Siproites and Caeneus Walk into a Bar
by Ariana Ferrante
Siproites had come to envy Actaeon.
For the hero, it had been over so soon. A transformation, a chase, and then death, torn apart by his own dogs as he lay trapped in the body of a trembling stag, uselessly bellowing orders the hounds could not comprehend.
They were much alike, Actaeon and Siproites. They had both been unfortunate enough to come across Artemis undressed, both too slow to flee before being noticed by the goddess of the hunt. Unlike Actaeon, however, Artemis had given Siproites an ultimatum; be transformed into a woman, she offered, or die.
Siproites chose not to die, and paid for it each day.
He thought it would be simple. It was just a different body, just a different shape. With enough time, he’d forget about living openly as a man. With enough time, the aching and the listlessness and the nausea would fade. All the pain and discomfort, he reasoned, was just the settling of his skin, the acclimation to new flesh.
But the days turned to weeks turned to years turned to centuries, and it never got easier. He never stopped flinching at reflective surfaces or recoiling when Artemis addressed the other eternally youthful ‘huntresses.’ He never was a woman, not then, not now. So long as he was Siproites, no god’s power could amend that.
Sometimes he numbed it, by bottle or pill—shut out his senses long enough that he fell asleep before he could think too much on his hips or his chest or his voice. Too heavy. Too light. Too wrong.
Sometimes it wasn’t enough.
Siproites aimlessly passed the empty shot glass between his fingers, the vessel ping-ponging over polished wood. Someone was performing a painful rendition of Bill Withers’ ‘Lean on Me’ on the rickety stage beside the bar.
A man sat down beside him, and jealousy ripped through his body at the mere sight. Tall, broad shoulders, a square jaw bursting with a full beard—like if gender envy was a person.
“Oh, hey, sorry, was that seat taken?” the man asked, his words surprisingly gentle, warm.
“No,” Siproites reassured.
“Oh, good.” A beat passed, discomfort rising like a high tide. “So, you come here often?”
He had no idea. “Yeah.”
“Must be good, then,” he laughed. “Name’s Caeneus, by the way.”
“Caeneus,” he echoed. Caeneus. Realization struck Siproites like a truck. Caeneus, Poseidon’s lover. Caeneus, the one Poseidon had turned into a man.
“That’s the one. And you’re–”
“–Siproites.”
“Siproites!” The man whistled. “Figured we’d meet at some point. You’re the uh, you’re the one Artemis–”
“Yes,” Siproites finished, uttering the word through his teeth.
Caeneus’s demeanor changed in an instant. The casual warmth in his gaze flickered and extinguished, cold horror blanching his face. “Oh. Shit, dude,” he whispered. “I thought you’d… well, I thought you asked, y’know. Like me. How long ago was that?”
Siproites scoffed. “They’ve changed the calendar too many times.”
Caeneus offered a sad smile, the same warmth from before slowly to spark again. “You’re telling me. But… man, all this time, stuck like that? That sounds awful—what have you been doing?”
“Hunting,” Siproites said. “With Artemis.”
The other man’s brows shot to his hairline. “Ever since? Haven’t you ever thought about, y’know… asking her to undo it? Letting you go?”
Siproites shook his head. “Gods, no! I’ve never said a word. I don’t think she knows how I feel about it.”
“Siproites,” Caeneus said, cocking his head, “I’ve known you for a minute and I know how you feel about it.”
“That’s different,” he insisted, voice straining. “You… you’re like me, Caeneus. You… you get it. She doesn’t. But I can’t just leave. I owe it to her. She…” He trailed off, glancing into the empty glass like the barrel of a gun. “She could just as easily have taken my life.”
The other man’s gaze flashed with pity. “From where I see it, she already has. So why stay?”
Siproites didn’t look up. “It’s the least I can do. She’s given me a place to stay, a family too, with the huntresses. And–” he paused, lips twisting into a deeper frown “–I don’t know where else I’d go if I left.”
Caeneus shrugged his shoulders. “Could always come with me. Poseidon’s a sucker for some new company. Got a new yacht, too. Bought it a month ago—you like boats? You ever been on a boat? You’ve had to, right?”
Siproites went back to passing his empty glass between his hands. “Yeah.”
“Well, I’m sure he’ll be talked into hosting a party on it in the next week or so, if you wanted to come.”
His toes curled. “I don’t think she’d like that.”
“I’m not asking about what she’d like.”
Siproites froze. He fumbled the pass of his shot glass and it slid across the bar, stopping only once it bumped against Caeneus’s firm hand. Silence permeated the space between them, the quiet interrupted only by shitty karaoke.
A low grunt cleared the air and Siproites shot up, snapping out of his slouch in an instant. A large man approached the bar, eyes half-lidded, and face shining with obvious intoxication. A waterfall of dark hair made up his beard, wavy, and unkempt. “You makin’ friends without me, Cae?” he asked, gesturing to Siproites with his chin.
“Not trying to,” Caeneus replied, chuckling warmly. “Poseidon, this is Siproites.”
“One of Artemis’s girls?” the ocean god slurred.
The word set his teeth on edge. His fingers curled over the countertop, nails digging crescent moons into the epoxied wood. “Yeah,” he uttered.
“Shame ‘bout the ‘virginal’ thing,” Poseidon said. Siproites could feel his eyes on his chest—or what little of its form showed through the baggy layers of his sweatshirt. “She always seems to recruit the gorgeous ones. S’not really fair, is it?”
Siproites’ ears burned and he gave a half-assed hum of agreement. He looked for the bartender. Needed another drink. Anything to change the subject.
“I think we should leave our new friend be,” Caeneus cut in for him. “It’s getting pretty late, and you’re super drunk.”
“Am not,” Poseidon weakly protested.
“Oh hey—you forgot this,” Caeneus said. He slid the empty shot glass back to Siproites before leading his inebriated lover toward the door.
Siproites reached down to grab the glass, pausing when he noticed a small, folded piece of paper placed within. He fished it out, unfolding it to see what had been written on it. There was a single sentence on the scrap of paper, along with a phone number. Caeneus’s.
Call on me, brother, if you need a hand. - C
Siproites glanced back to the door, but the man was already gone.
He smiled.
Ariana Ferrante (she/her) is an #actuallyautistic college student, playwright, and speculative fiction author. Her main interests include reading and writing fantasy and horror of all kinds, featuring heroes big and small getting into all sorts of trouble. She has been published by Eerie River Publishing and Soteira Press, among others. On the playwriting side, her works have been featured in the Kennedy Center American College Theater Festival and nominated for national awards. She currently lives in Florida, but travels often, both for college and leisure. You may find her on Twitter at @ariana_ferrante, and on Instagram at @arianaferrantebooks.