Artemis began to press past the moseying dead-eyed savages that collided beneath the circus tent: filling the tent with hot air and the tizzy of the unruly crowd, as it swayed in the winds of contentious conservatism. She began to dance and shuffle past the mosh pit of screeching monsters: skirting by them out of the boredom of having already observed the horrors beforehand. Artemis reached the center of the red and white tent, and stood in front of the Redwood pillar that lay cornerstone. She opened the small door, and entered the compact space: a prison that held the emboldened Minotaur hostage, as he sat aloof and useless waiting for Artemis to return with his aid. She handed him the thickly wound rope that been held tethered from her waist, and instructed him to follow it through the crowds.  The minotaur didn’t fancy the idea of manual labor, and so she pestered him for being a whine-y bitch and politely excused herself from his one act play. She left the men to their chaos: shaking her head as she looked back at the man whimpering and talking to himself. The beast had been cursed the God of Olympus to fall in a loop of shooting himself in the foot each morning. It hadn’t always been this way, but in the past Artemis had been obligated to report him to the Gods for having killed a variety of endangered animals for sport: ergo curse. Artemis was ready to leave the entirety of the situation, as she seemed to be surrounded by random jackasses standing in each direction. She could handle the idiots in suits, but was always unsure of her own reactions to the Viking: unsure what he wanted and why he was so committed to proving to her that he was persistent.

Artemis stepped outside the Redwood pillar, and stood upright in an unsettling jerking motion: started. She found herself standing directly beneath a pale...and very naked Viking. He adjusted his fine wired glasses as they fell from looking down upon her, and began mumbling under his breath with a scowling frown. He confronted her with passion, his timid mumbling became booming instructions as he informed her that she were inconsiderate and that she couldn’t just come and go...whenever she pleased. Their usual banter made her smile as they argued over the same topics, but in new and awful settings. She prepared her harness: prepared to ascend the pillar as she unwound her rope as to throw it in the air and admittedly, was impressed with herself for her new found talent of garland casting.  She ignored the handsome man with his uncalled for demands for as long as she could, and caught herself blushing in embarrassment: suffering in silence at how hard it was becoming to avoid gazing at his lean frame. When she finally broke and asked what he had wanted from her specifically: her mighty voice made the grey-haired man fall silent and she watched as his face slowly grew animated: his lips began to snarl and his confidence began to engorge: each second she avoided looking at him. She rolled her eyes at the absurdity of the timing, and knew he was too stubborn to possibly reason with, and so she ignored his charm and began to climb upwards: holding her tongue. She turned to leave, and didn’t notice the invisible tether the Viking had bound to her petite waist: while he had been trying to distracted her with his yelling. She made her way up to the plateau of the log, and felt stress upon the tightly bound rope protruding from her hip. Artemis grabbed the knot and began screaming at the man with no claim to her heart, and fuming that the man always held her accountable for a relationship with no title. Artemis hated him for finding new ways to publicly embarrass her, and she was often too scared to leave his side. Her first love had led her to reach the end of her literal rope. Since neither could die by mortal standards...she decided to take endless naps...laying on the floor to loosen the tension that cinched her waist. She remained there...cursed for eternity: asking the man to stop yelling, as she relentlessly giggling at what this situation meant if he ever found the words to tell her how he felt.  One day she lost her temper and finally yelled a response: asking why he seemed so disappointed with her for having left their “friendship”. The narrow man finally fell silent and became deeply lost in his thoughts. At some point in history: the Viking himself ...had forgotten who he was even yelling at in the first place. His stubbornness proving to be beyond all words and reasoning: having blindly decided to yell all conversations in his life and remain persistent.

