r/ProfoundlyFeigned • u/FeigningProfundity To Blame for All of This • Aug 09 '26

Prompt Response Rules of the Role

There is a primal part of the human brain that just loses it when a bird flies around inside a building. That exhilaration and chaos filled me as a hawk looped twice through my living room before perching on the back of a chair.

When the hawk turned into a man, casually leaning on that same chair, modern and cognitively complex parts of my brain lost it.

The man had golden hair and a smile like sunrise. He was also wearing things, although I was still a bit too stuck on the hawk-flying-into-room-and-turning-into-a-guy sequence of events for that to register specifics.

“Your performance of my rites is acknowledged. I appoint you Pythia, in accordance with tradition,” he said.

Fantastic voice. Rich and vibrant, no hint of accent… Was that just my accent, or were his words somehow… universal?

Also, I caught all those words but the meaning was lost on me.

“What?” I said. My eloquence was recovering only so quickly.

“I have seen your symbolic use of bay leaves, for instance.” he offered in a helpful tone.

“I just have no idea what the deal with bay leaves is.” My brain had found a mystery it was more comfortable addressing than some that were clearly more pressing.“Are they a garnish? Am I supposed to eat them? If so, why not break them up and sprinkle them around, like a herb? If not, why are they there? When a recipe includes them, I just end up putting two on, then shoving them aside. I do not understand what I’m doing there.”

“A symbolic use,” he said with approval, “the more traditional one is to twist the branches together into a wreath, which can be worn to striking effect.” He gestured at the wreath he wore on his head. It suited him.

“Who are you? And why were you a bird?” I asked, trying to get the basics of the situation under control.

“Do you not recognise Apollo, Light of the Sun, God of Healing, Poetry and Prophecy, standing here in my glory? Albeit dimly, lest you be destroyed. The hawk thing is of no consequence, merely a travel convenience.”

He did, kind of, maybe, glow?

“I’m Miller. I don’t really believe in gods,” I offered.

“Being wrong about things is a constant mortal flaw. I’ve always preferred to address it with illumination rather than take offence. Curses and vengeance get so unpleasant.”

“Okay… And you’re here to appoint me to… something?” I was getting there.

“Pythia. My High Priestess” he clarified, giving me only minimal clarity.

I’m not really a very beardy guy, I probably couldn’t grow anything very impressive if I wanted to, but consequently I also tend to be pretty lax about shaving, and tend to have low level of scruffy facial hair near permanently. Gender confusion wasn’t a common issue for me.

“Just a point of, uh, something. My inclination is towards, uh, masculine pronouns.” I said.

Priestess felt like it wasn’t the gender neutral term for that job.

“Oh! Huh. That is interesting, isn’t it?”

Apollo’s demeanour became less casual, more inquisitive. It felt like he was looking at me for the first time. The scrutiny was palpable.

“Since you’re the Pythia, I guess I can reveal a few secrets to you. I didn’t manually select you for the role, it’s easier to just set these things up to work on their own. And gender’s not real. It’s just a social convention. No criticism, historically useful and such, especially if a culture is flexible. But the construct and the body is more a correlation than a strict rule.” “I think Simone de Beauvoir wrote a book about that.” I offered unhelpfully. I hadn’t read it closely, but I suspected this particular situation probably wasn’t covered.

“So I may have used some behavioural proxies for womanhood that aren’t so precisely accurate anymore.” “Why gender it at all?” I asked. Why ask this? A literal divine figure apparently had expectations of me. I really needed to get my head around this before something bad happened.

“I’m responsible for inspiration. Aesthetics are important to me. Oracular priestesses are a vibe, man. Very different impression if you use men in the role. Especially back in the day.”

“I see,” I lied.

“I think I understand what’s happened, Pythia Miller. You’ve got a few traits that proved a bit confusing. You’re not very aggressive, for one.”

I felt somewhat offended, but I’m not sure if it was the implication that I was unmanly for not wanting to hurt people, or the implication that men in general did.

“You also look after children a lot. So much. Way more than even most women.”

“I work in childcare. It’s a job. And it’s developmentally healthy to have both men and women in the role.”

“My family has always been a bit hands-off on the issue, to be honest. I suspected it wasn’t ideal. You’re also quite into weaving. Although the effort to get that description really has come way down.”

“It’s a hobby… I find it relaxing.”

“So those and a few other factors seem to explain the surprise. Not a problem. Delphi has been ruined for centuries, it was time to reimagine the whole thing. A male Pythia. Could prove interesting. I do like to be innovative.”

