Technical Artistry

Prologue: To Be A Goddess

Summary: After an early afternoon filled with errands and burning stares, you decide to take a little break, only for your brief relaxation to be rudely interrupted by some unwanted guests.

Warning(s): Swears
Word Count: 5,317

Being a Goddess is not all sunshine and rainbows. Most would think that having the role of a deity means you get adored by all, people willingly falling at your feet to kiss the ground you walk on. And you can thank movies and tv shows for planting that untrue belief in people's minds. 'Cause newsflash, that is not how it is nor how it ever has been.

Sure, when you first came into being, you were praised and loved by your people. The great Artisa, the Goddess Of The Arts and mother of creation. But you only got to feel that love for a short amount of time. First, it was because humans didn't want to correlate you with their success in art, preferring to only thank themselves even after having asked for your help.

And while that was disheartening, you were still able to get by with the number of people who dedicated their lives to the arts. Those who may not have worshiped you but who lived for everything that you are. And at the time, that was enough. But all too soon, you felt the dwindling of imagination.

The damage of people not believing in you was immense and tragic, but you didn't think it would have gotten any worse. Sadly, you were wrong. Humans started turning on each other, all with their own beliefs and views that they tried to force down the throats of others. And, as the strong trampled over the weak, differing artistic thoughts were more likely to be discouraged than praised. Slowly dimming any worship you were getting until you nearly flickered out of existence, like a candle's flame being snuffed out by the ferocious wind.

Fortunately, you were able to hang on but only by the skin of your teeth. You stuck around and whispered in the ears of the privileged how a portrait or statue of them would make everyone jealous. Encouraged the less fortunate to channel their talents into something that they could support themselves on. Willed the unique to proudly present their differences to the whole world. Because while some may sneer and turn away, mocking those who don't follow the same path. There would be others who were charmed and fascinated by something new and exciting that they wish they had the skill or freedom to do themselves.

Truth be told, you wish that your meddling was always well received, but in the olden times, it very rarely was. Those with different views were subjugated and looked down upon by the humans who were too full of themselves to even think that the world didn't revolve around them. But despite the hardships that those special few had to go through, you did it all in the name of the arts. And for the progression of man and womankind, you would do it again. After all, the beauty of one's creativity isn't meant to be locked away.

As the years progressed, so too did people's thoughts towards expressing themselves through acts of creation like drawing, music, plays, and so much more. And thankfully, your meddling worked because as time moved on, the shackles of censorship slowly rusted, the years passing chipping away at the chains until they crumbled.

The people were able to finally do as they wished with their creativity, given their freedom to create whatever they could dream of. And while you were happy with the outcome, the slow growth of interest in the arts had you a bit worried. Yes, people were given the right to express themselves as they wished, but it was a slow-going process for humans to step out of their repressed comfort zones. And since no one was worshiping you by name and instead what you stood for, you needed that much more to stay clinging to life.

For a while, you were able to live a bit comfortably. Granted, far away from humans lest you get murdered and not have enough worship to be resurrected. And while it was still a bit of a struggle at times, you were able to make it by with the minuscule amount of worship.

Then the twentieth century came along.

In the beginning, you would have never thought that you would be thankful for the progression of technology. But soon, you found that people could share their creative passions in a way they never could before. And because of how easy it became to create things, many more people were doing it. So while people still might not believe in you, the pure amount of artistry out there gave you more than enough worship to make up for it.

And as technology grew and went through numerous upgrades, it made art that much easier to share and create with it. Giving you the power and security to live amongst the humans you longed to interact with. As, in your long years of life, you always wanted to be able to do more for those who worshiped you. But your fear of getting killed and not being able to come back always won over your yearning to connect with the humans who had unknowingly supported you.

But upon getting upgraded with the use of technology, your dreams finally became a reality. Though, as nothing ever comes easy, the new development also brought forth a lot of new problematic dilemmas. Your ability to upgrade being the main focal point of the troubles.

You see, you are an Old God, but one, unlike most others. It isn't rare for humans to create a new story for an old god or move to a different country with their beliefs in tow. And when that happens, a new version of that god is created. But that was never the case for you.

Everyone in the world has creativity and the ability to master some type of expression through art. So when you came into existence, you were the soul goddess who governed over the arts. Because, unlike any other god or goddess, what you ruled over stemmed from humans everywhere. And you were "born" from artistry all over the world versus the typical deity only being believed from one culture and carried to other places with them.

Then, with the never-ending changes the world went through, you evolved over time. You started to become integrated with the technology and media that came into existence, as most of it was only made possible through the arts. And in turn, the arts were only able to prosper because of them.

It wasn't long after that when you found a strange kinship with the new deities. An odd understanding grew between each of you where you knew the importance you all held for each other. Because of that, you were able to connect with one another in a weird way that kept you all linked together. And despite not interacting with them as much as you would with the old gods, you still thought of them as your kin.

