The Other Camp // PJO Roleplay // RP Thread

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    Beau Elliott
    17 | Son of Hermes | Thief

    Beau Elliott was flush off a victory. But in his current condition, sleep-deprived, shivering, his already dismal mood souring at the second, you’d never guess it. He was wedged into the crook of a tree where the branch intersects the trunk, his bad leg throbbing beneath the touch of the wind’s icy fingers, and avidly awaiting the arrival of his unwitting rescuers. From his vantage point, the lush green hill, the crest of which marked the entrance to Camp Half-Blood, was clearly visible, the dragon known as Peleus coiled protectively outside. It appeared to be sleeping, but after having watched long enough, Beau knew that was just an act; the dragon would rouse to wakefulness in a heartbeat if a stranger were to step within a quarter-mile radius of the camp. Good thing Beau lurked at the half-mile mark.
    A few years ago, he used to be a member of the camp himself, and so he figured that there was some possibility that Peleus might recognize him and stand down if he were to approach, but Beau hadn’t exactly departed on good terms, and the chance that Peleus would lunge for his jugular instead was just as likely. Best not take his chances. Plus, he’d managed to slip past the dragon and sneak into the camp undetected on several prior occasions. Tonight was no different.
    The sky had lightened from obsidian hues to darkest ultramarine. Dawn was an hour or so away, and already, as he fought to keep his gaze trained on the narrow dirt path bisecting the hill, his eyelids felt like they weighed a million pounds. In place of a stuffed animal, he lovingly cradled a sapphire-studded cane in his arms. His chin suddenly jerked up, having lolled toward his chest of its own accord, and when he saw the ground was a vertigo-inducing twenty feet below, his heart gave an agonizing lurch and he nearly slipped from his perch. That should have snapped him awake, but still, moments later he found drowsiness dragging at his bones. His resolve caved. If his body insisted on an immediate power nap, he was not about to fall out of a tree in exchange for one.
    Tucking the snake’s head cane under one arm, his gloved hands found his belt buckle and unfastened it in a single deft motion. He twisted, ran the length of braided leather around the circumference of the slim but sturdy branch, and then cinched it snugly at his waist once more. The belt had fit a bit too loosely on his wiry build to begin with; he’d had to cut new holes into it in order to accommodate his angular hips. Now it securely hugged his body to the branch, so that he would not plummet to his potential death if he happened to shift in his sleep. Finally, gratefully, Beau crossed the ankle of his aching leg atop the other, and let the sugar-sweet darkness envelop him.
    Some time later, he awoke to a crescendo of rhythmic footfalls ascending the hill, winding their way up the dirt path. Not human footfalls, rather, the solid plunking of horse hooves. Exactly what he’d been waiting for. From a young age, Beau had acquired the necessary habit of a light sleep, a habit that served him well now. He snapped to attention the second his eyes opened, ready to burst into action, his fingers already fumbling on the belt buckle that affixed him to the tree branch. He peered through the pocket of dense foliage concealing him from sight.
    At the base of the hill, he was greeted by an engineless hay wagon constructed of wooden slats bolted together, a glaringly outdated means of conveyance. The wagon’s tires were relatively small, not offering much space between the vehicle’s underside and the ground. Where a tractor normally would have been hitched on a more modern wagon, this one was fronted by a proud Thoroughbred with a gleaming mahogany coat. At the head of the cart was a makeshift coach—really, no more than a slab of bench slapped in splotchy green paint—where two men were perched, one of them handling the reins.
    The hay wagon’s cargo was a myriad of wooden crates containing what Beau intrinsically knew to be hundreds upon hundreds of strawberries. Considering the camp used the undercover name Delphi Strawberry Service, it wasn’t a tough connection to make. Also, he’d spent enough time around mortals to intrinsically know that any one of them would have taken one glance at the obsolete horse-drawn hay wagon and seen nothing more than a simple pickup truck with a sizeable bed. It took a trained eye to see through the Mist, even for demigods.
    The man without the reins gave his companion a hard nudge with his elbow and pointed halfway up the hill, at a section of road mostly veiled in shadow. “You see that?” he asked, his tone edged with a note of urgency. “Stop the cart!”
    The driver appeared to have a moment of indecision, squinting into the semi-darkness precedent of the dawn, before the wagon began to reluctantly slow. Then Beau heard the man swear loudly as he tugged sharply on the reins. The horse obeyed and the wagon skidded to an abrupt halt. The man clambered from his seat. When his companion made no move to do the same, he whirled on him, hands on hips, and said exasperatedly, “Well, you gonna get your lazy ass out of the wagon and help me with this godsforsaken tree?” He hefted one end in his arms. Grumbling to himself, his fellow moved to follow suit.
    What the man referred to was a sapling which at first glance appeared to have been uprooted to inconveniently obstruct their path. It was a slender thing, nothing that the combined force of two men couldn’t move with a few minutes’ effort, but the amount of trouble it caused was just enough. Still crouched in his own tree bordering the narrow road, Beau’s mouth twisted slyly. That had been his doing. Initially, he’d worried that the men would get suspicious as to why the tree had been supposedly uprooted, and yet no roots were visible. Evidently, the tree had been sawed, deliberately cut, a thing of sabotage, or at least that was an observation evident to one as shrewd as Beau. He had been counting on their laziness. It was late and both men wanted to get home. By voicing concern for a suspiciously felled tree, it’d prove that much more work for themselves before they could end their shift. Apparently, he’d guessed right. If either man noticed, neither seemed to care.
    Pulling his coat a bit closer around his body, Beau carefully lowered himself from his branch and shinnied down the trunk. He released his hold and fell the last few feet, letting gravity take hold of him, and dropped noiselessly onto the ground, any telltale sound he may have made muted and absorbed by the grass his boots crunched underfoot. Amply preoccupied, the two drivers didn’t notice the slip of a silhouette approaching their hay wagon from the back. Beau, flattening to the dusty gravel, slipped beneath the cart and began the tedious task of latching himself onto its axle. With such low tires, it was a tight fit, offering a mere fingerbreadth of space between his back and the ground, but it was nothing the Shadow Thief—the pseudonym he’d acquired after his latest monumental heist had ended in victory—couldn’t handle.
    When at last the drivers had triumphantly dispatched the sapling to the roadside, mounted their bench, and resumed their journey to Camp Half-Blood’s entrance, they were oblivious to the fact that their cargo was mysteriously one hundred and forty pounds heavier. Only the horse who had to bear the added weight gave a slight whinny of protest. Beau clenched his walking stick, which served not only to balance his uneven gait but also as his weapon of choice, between his knees to keep it from falling.
    Then came the final test, the trial by fire. Literally. Sneaking past Peleus was risky business, because if caught, the consequence would not be an admonishing lecture on right and wrong or even the inside of a jail cell, but Beau would be burnt to a crisp. It was his understanding that infiltration attempts upon Camp Half-Blood were not taken lightly. First they were fifty, then fifteen, then five yards away. The undercarriage of the wagon obscuring most of his view, he caught only a partial glimpse of the massive dragon uncoiling itself in a shimmer of slithering scales. Peleus eyed the wagon with what verged on a glare. Beau held his breath, willing his heartbeat into steady calm against the frantic thundering that came instinctively. But Peleus made no move to intercept the scheduled delivery of strawberries. The beast stepped slowly, sinuously aside, its low-slung body sliding lazily over the ground to grant the small wagon access to the camp.
    It wasn’t until they were well inside that Beau released his bated breath. The wagon rumbled almost directly past his destination: the Big House. Up top, the two drivers were conversing baseball, comparing the batting averages of several hot-shot players whose names Beau only vaguely recognized. Baseball wasn’t as much of a Canadian pastime as hockey. When he was confident that their conversation had grown rowdy enough that they wouldn’t hear him slip away, Beau dropped from the wagon and hit the ground in an instantaneous roll, his cane clutched against him, narrowly missing the vehicle’s wheels. Ignoring the protest of pain in his leg, he came up standing and surveyed his surroundings. The little wagon diligently chugged off toward the strawberry fields at the far end of the camp.
    Living up to its immortal status, the deserted camp hadn’t changed a bit over the course of two years. Wind still whispered through the willow trees bordering the forest’s edge with that sly, gossiping sound. Rivulets of lava still sputtered and hissed as they wove their way down the climbing wall’s surface, ignorant of the fact that all of the camp’s rule-abiding inhabitants should have been in bed at this ungodly hour. And still there stood the unkempt Hermes cabin, its peeling brown paint in desperate need of replacing, just as it’d been when Beau had left.
    There was no time for sentiment. The sky was lightening rapidly, with the modest blush of dawn staining the underbellies of wispy cirrus clouds raspberry pink, providing too great a source of illumination for his liking. While no one was lurking the grounds within sight, that didn’t stop eyes from straying out window panes, and every second he wasted he chanced being seen. Broad daylight was the enemy of the stealthy breed of thieves, and there was a reason few chose to act during it. Dusting off his black waistcoat as he went, Beau hastened toward the Big House, Camp Half-Blood’s three-story sky blue administrative building that had clearly seen better days. One of its windows was boarded up and the deck where Chiron and Dionysus played pinochle looked as though it had been recently vandalized, with a few of its wooden posts reduced to half their original size and ending in a tangle of jagged splinters.
    Beau bounded up the front steps with as much spring in his step as one could manage with a crippled leg and approached the main door. Breaking in through the upper-story windows was achievable, but would prove time-consuming. Plus, he remembered as he reviewed his mental map of the Big House, the infirmary was kept on the upper level, and if it housed any patients currently, he certainly didn’t want to appear before an audience. Beau flicked his sleeve, and two slender rods of metal appeared between his fingers. The lockpicks danced briefly over his leather-clad knuckles, and seconds later, the door was swinging open on silent hinges to reveal a dark interior beyond, gaping like a yawning mouth. No one worked locks better than a son—or daughter, he supposed—of Hermes. He ducked inside.
    Hideous was the word that immediately came to mind when Beau reflected on the room’s furnishings. Putrid purple wallpaper that might have come from the set of an 80’s movie, silver chandeliers missing half their bulbs, and adorning the center of the room was a soda-stained ping-pong table. Sliding the deadbolt back into place, he quietly eased the door closed. But Beau knew firsthand that locks only offered so much protection, and just in case anyone had been watching him, he wanted to take precautions against eavesdroppers.
    He scanned the room and quickly found an item conducive to his purposes. A sizeable glass vase so fragile it appeared as though it might shatter beneath anything more than a feather-light touch. How such an object had survived so long in a place so careless was beyond him. He snatched it up from where it rested on an antique table. Gently, he placed the vase on the wooden slats of the floor directly at the foot of the door. This way, if that door opened anytime over the next half hour, the door would collide with the delicate vase and it would shatter upon impact, instantly alerting Beau to an intruder. The surreptitious information he planned to disclose was meant for one person’s ears only.
    The cozy little office that doubled as Chiron’s apartment was on the second of the three stories. Beau slunk up the rickety set of stairs without provoking even the smallest of creaks. At the top of the stairs, the room opened up to some disaster almost identical to the one downstairs minus the ping-pong table. The one other difference was the small hallway that branched off to his left, and there stood the very doorway, closed and locked. But Chiron, always an early riser, should have been emerging from his office any minute now. Beau plunked onto the edge of a windowsill in one corner of the room, his left leg propped up on a handy footstool he’d found, cane leaning against his thigh, to wait.
    Less than ten minutes later, there emerged the promising sound of hooves moments before the door swung open. Backlit in a burst of sun from one window behind him, Chiron’s features were indiscernible, but it was distinctly a centaur’s form greeting Beau. A bit of early morning archery practice? he mused to himself when his dark gaze fell on the longbow his old mentor wielded and the quiver strapped to his back. Before announcing his presence, he observed a moment more, expectant. Would Chiron be able to sense his company and call him out? Or would Beau have reveal himself to the old centaur?
    As wary and wise as he was, Chiron did not notice his ex-pupil lying in wait, made evident when he started toward the staircase, oblivious. Feeling accomplished to have gotten one past the renowned trainer of heroes, Beau stepped forth from his corner and disentangled himself from the shadows he wore like a cloak, letting the rays of sun go to work sketching a visible portrait. Now you see me, he thought.
    “Chiron. We’re long overdue for a chat.”



