It was an ultra tense moment, with me looking at him and him looking at me and the both of us just…sorta staring each other down a whole bunch. I watched him steadily, my eyes on his black face and those sparkingly blue eyes of his, wondering who he was, what was happening, what would happen here. He was an unknown quantity and I held my breath waiting to see the waterline, cuz it felt like I had jumped head-first off of the edge of the world and all I was doing was flying through empty space…

*"I am sure that you have questions.”*

…But then he had the nerve to say some of the dumbest shit I had ever heard in my life, and I was livid at the drop of a pebble; I snorted hard through my nose, breaking my stare by tossing my head roughly to the side, so roughly that my whole body shifted and I think I cricked my neck and my ass was thrown a little to the left. What the hell, man!? I was born on the W day of the T month in the F year and my Ma gross-birthed me under the great Question Mark Constellation of Great Shat but I’m sure you have questions, Roskuld. And what was this crap with his voice? That drop in it, after he said my name all powerful and majestic ‘n shit, but suddenly it felt like he was being….careful? Dare I say…hesitant? And I rejected the idea at once, breathing hard and lashing my non-existent tail and still kinda snorting, angry at the merest shadow of an indication of my Pa not knowing how to talk to me, his sperm-child-thingamajig, because there can’t be two clueless bastards running the universe and dammit I’m sure he has more of a liability suit on his side if shit goes awry.

Also.

Way to spot the obvious, oh Father of mine! I’m sure you have questions. Nevermind your entire existence is enough to speculate about, but no, Ros, no, let’s not assume things here, let’s take it slow and give you the chance to untangle your tongue and have a pleasant conversation like the rational strangers we are, nevermind this is the first time we’ve seen each other eye to eye since you was a foal, nevermind I’ve never even given you the slightest hint of what to do, where to go, who you are. Nevermind I never bothered to check on you, my only daughter (Only?), even when I took your body from you, shifted it, made you older with bigger shoulders to carry bigger question-marked responsibilities with bigger monsters and bigger, scarier sicknesses. No, NO, it’s fine, no really, it’s all awesome and hunky-dory and whatever the hell, and even if I never sought you out, it’s fine. I swear it’s fine, Ros, that your Ma didn’t even give you a whisper of what a god was or that you were the daughter of one, or that I never tried to fix that. It’s all good, yo. And now that we’re standing here, eye to eye, heart to heart, ass to FUCKING ass, I think it’s implied I don’t need to say “Hi” or “Hello there, daughter” or “What’s up, shithead” or a pat on the back or a whisper of pride or a sneer of disgust and a cuss-word or two or anything, anything at all, indicating that you’re the fuck-up I’ve always wanted or the perfect daughter I never needed, or whatever, or that you’re doing a great job or that you’re making a mess of things, or anything--

--anything--

--anything, a touch, a smile, anything saying “You’re my daughter and I guess we gotta deal with it”. No, I’ll let you fall through space and time and there isn’t any water at the bottom so get ready to hit sheer pavement, darling.

(That was my sarcastic Time God tirade, by the way.)

And I stood there locking my jaw, chewing my cheek (me, actually me, Ros) my spine trembling even as I continued to snort, because even though my Pa gave me “permission” to ask questions, I couldn’t. It was turmoil inside me, a roiling mass of thunderheads and sparking anger and fear and everything, everything all at once, and it was moving too fast for me to grab so it just sort of…swirled there, on my tongue, and I knew if I opened my mouth I was just gonna end up screaming AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!! at my dad and I didn’t think it would’ve been as great as an ice-breaker as I believed it would be at the time. So I tried to swallow it back but it was too big for my throat, so then I chewed it in my mechanical jaw as my Pa kept talking about shit and more shit and the more he talked, the more something else inside me welled up, a question that made sense, and when I opened my mouth I forgot about manners and maybe it was about to kill me.

“And why can I do this?” I spat roughly at him, my words a literal lougie that I couldn’t control, sticky and green with all my disbelief, relieved or otherwise, at his request. He needed my help? Mine? Hasn’t he been watching this particular tragicomedy that was my life? Was…there truly no one else better qualified than me? (now THAT thought was scary) “What—why can’t you? How can—what makes you—why….Why me?”

Why. That was the question, wasn’t it? I swallowed hard; I looked back at him, finally, because before now I guess I had been awkwardly staring off into snowcovered nothingness and muttering through the side of my mouth. But now I looked at him. Really looked at him, and as I did I fought back the rising storm that had started creeping up on me again (AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH) but this time I had the question on my tongue and I could use it. “….Why?” I asked, hard and soft at the same time, quiet and loud all at once, a bite and a spark on my teeth and just the tiniest hint of wetness in my eye as my gaze bore into his own. “Why, Pa?” A little louder, a trifle harder, but not angry. No. I just wanted to know why. Why did he knock Ma up with gross sex like that—why’d he put his thing in Ma’s other thing—why was I born? Was I just some mistake, the product of some wild-ass party a god decided to have because gods can do that kind of thing? Or did he….was I a thing he was trying to accomplish?

He said I could ask questions if I wanted to—well, I’m askin’ them. Time for some answers, old man.

(Heh. Time....But seriously though.)




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