Artemis bumped a variety of music on her wee flat: she paced in circles and found creative ways to distract herself from the yelling that continuously came from beneath her feet. She felt a force throwing her downward towards the floor throughout the day, and became ill-ridden from the physical strain the silver conductive rope cast upon her bound waist. He disrupted her sleep with his dreams aboot situations he wished for: in which he would double up on the yelling he took delight in. The girl lay trapped as a beached whale on the floor: helplessly and sarcastically wishing out-loud for anyone to help her raising one arm as she gestured to nobody her location. Artemis missed the simple things: standing... sleep...Christmas, and her two best friends. She missed them until she knew it was time to ask for their help once more.  Artemis finally articulated the entirety of the predicament she were bound to: the two women agreeably laughed at, and, or with her. They sent a gold rope by sky for her: to cut down and repurpose as she wished. She handled the cord carefully until she had the strength to successfully solder it: directly to the silver one based at her hip and mending her tethers to be endless in length. She jumped ass-first into the clashing white and red material: excited to be at sea-level once more. She left the handsome man beneath the tent, and wished him the best of wishes as she left. Heading north to visit her two best friends, as their friendship had now proved strong enough to transcend time and space. Artemis loved the two Indigenous Warriors, and often bragged of their accomplishments wherever she went, as they too: were brave and kind-hearted: just like the kind Argonauts that fought for the children stuck living with little hope. The two women upheld honor to their friendship in this way, and that was more than enough for Artemis. She’d always find a way to stand with purpose, as the three prepared their weapons of silver and gold each day: united by their restorative plans to bring justice to their land...no matter the cost. Without them she was helpless in a sense, and for this reason alone: she left behind the yelling man that declared himself a Viking. Artemis would find ways to cry in private on the matter, and knowing she’d always miss his voice. The three split ways and went forth armed with love: knowing and persistent.

Artemis continued her way North and arrived at the entrance to her familiar land...passing through a tunnel that was buried beneath a mountain. Her land was guarded by gardens of roses, and remained divided a river poisoned by carcinogens and pollution. It had changed since her youth, as the river began to erode horribly: leaving the polis to bare the striking resemblance...to that of a soggy pit. The once bustling Pioneer Square: holding a large blue-ish looking three-headed dog. The beast accommodated three city blocks alone with his large bum and tail. The immense size of the puppy and his weight had now made the urban metropolis a massive puddle. The beast appeared to be sickly and out of sorts, as each of its heads seemed to be disoriented or lethargic. The head to the right, hung his head low as it cried tears unending...wailing in sorrow. Whenever he opened his mouth to cry: out projected horrendous sounds, cast by the echoing of the iron-sticks of man. The sounds of stifling cracks and the hysterical sounds of children and mothers crying. The dog had become ill from sleep deprivation, and it had accumulated static that blinded his vision. Artemis asked what she could do to help, and he stopped growling as she approached...and judging her as an adversary: she sat still and told it... short tales of her tragic life. Artemis described great loss, and her own personal struggles...grappling with the nickname: Farmer John. Artemis knew death and defeat were near, as the citizens began to turn their backs to her or make faces of disapproval whenever she discussed her culture. She often found herself forced to speak publicly on her genetics, as the dead-eyed savages questioned her genetic “authenticity” and dressed-up as her in mockery.  Artemis would object: occasionally ruining the spirited mood, set by her teammates and suffering consequences whenever she defended her own existence. The citizens would often roll their eyes in boredom, or threaten her with violent words: afraid their cowboy way was at risk of being endangered by her political correctness. Artemis took it pretty lightly, and continually joked that she was secretly a Romanov, as was the custom of the dead-eyed savages: clinging to the bare minimum of the cultures they had once campaigning the world, as they destroyed and abandoned all they touched: persistent. 

 The sound of her accepting assertive voice calmed the beast, so Artemis told him a plethora of stories filled with truth and justice. She played a mellow violin on her Golden Fleece, and she gently pet the crying beast behind the ears: tired and weary from the growing chaos and violence. Artemis  told it the endless stories she had read of the kindness of those who occasionally stood in solitude with the children who now haunted the dreams of the Cerberus. Artemis told the dog aboot her best friends, and the expanding army of brave men and women that knelt in solidarity to prove the injustice the Nation faced together. The dog finally became sleepy-eyed, as Artemis told the stories of the brave educated Warrior Woman who had stood up to the Boar and his drunk friend. These stories calmed the poor sleepless beast enough to rest...as hope often does. Artemis now lay its head down:  sleeping softly, as she moved to observe what ailed the other two heads of the Cerberus: to her quest she proved persistent.