    OOC: You guys can come in with your characters, but please don't have them interfere with the situation at hand here-- Beau and Chiron are about to have the conversation that sets up the whole quest, and I already have it all planned out. I just thought I'd break it off here so that I'm flooding you guys with only 2.5k words instead of 5k. Sorry about that. :-[ They won't all be this excruciatingly long.

    2012 veteran // feminine pronouns // libra // slytherin // horned serpent // intp // advanced to uber-advanced


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    The post was edited 4 times, last by Flyers ().


  • VALKYRIE MARTIN


    It had been the lights; the lights were the first thing she missed. Valkyrie remembered it vividly; she would sit outside on the fire escape attached to her apartment, staring out over the city. The lights from the heart of Vegas would shoot into the skies, giving any clouds in sight with the tint of glowing electric light across its belly. Valkyrie loved it, the noise, the colours, the constant presence of life. She liked to lose herself in the hum until she found herself submerged in the lull of city life. It was one memory she treasured, along with many others of the city. But memories of home…not so much. God, home…could she even call it that anymore? Could she call that cramped apartment that stank of piss and smoke home? Vegas would forever remain in her heart, but her mother? Not so much.


    Valkyrie crept through the half-open bronze doors, pushing her body to squeeze through the small slit with ease. She didn’t like making an entrance when there was no one there to impress but herself. Valkyrie retreated from the building that she had resided in for all those years. She couldn’t bring herself to call it home either. Camp Half-Blood would never be home to her. The constant reminder of her godly father every time she looked at the skies was bad enough. But now her cabin was more of a sickness-inducing area than a safe zone, the images that symbolised what her father was, who she was, plastered across her cabin had always been a sick joke to her. She was surprised she hadn’t given into the temptation to vandalise the walls by now. It wasn’t like there was anyone else in the cabin to stop her or protest against it. Her mother would’ve opposed though, love-sick bitch couldn’t tell the difference between actual love and a one night stand. Valkyrie remembered when her mother had meant the world to her, now, Valkyrie never dared to speak of her, let alone care about her well-being. She remembered being twelve or younger; she used to respect her mother then. A distant, distorted memory from when softness had blinded her.…and caring. The idea that her mother had raised her from birth had always made the blinded, younger Valkyrie proud. All her friends had had happily married families, yet, somehow, her bond with her mother was stronger than her stuck-up-rich-girl friends and their pathetic families. But then that broke, the idea that her father being a god wasn’t what threw her off, it was more the idea of what had happened for Valkyrie to be born. Valkyrie wasn’t stupid. If her mother was telling her the truth about the gods, she knew that Zeus — her father — wasn’t single.


    Valkyrie exhaled loudly, lowering herself onto the first set of stairs that lead up to the bronze doors. At that moment she wished she had something to do, some kind of bad habit to fall back on instead of sitting and staring into nothing. The sight of the lightning bolts polished into the door made her stomach tighten. She had tried drinking, it never suited her taste, smoking too, but that just reminded her of her mother. Then she tried people watching…and it worked for awhile. Until she realised that she knew all the people around her anyway, their names, their godly parent. And they knew her too and her loud opinions about her father and camp half-blood.


    Valkyrie turned her head to look up at the skies. She watched the light slowly creep it’s way across the vast canvas of a base colour of light-blue until it was alight with different colours. Swirling, blending, turning the clouds that hung low in the skies pale pinks and oranges. The closest thing I’ll get to a light show, Valkyrie thought bitterly as the cloud of her breath spiralled in front of her. She blinked slowly and shivered inwardly, hugging the coat she had thrown on closer to her body. She had a sudden feeling of gratefulness towards her past self for grabbing it. Underneath she only wore a tight fitting t-shirt and a jumper with holes in it. And not the fashionable holes either, more like ‘i’ve worn this one too many times, and now it’s falling apart’ kind of holes. She played with the frayed cuff of her sleeve for a moment. Although she tried to build up this idea that she hated the cold she loved it. She had an infatuation in seeing the clouds rolling in before a storm, the rain coating the land and anyone not under a sturdy roof. She couldn’t help it, as much as it disgusted her, it was literally in her blood.


    Valkyrie sat in the hum of morning life for a moment, the first calls of birds piercing to almost-silence she had grown to hate, the growls of monsters deep in the forest. Valkyrie hated silence, she needed noise around her at all times, even if it was the hum of chatter coming from the other demigods. It was a homesickness related issue she supposed, in Vegas it had always been never-ending noise. Valkyrie never realised how much she depended on that atmosphere until she was taken away from it, and now she found herself craving the essence of city life, savouring any small detail that reminded her of the city. But…there was one sound she hated, thunder. Or even the massive tour buses that had rolled past her apartment that sounded faintly like thunder. Even now staring up at the pinky sky as it slowly turned to a blue once again she felt disgust in the pit of her stomach. It all reminded her of her father, thunder, lightning, the sky, the clouds, everything. Yet she craved it; she thought it was beautiful. But she hated it at the same time, just like the scent of smoke and coffee that reminded her of her mother. And the pitiful sobs she would let out...slumped against the kitchen fridge, bills scattered around her, a bruise already forming on her neck. Valkyrie clenched her jaw, running a hand through her wavy mess of brunette hair. She didn’t want to think about that right now.


    Instead, Valkyrie leant forward, slowly unlacing the combat boots she had put on. A bad idea to put shoes on before strapping her ankles she admitted to herself. But she had just wanted to make sure her socks wouldn’t get wet; she had made that mistake many times before. Pulling off both boots she placed them beside her. Stretching her feet outwards, so it touched the first light that slowly crept up the stairs towards her. Although she hated the sun and the heat of summer that made her feel nauseous, though she couldn’t help but savour the soft first morning light.


    Valkyrie liked to think she was like a cold-blooded reptile, basking sun’s light to warm herself in the mornings. She was venomous just like them, her tongue tripping with toxins she twisted and maimed until it became vile words she spit out at others who dared get in her way. She couldn't help but be aggressive; she had tried being soft when she was younger. Softness had ruined her, never again would she be gentle she was a storm given skin. She was a hurricane ready to destroy.


    Valkyrie reached forward, the light dancing over her fingers and knuckles as she pushed down hard on the top of her foot. Her ankle made a loud popping sound, the pressure in her joint releasing. She repeated the process with her right foot, hissing at the initial pain from the start of the pop before the relief of releasing pressure pumped through her system. Lightning crackled in her veins. Her ankles were screwed, she knew that, but that had never stopped her. They had always been slightly bent in, meaning the strain on the joints in her ankle were always under pressure. Valkyrie supposed she could’ve had some type of surgery or something to correct it but all throughout her childhood there wasn’t enough money to spare on her sore ankles. Now she was seventeen the pains grew worse if she didn’t stretch in the mornings. It would relieve the pain until around midday when she would repeat the process. Slowly she rotated both ankles clockwise, savouring the loose feeling, before pulling the strapping tape from her pocket. She had done this for years now, strapping her ankles on a particular angle, so it pushed them outwards rather than in. It helped with pain and prevented blisters. It was a quick and easy process that Valkyrie had fallen into the rhythm of routine with. Just like how easy it was to belong to the beat of hating her father, hating her mother. It was all so easy a repeating tune that she knew off by heart until the beat became her. She was lightning; she was hatred.


