Technical Artistry

Chapter 1: The Offer

Summary: The New Gods leave you with some things to consider, no matter how undesirable those things are.

Warning(s): Swears
Word Count: 2,408

"Well, that's not very nice," Media continues as you shift your head to see her wearing the appearance of David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust. "And here we are to give you a deal—"

"Look," you interrupt, "I know what you guys offer others, but I don't need it. If you haven't noticed, I'm doing perfectly fine. After all, as technology and media progress, so do I." Turning your head to the left, you also address the young-looking man you know as Technical Boy.

His blond hair is side swept and obscures half of his face. He's adorned in torn gray jeans and plain black sneakers. A ripped, loose maroon tank top hangs from his shoulders but is encased in a long sleeve black mesh top that flows down his arms to hook around his thumbs. His bright blue eyes shift to you as he puffs on his vape, clearly not wanting to be here just as much as you don't want them here under the circumstances.

"Exactly, dear," Media chats with enthusiasm, ignoring your denial to continue her pitch. "You don't belong with the old gods, darling. You should be with us. We are all one and the same."

Sighing, you sit up straight on the bench, at least paying your friend the courtesy of feigned attention. This is not how you wanted to spend your break. Did you figure that these two would show up sooner rather than later? Yes. Did you want them to pop up today or even this week? Hell no. And you plan to make your annoyance about that clear, despite knowing that their being here isn't necessarily their choice.

"I may evolve as time goes by as you guys do, so I can understand why you think I'm closer to you than the other gods, but I'm not picking a side in this damn pissing contest."

"Well, you need to," Technical Boy finally speaks, smoke billowing past his lips from his last drag.

"Look, without you, neither of us would have nearly as much worship as we do now if any at all. But the same goes for you, cause without me, sweetheart, you would have been dust by now. So you see, we can help you. Besides, what have any of those old fuckers done for you?"

"A lot of those," you raise your fingers to make air quotes around your next two words, "'old fuckers' are my friends. And I'm one of the only things keeping some of them alive. Unlike you new gods, I treasure my friends and don't turn my back on them. And if I were to join you, most of them would die off. So I'm not about to let that happen."

"We don't wish for the old gods to die off. That's just the propaganda that Wednesday has been spreading. He rejected our offers for help in favor of starting a one-sided war. We merely want to promote those who are close to perishing from lack of worship." Media says, and as much as you hate to admit it, you can hear the sincerity in her voice.

Bringing your hand up to rub your temple, hoping to alleviate the oncoming throb of a headache, you reflect on her words. Truthfully, you want to believe her as you've never had a problem with Media. And you actually enjoy her company most of the time. You'd go as far as calling her a good friend, and you care about that friendship. But in a circumstance like this, that puts you at a disadvantage. She knows how your mind works, how your heart holds your friends closest, and she can use that to her advantage.

Technical Boy is in a similar boat to Media, but one that isn't sailing the waves of close familiarity. You have a kinship with him, and you both hold respect for each other, but it's very rare for the two of you to interact besides a nod of greeting. But you know that he's terrible at keeping secrets, and that is typically enough to soothe your nerves. He has a big ego, he's a bit too hot-tempered, and he's known to say everything that comes to mind. Resulting in an honest, and most of the time, harsh, answer every time, even if he doesn't realize it or mean to do it.

You wish you could say that you trust them both, and you would if they weren't working for Mr. World. You've met the man once, and that was enough for you to not like him. That's not to say he was a bad person. Truthfully, he acted like a gentleman when you met him. But his kind actions weren't enough to dissuade the underlying current of manipulation in his demeanor. He spoke with honeyed words, his tone so sweet to listen to, but under that charming facade was a snake waiting to strike. You knew from that meeting that you would never be able to fully trust him, no matter your acquaintance's stance with him.

Your stare hardens against Media's soft one, your voice coming out in a grumble to conceal any hidden feelings you don't want her to hear. "Can't you all just leave me alone about this? I said I'm not picking a side because I can't. I'm pretty sure all of you realize that I'm the middle ground in this stupid war. I'm not really an old god or a new god. So there isn't a side for me to pick."

Media rests her hand on your shoulder, which you just crook an eyebrow at. "You may think that but is that how the old gods think? When Wednesday realizes you won't fight with him, are you sure he won't convince others that you've joined our side even if you haven't?"

It takes you less than a second to know that what she says is true. Wednesday would do anything if it meant he could get more supporters in his war. Even if that meant turning you all against each other to get his way.

"I admit you're right about Wednesday, but not all old gods are as conniving as that asshole." Standing, you turn to look at the two gods, eyes flitting between the concerned look of your friend and the uninterested expression Technical Boy wears. "I'll think about it, but I'm not gonna promise to give you the answer you want."

"Tch," Technical Boy scoffs and pulls out his phone, redirecting all his attention to the device. "Well, this was a waste of our time, wasn't it?"

You glare at him. If it was a waste of anyone's time, it was yours. They knew well enough that you didn't plan on joining in their war. Yet they still decided to hunt you down to talk about it anyway. You know you can't fully blame them, as they're most likely only following World's orders. But you still don't appreciate the sass Technical Boy dishes out. And while it may be a tad childish, what better way to teach him a lesson than screwing around with him a bit.

