MetaDeprivation - 15. MetaPrompts 591: Were (MW1)

When he woke up, he felt dirty. He threw the blanket across the room as if it was covered in squirrel shit, and got up. He spread his arms to allow the fresh wind from the sea caress his body, letting go of a calming sigh.

“What’s up, Precious? It’s in the middle of the night,” she asked him full of concern, kissing his neck gently.

“The boy,” he answered, trying to collect himself.

“He’s safe, the Messenger and the Smart One are making sure of that …

“I know,” Precious answered, his body still trembling.

“What is it then?” She left him to return with a plate of grapes; big grapes from the Island of Aphrodite.

“He’s found his Good,” he huffed; accepting one of the grapes being pushed between his lips.

“That’s good.”

“I guess so,” he calmed down. “We need to meet.”

“In the morning, Precious. - So who are his Good?”

“Werewolves,” he started.

“What are werewolves?” she asked in confusion.

“Λυκάνθρωποι. Men who turn into monstrous beasts at the full moon.”

“And they are his Good? Like Lykaon? But he’s evil.”

“He was. They were. But in this new world, evil is good,” he explained.

She looked doubtful.

“I can explain tomorrow. It’s linked to his preference for men. Anyway, he has the fantasy of controlling them in their beast state; and …,” he swallowed, “… loving them in their human state.”

“So we need to get those tall, darkish, hairy beasts?” she asked pondering about the implications, suppressing the gruesome aspects of Lykaon.

“No. Fair-skinned, red-haired, compliant, …”

“Why’s that?” Now she ate one of the grapes herself.

“I don’t know. I just sense how he reacts to what he sees on these … TV shows.”

“I guess we couldn’t expect him to react to the Odyssey,” she joked. She had found the modern invention of TV highly entertaining; though the depictions of most historic events she had actually witnessed, were as far off, as was the treatment of the Greek divinities. Zeus surely wasn’t an old man with long white hair.

“True.” He ran to the table, heaps of scrolls of parchment covering it in a system only the Smart One understood. “Did we catalog some of them?”

The ‘young’ woman closed her toga with a delicate needle, one of many gifts from Precious, before she approached him. “We are watching the lives of more than thousand young men, many with connections to the U.S. military as you’d ordered … I’m sure we’ll find some.”

Anxiously he shuffled through the papers. “Not him,” he threw one to the side. Slowly it glided to the floor. She bent to pick it up returning it to the table. The Smart One would be upset otherwise. “You need to get him to Europe to deepen his desire,” he suddenly said.

“Of course, Precious. I’ll change the location to the North – home of those wolves,” she suggested. The boy would never remember where he really had been until he was eight … her suggestions would form his memories in line with their needs – his needs.

“We need to instigate the wolves in his home town … he needs to sense their presence … but they cannot reveal themselves,” he continued, still shuffling through the scriptures.

“The Messenger will do that.”

“I need to meet the headmaster, …” he mumbled until he suddenly shouted: “Here. That’s the right guy for his first.” He handed a big roll to his goddess.

Her delicate white hand unrolled it and read the name: “Prime Loope, Montana.” The picture showed a good-looking young man, even though he had just turned fifteen. She added quickly. “I’m pretty sure he is a man already. And has lain with another man, that best friend of his,” she read the name ‘Zef,’ before she doubtfully added: “Or a woman.”

“Man, most likely,” Precious stated. “We need to make him forget that.”

“We need to do a lot of that. We need to control his father. Make him banish his son. – This boy has an aunt - Flora. Sylvia can take over her place,” she continued.

“Here, the next one,” the man shouted. He placed another roll on top of the one the woman was reading. She smiled at the man’s eagerness, rolled up the first scroll properly, before reading the second one. “A Mormon?” she read in confusion.

“Blond. Innocent. Fast. Easily manipulatable because of his environment. Easy to be kicked out.”

“And easy on the eye. Gaukula will be so happy.”

The man growled but didn’t comment. He continued to discard scriptures, continued his search, throwing papers left and right without respect for the system. “Him,” he shouted.

“Looks more like a bear than a wolf,” she stated with amusement. “Burt Alexander,” she read. “But he will be tougher to get control of.”

He ignored her. “Gaukula will find a way.”

“Of course, Precious.” She rolled the parchment and put it next to the other two. “We should return to bed …”

“Not yet,” he stopped her, the pictures in his head still vivid. He hadn’t expected the boy to find his Good so early, but he guessed with the invention of TV, everything was happening faster in today’s world.

“He. He’s the fourth,” he pointed at the boy in front of him.

“Another Mormon. Jared?” she read. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes.” Suddenly exhaustion captured him. He fell on the chair in front of the table with a big sigh.

And then they just listened to the wind moving the white drapes providing them with privacy in their Mediterranean retreat surrounded by a luscious park; their private refugio, built thousands of years ago after they had killed the Lord of the Dark; a long time ago.

She gently pushed a slice of sweet pear through Precious’ lips, who swallowed obediently. “I think you have done enough. Let’s go back to sleep.”

He nodded.

“Tomorrow we’ll sit together and start our plan how to get the first four out of their families and together; and when and how they should meet the boy.”

“Yes,” he agreed. He slowly sat down on the bed and let himself fall onto the soft cushions.

“Good.” She smiled, caressing his shoulder gently. Her lips brushed his scruffy cheek. “Maybe I can help you fall asleep …”

He giggled like the little boy he had been thousands of years ago … but stopped in his tracks, his body stiffening.

“What is it?”

“The new Lord of the Dark has manifested himself,” he whispered.

“The boy has made his choice,” she stated, not surprised.

“Yes.”

“We will be prepared this time, Precious. We will succeed.”

“Yes,” he added enjoying the touch on his skin, the elegant thin fingers on his less elegant, less thin ‘finger.’

“You know Gaukula, she writes stories like Homer … and makes them happen …”

He smiled. Homer had just been Gaukula’s pen name, so … And before he fell asleep feeling that warm moist cloth on his loin, he whispered: “You need to send him books … with these wolves … and the soldiers he likes … more books … and those movies …”

“I will, my dear. His grandmother will. Now sleep, Precious, …” She kissed him on his head.

And on the other side of the planet, a young boy wondered whether Daniel ‘Oz’ Osbourne in Buffy could be bigger, cuter, and with a controllable wolf; but most importantly whether he could be interested in young boys like him.

The boy rejected that stupid thought and decided instead to play with his Lego castle.

And somebody in New York broke her cell phone throwing it against the wall when she realized the boy had made another choice – against her.