    Just as she finished strapping her right ankle, she glanced over at the cabin beside her, Hera’s. A wrench of sickness in her gut ensued once more. It was almost inappropriate at times, Valkyrie felt, for her to be sleeping next to the cabin. It was Hera’s after all, the goddess who her father had cheated on to have Valkyrie with her pathetic excuse for a mother. She stared at the pomegranates and flowers for a moment, the soft light of dawn slowly creeping up towards the petals and leaves. Valkyrie bit her tongue, shoving a foot into her boot. She didn’t let the thoughts she was thinking slip off her tongue. Sickly, was all she could think. Pomegranates and flowers, hopelessly girly and romance filled. Valkyrie was built of hatred, lightning and storm clouds, not love and marriage. God, she was hopelessly away from anything that could be considered love. Though Hera still frightened her in a sense. Maybe her mixture of hatred and terror for Hera was the reason she felt so guilty looking at her son Jonathan. Maybe Hera’s wrath for Valkyrie existing had finally hit her.


    Valkyrie closed her eyes, huffing as she blocked out the view of the cabin next to her, the twirling plants so lovely and perfect making her head spin, her tongue tasted bitter in her mouth. Valkyrie pulled one leg closer to her chest, her other leg extended, so the morning light came up to her knee. At this point she could almost feel the water from her dreams against her skin, the feeling of layers of hair sticking to her arms, neck and face, crawling down her throat. It felt like if she opened her eyes, she would be inside her dreams again. Valkyrie rested her head sideways onto her knees in defeat with another exaggerated huff; only she could attempt to compare dreams of drowning in hair to her family issues. She felt a small, feral smile grace her lips. And only Valkyrie could find satisfaction in publicly hating her parents.



    OOC; Sorry this is kind of long haha, like I said on the plotting thread I'm going to be away because of moving houses/no internet. I'll be able to check in on my phone, but I don't think I'll be posting much unless I get wifi back pretty quickly.:) I feel like I may have got some details wrong in this?? I don't know, I'm re-reading the books to rejig my memory, but please put up with my mistakes for now.




    makaio

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    alastair.



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    one of his favorite times of day was the early morning. the sleepy grind of camp life just beginning to start back up for the day, the sun inching above the horizon to warm the earth and supplement the growth of plants. alastair loved it.


    every morning before he went to school as a child, alastair would sit at his window and look out as the city began to wake up; slowly at first, and then all at once. the weak shadows offered by the sun would streak the ground as the dew evaporated, leaving it fresh and smelling of new things. however, some mornings alastair would wake and find the sky blocked and dark with clouds, low in the sky as they warned of impending rain. if he had to choose between the two, of course he would pick the bright, sunny mornings compared to the dull starts of rainy days.


    today was a good morning. alastair had sneaked out of the demeter cabin early, already fully dressed for the day. he'd scaled the walls of the cabin to sit on its flat roof, his fingers trailing through the grass found there. it was such a perfect spot ― away from the bustle as camp half-blood awoke ― yet he could see and stay relatively a part of the workings.


    alastair's dark eyes slowly ran across the scenery. the cabins stood in very close proximity, and from his perch at the top of the demeter cabin, alastair could see valkyrie preparing for the day. the dark-haired son of demeter felt a soft smile stretch his lips as he watched her. that girl, so full of anger and other violent feelings, yet they did have some good use. alastair had witnessed it himself, and been the victim protected by her endless, whirling storm of hatred and frustration.


    pulling his knees up to his chest, alastair continued to run his fingers through the fine blades of grass surrounding him. he would likely help in the strawberry patches today, and hopefully bring krishna along with him. that is, if the son of dionysus is in a good mood. he'll likely drag some of his own half-siblings out as well, though they weren't as keen to garden as he was.


    hidden scrolling | starmie.*




  • — JONATHAN —
    the new world needed room for me and you
    17 y/o - male - "oh yeah?"


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    Sleep. Jonathan hated sleep. It never came to him as easily or as naturally as it come to plenty of others. He hardly got an entire hour of it each night. He was practically running on fumes 24/7. He stayed up late, passing what time he could in his freezing cold cabin by reading until his eyes hurt and then simply sitting up in bed, his mind pounding with his usual thoughts and insecurities taunting him. He hated it because he never got any of it.


    So, it wasn't unnatural to see him out and about in the earliest hours of the morning, sometimes even as soon as four. But today, he wasn't in the mood. He didn't enjoy Camp Half-Blood nearly as much as he had Olympus. Back on the mountain he liked to watch the storms his stepfather would create. It looked different, above the clouds. Apparently it was something called sprites, what happened above the clouds during lightning storms. At least that's what he'd been told. Sometimes they varied in color. A few times they'd been bright and red, others they'd been an almost purple color. They were a lot different from the yellow or blue bolts that everyone else in New York saw their entire lives. They were fare better.


    Maybe it wasn't the lights that he missed, but rather the sense of home the top the Empire State Building provided. Unlike everyone else, he'd only ever had one parent. Mortals usually have both of them, and even demigods at some point learn that at sometime in their life they had a mother and a father. Jonathan only had a mother, she had impregnated herself. So, how did he have this sense of home and family? It was easy, there were eleven others that had a hand in raising him. If he'd come out as a full grown god as he was supposed to, he might've stayed there, where he wanted to be. But the goddess of childbirth had other ideas, and the only reason Hera kept him even though he was a demigod, was because it was her duty. He was her son and she was the goddess of family and marriage. Honestly, he was just relieved that he wasn't pitched off the side of the mountain like his only full blooded brother had been.


    Thoughts like these always reminded him why the other campers feared him or expected so much from him. They very well knew the queen of the gods had literally thrown her son off of a mountain because he was ugly, and she prosecuted any children of Zeus's that weren't her own. He was surprised she kept him around. However, he still blamed the others and his own mother for the life he lived now. He was rather isolated and even from the start he was mocked or feared or put under crushing pressure. Often times he found he couldn't breath in this place. It was still vividly imprinted in his mind, his first day at camp. He'd been given a backpack of what he'd need, the celestial bronze sword he still used today, and a camp to camp. He'd gotten there on his own, having been dropped off a few miles away, and made his own journey.


    When he'd shown up, he was greeted kindly. He was welcomed and brought into the centaur that ran the place, and Dionysus, a god he'd heard of but not gotten the chance to meet. They were kind and caring until he claimed that he knew exactly who and what he was. He was a demigod, the son of Hera. Ten-year-old Jonny probably shouldn't have boasted, but rather wait until she did the claiming herself. It would've saved him the mockery and taunting he caused himself. He hated the laughing that had followed, pointing out that it was impossible. It went against everything his mother stood for. Before, he had been sensitive and naïve and had started crying on the spot. It still haunted him, and he never let that moment go. It was usually the memory that squeezed his heart and reminded him that he didn't fit in here. He wouldn't fit it anywhere.


    The teenager sighed, looking from the crack in his ajar marble doors to the giant statue of his mother, erected in the middle of the room. Before, the cabin had been empty besides that, a bathroom, and a fire pit at her feet. Now, it was still the same, just with a hastily added bed once he'd been claimed, and Jonathan. The statue was by all means creepy and terrifying. Maybe that had been why he stopped sleeping when he got here. The smile was tight and sharp, as if forced, and reminded him of a wicked, frog-like villain. The eyes were cold and dead, and she seemed so up tight and unnatural. It was nothing like the woman he remembered. Then again, he hadn't seen the woman he remembered in nearly eight years.


    Well, the sun was finally up and he couldn't stand the freezing marble cabin any longer. He'd gotten even less sleep than usual last night and already showered to try to distract himself and pass time. His hair was almost already dry. He had no clothes he needed to put on, having already been dressed and tugged his shoes on. He never took off his cord necklace either. So, he grabbed his sword, slid it in it's sheath on his belt, and slipped between the massive and heavy doors and out into the open where camp life was starting to stir once more.


    He couldn't help but pout a bit to himself. He always ran into the same problem–he needed coffee, he couldn't get any until breakfast was called, which probably wouldn't be until eight. That was like an hour long wait. Not to mention, he didn't ever really have anyone to hang out with. Maybe he would go train, like usual. Or eat the strawberries he was constantly told not to eat. Yeah, the latter sounded the best. He could sit in the fields and pluck them off the vines as he pleased, getting to eat before called to do so. Plus, there were no nymphs or anything to attack him. Yeah, he was terrified of them incase his mother had scorned one of them before. He tended to stay away from them.


    So, upon deciding what to do, Jon set out to do it. He looked left and right with a brief look to the Zeus and Demeter cabins, as they were directly next to his(he quickly looked away, though, upon seeing Valkyrie and Alistair), before walking across the dew-covered, morning grass. He kept his gaze on his shoes to avoid having to converse with anyone, and made his way to his destination.


    makaio

    DADDY = RINNY

    father of four(?) maybe more.

    hush. I'm new to this.

    I signed a contract I am now officially dad.

    father of five. definitely five.




  • Krishna Khan

    // son of Dionysus //



    ((tfw you coincidentally use pretty much the same template . whooops))


    Another day, another training session ending with landing flat on your ass. At least, that's what Krishna told himself as he climbed out of bed that morning; however if you lacked proper fighting skills like he did, you would probably try to refrain from admitting this truth to yourself, especially first thing in the morning. The days lately at Camp Halfblood had been so predictable that he liked to pretend he could see the future like the Oracle. Like, oh yeah, totally I'll get my ass handed to me by a pretentious fuck from the Ares house, and lo and behold, it would probably come true.


