Artemis was given a paper that annoyed her, confused her, and even left her wondering why she had dared try to enjoy such a dangerous occupation. Her company asked a reluctant employee to tie bind wings or tie thin arms behind her own back--told not to “Engage in any conduct which is not in the best interest of the company”. They had passively called her a liar, denouncing handfuls of complaints and sidestepping questions as to work ethic and professionalism; throwing her face upon an office table by a wiry ponytail and pressing her face harshly upon an L shaped desk. They said “sign...or else”. Forgetting that Artemis paid for her experience to reside at the site of the work; meant to convenience the company and provide proof of a team player. She had agreed to forfeit sleep...if only to mitigate damage to property being used at full capacity. The citizens were stranded with their overpriced homes, willing to look for reasons of human contact, or new ways to complain. Other places offered rent free situations for such diligence, as to de-burden the workers that held up entire buildings. Not this cheap-ass entity. They were archaic in their methods, giving Artemis a coupon and forcing her to stand in a broken, undesirable, and unprofitable room.

Artemis was bored, her thoughts tied up in the litigation she had already let spin out of control. The reigns of justice were taken from her hands, and thrown into the laps of professionals: those armed and ready to demand fair treatment and proper earnings. Serving one battle at a time had left her vulnerable to mistreatment in new fashions. Why was it so hard for these new people to admit she was a person? She was unnerved by the vague and oddly-worded phrases in a contract, “no discussing working-conditions”, and all the standardized threats that were called “trade secrets”. No part of a plumbing system was considered proprietary information...but, bio hazards being left to leak into common areas by the command of a lazy and easily overwhelmed supervisor could be seen as potential litigation issues...for sure. Artemis lived at her work, and worked to provide living. She resided on the same ground floor as a device that compacted trash: her flat entrance being seen and found “by accident”, sparingly by lost randoms. Occasionally she’d step out of her house, and stumble over unhoused citizens curled up in the nook of her doorway, using her entry to practice hard paraphernalia. Citizens were openly lost in trances and left scabbing beneath the skin, with trespassing being the least of their worries. Artemis hadn’t slept for over six months, and only one random fellow dared to smile at her for whatever reason: leaving Artemis, bored beyond bored.

Artemis had suffered in silence, a bleeding heart wrangled into sobriety...stranded with a clear mind, and a glare that handled everyday anger. Why had people become so infatuated with her existence? Why did her employer mention her genome at each awkward moment of silence--as though Artemis was a freak to gawk at? She said nothing, when the woman in charge pointed at her own linens and boasted of being an ally to the melanin that had brought pain and ostracization to worlds of those cursed with diversity. Artemis began to sigh profusely to the unending arrogance that left her undeniably isolated, demoralized and bored.

She had grown weary of a frazzled dead-eyed savage supervisor, casting compliments as to her image. The oddity of sexualization as a hobby left her worn out on her days off...listlessly exhausted from reminding him of the first name of another team member...that just happened to be brown. Artemis often spoke in high volumes, or treated him with verbiage meant for toddlers. These weren’t things she’d “made-up”, these were objectively stupid situations that the company had allowed and enabled. The institution of building and maintaining homes was ruined at the hands of such pale and greedy ignorance. There was no equal judgement in this house, no-there was only the “law” placed by those shadowy figures holding bonds and shares. Artemis lay at the bottom of a totem, holding a large amount of the burden while others reaped profits from citizens too stupid to object to the raise in rent. There was little-to-no demand for a building with infestation problems; seating entitled individuals left in charge of “managing” things while Artemis stood in endless shit. Artemis said building, but she meant buildings--considering she helped maintain and juggle three separate properties: towering and occupied by citizens caged in their overpriced shared spaces. The mandated isolation had brought out the worst in the citizens...those left to face their romantic partners, or to discover the value of their cheaply constructed residence. They had resorted to extremes in attempt to fight off the unyielding hours left to be filled with self-discovery in their mansions consisting of only one room.

