[center][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o4uwk0gU-0o][color=6ecff6][h3][u]Dallas Relo[/u][/h3][/color][/url]
[u][b]Location:[/b][/u] (Not Nearly Far Away Enough From) Highway 1, California
[b][u]Interacting With:[/u][/b] (The Dreaded) Alihera Relo[/center]
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[color=6ecff6][i]Start the day off with a smile,[/i][/color] his sister loved saying. [color=6ecff6][i]What could go wrong if you let yourself smile more, Dallas?[/i][/color]

West. Coast. Traffic. Sis. It would go wrong on you the second you jinxed it. More likely, it would go wrong on you thirty minutes before you jinxed it, generally ending in a front end that was nothing more than a blessed memory, gashes in your palms where your fingernails had dug wells into the soft flesh, and a pain in the ass you'd normally only ascend to by straddling a barbed wire rocking horse without a saddle. Yeah, there was some Apollonian poetry to make the ride go by - and what a ride it was, because whereas others had only an hour, two hours to worry about when it came to trips to Academy, Dallas Relo was a douchebag about scheduling. He'd only left the restaurant at around 8 pm last night, and his mom had advised him to pack [i]before dinner[/i] on the high chance he was going to have to drive right from Nation's to school. He'd made his bed in the West Coast, and once a year, the son of Apollo was forced to grit his teeth and lie in it.

Or twist around impatiently in the driver's seat of a Mazda Miata, with his seat belt half slung over his shoulder like a cobra for appearances, trying not to stare at the enormous cold strawberry pie that was supposed to be his sustenance for ten hours. He [i]was[/i] getting impatient, he realized. As he'd torn through Midwest states that he couldn't tell apart and little slivers of pie were being whittled outta the enormous dish riding shotgun, the sun was dipping farther and farther away behind the horizon. Time zones were cockblocking the precious energy Dallas needed to get through this drive without steering himself off the road like the James Dean clone he was fifty years too young to be. The lack of energy, ironically enough, manifested as a twitching down to his very bones, a desire to stretch his legs and [i]sprint[/i] to the damn school if he had to. By the time the insistent buzz of a way-too-white old iPhone 4s added a different note to the same four playlists on repeat, Dallas was about ready to screech with glee.

Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuntil he saw the name on the phone.

[i][color=6ecff6]Hell, whatever. At least it's a voice.[/color][/i]

[color=6ecff6]"Get some sleep, Mom. It's gotta be...midnight in Oakland? One?"[/color]

[b]"One-thirty. How's your energy?"[/b]

[color=6ecff6]"Awaiting last rites. What's your excuse?"[/color]

Alihera Relo laughed. Even over an iPhone's speaker at 3:30 in the morning - assuming he was in the time zone he thought he was in - it was soft and crystalline, the kind of laugh that you learned only by raising a precocious, boxing little shit like Dallas; it was exactly the kind of half-giggle needed to soothe him at his coarsest, too, which was something he'd learned to appreciate despite the mutual crap they now slung at each other. Hearing it, you'd be shocked to guess she was pushing 45. There was childlike innocence in the laugh that few people into their adulthood really deserved, but hey, whatever ropes in the god of the sun, right?

[b]"I was thinking about my son. Wanted to make sure you were still on the road alright. Any idea where you are?"[/b]

[color=6ecff6]"Uhh, I might hav one, if I weren't bone tired. Can you just call me an Uber and tell him to keep driving through these [i]fucking cornfields[/i] until he finds me?"[/color]

[b]"No, I think I'll let you bite the bullet. And hey, I was born in those cornfields. They were good enough for your father."[/b]

[color=6ecff6]"...[i]Ew[/i]."[/color]

Alihera laughed again. [b]"Well, since you asked [i]so sweetly,[/i] I think I could get some rest. Be good at school, text me now and again, say hi to your father and Vivian - oh, and Dallas - one more thing."[/b] His mother, suddenly, sounded distinctly chastising on the phone, and for safety, Dallas lowered the phone down to about his waist, where he could pretend he'd missed three words in five. It was a clever little gag he'd play sometimes when the 'one more thing' postscript came up in conversations. [b]"Did you happen to come across my church key while you were home this summer?"[/b]