    That is not to say, however, that Krishna did not put up his own fight. He was mouthy as hell, and that trait was probably what got him beat a lot more than regular training sessions. Still, days and weeks began to blend together at the camp for (mostly) gifted demigods--the exception of course, being the people like this particular son of Dionysus who might as well have been full-blooded human instead of half-blooded god. Suffice it to say, Krishna was actually rather bored; after all, it wasn't like he was going to be trusted with some important mission or sent on a quest anytime soon. What's more, he felt like his father Dionysus only kept him here to ensure his safety, since demigod children of his were few and far between; it made the place feel more like a day-care than a training camp. Little did he or any of his current fellow residents of CHB know, however, that this day would be far different from anything he had experienced before.


    So, as dawn approached the earth similar to how a certain child of Hermes was approaching a certain centaur, Krishna slinked out of bed, put on some jeans and a plaid shirt, shoved his bottle opener/sickle in his pocket, and trotted down the steps leading to the cabin of the god of wine. He tripped over a grapevine on the final step and gave a subtle scowl. He raised a hand up, trying to move the vine with phytokinesis like he had seen certain children of Demeter able to perform. It barely budged. The demigod rolled his eyes, muttering a quiet "Go figure," and walked out into the courtyard to see a few early birds already up and at 'em.


    He saw Valkyrie on the steps leading up to Zeus' house, sitting there and looking like she was thinking something over. He didn't say anything to her, but gave her a mocking, cinematic bow in the place of a wave in greeting, since she was the daughter of the highest, mightiest, king of the dicks as Krishna liked to think of ol' Zeus. (Of course, if he was ever face-to-face with his dear old godly grandfather, Krishna would probably faint from fear). The bow was in good jest, though; it wasn't any mystery that Valkyrie didn't care for her father, but whether she took the pseudo-insult to heart was her own choice. He wait to see her reaction before he continued his walk through the courtyard, past the Demeter cabin.


    He tossed a salute up to Alastair whom he saw on the roof, looking dreamy-eyed as he was wont to. Krishna wasn't one to sit and admire things like the sky or the sunrise; he was more interested in combating, controlling, or toying with things. For instance, he loved growing and tending to the gardens, but he wasn't one to stop to admire the beauty of the flowers or the strawberries. That was just one of the many ways that he differed from Alastair, though he personally believed they got along well...for the most part, anyway.


    After giving this gesture of greeting to the son of Demeter, Krishna directed his gaze straight ahead and saw the introverted child of Hera stalking through the courtyard, eyes to the ground. Krishna definitely wasn't Jonathan's biggest fan, but anyone clever enough could see right through his bitterness toward the young demigod and properly identify it as jealousy. After all, the boy had lived on Olympus for gods' sake. And to add to his dislike towards the son of the queen of the gods, it was almost like Jonathan thought he was too good to talk much with the other demigods at CHB. (Of course, this was a complete misapprehension on Krishna's part, as he really knew next to nothing about Jonathan's true personality).


    However, Krishna did know something was getting into the strawberries lately, and he had a hunch it wasn't the local fauna, or the dragon Peleus. He watched over the gardens like his own children, after all. So with that, and the fact he already didn't like Jonathan very much, he decided to mess with the boy. He jogged up to walk beside him, and clapped his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Hey there, Jonny old pal," he greeted with a saccharine tone, down in the courtyard within view of Alastair. "It's pretty early, huh? Where ya headed this morning?"


    [center]
    TEMPLATE ©BOKEH | #BOKEHFANCY | PREMADE TEMPLATE

    I'M COMING BACK HOME, WITH MY EYES ON THE HORIZON


    TAURUS /  / HUFFLEPUFF /  / UNC '21 

  • [center]

    [fancypost=border:1px solid white; height:150px; width:130px; margin-top:7px; margin-left:9px; background:url('http://scontent.cdninstagram.com/t51.2885-15/s480x480/e35/c0.84.719.719/13561809_1752338785055142_1008299806_n.jpg?ig_cache_key=MTI4NTYwNTg4NDI0NDI1MDk4NQ%3D%3D.2.c'); background-size:150px 150px;"]