And somewhere along the way, without notice, you no longer considered yourself an old god in anything other than age. But at the same time, you never fully fit into the category of New God either, as the arts were essentially the building block that brought many of them into existence. Because of this self-revelation, you are placed in the neutral zone between the old gods and the new. Though with the whisperings of war you've been hearing, you feel the decision to pick a side will be forced on you sooner rather than later.

You sigh at your last intruding thought, clearing the wisps of it that linger to distract you by standing to throw away your empty disposable cup. The little bell above the café door chimes, signaling the end of your reprieve for the day as you make your way into the cool outside air. Breathing deeply, the rush of wind fills your lungs, and goosebumps rise along your arms from the chill leeching away the warmth of your skin, waking you from your relaxed haze to get a start on the day, well...afternoon.

Sticking your hand in your leather jacket pocket, you pull out your to-do list. Your eyes glance across the page, taking stock of what tasks are close together or can be combined into one to be accomplished in the least amount of time possible. Once you have a general plan, you redirect your eyes to the top of the page before sticking it back in your pocket. And with your next task in mind, you stroll down the sidewalk.

Letting your feet guide you to your destination, you close your eyes, focusing on the noises in the area. You listen to the muffled chatter of people shuffling their way around, to the laughter and crying of children, and the speeding of cars down the road. And if you really strain your ears, you can make out the softest singing of birds among all the commotion of the humans.

Smiling, you idle at the crosswalk and wait for traffic to stop. Once the coast is clear, you go to take a step away from the safety of the curb. But even before your foot can hit the pavement, you pause, your grin dropping from your face just as quickly as it had appeared.

You look around to find where the sudden feeling of being watched is coming from. The intense burning of someone's eyes on you causes goosebumps to once again flush across every piece of skin, little hairs standing at attention as if ready for battle. You're probably just overthinking it, your earlier thoughts of war putting you on edge.

Normally, feeling someone's stare wouldn't cause this reaction. After all, it could just be someone checking you out as they walk down the street, eyes lingering a little longer than they should. But there's this odd sense of...not hostility per se. It's more like aggressive impatience as if someone is waiting to approach you but is being held back by something. And while you try to convince yourself that the gaze is completely harmless, it still frays at your nerves, pulling on them like how a child tugs on a loose thread.

Your eyes dance along the street, keeping in rhythm with the erratic staccato of your heart drumming against your ribcage as you try to spot your alleged stalker. From dark and damp alleyways to well-lit building entrances, behind trash cans, and even around telephone poles, as ineffective as that hiding spot would be. Your gaze skips about, trying to find the person who's still pinning you under their intense stare, only to find nothing.

You thought you would feel better if you didn't find anything, but your jumbled nerves war against your assumptions. If anything, not knowing where this person is, has a chilling anxiousness flooding your system, freezing your muscles to keep you immobile. Your eyes rescan their path once and then twice before you will your legs to move, to get some distance from this spot before you panic.

After all, who knows, maybe it's just some weird coincidence, and when you leave, the feeling will vanish. Or, if it follows you, you'll at least have enough time to make it somewhere safe to think about how to get out of the situation.

Sealing your fate with a calming breath, you resume your trek to the other side of the street to continue your tasks. You attempt to ignore the sensation as it seemingly follows your every move. Unease chills you to the bone, warring with the burning feeling of the stranger's eyes and threatening to send you into flight mode. But as your shop comes into view, you sigh a breath of relief, quickening your pace as the feeling alleviates the closer you get to it. And upon entering your photography and art store, lovingly called 'Sketches and Shots', a sense of safety washes over you, protecting you from the stare like a blanket does from a chill.

You take a quick glance outside from the shop's window, slightly ducked to the side to remain unseen by anyone that may be watching. With no shady figures staring menacingly at where you entered the store, you allow yourself to relax for the time being. Nerves mend their frayed ends back together as your heart reigns in its pounding beat to a mellow thrum. After all, it would be stupid for someone to try anything in a store with people milling about. So, at least while you're inside, you're perfectly safe, basking in the cozy and comforting aura your shop provides.

No longer needing to be vigilant, you find your attention wandering to the walls. Painted canvases are strung up by fairy lights, the soft glimmer reflecting off the paints and leaving an enchanting glow that brings the art to life. As if you could reach out and be sucked into the image portrayed there, ripped from a reality so cold and dull to live in one of vibrant joy.

The next aisle houses pictures that even the best of the best wish they could capture. Striking portraits illuminated by golden light that makes one's features purely angelic, bringing forth not only the perfection but the divine flaws that make the subject so beautifully unique and human. Scenes at the circus, trapeze artists somersaulting through the air as their outfits sparkle from the flames of the fire-breather below, all eyes transfixed on the stunts, stuck in the same trance the exotic snake dancer holds her reptiles in. Even dark and haunted forests are transformed into something that can be described as nothing less than ethereal by the slightest sliver of glittering moonlight that fireflies dance through, waltzing to the sounds of the wind rustling through branches, the swaying releasing leaves that the trees shed from their applause.