Artemis was tied at the mercy of her own hamartia, left punished for caring about the wrong people, allowing others to take advantage of her work morals. She was blinded by passions in assisting others-left being pleasant, and kind to those ready to strike their partners the moment she left the crime scene. Artemis said nothing: distancing herself from the occupants, and further shielding herself from an employer’s vast mood-swings and hostility. The relentless bullshit of others personal matters was the responsibility of the woman in charge: an immature individual with accountability problems and a stuck-up snarl that could be seen kilometers away. There was no room for error on the three sinking ships tied together, and so Artemis sought a new place to call home. Her seasonal depression was in full-swing, and now strangers needed her to denounce her last bit of individualism: just in case they needed to fire her tomorrow...she supposed. Which was why the paper below her cheek seemed so menacing. Artemis looked around, and began to emotionally pack her impersonal “urban studio”, also known as “her room”.

They held her face to the table, and asked that she withheld from discussions of all that had been seen, all that she had witnessed whilst on the job: meaning the interactions between her “tired” co-workers. Artemis wasn’t the captain of these ships, she hadn’t any allegiance to these strangers before this chapter: knowing that they were her friends first, but incompatible in their work ethics. Artemis had a strange curse....being a man of action. It left her to be a stand alone person, exiled from those that avoided the tougher jobs. Sometimes she called it being allergic to people, but in all reality--those that inhabited her territory were wildly allergic to her existence. She lived in a life where there was only a place for her to be a token or a checked box to represent diversity, but when it came to dishing out respect of acknowledgement...the pale citizens couldn’t handle the amount of praise that was left solely for her. Artemis wasn’t afraid to do the hard work, the hazardous tasks, or even the mundane orders of others set out to be disgruntled. It was obvious that their three ships were sinking, and if there was needed to be lifeboat to float them all to safety...all those mentioned would habitually lie, or die on a hill of excuses: telling her to her face--that there simply wasn’t ample room.

They behaved as though a million eyes watched their every move, as though every thought had to be witty or memorable of sorts, cuts and scripts made for the masses: using Artemis’s frail body to deflect any moments of silent awkwardness. Artemis knew something was wrong, but she felt comfortable in admitting her new friends had unconscious biases. It wasn’t her place to “correct them”, they were all at least ten years her senior and supposedly professionals. They were old enough to know better, and they collectively chose to treat Artemis like an exotic animal instead. She began to avoid the mandated entry into a glass room.

Artemis was left to succumb to the consequences of disruption in sleep, rightfully growling at her management for their inability to respect boundaries on her "days off". She reminded a male supervisor that she was not his lowly secretary, and not in the slightest responsible for how he managed his department--eventually asking why he couldn’t manage a whole fucking forty-eight hours without her aide. The two in charge cowered, and sent her a threatening paper as a warning. That was the assumption she felt at that moment. It may have been a coincidence, a change in the stars and waves of the ocean even. She doubted it. Artemis held her Five wee fingers out, wondering why a fragile and fleeting compass on the corner of Vancouver Ave. had led her astray. This whole Avenue was dreary, and Artemis was not in any position to “fix it”...her heart was sick, and needing attention. Their joined inability to lead, or function as productive adults wasn’t her problem to solve, and their assumptions that it was left her almost surprised and habitually bored.

Artemis let herself sleep on the topic of the awful and "updated form", wondering how she could spin their words whenever the sky fell. No profits could come from a dried cloud, and the totem of hierarchy could easily display a route of pending disaster. Artemis knew her delay in signature meant she was an honest man, a hard worker, and an honorable person. "I tried my best, but nothing will ever be enough for these people." She bowed a de-crowned head in defeat...and asked for forgiveness for the many ways she allowed people to abuse her, overwork her, overlook her, and take advantage of her circumstances, and or kindness. "I don’t think I’m the biggest problem to this team." She took a deep and sobering bow, asking to transfer her skills in the dead of night. These types of values often confused the citizens that chose to live in their dull lives, without opinion, unskilled, and bored.

