Octō

"Where am I?"

That was direct. A bold step though. He was supposed to know.

He had been asking his subconsciousness over and over again, but at that moment, the question would do.

It should serve him rightly if the giver of the response would be generous enough. He wasn't sure if that would be true.

He hadn't lived to know to know him well. To be acquainted with the clownish Poseidon. He didn't know what he dos and donts were.

Neither did he know the things which did prick his marred mercy. They were simply getting to know themselves newly.

None could bank on the other, else such would go bankrupt. He needn't process so many a thoughts. One after the other maybe.

But there were quite the numbers of things that were strapped to his bothers which he couldn't simply toss aside. He would simply deal with them.

That was the best he could do. Nothing more. He couldn't had done something better than that.

He awaited the response of Poseidon who was few steps away from him.

He had no idea what he was doing there. He didn't actually care. He simply wanted his questions answered. And that would be attained in no time.

He had asked himself times weary of counting of numbers, whether or not he really wanted to be friends with Poseidon.

A part of him really wanted him to, but the other part wouldn't him. He didn't know which to succumb to or rather say, revere.

He hadn't been so patient enough to know the rules guiding him in his tour in that world of fantasy. Would he really call it a tour?

Probably there was another name he could call it. Probably names like voyage or some leave. He couldn't be sure.

But did he really wanna make friends with him? He had simply known him for just two days. If that was actually what they called it there.

For everything seemed to have a new name and a new form in the fantastical world. And again he asked himself.

If he really were friends with Poseidon what difference would it make. What did that make them? Would that win his trust.

He had read from some of the scribblings of Myclops that Poseidon was a god or is. And does one make friends with the gods? Really?

He had only known men to be slaves of the gods, though he served no god. Poseidon's voice ran through the room as it snatched him outta his thoughts and mocked his grit:

"Is that what you want to know?"

He was then not sure whether or not he really wanted to be friends with the so called Poseidon.

Was he not supposed to know where he was? Was he not entitled to knowing where he was? Was he not supposed to sue him to court; if there was any in the world of fantasy though.

Why had he replied a question with a question? Was that one of the acts of the gods? To intimidate their subjects or something close to it?

He wasn't sure if that was the right thing to think. He didn't know the answer he was supposed to give.

He thought it would better to ask another question, for if he answered that question, he could be denied of so many a facts to know.

He wouldn't take such chances. He would never. He sort his thoughts for what question was there next to ask. Question that wouldn't be oneside.

He thought keenly or closely. He needed a response, but he guess apt acumen was quite weary to champion his course.

Something came off though. He knuckled under a question to ask. At least he could confide in the new one:

"How did my body get fixed? Got many gores all over my body."

He hoped he wouldn't reply the cliche. He was tired of laying. He needed some better position.

Poseidon should of course had told him to sit up. He couldn't remember if he had said but he didn't take heed.

He wasn't allowing his thoughts seeming stances. He made a seat for the new and flexed his willingness.

He decided to sit up after feeling his eyes and every part of his body. There was no iota of pored pain left. He was just in some taunted trance maybe.

There were quite the numbers of things in the world of fantasy which he did love. Of course who wouldn't? He wouldn't have to have to die.

He wouldn't be afraid of taking chances. He wouldn't be afraid of walking through fire. He wouldn't be afraid of exhibiting all the crazy and dangerous plus sinister things he had written in his poems.

Well, he would have to think twice. He had no idea how many lifelines he did have. How bout if twas just three, he wouldn't want to take chances.

Poseidon was standing before him. Damn! He was hefty. There were triceps so conspicuous in pleasant patterns across his arms.

He was with no cloth on. Damn! If Vulcan was a gay, he would of course gobble him at the moment. He was simply with stanced muscles which canvassed the Independence of his chest.

His belly was quite in, like flat, but with pulpy traces of patterns across them. Kinda a scribbling he had read from Myclops arts.

If he got to return to earth once more, he would always revere Myclops and his teaching and scribblings. Everything he had written were red reality.

He was glad that he had read them. Then he looked away from him to make sense of the pattern of the perfectly furnished room.

Then came again the voluptuous voice of Poseidon, haughty enough to rip off his pride and consciousness:

"Remember Leviathan in your wishes when you are staged. He gave you one of his lives. You have no idea what he does before he gets a lifeline back.

Or do you think gods like me just live without dying as a cake? There are things which keeps us alive. Now about where you are, remember that Nymph you want so badly, this is her apartment.

Leviathan could not house you, and the hall is far too dangerous for you, for I won't always be around.

You'll have to stay with her for as long as possible, till she's ready to let you go like the Leviathan.

That's one of the rules here. And about my praise you'll....."

"Is he awake..."

He looked from Poseidon to the owner of that intruding voice. Had he just called it a voice?

Hell no! Twas a music. A moaning music. His eyes almost popped out at what he saw. He paved the pages of his lips in awe!