't admit this is intended as a Father's Day gift.

( ooc credit )

It does not matter how skillfully you sing, how gracefully you dance, how you easily captivate men and women. It does not matter how perfect your embroidery is, or what charms the gods have laid on you. It does not matter, for one day the score will be: Stairwell 1, You 0.

My arm itches. I'm not supposed to use a drill for who knows how many weeks yet. "Stir crazy" doesn't begin to cover it.

( Coal & Wind Power )

One of the Big Monies Employers^TM just emailed me a request for "your artistic rendition of this in three-dimensional form, your choice of the materials used."

Ha-fucking-ha. So terribly funny. Do you mind if I depict Hope à la Nike of Samothrace, sir? (No disrespect intended, Lady Titan. Honest.) I wouldn't mind chopping off a leg or two as well. Going on three bloody weeks, and no sign of the Hades-possessed brat. Nor of my clothes. And just how did she get a key to the apartment?

Hey, the lodestone is trying. What next, cajoling her with sticky candy and the promise of a Jolly Merry Christmas?

This needs to be immortalized.

( Macro under cut: Pandora's Box )

My sweater and pants, but a dose of respect for someone else's property may be beyond her. Well, then.

Clay wasn't magnetic the last time I looked, yet at the very least this could prove interesting.

[Private]

She is still sleeping. I hope this is not going to last much longer, for I don't need another piece of furniture. I would like my couch back. As comfortable as it may be for her, it would certainly be more useful in resting my poor overworked body, yes?

I wonder if I should feed her something, or give her something to drink. She is not supposed to need that kind of thing, right? No one fed her when she was inside the Box. She doesn't look like she needs anything of the sort.

She has beautiful hair. I've caught myself combing it, from time to time, and then wondered what in the nine circles of Hades I was doing pampering Hope. While humming under my breath.

I should give her back, make Hana put her inside the Box. It's where she belongs. Yet something tugs at me, and I am wroth to do so. She looks so... beautiful, so at peace.

Also, come on. After that piece of ass-kicking, I'm not going to have her locked inside a box for who knows how many centuries. It was beautiful, enlightening and glorious, and I wish I had somehow recorded it.

It has been a while since I've worked with travertine. It reminds me of home. This particular piece came from Italy, no less. Its pits and troughs provide a working experience not quite matched by any other stone. I am particularly fond of the crimson shade running across the fruit.

Anesidora brings forth a new gift.

( Sculpture: Red Pomegranate in travertine )

My eyes still hurt. Stone dust, maybe. I really should use the goggles more often.

[Private]
What are you doing with my box, Hana Sato? There is no reason I should wake up in crippling pain during a weekend night. My fingers were cramping horribly, and my eyes... for a minute, I thought I was blind.

Suffice to say, no more sleep. Pray I don't find you guilty for this, my dear.
[/Private]

After Seana and Jill's dolls, here come a few for my pups.

( Images under cut )
Edit: Added Pandora.
Edit 2: Added Ereshkigal.

Hana, darling heart. If you are not too busy, dinner tomorrow? I am certain we have many things to catch up on. Start making a list.

In the past few days, I have learned more meanings of the word satisfactory that I would care to know.

No, kind sir. Stone does not behave that way. I do not use casts, nor is it modelled. If you know my job better than I do, feel free to pick up my riffler set and proceed from where we are. No? Then back off and let me do what you are paying me for.

Ah, job woes. I could compile a list.

Mitochondrial Eve is an entertaining concept, though it only comes to prove that technology and science complicate things beyond relief. It happened, she exists, end of story.

Yet I am forced to disagree with the name given to the theory.

( And as in thatched hives bees feed the drones whose nature is to do mischief, even so Zeus who thunders on high made women to be an evil to mortal men, with a nature to do evil. )

Indira Varma is in no way associated with this journal. The thoughts contained within are not her own, nor are they meant to represent the actual thoughts, lifestyle, actions or image of this person. Her image is being used for the fictional representation of a character in the role-playing game Forgotten Gods, from which no profit is being made. No harm, misrepresentation, libel, malice or copyright infringement is intended. The images used are not the property of the player and belong to the person depicted and/or their respective copyright holders.