Artemis walked into work, told to have a seat and wield a signature by a woman-unaware that her authority was being severed by the moments passing. She asked the shadowy person holding her face to the table, “does this mean we’re finally getting a workbench?, I don’t think it’s safe to cut metals and wood with a hack saw upon the floor.” The shadow said nothing “does this mean you’re going to finally remind the residence of normal trash etiquette? They’re still leaving open containers and trash in rooms filled with chutes, and there’s only so much I can do--to contain the spread of bacteria during a global pandemic.” They both knew she was wasting her technical skills, painting rooms from the mass exodus from the newly evicted--the shadowy figure only cared about potential profits. They needed her to do the work of two men at all times, and became upset when by her mortal injuries...enough to avoid documentation and to write her mending period off as sick days. They both knew she was burdening their company by not working in plumbing systems, and felt anger in her inability to buckle down on trades and experience--too occupied in manually shoveling and hauling off disgusting mountains of trash from a designated and well designed waste room.

The shadow said nothing, and Artemis knew that had been the reason for the why the rate in which employees “turned on them”, had been so frequently noted by the residents. Their choice in devaluing workers would catch up to them sooner rather than later. She had decided to run, rather than to carry the collapsing billows of heavy dust from a totem meant to disadvantage manual laborers. Artemis was sober, no longer feeling the need to burn down bridges, or shit where she slept. Self-accountability gave her a competitive edge like no other. Artemis was a lady. Only petty women, those screeching aimlessly of all they Heard, did such infallible acts upon marital beds. Artemis sighed, knowing her day was already better by the acts of expression in literary arts...for having flexed her skills in the raps and flows. It would take a very grounded audience to take pride in her need to express the importance of representation, because her job had been deemed essential...parallel to those saving lives in a surgical room.

Artemis decided to attempt a slumber, knowing the pending doom that awaited her the next day--the risk of exposure she faced, the inferiority of her role as a working human held its own tedium, under her two boarder-line incompetent supervisors. Artemis was unsafe in her work, which also was conveniently labeled “home”, and with that being said: she informed her Kind-Hearted Hunters of how she had taken initiative and sought out new leaders to learn from without the need to prepare a team crumbling from the ground up. The last straw--being a leader flicking her on the head as a hobby, demeaning her place in team gatherings...and using Artemis as a human prop as she smiled wickedly and said "get back to work". Artemis was tired of working for unprofessional, boundary-less individuals, as she did grueling work. The two in charge often sat upon their asses, armed with complaints as to her inefficiency. There was no respect to be earned at the hand of Sabah, and so Artemis took a calm breath...taking a position far away from whatever bullshit was being rewarded in that particular room.

This job wasn’t supposed to be difficult, but it was when her supervisor would rather cut off his own limbs as opposed to paint, and the woman in charge vouched for reasons, as to why the entire department of two whole people--wasn’t up to her standards in keeping three boats afloat. Artemis didn’t want to lose her friends, they were nice enough people, just not “on brand” with what the tax-payers had instilled in her whilst working under the Blue Shield of Hope. She crafted a soft and gentle poem for her friends, in case they forgot that she was a person, or dared to argue to the short and sweet facts. She had asked the Kind-Hearted Hunters if legal representation would be needed...assuming that the mistreatment could continue to spiral out of her control. They coddled her hurt feelings, reminding her that a newly sobering mind took its own toll...allowing her to weep in embarrassment at the fact that her life had been built around her love of a liquid escape. A poison that kept her stagnant. Artemis took their hugs shyly, turning away from the small woman sitting alone in her massive contemporary “house” with only half its “amenities” working--wondering why such spooky shadowy figures suddenly “cared” about what Artemis said in the confines of her own “residence”, her own room.