    Beau Elliott
    17 | Son of Hermes | Thief

    His movements so fast that Beau had trouble tracking them in the semi-dark room, Chiron spun around, reaching up toward his quiver, nocked an arrow, and had his loaded bow aimed at the space between Beau’s eyes before another word, be it an indignified protest or a plea to not shoot, could cross his lips. Instead, in the steely silence that followed, Beau allowed himself a short laugh, cruel and mocking with a razor edge. “You would shoot one of your favorite students?” He theatrically splayed a gloved hand across his chest. “Chiron, you offend me most deeply.”
    The centaur blinked. Slowly, a look of recognition crossed his features, quickly followed by one of dread, but he lowered his bow all the same. “Oh. It’s just you.” Beau felt vaguely annoyed at the obvious dismissal. “For a moment I thought you were—”
    “Mm, centaurs do seem to have a habit of mistaking me for a rogue harpy. A common misconception. Don’t feel bad.”
    “You have guts coming back here, boy, especially after so long.” Chiron’s change of tone was as sudden as the turn of a gambler’s fortunes with a single card. “I see the Shadow Thief has been busy as of late.”
    He ignored the insinuation, indubitable as it was. Unwilling to rouse the attention of Dionysus or anyone else who may have been skulking around the Big House at this hour, Beau lowered his voice. “If you think I’m here to seek your forgiveness and ask that you put a roof over my head, you’re wrong. I’m quite capable of providing for myself,” he growled, fingers flexing on the snake’s head of his cane. Its sapphire eyes regarded Chiron coolly. “I have come on strictly business terms. I carry some information you may find invaluable if you’ll give me the chance to speak.”
    Chiron’s brow furrowed, automatically suspicious. And rightly so. “I know every act of altruism comes with a price to you, Mister Elliott. Why don’t you be upfront with me, and tell me what this information will cost me first?”
    Beau suddenly held himself very stiffly, but his gaze didn’t falter when he said curtly, “Call it paying a debt, if you will. On the house.”
    This garnered a chuckle from his old mentor. “I didn’t know you were in the business of repaying debts. I have to say, I am somewhat impressed.”
    He pressed his lips together. Monstrous as he was, even Beau had his own felonious code of honor, if not ethics. Six years ago, when he had first unwittingly arrived at Camp Half-Blood as a credulous child, Chiron had saved his life. If not for the latter’s healing expertise and benevolence, Beau would surely have succumbed to exhaustion and bled out, slumped on the cold ground as he’d been. It was a kindness he had never asked for, leverage for which repayment had been an impossible burden ever since.
    Eager to change the topic, Beau, without further delay, launched into his story. “Kronos and his gang of Titan henchmen have a new scheme at hand, as they do every few years, to stir up trouble, bash some skulls, dominate the world, et cetera. You get the gist. Well, the theme of this year’s festivities is demigod sacrifice. Twelve demigods, one child of each Olympian, are to be killed in a blood ritual that will supposedly destroy Olympus once and for all.”
    Chiron opened his mouth to speak, but Beau swiftly cut him off. “It gets better.” He continued, “The Titans have broken out of Tartarus yet again, and have concentrated their forces at this… this camp, very much like your own Camp Half-Blood. Only, they manufacture a different breed of half-blood here. Hybrids with one Titan and one mortal parent whom they are harvesting into an army. Their own children. I don’t know when, but the sacrifice is supposed to take place there. They call it Camp Ouranides, in honor of Kronos’ father, I’m sure.”
    Appearing baffled, Chiron, who had been so anxious to say something just moments ago, now fell into an uneasy silence. Beau gauged his reaction with a raised brow. After a long moment, the centaur finally inquired, “From your time under my roof, you’ve given me no reason to trust you, Mister Elliott. You’re a tricksy one, and for all I know, you might be trying to pull some kind of scam on me. So why should I take you for your word now? No, I think you’ll have to produce some proof to back these dubious claims. Surely you didn’t come here empty-handed, thinking you’d obtain my blind faith?” He looked at Beau with a challenge blazing in his eyes.
    “Look at you,” crooned Beau as he reached into his coat pocket, “asking all the right questions, eh? Seems an old dog can learn new tricks. Besides rolling over.” When he withdrew his hand, it was closed over a small circlet of metal with a simple capital O engraved into one side amongst a pattern of entwined leaves and flowers. A ring. When he lobbed it through the air at Chiron, the metal winked in the golden sunlight cast through the window. “I think that should suffice. A supposed product of Camp Ouranides itself, the ring’s crafted of pure Celestial bronze. You can have any one of your Hephaestus campers in the forge test it and verify my claim, if you’d like,” he asserted while Chiron examined the artifact.
    The coat from which he’d pulled the ring was a peculiar one. Not only was it reversible and could be worn on either side, an unconventional enough trait, but Beau liked to think of it as pickpocket-proof. As a thief who prided himself on his mastery of his profession, it wouldn’t do him any good for his money or whatever other valuables he held to become the target of another’s straying fingers. He’d paid a child of Hecate handsomely to enshroud the trench coat in an enchantment that made its many various pockets, lining both inside and outside, invisible to all eyes but the wearer’s. Whenever he slid an object into its depths, it simply appeared to vanish until needed. It also ensured that, if Beau were ever to have been caught swiping and was subsequently frisked, no one would ever find the object let alone the pocket in which it was being kept on his person. Currently, he wore the coat on its corduroy side, woven of brilliant blue threads that fluttered down to his knees in a wave of tanzanite. When he turned it inside out, it was fashioned of a material sleek as seal’s skin, unfathomable black and complete with a hood reminiscent of the Grim Reaper’s own forsaken cloak. That side of the coat was reserved only for heists or other blatantly illegal activities.
    Chiron turned the ring over in his hand for the n-teenth time. “What were your means of obtaining this?” he ventured, hesitant.
    The sharp line of Beau’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly as he debated telling Chiron the truth. “I intercepted one of Kronos’ unsuspecting lackeys the other night.” He left it at that. It wasn’t a lie.
    Exactly two nights ago, he had just finished up fencing the loot from his latest housebreak, and after a long hour of haggling for prices with one of his consistent yet close-fisted buyers, Beau had sauntered into a tavern for a much-needed drink. Located on the lackluster outskirts of Pittsburgh, it wasn’t just any ordinary tavern; no, the clientele of the Setting Sun was a ragtag mix of scholarly satyrs, party-hearty centaurs, empousa, dracanae, and the occasional minor god who droned about better days in the time of the Spartans. To those unable to see through the Mist, the tavern appeared as a boarded-up warehouse, or so Beau had heard. The Setting Sun had become a frequent haunt of his since its owner, Flori, a half-blood alienated from the mortal world, had no qualms with serving alcohol to a minor so long as she got paid, even if her drinks were watered-down to save herself some coin.
    Beau had been sipping a suspiciously weak Black Velvet when a pair of too-tipsy satyrs had plunked down next to him. In indiscreet voices, the two half-goat hybrids loudly discussed information that Beau speculated would have been best kept secret, when mention of a demigod sacrifice surfaced. Apparently, they were oblivious that they themselves were seated right next to a demigod. After the better part of half an hour, the satyrs had bid each other goodbye and parted ways. At that moment, Beau abandoned his seat and followed the smaller of the two out of the tavern and along the dark, winding streets until his target unwisely strolled into a vacant alleyway. That was the moment Beau emerged from the shadows, and with the help of the knife he wielded, had been able to convince the drunken satyr into divulging all the information he knew of the planned sacrifice—and Camp Ouranides. The satyr sported a ring that marked his allegiance to Kronos, and once Beau had drained his captive’s knowledge, he’d slit the man’s throat, divested his corpse of the ring, and vanished into the night.
    “This shouldn’t be possible.” Distressed, Chiron shook his head. “To successfully destroy Olympus, the kind of magic this sacrifice calls for is almost incomprehensible.” His composure gone, now he spoke in quavering tones free of venom, voice fragile like fine china. The reveal of the ring seemed to have stripped away the hostility and skepticism to which Beau had been subject moments ago, as if reality was setting in for Chiron with all the force of a hundred-foot fall.
    Beau’s leg gave a twinge, and he leaned a little heavier onto his cane. Too many long nights and too much time with his weight spent on it. “Oh, but it is possible. My source mentioned that Kronos had gotten his grimy hands on a stone made of dark magic at its purest, a stone”—he cleared his throat—“more powerful than the gods themselves.” He parroted the very phrase the newly deceased satyr had provided in his own description.
    “And I suppose it’s safe to assume that—?”
    “Kronos has the stone locked away in Camp Ouranides with—”
    “His army of trained demi-Titans guarding it,” Chiron finished.
    Beau nodded, hair the color of honey flopping across his forehead. “Yes. The same thought had occurred to me. That their sole purpose for existing is to keep this stone under check so Kronos can go through with his evil schemes, else the plan falls apart at the seams.”
    “Might you happen to know where exactly this camp is?”
    No. He didn’t. The satyr had claimed that very few within Kronos’ circle of servants knew of the camp’s location, and that he hadn’t been high enough on the social ladder to be granted this sublime knowledge. Beau believed him. If he were Kronos, he wouldn’t carelessly blab his strategies either; the less people knew, the less they could talk. “I don’t.”
    Chiron’s hooves pranced an agitated beat upon the floor. “Then if no one within our grasp knows where this stone is to retrieve it, what good does your invaluable information do me, Mister Elliott, other than wasting my time?”
    “That’s not entirely true. Word is, one of the demi-Titans, a daughter of Helios, had a violent falling out with her da and turned her back on Camp Ouranides. She fled and now there’s this frantic manhunt ensuing for her. My thoughts are, if she left of her own accord and still bears feelings of spite toward her kin, she might be happy to help us sabotage them.” Beau clapped his leather-clad hands together. “Find the girl, you find the camp, you find the stone, Chiron. Smuggle it out.”
    “And if you’re wrong? If the Titan girl doesn’t share your sentiment to betray her kind?”
    Beau tsk-ed as if chiding a child. “Chiron. There are other methods of persuasion that don’t involve kind words and hand-holding in which I am well-versed. One way or another, Lavinia will talk.”
    Chiron frowned disapprovingly and looked as if he wanted to give his ex-pupil a lecture on right and wrong, but knew his words would be falling upon deaf ears. He didn’t question Beau’s aforementioned methods. “How would you go about finding this demi-Titan—Lavinia?”
    “I don’t have the minutiae of the plan down yet, but just think. She’s a distraught young girl who’s just escaped what’s virtually a prison, playing hide-and-seek with murderous, magically-inclined anti-gods in the foreign world of mortals where she likely can’t tell up from down. The odds are good that she’ll leave a trail of evidence in her wake which can be used to track her. The only problem is in getting to her before her wicked relatives do.”
    Chiron’s smile was pleased. “Well, you seem to have this all mapped out. What kind of team are you looking to take with you on your quest?”
    Beau reeled backward, feigning shock. “My quest? Chiron, whatever led you to believe that I’d be the one to risk my life to retrieve this stone, do your dirty work for you, eh?”
    Minus the tinge of red that flushed his cheeks, Chiron kept his anger well-hidden. “You told me you were paying a debt, this quest being the currency, Mister Elliott.”
    Beau let loose a savage snicker. “Ha, not quite. Perhaps you misunderstood me. The information was my currency. Now consider the debt repaid. Asking me to set aside the time and money—for I know the bill for my expenses will come from my own pocket—to put a pause on my work and travel an undetermined number of miles in the name of Olympus is a completely different thing. Excuse me if my description lacked the enthusiasm with which the gods would like me to react at the opportunity to be their puppet.”
    “This is no game,” the centaur pleaded urgently. “If everything you say is true, the fate of Olympus hangs in the balance. The gods need someone with your skills.”
    Beau scoffed. “The fate of Olympus means nothing to me if the gods don’t put a price on it. Why should I care? Why would I ever do something for nothing, Chiron?”
    Chiron, who usually held such immaculate patience for his students, ground his teeth together. “What is it you want from me, lad? You obviously came here to bargain, knowing that you are the ideal man for the job and I cannot resist hiring you.”
    That much was true. “You’re finally making sense now, Chiron, speaking my language of dealings. There is something I want.” Beau gestured widely around the room. “You see this place? This whole camp? Disguised from mortals’ sight, passed off as a strawberry farm or whatever you call it with the Mist? I want something similar for myself. A kind of disguise, if you will. Preferably without the strawberries.”
    The centaur looked at Beau in utter perplexity.
    “Okay,” Beau sighed. “I’ve done a lot of illegal things in my life which are finally starting to catch up to me. I don’t know how familiar you are with the police—they’re enforcers of the law in the mortal world—but anyway, they’re after me. Like, all over the country. I don’t know much use I’ll be to the Olympians in a jail cell, so I want you to manipulate the Mist in whatever way you have to to get them off my trail. Give me a new identity. Maybe lead them to catch a scapegoat in my place. Make them believe I surreptitiously fled the country and could be anywhere over the globe. It’s an open-ended question that I’ll allow you to be creative with. But I want the police out of my picture.”
    Chiron looked at Beau as if seeing him for the first time. Not as a liar, a murderer, or as the cocky, reckless, easily amused boy devoid of conscience, but as a scared kid lost in the world, in dire need of help because he’d gotten himself way in over his head. And then Chiron burst out laughing. “Manipulate the Mist! That’s my ultimatum? You know a lot about manipulation, don’t you?” he snorted. His laughter ebbed off. “Unfortunately, it is not within my power to grant your request. I am a centaur, not a sorcerer with a knack for magic. The Mist is out of my control.”
    Beau folded both hands over the snake’s head of his walking stick. “Then pull a few strings. Make a few deals. Like it or not, this is your camp. Dionysus couldn’t care less about it, which leads me to believe that all its responsibilities fall to you, including that of maintaining your facade as a strawberry farm. You have connections in the magical world that I do not. If you’re desperate for this stone—and I believe you are—you’ll find a way to give me what I want. Or you can hire another, less talented smuggler to botch your quest and shoot Olympus’ chance of survival to hell. That, Chiron, is your ultimatum.” Beau stared him down, feeling the singe of white-hot anger.
    A long silence. “So, it really was you, then?” Chiron crossed the room to where an old chesterfield, torn in some places, was parked in front of a tiny squarish television. Couch, Beau reminded himself. Not chesterfield. Chiron snatched up the remote. A black and white ripple of static flickered over the television screen before a picture came into focus. He flipped to the local news channel, and, sure enough, they were greeted by the sketch of a hazy figure. Long and thin, he was drawn out like an elongated afternoon shadow, and aside from the mask drawn up over his mouth and nose and the pointy black hood that concealed what would have been blond hair, he was about as detailed as one. Two dark irises, black as bitter coffee, beneath arched eyebrows were the only facial features visible. He, the identity known only as the Shadow Thief, was the prime suspect for the theft that all of America was still buzzing about a whole week after it’d been committed.
    Beau Elliott had made history. He had looted Fort Knox.
    Nothing was ever impossible. Just improbable. The American law enforcement had learned that the hard way. It had been exactly one gold bar he’d stolen, since the sheer weight of it, nigh thirty pounds, had slowed him down enough to have nearly been caught. But the quantity was overshadowed by the mere statement.
    The news channel shifted to a different story. One about a Philadelphian hotel, half of which had mysteriously burnt to the ground in circumstances that were still unknown. Arson was suspected. A crime I didn’t commit, he thought, shooting a pointed look at Chiron, who seemed to be under the impression that Beau was the reason for everything wrong in the world.
    Chiron flicked the television off and eyed Beau gravely. “Whether they know your name or not, you have a reputation, Mister Elliott. Tell me, why did you do it? Obviously, it wasn’t for financial gain, because if it was about the money, you could have robbed a simple bank and saved yourself a lot of trouble. An easy enough job, compared to stealing from the most secure building in the country.” At Beau’s reticence, Chiron assured him, “Speak freely. You needn’t worry about me turning you in. I have my own affairs to take care of that don’t involve the mortal world.”
    Shortly, he snarled, “You wouldn’t understand,” in such a way that indicated the discussion was clearly over.
    Chiron quirked a brow. “Contrary to what your type may like to think, crime isn’t that complicated,” he said. “You steal because taking something gives you something. If thieves aren’t in it for the money, they’re in it for the control. The act of taking, of breaking the rules is an invigorating thing, isn’t it? Makes you feel powerful. Some people steal to stay alive, and others steal to feel alive.” Chiron dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper as if he were sharing some great secret. “And I think you did it for the thrill, boy. I’m not quite the fool you take me for—”
    “My motives are of little concern to you,” Beau interrupted. He chose his next words carefully. “What matters is that I did it, and that you admire my craft enough to accept my deal, as I know you will. I’ll get you the stone for manipulation of the Mist. I am the greatest thief of this age. If you hope to receive an invitation to Olympus’ next Christmas party, you need me, else I fear Olympus may not last the rest of the week let alone the year.” He stared at Chiron with a practiced poker face, an expression that was an impossible enigma. “Swear to uphold your end of the deal, should I be successful. On the River Styx. Now, or I walk.”
    Chiron gave him a look that quietly said he didn’t like being given orders from a teenager, but he didn’t argue. “I swear on the River Styx that I—should you successfully prevent the destruction of Olympus and live to tell about it—will find a way to manipulate the Mist that meets your approval within reason.”
    Despite the sunny morning, a dark clap of thunder boomed outside, reverberating so loudly off the windows that they rattled and threatened to shatter in their frames.
    “Stick around, Beau.” The mentioned boy noted how it was the first time Chiron had addressed him by his first name. “You may lodge in the Hermes cabin, if you’d like. You can wait until tomorrow morning to depart for your quest, and in the meantime, I still have to assemble you a team. I do not want you doing this alone, and I have some demigod students with abilities that should be well-suited to your task. I advise you keep yourself hidden from Mr. D., however. He does not take nearly as kindly to trespassers in Camp Half-Blood as I do.” Chiron examined the bow in his hand and pretended to be nonchalant when he asked, “I assume you will not be joining us for Capture the Flag tonight?”
    “Eh? Of course I will.” Beau straightened his tie, a subtly eye-catching shade of navy blue that matched his coat. “I love games, Chiron.” He started across the room toward a discreet door that would lead to the back of the Big House. Surely campers were up and about now, and exiting through the front door would attract too much attention for his liking, as Beau hadn’t really build himself a savory reputation during his years at Camp Half-Blood. Before exiting, he turned back around, lingering by the door with one gloved hand on the knob. “Oh. That reminds me. If you head downstairs, you’ll see this glass vase just sitting precariously on the floor. It was like that when I came in. No idea how it got there. You might want to move it before someone unknowingly steps on it.”
    Beau stepped outside and banged the door shut with a flourish.