The middle Cerberus sat stiffly upright at attention, as she approached: his front paws slowly pulled beneath him, as he seemed startled by Artemis and her brevity. The dog seemed to have startled himself also, as it began to choke heavily and foam began frothing from its mouth. Artemis had never performed CPR on such a large animal: rendered helpless to watch the beast choking and pulling at his tree-trunk of a throat. He drooled endless puddles of steaming oily substances that were dark and putrid crudeness. Artemis took a step toward the beast: uncaringly walking on the liquid hazards until she managed to slip without grace. At some point she felt her feet whisk from beneath her, and over her head somehow: the cartoon-like blunder causing the beast to laugh in cackle. Artemis was pretty tired of life at this point, so she laid there like a defeated starfish: stewing and muttering to herself self-remedy complaints...thanking Obama under her breath. At this humour: the dog chuckled with amusement and laughed so hard, it had successfully began dislodging whatever it was currently choking on by relaxing its throat and laughing simitaniously. Artemis often fancied herself a decent comedian, and carefully stood up and began a short skit as she evaluated the situation momentarily. Holding up her dainty hands to the agitated beast as she quoted the famed Boar on the fly.  She pointed to the floor at the nothingness with a presidential concern…“Whose boat is this boat?”. Artemis delivered the line with a passion that was beyond all seriousness, as she confirmed the dogs worried eyed with theories of rival. The dog looked at the nothingness for a moment as though convinced: laying down his head with excitement to scour for the imaginary boat in question of its owner, and laughed to itself as he’d taken delight in her delivery. She got on with the set: holding up her wee presidential hands like a bewildered stoner and said: “Look at these hands. These are good…strong hands. I’ve always had people say… Donald…you have great hands.” The dog doubled over in laughter as she held stern and stayed fully in character, turning her hand over to admire the obvious stupidity of their reality. The dog hacked up a wad of plastic garbage in one breath, as she finished the monologue with the strong closing line: “I know words…I have the best words. Believe me”: waving meaningless gestures at the non-existent crowds, and taking a bow: reassuringly patting the coughing Cerberus behind his ears. Artemis spoke soothingly to him while he finished coughing up toxic and waste, and praising the animal for staying calm for the worst of it. She sat with the second dog as he panted with exhaustion: finally able to sleep with her as his guard as Artemis laid his head down to rest. She moved swiftly on to the final Cerberus head and enthusiastic that she would be able to help heal the indisposed beast, and with the mild hopes that they could eventually join forces on her mission: persistent.

The last head of the Cerberus howled in his great pain, for he was tirelessly old and wished only to die. The dog smelled of a pub and had a discolored residue brimming from edges of his nose and mouth. Artemis wondered who had let the dogs out, as this poor animal had seen some shit...been through some shit and still managed to be fluffy and cute all at once.  He wallowed in self-pity as he had grown sick with the vast substances: forcibly fed to him by the callus public. Artemis needed to know the poisons that had defeated the majestic Cerberus into this submissive defeat, and so she took taste of the discharged drool with a shirt spin of her finger. Waking up seconds later: on the floor in a puddle of puppy biowaste. The toxic concoction was a mixture of the poison of Hera: laced with a deadly drug commonly known as Fentanyl. Knowing the fatality rate of this diagnosis left Artemis feeling hopeless, as she didn’t know why anyone would feed the poor dog drugs. To heal the dogs lost and tired mind she began to sing gentle songs of the skies and the stars once more. Singing was something that she had always done out of an awkward habit in the moments she were lost, but somehow she had made a career from it in her early youth. Artemis repeated the words of healing that her best friend Hippolyta had once gifted her and repeated as she swayed her hips with pep: “you is kind…you is smart…you is important” ...over and over. She sat patiently and held poor weakened creature, as she hummed the melodies she had once loved to sing in her youth and talked aboot what would taste good for a last meal. Artemis sang countless songs: beautiful words...encouraging Changes and the promises of Better Dayz, as she gently sang and asked the animal to keep its head up. To these songs of honesty and self-forgiveness the beast slowly began to allow silent tears to fall from his eyes, the massive teardrops falling like water balloons. The beast began mumbling and grumbling, and Artemis forgave him for whatever he had done to warrant so many tears of guilt. The Cerberus began to nuzzle his crown to her ribs, and suggested that he was ready to sleep off the substance induced insomnia. Artemis was left sitting in the rain: holding the beast that now peacefully slumbered in a huge pit. She moved its third and last sleeping head aside, and bid the beast puppy goodnight: giving it ice to lay upon its aching back, and sealing her witchcraft with loving kisses...on each of their heads and giving them a few extra just in case they needed them for later. Artemis pitied the Cerberus for having suffered alone, and knew the detrimental long-term damage of abandonment first-hand. She wondered if her own anger at the world had been unwarranted, and began wrapped in her own agoraphobia once more as her thoughts stirred. Artemis decided she would eventually have to forgive herself for her faults, but knew today had been about helping her new found friend. She decided that such turmoil would be found another day, and tucked herself in to sleep upon the   soft fluffy tail of the Cerberus as reward for finally having done enough.

Next Chapter: [ XII ] Artemis and the Faceless Beast