There was nothing to do, nowhere to go, everything was broken beyond repair. There was no relief being sent, to aid with the non-existent deadlines of profiting margins set up by Titanas overlords. Artemis told herself to sleep...the profits and souls of the those choosing to overpay for inadequate housing were not her responsibility. Her employer had smiled and gazed past her concerns when Artemis had mentioned a transfer, stating that they “weren’t allowing it”-unaware that she’d already began to hedge around a worsening situation. The woman seemed uncomfortable that Artemis was willing to leap into the abyss, and removing herself from the base of a totem under her control, having convinced herself that an employee was somehow destitute without her decision in decree. Artemis didn’t like the strange glaze in her dancing eyes, and really didn’t take lightly to threats or restrictions without merit--so she filed forms to cast herself into the unknown anyways: reading the fine print and sloppily signing a form stating nothing. She took pity on the leader, realizing that those around her rarely respected the ethic provided, or whatever novelty she brought with an insincere and chaotic smile. Artemis told her employer that her words and actions made her “very uncomfortable”, and was met with gas--lit with the bullshit response “I’m sorry you feel that way.” Artemis rolled her tired eyes and threw up her hands in defeat...there was literally no way to have a professional conversation, as long as this lady was in present in any room.

Artemis knew how this game worked, her Peoples called it colonization. The woman was lazily leading their ship into directly into an iceberg, and expecting everyone aboard or beneath her rule to be collateral damage...which followed suit with the entirety of the “culture of the West". Nobody was in charge--despite the fact they had an allocated leader. It was too late for such vile personalities to change, she had been given too much credibility, too much allowance for bad behavior up until today. Artemis was no sucker, no human to trample upon, and so she began to pack her life with a dignified sigh, racing her own thoughts as she prepared to dock on shores unknown. Here, in these rare moments--there was no place for self-pity or laziness, because Artemis knew she deserved better...if it meant asking the world for less. How many citizens had she met in moments of stress...pleading for her assistance while things leaked uncontrollably, pressured by a stranger prepared to move out of the way while she worked in the silence. It was just easiest for her to put her head down and pretend to know the layout of each broken room.

How many had needed the assurance of thirty minutes to prepare their lodging for the pending snows while she sealed up newly installed windows and drained faulty heating systems? How many people had stepped aside, as Artemis walked confidently into their house with a golden ponytail trailing in the wind-a stride carried without judgement while she man-handled the hazardous mess that flowed over their porcelain? Artemis was fearless when it came to everyone else’s problems...but she held a firm smile and that made people unaware that every “mistake” was to be ticked-and-tacked at the mood of an unstable woman. Artemis was sober. There was no rug that could be pulled from beneath her...besides her words of choice. The upheaval of defeat was taking its toll on her body--she had lazily signed a paper stating she’d withhold conversations as to whatever machinery had been used, or specifications of demands that residents required with her skilled services--but she took away the inspiration that formed into enough gold leafing to cover an entire porcelain throne--one fit for royal. Artemis walked a tight rope from this moment on, she hadn’t the luxury of fucking up this time. There was absolutely no excuse for her claim: she had expended them all in intoxicated nights of regrets and mistakes--all in all, there simply was no room.

The serene reality that she had begun a journey without a heading fell over her life like a billowing fog, held down by only the expectations in enjoying what was left of a life absorbed by physical pain. The one place of escape continuously found in her life had been a house crowed with roses, filled with athletic talents famed for their consistent mediocrity and entertainment acts that set stages aflame and hearts a flutter. Her place of rectitude was a throne forever empty of the company of a friend stolen from the world-a relic structure that stood as proof that his presence in the world had ever been real. Artemis often sat with a seat occupied by his fading memory in moments of confusion, and used the building to gain perspective in a world that wasn’t made for her level of commitment to others: avoiding the plight of a life where her passion for caring was abused, neglected or ignored. She’d often close her eyes for brief moments of insecurity-feeling the ground quake beneath her feet and the sounds of audiences needing to escape a ruthless world that left them all chained to shitty occupations, unable to find happiness in life outside of occasional side quests, and ultimately bored.