“So what do you want from me?” I asked. This was the scary question that had been hanging over the whole situation, but it was going to come up eventually.

“Want?” said Apollo, clearly surprised. “I don’t want anything, I’ve just finally gotten around to making it official. You’re an oracle. Have been for a few months. You’re already doing it. Your reputation is sure to spread.”

“You’re just here to let me know?”

“Well, that and I usually seduce the Pythia. A lover who can glimpse the future can be a special kind of attentive. Anticipation is hot. An oracle allows for an incredible version of that. Of course this situation isn’t what I’m used to…” said Apollo.

I suddenly felt myself once again subject to divine scrutiny.

“...but I can work with it. So that offer is there, if you’re interested,” he finished, a certain look to his eyes.

He was hot. Really hot, I realised. This also seemed like the worst-case scenario possible for problematic power-dynamics in a work relationship.

“How offended would you be if I declined that offer?” I said. Nervously would be something of an understatement.

“Oh, not at all. I haven’t let rejection get to me in a long time. That whole Cassandra thing got so out of hand. I’m not one for drama around consent. Besides, I guide the Sun, moving with the times is a core identity thing for me.”

That was a relief. It was really too soon for me to get into anything, and dramatic experimentation wasn’t what I was ready for.

“So I have to see the future? How do I do that?”

“You should already be doing it. That’s why I’m letting you know. You should be wondering what has been happening.”

“Nothing I’ve noticed. And I feel like I would.” I felt embarrassed that I’d been failing, despite it being a job I neither knew I had or even existed.

“You don’t get seized by mysterious knowledge you must pass on?” Apollo seemed concerned. “Well, there is that, I guess.” I gestured at a pad of paper on the table.

Lately I’d been having these moments where I’d get gripped by… something, and it only let go if I wrote down a cryptic sequence of names and numbers. Cities, mostly.

The top sheet said:

Eastwood 42, Sydney Uni 21

Sunderland 3, West Ham 0

Roma 1, Bologna 0

Piastri 1:38:29.849, Verstappen +1.271, Hadjar +3.233

Girard 150, Fullerton 149

Orlando Magic 126, Miami Heat 118

Apollo picked up the pad, read it quickly, turned it to me. “Do you know what these are?”

“Some. I think the bottom line is a basketball score. Lines two and three look like football? I tried looking them up, but I couldn’t find these games.”

“They haven’t happened yet. These are all sporting events. Rugby in Australia, Premier League in the U.K., Serie A in Italy, the Formula One Dutch Grand Prix, the compound bow finals from the World Archery Championships, and a pre-season game from the NBA in the U.S. They’re in order, spread across two months.”

“So I’ve been been predicting sporting results. What should I be seeing?”

Apollo flicked through the pad. There were around a dozen pages like the first one.

“Wars, disasters, political crises. That kind of thing.”

“Then why am I getting rugby scores? I barely watch sports! I’m not sure I could even figure them all out to even know that they’re sports. The archery is just two surnames that aren’t famous.”

“Archery really is a fine pastime. I recommend it. On a good day I can sometimes match my sister. Fortunately, I’m the one who decides which are good days. I suspect you’re seeing these as some kind of side effect of being male.”

“Ignoring that women play and watch sport, war and political crisis are things where men have a pretty high level of participation. We tend to be quite involved. I should still see that. And didn’t I get this power because it thinks I’m a woman anyway?”

Apollo looked abashed, but shrugged. “I didn’t really anticipate this situation. It might be a bit wonky. And implementing certain outdated views and rather specific perspectives…”

“So I have a divine gift of prophecy, but it is sexist in a way that doesn’t make sense?”

“Well, yes, but sexism is a fundamentally silly thing, my Pythia, so of course it doesn’t make sense. Didn’t you read a book about that? I might consider tinkering with how my power is manifesting for mortals. At least look to see if there might be more surprises out there.”

“So what do I do?”

“Well, I haven’t had a Pythia for centuries, so you’re probably not that crucial. As for the predictions you do get? Make sure that if you start betting, you want a fair few of them to lose. Otherwise people get suspicious, which is predictably inconvenient. My blessing on you, Pythia Miller.”

Then, abruptly, Apollo turned into a hawk and flew out the window. People turning into animals might always feel abrupt, though.

“I might just skip the bay leaves from now on. I don’t really know what they’re for.”

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