Quicker than he can react, you box him against the bench. Arms cage him in from either side, and you lean close enough so that your noses are almost touching. His gaze flicks to yours nervously, his phone slowly lowered to his lap as if he's reluctantly stepping out from behind his shield. You watch as he struggles to swallow around the lump in his throat, breaths coming out shaky and untethered. No doubt intimidated by not only your closeness but also the gesture. After all, with how powerful he is as a new god, it's very rare that old gods would challenge him. But as stated before, you're just as much an old god as you are a new god, giving you the power of a new god doubled by your experience and age as an old one.

Seeing that you now have his full attention, you speak, voice dripping with false venom for effect. "Watch your words, little god. Or else I might make my decision right now."

He shifts anxiously, fingers twitching and knee jolting when your breath fans across his face. You can just see Media's outraged scowl at him from your peripheral. Gaze burning hotter than the sun, threatening to burn him if he doesn't fix his mistake.

He notices her expression too, and his jitters increase tenfold. Becoming all the more worried about Mr. World finding out about this and punishing him as a result.

It's only when a bead of sweat rolls down his temple that you decide you've tortured him enough. After all, you only wanted to scare him a bit for being disrespectful. And despite his rudeness, getting him in trouble with Media and World is not something you plan on doing.

Leaning back slightly, your facade drops completely, your scowl forming into a smirk to accentuate your little joke. "Just kidding."
You boop the tip of his nose, and his face scrunches up, but you can see him visibly untense in relief. You also catch Media's rage dissipating as her sneer softens into a neutral expression.

Exiting his personal space by taking a few steps back, you chuckle, nonchalantly stuffing your hands in your pockets. "It's been a fun chat, but I need to get going. I'll have my answer soon. Ta-ta for now." And with that, you make your way out of the park. Leaving behind the two new gods and the lingering stare that's been pinned to you all day.

"Geez, what took you so long," Anne whines at you after bidding her customer a goodbye.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry. I ran into some unexpected company." You scratch the back of your head and smile at your two workers. Lifting the bag of food to rest on the counter to serve as your apology.

The second the food is within his sight, Jake grabs the bag from your hold and rushes to the break room. "Who cares; I'm hungry!"

"HEY, YOU BETTER NOT EAT MINE!!" Anne runs after her boyfriend, leaving you shaking your head with a laugh at their antics.

Reaching under the counter, you pull out the lunch break sign. It may not be necessary as the shop is currently empty, but it's best to put it up anyway, just in case. After all, with your luck, you know that someone will walk in the second you go to the back room if the sign isn't up. Stepping to the upper window on the door with a piece of tape, you align the sign so that it can be read and secure it in place. Satisfied, you saunter back to the counter, hopping over it to join the others in the break room.

Opening the door, you find Anne and Jake already seated, quickly digging into their food as if they haven't eaten for days. "Geez, you guys are like ravenous animals." Jake looks at you with his cheeks full of food and barbecue sauce running down his chin, proving your point.

You sit down with a chuckle and a shake of your head, reaching into the paper bag to grab your food. If there's one thing Jake knows how to do, it's to do something incredibly weird or stupid. For instance, trying to eat half the grinder stuffed in his mouth in one bite, with little to no fear of choking on it.

"So," Anne wipes her mouth with a napkin and hands Jake one, accompanied by a roll of her eyes, "What happened with that unexpected visit you were talking about."

Taking a bite of your sandwich before placing it back on the wrapper, you hum, thinking back to your little encounter with Technical Boy and Media. Talking with them wasn't all that bad. After all, you knew it was going to happen, so that prepared you for it a little bit. But having heard their pitch, you know it's only a matter of time before they come back to "ask" about your choice again. Or even worse, Wednesday hears about it and decides to interfere. Either way, your hand will be forced at some point if you drag out your decision, which means you have to figure out what to do before then. But how are you going to tell all of this to the redhead, patiently waiting for your answer?

Anne's inquisitive gaze shifts to one of concern, most likely being able to tell how the meeting with the new gods is already taking a toll on your psyche. Her hand reaches out towards you, fingers clutching onto your own and giving them a squeeze to comfort you from your internal battle, patiently waiting for your answer.

You repeat the action, a small smile gracing your lips to show your appreciation of the gesture. When she returns your grin, albeit still a bit downturned in concern, you pull your arm back to fold on the table. With a sigh, you give in to their silent questions, all the while hoping they can give you a way to get out of this mess.

"Well, I definitely wasn't expecting to see them this soon, but I knew it was coming sooner or later. I can't say I know what I'm gonna do, though."

"Okay, back up. Who and what?" Jake questions, accidentally spitting food on the table.

Cringing at the spit-up crumbs and shifting away to not accidentally touch them, you explain, "The new gods. They stopped me at the park and gave me their 'pick our side' offer."

With a resounding plop, Jake drops his food to the wrapper below, emptied hands bracing on the table. "WAIT, REALLY?!"

"Yeah, really," You grumble, fingers kneading into your forehead to stave off a headache, "I was hoping I wouldn't have to deal with them for a while."

"Do you have any idea what you're going to do?" Anne questions, worry lacing her words as she and Jake share an anxious glance. They know the threat the new gods-well any god possesses and your reason for not wanting to join in the war. But they also knew, just as much as you did, that eventually, a choice would be forced on you.

"Honestly," You lean back in your chair, arms folding behind your head when it's obvious your massaging won't stop the approaching migraine, "I have no clue."

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