    2012 veteran // feminine pronouns // libra // slytherin // horned serpent // intp // advanced to uber-advanced


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    The post was edited 1 time, last by Flyers ().



  • maybe we're meant to lose the ones we love


    ( chiba mori - child of aphrodite - 16 )


    [center]


    flashes of darkness clouded his gaze, the sound of a monster screeching echoed, accompanied by the screams of anguish from humans. stretched out before him was a forest clearing, everything in shades of grey and black. there was no moon hanging in the sky to provide light, no stars that twinkled to give reassurance that you were alive. in the gloom stood a tall figure, that clearly radiated power, a cold strength that made everything in its presence quiver in fear. everything around the monster, yes for sure it was a monster, seemed to suddenly grow quiet, the yells now fading into the background." meet me here, tonight," the deep, husky voice stated sternly."or else..." the monster was cut short, as there was a sudden bang! that drowned out everything.


    chiba awakened, sitting up as if he had just been electrocuted. his face was pale as a corpse, his breathing quick like a man at death's door. he felt his face, making sure that he was alive and wasn't dreaming anymore. he closed his eyes in relief and clutched his stomach, trying to calm himself down. just calm down... it was just a reminder... he told himself this every time he had had this dream, which has basically been every night for the past 5 days. no matter how many times he had experienced it, he still woke up with a start, feeling like he had just come back from the dead. he didn't know if it was because the monster had to suck all of chiba's energy to make him have this dream, but chiba was getting irritated, and it made his mind even more restless and made him sleep less.


    chiba ran his fingers through his soft auburn hair, which wasn't tangled, despite sleeping on the ground the previous night. he didn't realize his hands were trembling until he looked at them. suddenly he felt something large gently touch his head; chiba looked over to see the camp's bodyguard, peleus the dragon, looking at him with his snake-like eyes."hey, buddy," chiba murmured with a smile, lightly stroking the dragon's large snout.


    whenever chiba wanted to be alone with his thoughts, or he simply couldn't sleep in his cabin with his siblings, he would always sleep next to peleus. the night cold never bothered him, as he had a heater that weighed over 3 tons right beside him. besides, he and peleus were good friends; as chiba was a therapist to any who needed help, peleus was his therapeutic animal. sometimes chiba just needed to get away from everyone, and talk about his worries, conflicts, and depression. peleus was a good listener; well, that's what chiba always said.


    chiba rubbed his eyes, trying to wake himself up. "what was that noise, banana peel?" he asked the dragon, who lazily lifted his head and pointed his long nose towards the big house. yawning, chiba looked in the direction his friend gestured towards.


    an instant shiver crawled down chiba's spine as he recognized the figure. he hasn't seen beau in like, 2 years. chiba rubbed his eyes fiercely again, hoping he was just imagining things. "what is he doing here? how did he get past you, guard dog?"


    peleus glared at chiba as he called him a 'guard dog'. chiba smiled cheekily; peleus blew hot air into his face, making chiba giggle.


    "well," chiba stood up, brushing off the grass and dirt off his pastel green pajamas." better get dressed. love ya!" chiba said as he planted a kiss on peleus's scaly snout before running down the hill and into his cabin, where the rest of his siblings were getting ready for the day.


    to an outsider, the cabin probably looked hectic. boys and girls rushed everywhere, either grabbing clothes, makeup, or straightening up their area. but this was just the daily routine that every aphrodite child grew accustomed to. plus, the bathroom was like a battle ground in the morning. if you never thought children of the love goddess could get violent, you've never seen 10 of them fighting over the mirror, makeup, or space in the bathroom. chiba could only describe it in one word: vicious.


    (outfit, minus the beanieafter changing in a corner, he hoped he would be able to run out of the cabin before he was questioned; he darted for the door, but was intercepted by one of his siblings: teena rodriguez. "where were you last night, mori?" she asked in her thick latino accent.


    "uh-well..." chiba sweated nervously, holding his hands behind his back. before he could even have a second thought, he blurted out: "i was just de-weeding around the cabin and went for a walk!"


    this was all a lie of course. he waited for a few seconds, staring up at his half-sister with his 'puppy-dog' face. teena frowned, her dark eyes like daggers as she stared at him, trying to fight against the cuteness. she rolled her eyes, finally giving in."fine, but i am not covering for you anymore." she stated sternly as she weaved herself around chiba.


    you won't need to soon... chiba silently responded, sighing in relief. as he walked aimlessly around the cabins, his thoughts rapidly darted in his head. what if i get caught? what if someone unnecessary dies? why is beau back? a prophecy? but he didn't say it would happen this soon? what am i even doing? why can't i just-


    chiba wanted to scream out in frustration and pressure. he felt a wet tear go down his cheek, which he swiftly wiped it off with the sleeve of his dark grey sweater. just get through the day... he told himself, and decided to look for mickey; mickey always made him feel better, and he didn't want to act suspicious by hanging around beau, though he wanted to possibly hear some info for why he was here. chiba had a pretty good idea why, but he wanted to make sure beau wasn't up to something that could foil his plan. plus he did not like that guy, at all. chiba had only been around him during beau's last year at camp. chiba did not like the word hate, but let's just say he strongly disliked him.


    soon chiba found himself at the nemesis cabin, and knocked on the door.



    makaio



    oops, this got a lot longer than i wanted XD

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    "remember that we lived"








  • — JONATHAN —
    the new world needed room for me and you
    17 y/o - male - "oh yeah?"


