Kryptonians have too many rules and regulations. For instance, there is a very long, and dry, list of things you are supposed to do when courting someone, all of which Eirene keeps forgetting the moment she's not actually looking at it.

It's taken over a month to get Jor-El to agree to this, even though it's highly irregular (he posited that Kal-El should be courting her, but Eirene has no father to ask, so this is how it is) and quite possibly entertainment for the entire planet.

Eirene isn't even sure why she's doing this, except that it's very important that Kal stays in her life. Someday she'll return to Earth, and if he's still alive, she wants him to go with her. For now, though, the goddess is just going to leave a bundle of flowers on his doorstep while no one's around.

Because, really, she can't keep all the rituals straight and this is the best idea she's come up with.

It's about a month since Eirene last saw the planet she was born on. Three weeks of ship travel, and three minutes of portaling just so she could face a group of Elders and listen, with the aid of a tall, dark-haired translator, to their pronouncement she could stay on Krypton as long as her petite self was in danger.

She has a house now, of sorts, with a sleeping chamber, bathing chamber, and a third room for eating and socializing. The clothing sent her into a fit of giggling, alarming the poor official who brought her some, but only because it looks very Greek. Her translator is now also her Protector, which means something ominous, she's sure. He also gave her a bracelet, made of a silvery metal that isn't actually silver, with a peace sign on it. It's only slightly adorable.

And, after a week of trying to learn new customs and being stared at by everyone, Eirene is rebelling. Sort of. She conjured up a huge supply of popsicle sticks and glue, then settled in one of the indoor arboriums to lie in wait. Sure enough, by the end of two Kryptonian hours --or cyles-- she's got a small group of children around her and is busy helping to construct a replica of the Trojan Horse, while explaining the entire saga of the Illiad.

The mud is clogging Eirene's throat again, making it hard to breath, and she's taken to inhaling as shallowly as possible to prolong the oxygen intake. It's almost laughable that the only thing keeping her from supposedly suffocating are the rocks around her, holding her upright and in place, standing guard against anyone foolish enough to try and free her.

Above her head, far above the arms stretched taut to accentuate the misery, she can hear her grandmother's essence buzzing with activity, but she's so far down in the pit that it's difficult to make out real words, let along understand what the excited tones mean. More wars probably, she's certain Ares has been gorging himself on violence for the five mortal years she's been trapped here.

The aura of activity does seem heightened, though. It'd be nice to know what's going on. To the goddess's knowledge, there isn't usually a fuss made anywhere around Delphi, where she's reasonably sure her brother imprisoned her.