The tales of a hopeless romantic left Artemis to sprint back in time, needing to recall details of all the minor things she’d overlooked, or subsequently chose to ignore in moments of stress. She had wasted copious amount time readying herself to met a charming Prince with flouncing hair and his band of five-or-six friends...fully engaged by a mere daydream of a stranger, all while accidentally staring at another man directly in front of her. How many times had she escaped to an arena of competition, delicately placed music into her ears, and cheered for a tall stranger: a kind man labelled the crowned gem of a land down under? Artemis had overlooked him as an Olympian, noticing only his soothing voice, dashing smile, and his ability to casually stand happily content as a giant in any room.

Artemis began to hyperventilate--attempting to explain her embarrassment in flit memory. She grappled to pull apart and analyze the static laced thoughts brought on by chronic pain and almost a handful of seizures: Artemis began lamenting to Yoyo, how she halfway remembered hitting on a random in a royal red coat. It seemed rude to backtrack, and to ask a gentleman flat out--if he recalled a petite woman casually hitting on him...and risky to point out the fact that she had a hobby giving sharply dressed men attention. Artemis would often brush air over her shy face, as he walked away growling to herself and wondering why he looked so familiar. The nonoccurence of their interactions left Artemis stressed out by the idea that Orion could’ve been potentially right when he angrily pointed out they had met before the occasion she recalled as their first introduction. The notion of such being true, would leave her ready and willing to light herself on fire in a fleeting white room.

The prize of a nose bleeding was a small amount for Artemis to pay in order to daze off and observe such a consistent, reliable, defensive talent. She hadn’t seen a cute suitor and his dimples from such a far distance, and he was preoccupied upon his tasks in attending a never ending gladiator arena. He had been rolled up in a rug, curtains of sorts and professionally traded along a port of hopeless souls. His mother had gifted him with the lucky number four, and wrapped him in royal shades of purple or red. Artemis laughed crushingly at the instance of realization that her attraction was to his need to embrace the past and to stand tall in the present. She had become a huge fan of him as a person, and found out his Olympian status long after they had exchanged flirtatious smiles. The importance of such a number in a timeless story of a woman without husband and too many suitors was the dumbest part of her journey thus far. They had both found relief and escape from an awful world by stepping on wooden courts and living through each moment at the hand of hard work. Both lived in a meticulously crafted world where there was no place for missteps, and no reason to give in to the grief that lingered behind them in each room.

Artemis wondered how many times she had paid entry to observe him and his friends not-winning championships. She said unforgiving things like "ya can’t win them all", and "nobody expected us to win today" to passerby’s complaining of predictable defeat and occasional unprecedented wins. Artemis and the citizens took pride in crossing a rusty bridge, all decked out in rosey colors and holding polite conversations with the housed and unhoused; each and every person was ready to break an unspoken curse-- thrilled to blaze a new trail in a legacy that could subdue the dreary rains with a hail of cheers. All it would take was one bountiful season of victory to break the listless crux that left the citizens complaining endlessly. Winning was the only thing that kept Artemis from dying from an intellectual curse in surviving as a sovereign citizen: utterly alone, and perpetually bored.

They had all desperately wanted to find strength in the word "we", or find just pride in their steep property taxes. Artemis and the citizens moseyed over a river in defeat and on the occasional evenings of glory to prove such a united longing. She was unaware of his date in arrival, only informed to the fact that he often lived out of bags and traveled as an occupation...in search of a new home. The handsome stranger had no idea that his skills in wielding an orange sphere was her most favorite thing in the whole wide universe. She had no clue he existed, until Artemis caught herself blushing while avoiding looking up at his unhelpful beaming grin, or casting strange faces whilst noticing his broad shoulders taking up the entirety of her frame in vision. His curse in invisibility was something that allowed her to feel a range of deep "derp" in her heart: which served as evidence to her commitment to remain single, unwed, and romantically bored.

Next Chapter: *[ LIII ] Artemis and the Pelican of Hades*