Customers peruse the aisles just as awestruck as you. No matter the amount of art you've witnessed, to see it so lovingly created, used not only to capture a person or a setting but to portray the pure emotions of its creator, is something that will always leave you in astonishment. For art is an extension of those who use it, supplying them with the dreams they wish to achieve, places they hope to run away to, memories that they desire to last forever, and so much more.

And to be willing to share that talent with others, despite the contrast in interests that most humans have, is something utterly spectacular. Artists can be constantly pushed to the edge with hurtful comments from people who live to prey on others' insecurities through what they love. But creators will clutch onto the edge of that cliff with all their might, empowered by the kind words of those who appreciate their hard work. Truthfully it reminds you of your existence as a goddess, teetering on a scale of negatives and positives that can tear your life apart when the bad outweighs the good.

But that's why you created Sketches And Shots. It was made to be a shop that would take in art from struggling artists crumbling under the boulders of self-doubt from poisonous, and frankly uncalled for, criticism. Where others, who enjoy the art, would help lift that heavy burden from crushing the beginnings of a great talent. And you really have found the best art enthusiasts out there, free of judgment and filled with intrigue about any new piece that makes an appearance.

Smiling, you wave at people you know as regulars, the ones who show so much support that it actually makes it hard to keep your shelves stocked. A wonderful little paradox that causes Louis a bit of stress when he has to rush to supply the store with paintings or pictures when pieces from other artists aren't in yet. But no matter how much he'll complain about it, it's nearly impossible for him to keep a smile off his face at the revelation of how wonderful the situation really is. Though speaking of the grumpy ravenette, you should track him down to see what he needs from the store instead of wasting time in your thoughts.

It doesn't take long for you to find your prey in the Painter's Room—his usual hideaway. You watch him for a moment, intrigued with what he's creating with his delicate strokes, his movements just as beautiful as they are well-articulated. Every painting he does is more reminiscent of a photograph with how accurately he captures his model.

And while it may take him a few days to finish a piece, the wait is well worth it. Even watching the actual process of its creation is enough to leave you in awe of his work. From every stroke of the brush, a smear of color, the scratch of charcoal, it's all enough to keep your gaze locked on his form, so focused he didn't even hear you enter the room. Seeing him so calm in his craft, so absorbed as he channels every flicker of emotion into the painting, almost persuades you to leave him in peace.

And you would have if not for the devious idea that forms in your mind. Smirking, you sneak up behind him, careful to creep around paint buckets and crumbled pieces of paper to be as silent as possible. When you're within a breath's distance away from the man, him still being too caught up in his work to notice, you launch your hands on his shoulders. With a yelp that reminds you of a scared kitten, he jolts into a standing position and whips around to face you. With a shaky hand, he brandishes his paintbrush like a mighty sword.

Only for you to smile once seeing his choice of weapon. "Oh no. I'm so scared, Lu."

His shoulders sag with a sigh, paintbrush still being pointed threateningly at you, "You should be. I could ruin your favorite jacket, you ass."

A laugh bubbles past your lips as you ignore his comment and crouch down to look at his painting. "Sorry, but you know I can't help it. I was just stopping by to see if I needed to get anything for a restock."

He straightens, paintbrush loosening in his hold to dangle precariously from his fingers as he walks to a bulletin board hung on the wall. Your eyes follow him as he unpins three sticky notes and rejoins you to hand them over.

Standing from your bent posture, you take the notes and read over the scribbled words.

"There's more on the back," Louis says while sitting on the stool in front of his work again, rolling his shoulders back before pressing fine bristles to the canvas.

"I will never understand why you can't just find bigger pieces of paper to write your lists on, but whatever. I'll go get this stuff and lug it back." You go to walk out of the Painter's Room but stop at the threshold. Turning back towards him, you shoot a smirk over your shoulder, "Also, just for future reference, I'm better looking from the right side." You point at his easel, featuring an unfinished painting of you in its early stages of color.

Your comment is met with a flash of an exasperated glare before he turns back to his canvas, no doubt grumbling curses under his breath. You ignore his colorful words in favor of throwing a wave over your shoulder at him, shutting the door behind you. Your eyes quickly glance over the papers to try to get an estimate of how much you're going to be spending as you walk out the shop door to collect the stuff listed.

Strolling down the sidewalk, you make your way to the closest art supplies store. But the feeling of being watched returns soon after you are a few steps away from the shop, making you curse yourself for forgetting about it in your attempt to relax. The stare burns hotter than before as if admonishing you from leaving your safe space, and you're almost tempted to rush back to it. Almost.

As your arms are blanketed in goosebumps, you try to scan the area discreetly by lifting the sticky notes to your face to peek over the edges. Only to sigh in frustration upon, once again, finding nothing of your apparent stalker.

You're ready to accept the fact that this might be a permanent occurrence for today. And as much as the seemingly endless gaze unnerves you, you try to calm yourself down. After all, if they're staring from a distance, no harm will be done as long as you stick around the busy streets...hopefully.

So, deciding to ignore the feeling for your sanity's sake, you look down to fully read the papers instead of just skimming over them. Though upon looking over the lists of what to get, you groan, the sound rumbling through your throat as you throw your head back.

This is going to take a while.