    [center]

    He nearly hated mornings as much as he did sleep, disliking the chilly air that turned his cabin into an ice box and the wet dew that had made him slip several times in his years at Camp Half-Blood. Although he'd already partially covered the whole breakfast ordeal mentally, it was still something he thought about nearly every morning. He understood not providing kids with a 24 hour meal time, that would be a bad idea, considering there were those such as those inhabiting Hermes's overcrowded cabin with a terrible case of sticky fingers. To be honest, that guy multiplied like a rabbit.


    However, it wasn't necessarily the food Jonny wanted each day as soon as he got up. It was a drink that he barely functioned without. As he got up extremely early everyday, the hours of the morning dragged on until he could get a drink of coffee, usually with heavy amounts of sugar and creamer. He depended on the caffeinated beverage like the spring flowers depended on bees and humming birds to bloom. It was essential, in his own opinion.


    A soft sound knocked him from his once again long and tedious thoughts about the way he disliked things. The 6'3 demigod had heard someone coming, though chose to ignore the sound of footsteps and listened instead to his own breathing and thoughts once more. He had hoped it was simply an Apollo running to avoid getting their ass handed to him after provoking the rivalry between their own cabin and the Ares's cabin cabin further. He could guess that whoever was jogging behind him was shorter, based on the quiet, weird crunching noise that happened when you stepped on the grass. It happened more frequently--partially because of the speed at which they were travelling--than his larger, longer steps did. Though, he shouldn't be surprised. He was taller than most.


    Where was his mind again? Something about flowers or coffee... He couldn't remember.


    He flinched, his head immediately snapping upwards, as whoever had been behind him clapped him on the shoulder, tearing him away from the solitude of his own mind. Jonathan's gaze shot instantly to his right where Krishna now stood, playing nice with him. In the couple of years the son of Dionysus had resided in camp, he didn't exactly like him. For more reasons than one.


    He could see through him. He'd noticed his previous bitterness was now gone and replaced with a sweetness that was forced, having an almost passive aggressive feel to it. It honestly scared him and made him super uncomfortable. Not only that, but he was also the son of Dionysus. Now, of course the wine god hadn't been on Olympus at the time he had, though he still greatly disapproved of the god simply for his nature, and those kind of feelings extended to his son.


    Jonathan began to grow nervous, pressing his lips together as he fidgeted with one of his belt loops. He'd managed to look away as Krishna greeted him like he was an old buddy of his, like they were ever in fully friendly terms, though he turned rigid under the other's touch as he was asked about where he was going.


    Now, of course the brunet knew very well that he wasn't exactly supposed to be eating the strawberries, but he couldn't help it. When he was young he'd watch the satyrs do it and whenever he was hungry before breakfast, he'd snag a few. However, now that he was older, he took and ate a lot more, he just had thought he'd done a good enough job of scattering out where he took the berries. He guessed that because the other demigod tended to their only crops, he took notice to the fact that he'd started eating breakfast again. He silently cursed himself for getting sort-of caught, though was still slightly shocked it took that long. He was a tall guy in a field of strawberries, he wasn't too hard to miss.


    Still stiff as he took his time to answer the question, he still remained with his gaze diverted, looking from his shoes to the line of cabins as the two walked and back again. He wouldn't lie to his fellow camper, whether he got into trouble or not, and straight admitted it... After he could manage to speak. He had cleared his throat after a silence that was probably longer than it should have been, making him feel even more awkward. He blinked, his blue eyes now glued to the white toes of his shoes.


    "I'm, uh," The son of Hera stumbled with his words, having to clear his throat once more and start again. There was a very brief break this time where he shoved his long fingers into his pockets, starting from the top. "Um, I'm going to the strawberry fields." He might've smiled sheepishly if he could even manage to move his lips that way, so instead held his usually nervous look, as if the feet he was staring at was talking back to him. He was dreading Krishna's response, sure he'd make some sort of smartass remark. He feared it even more so since he couldn't even speak properly up in being asked the simple question.


    Why couldn't he be back home and be somewhat normal?


    makaio

    DADDY = RINNY

    father of four(?) maybe more.

    hush. I'm new to this.

    I signed a contract I am now officially dad.

    father of five. definitely five.




  • [center]

  • ALASTAIR



    DON'T SAY BYE
    I DON'T WANNA LET YOU GO
    TIME IS WASTING


    [center]

    pulled from his thoughts at the sound of a voice, the son of demeter looks down and a smile slides easily onto his lips, matching that of jacques. the son of poseidon was, in alastair's own personal opinion, one of the coolest campers. today he was sporting quite the outfit, what with his bright orange hoodie and fluorescent pink shorts accompanied by a pair of purple crocs. a fashionista at their finest.


    removing his hand from the grass, alastair gives a quick wave. jacques seemed to be headed for somewhere, so the son of demeter doesn't say anything more, simply laughing at the other's remark about his sleeping half-siblings. sometimes alastair wonders whether they belonged more in the hypnos cabin with his much they sleep, but they work hard in the fields and training, which leaves them tired.


    left alone again, alastair watches as the camp continues to rouse itself as the sun climbs higher into the sky. he spots the son of hera ― jonathan ― wandering alone across the camp. he almost slides back down the side of his cabin to accompany him, but krishna beats him to it, slinging an arm around his shoulder. a slight frown touches his features at the son of dionysus's gesture, seeing how alastair had always thought the other was quite bitter toward jonathan.


    eventually he does slide from the roof of his cabin, growing bored and hungrier by the second. as he makes his way through the drying grass, alastair catches sight of chiba and mickey, both headed away from the nemesis cabin. changing routes and heading for the two, the son of demeter almost skips up, delighted to see both of them awake.


    makaio



  • maybe we're meant to lose the ones we love


    ( chiba mori - child of aphrodite - 16 )




    Thinking Mickey would be the one to answer the door, Chiba had a huge, bright smile on his face with his eyes closed."Good-" he was cut off by one of Mickey's siblings: Zac. Chiba's cheeks instantly turned a light shade of pink as he realized it was the wrong person, and he put his hands behind his back, and rocked back and forth on his feet.


    Chiba never understood how Mickey's siblings could be so impolite and harsh; not only to other campers, but to Mickey as well. Chiba knew that they basically hated everything about Mickey. This brought Chiba frustration: his siblings knew about the abuse Mickey received at home, so why would they surround him with even more abuse at camp, where he is supposed to feel accepted and secure? Chiba knew that most of the insults and hateful words flew right over Mickey's head, but it still didn't make it fair.


    Just when Chiba had summoned enough courage to reply to the son of nemesis, a familiar face popped up at the door. "Hi Mickey!" he greeted his friend with a bright smile and a little wave.


    Chiba stomach clenched as he heard Zac's rude comment, but decided to simply ignore it and cover it up with a small smile. His full attention was now on his best friend Mickey, who looked just about as happy as he did to see the other.


    At Mickey's compliment, Chiba's cheek once again were colored the shade of light pink. He nervously scratched the back of his head, and looked down at his dark grey shoes."Oh, uh, thanks Mickey," he replied nervously. Chiba never knew what to do whenever someone gave him a compliment or praised him for anything. Even though Mickey commonly greeted people this way, Chiba still felt a little embarrassed. He was good at giving compliments, and sucked at receiving them.


    "You look cute today too!" He added quickly, which was honestly true; he thought mickey's dark hair and dimples were adorable. Just as Chiba was about to ask Mickey to join him for breakfast, he saw another one of his favorite people at camp half-blood: alastair.


    "Alastair!!" Chiba beamed at the son of demeter, his dark eyes filling with admiration as he greeted the older demigod. "Care to join me and Mickey for breakfast?" he asked, gesturing towards the dining area.


    Chiba tried to avoid staring at the Big House, where Beau was. Or that's where he was the last time Chiba saw him this morning. Hopefully he could avoid direct confrontation with Beau, and maybe eavesdrop on a conversation between him and Chiron. He was sure Chiron would announce the prophecy, but there were usually little details that Chiro kept from the campers knowledge.


    OOC
    Ugh sorry for the cringey post guys, I just need to catch some z's now XD









    [/fancypost]


    makaio


  • [center]

    [fancypost=border:1px solid white; height:150px; width:130px; margin-top:7px; margin-left:9px; background:url('http://scontent.cdninstagram.com/t51.2885-15/s480x480/e35/c0.84.719.719/13561809_1752338785055142_1008299806_n.jpg?ig_cache_key=MTI4NTYwNTg4NDI0NDI1MDk4NQ%3D%3D.2.c'); background-size:150px 150px;"]

    Beau Elliott
    17 | Son of Hermes | Thief

    He would accept the offer of Chiron’s hospitality, he resolved, and arrange his things in one of the few unused bunks in the Hermes cabin until the time came to depart for the Camp Ouranides job. Beau just hoped that this team Chiron assembled for him would really prove more of a help than a hindrance. Sneaking in and out of the Titan camp, undetected, without a trace, would be so much simpler if he had only himself to account for, instead of having to divide his attention between the job and babysitting not one but several unskilled demigod children. This was a one-man operation. Why couldn’t Chiron realize that?
    Stopping at the Hermes cabin could wait. There was a detour Beau couldn’t resist making that took priority. He peered cautiously around the side of the Big House, briefly surveying the scene before he stepped into open light. Just a short trek away, situated in front of the Big House was the horseshoe ring of cabins, with one side of what would have been a perfect oval standing agape to form a giant U. It was still early, and so the camp grounds were sparsely populated with only a sprinkling of demigods. Beau scrutinized one pair of boys in particular, huddled outside the Nemesis cabin. Their backs were to him, but the boys’ shoulders shuddered gently as if they were sharing a laugh.
    Then his gaze shifted, and he focused even more intently on a third party who was beelining in such a direct path that no question was left to his destination. A spring in his spry step, this boy was crossing the length of the camp, scampering to join the two others whom, Beau gathered by the delighted smile on his face, were close friends of his. Such a big, foolish grin, naive to the world’s cruelties, made the kid look like an idiot, Beau firmly decided. He hadn’t smiled like that since he’d been four feet tall. But it also made the boy look like something else. A mark. A pigeon waiting to be plucked.
    He drew his long royal blue coat, which had begun to flutter in the chilling breeze, tighter around his narrow frame. A few kids were scantily garbed in T-shirts and shorts, a decision he couldn’t fathom. It was a day in mid-April, but a surprising cold snap had seized New York that week like winter’s last gasp for purchase before inevitably surrendering to a more agreeable season of blooming flowers and sun showers. He leaned his cane against the side of the Big House. He’d take only a second, and for that second, he wouldn’t be needing it. Then, Beau ran a hand through his usually immaculately slicked-back hair, ruffling it wildly, flipped up his high collar, and made his move, keeping to his ever-loyal shadows, trusting them to obscure him until the right moment.
    He took a circuitous route behind the left column of cabins, moving swiftly for the sake of time. His leg ached with every other harried step. He darted a glance up at the kid moving toward his two friends. Happily oblivious. Beau could have snorted, if not for fear of blowing his cover. There was still a gap of about twenty feet before the boy united with his friends, and he wanted to intercept his target when it was relatively alone. Without pause, Beau whipped a cell phone from one of his innumerable pockets. It was an archaic, dated device that he almost never used, one that didn’t process texting and performed the sole application of basic phone calls. Something he imagined that only old people trying desperately to conform to modern trends used. Technically, demigods weren’t supposed to have cell phones due to the flares they sent up which alerted every monster within a twenty mile radius, but Beau relied on the fact that he was tougher and scarier than anything out of a Greek fairytale. Mimicking the engrossed facial expressions he’d studied in so many electronically-addicted teenagers, he pretended to study his phone with rapt attention as he rounded the corner of one cabin. And slammed directly into Alastair Lane.
    His cell phone tumbled from his grip and clunked onto the ground facedown. Beau’s head snapped up, brows raised, lips parted in a surprised mask as he let his eyes meet those of the fellow he’d collided with. He dipped his chin a bit further into his collar, pretending to be hopelessly embarrassed. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said with a light laugh, catching the boy’s left arm as if to steady himself. Through the bangs of his mussed hair, he maintained eye contact, inviting his target in with a sugary smile that would keep the boy’s gaze level with his own while Beau’s thumb and middle finger inconspicuously encircled his wrist and flicked open the buckle of the fine watch he wore. With the featherlight touch of a practiced professional, Beau blindly divested the boy of his watch, gave his victim’s wrist a reassuring squeeze, leaving the imprint of the watch as to convince him of its continued presence, all within a fraction of a second. By the time he fluidly released his easy hold on the boy’s arm, he was just concluding his staged chuckle. Can’t have myself falling out of practice.
    He bent to retrieve his phone. “It seems as if you’ve dropped your wallet.” The wind favorably blew at his back, sending the front of Beau’s coat billowing and bowing out around his kneeling form. A happy accident, but he took inspiration where he could find it. With his left hand, the one in sight, he picked up both his phone and the kid’s fallen wallet, while his swelled coat provided perfect cover for his right to sneak the watch into a pocket unseen. Flawless sleight of hand. He stood, and with a face so honest and pure it could belong to only an angel, offered the boy his wallet.
    Recognition hit him with all the force of a gunshot, yet jolting as it was, it failed to register on his trained angular features. He finally placed the face of Demeter’s son—Alastair Lane. They stood eye-to-eye, identical in height, and shared the same wiry whippet’s build that Beau would’ve bet they were within five pounds of one another. He didn’t know Alastair, per se, but knew of him from his stint at Camp Half-Blood. Maybe the both of them had exchanged casual words on two or three occasions. Beau hadn’t ever really been the outgoing type. Would Lane recognize the flustered, respectful, tousled-haired boy who nobly returned wallets to their rightful owners as Beau Elliott, Camp Half-Blood’s once notoriously rumored criminal prodigy and rabid dog, even if Beau never had cause to steal from him before today?

    2012 veteran // feminine pronouns // libra // slytherin // horned serpent // intp // advanced to uber-advanced


    batroc.gif



  • Krishna Khan

    // son of Dionysus //



    Krishna took his hand off of the taller boy's shoulder as the latter seemed to take his sweet time stuttering out a response. And while Jonathan didn't meet his gaze, Krishna didn't stop looking right at him; he seemed to relish in the awkwardness of it all, in Jonathan's discomfort. He liked annoying the piss out of people; it was like a special talent of his. Besides, the strawberries and the gardens were his pride and joy; he would see to it that no one got in the way of that.


    It was almost a means for him to make up for the fact that he wasn't good with weapons, with fighting, with crafting, or with challenges of the intellect. Hell, it was pretty much the useful only thing at Camp Half-Blood that he could excel at, and he took it seriously; similar to how a poser from Poseidon's cabin may be protective of the ocean, or how a child of Ares might take the afternoon sparring sessions a little too much to heart. And plus, it was fun as hell to mess with this guy. The son of Hera must have thought he was such hot stuff after living on Olympus, but in reality he was pretty much on the same level with all of the others at the camp, which wasn't really saying much.


    "Really?" Krishna replied, feigning interest and surprise. "That is such a coincidence, because that's where I'm headed, too. Really, nothing beats the view from that hill with the field, especially in the morning. But you know what's weird, I think some rabbits or deer must be getting into the plants these days, though, which really sucks considering how much time I've clocked in, working on those plants. They really are the best damn strawberries in New York, that's for sure; and those animals must know it too, because they tromp all over the place, ruining the fine hoeing I've done, etcetera."


    God, this was fun. He had to cut himself off from talking the guy's ear off, though; he didn't want to put him to sleep, after all--that was a job for someone from Hypnos' cabin. "But today maybe you can help me get rid of this bunny problem." He lowered his tone, stifling a laugh as he made his voice sound dark and dramatic as he practically whispered it to Jonathan. "You do know what I do to pests I find in the garden, right?" He couldn't help the smirk that curled on his lips a little, really hoping he had this guy going.



    [center]
    TEMPLATE ©BOKEH | #BOKEHFANCY | PREMADE TEMPLATE

    I'M COMING BACK HOME, WITH MY EYES ON THE HORIZON


    TAURUS /  / HUFFLEPUFF /  / UNC '21 


  • VALKYRIE MARTIN



    The presence of people emerging from their cabins into the early morning light was a horrific homesickness-inducing blur for Valkyrie. Watching the city wake up in the mornings, the same as she did at night. The lights of Vegas would let their presence be known as the city truly began a throbbing life vessel. Alive. The city would come alive.


    Instead Valkyrie watched the hum of camp life with a bitter expression. Krishna and Jacques had dared to acknowledge her existence but she knew that was the closet she would get to a good morning. A part of her was annoyed that no one in camp really liked to talk to her willingly, she craved the thrill of talking to someone other than herself. But she also craved isolation for her own protection. She was an ageless queen in her own eyes, unreachable, untouchable... but oh so conceited.


    Valkyrie ran a hand through her hair, getting annoyed at herself as her fingers grew caught in some of the knotted strands. She had given up caring at one point, given up caring what others thought of her own appearance. In her mind she was hellish and powerful, and that was all that mattered to her. Her views and opinions were all that mattered in her mind, unknown input was irrelevant to her.


    Dirtied boots, ripped jeans, hole filled sweater and a stained coat. She supposed this was what she was now, the bare face with not a care in the world. She sighed and looked out over the space in front of her. Campers gathered in small groups here and there, Krishna and that guy, Jonathan son of queen of hellish dreams herself, Hera. Her eyes didn't linger on the two for long though, she wasn't interested in watching them discuss strawberries or whatever drawl was coming from their mouths.


    No, it was something else that made her move quickly to her feet, her slim figure leaning against one of the large columns beside her. That motherly instinct was coming back, that need to protect and kill. A backlash from her shitty upbringing, Valkyrie supposed, a need to give whatever her mother haven't given to her. Valkyrie watched with sharp eyes as a unfamiliar figure walked straight into Alastair. If she had been a wolf the fur on her back would've stood on end, a deep growl would've raised in her throat. But she wasn't a wolf, simply a bitter girl made from lightning and storms.


    Valkyrie was quick to move with agile steps down towards the interaction, wandering eyes watching as they appeared to be holding hands. She could see it right there, the blond boy holding his wrist, hand, arm, something...And Valkyrie didn't like it one bit. She didn't know why it set her off so much, it was her instinct telling her to go down there and make a scene. That fucking motherly instinct.


    The two males now seemed to be locked in a battle of staring each other down, although she was a good few inches shorter than both of them she didn't hesitate, didn't halt or yield. Ramming her way been the both of them she forcefully pushed Alastair back a few steps with her back. Although she hated the idea of anyone she didn't know well touching her she knew he would be as uncomfortable as she was. And that was enough to keep her from flinching away.


    Finally now finding Alastair was two steps away from the blond, who was now starting to look hauntingly familiar, Valkyrie decided she was enough of a physical barrier. Crossing her arms she felt that animal instinct deep in, the inner beast begging to pounce and kill, the venomous cold-blooded reptile wanting to destroy. She could feel the metal edge of one of her knives against the skin on her hip, the metal had long gone warm since she had shoved it into between her body and the waistband of her jeans.


    Valkyrie arched an eyebrow, she already knew the tone of her voice when she spoke up would be deadly, no sugary coating. Sharp and merciless she would be.
    "What are you doing?"



    makaio