[color=6ecff6]"Can't say I did. Hey, I didn't know you were that important to the church. Am I supposed to remember how many days it's been since I confessed? And is cursing still a sin? If it is I'm fucked. Er. Shafted. Uhm. Boned. Fuck! Screwed. You know what I mean."[/color]

He carved off a large slice of strawberry pie [his eyes were starting to droop closed and he needed the sugar rush] and rolled his neck around with a curse as he took an equally hefty bite. Through his driver's side windows, it looked like he was leaving the cornfields and heading into plain old open territory, but damned if he could be sure of much of anything with only starlight to guide his way east. Next year, he was just going to fly. Apollo had a chariot, didn't he? Wasn't a commercial plane just, like, the 3.0 version?

[b]"Well, that's four and a half sins right there. Don't play dumb, you know what [url=https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Can_opener#Church_key]a church key[/url] is [i]and[/i] where I store it, Dallas."[/b] A little amusement in her clipped tone, that was good. That was always good. [b]"Please just lie to your mother and tell her you're not going to need it."[/b]

[color=6ecff6]"Well, a, I didn't steal crap." Dallas picked the phone back up and set it above the steering wheel, so he had a reason to keep his eyes open and on the road. "B. If I had stolen crap, wouldn't have stolen it if I didn't need it, Mom."[/color]

[b]"Thank you. Liar."[/b]

[color=6ecff6]"..."[/color] Okay, so she had him there. [color=6ecff6]"Okay, I might have needed it. If I stole it. I'm not a crook."[/color]

[b]"You're not even legal, Dallas."[/b]

[color=6ecff6]"[i]Au contraire,[/i]"[/color] the demigod purred. [color=6ecff6]"Besides, I don't remember confessing that I stole it."[/color]

[b]"You didn't have to,"[/b] his mother said with a hint of good humor in her voice. [b]"I've been FaceTiming you - and you're wearing a low neckline tonight. Isn't it blasphemy to hang a bottle opener next to a saint medallion, Dal?"[/b]

[color=6ecff6]"Ssssssshhhhh[i]hhhhit[/i]!"[/color]

Dallas hastily threw his phone under the seat. His mother's tinny laughter echoed through the Mazda, and he cursed again, more softly this time. He felt uncomfortably like Captain Kirk, in that episode of the Twilight Zone. The one with the gremlins eating the fucking plane. [color=6ecff6][i]God, I need sleep.[/i][/color]

[b]"And stop eating pie while you drive!"[/b]

Dallas, eyes rolling so hard in their sockets you'd swear they had dollar signs for irises, reached for the radio knob. After a while, he guessed even his mom must have gotten tired of hearing the silent treatment mingled in with the Black Keys, Arctic Monkeys, and A Day to Remember, because when he checked his phone again around 5:30 AM ([i][color=6ecff6]Eastern Standard Time![/color][/i]) there was no familiar face on the touchscreen.

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Two hours later, Dallas Relo arrived at Olympus Academy with an empty pie tray (promptly chucked in whatever the fuck trash can he could find with bleary eyes) and a couple suitcases. By then, however, sunlight was already peeking up from the east, and he felt the mingled anxiety and exhaustion that came with an all-nighter behind the wheel fading away from his back and shoulders with an ease no massage could provide. Tracing fingers through long, golden hair, Dallas stayed in his apartment just long enough to get a hot shower, change into a [color=6ecff6][i]really who gives a fuck[/i][/color] pair of skinny jeans, a black t-shirt, and a pair of Jordans, and brush his teeth. He skipped breakfast and didn't take the church key off his necklace - hell, maybe hadn't even taken it off while he showered. It looked kind of arts and crafts-y, almost. 

And hey, really, wasn't the best way to enjoy Catholicism being a little buzzed?

Finger combing his hair again and tapping the backs of his shoes against each other on the way through his apartment door, Dallas stepped out into the sun - and with it, started soaking up the energy he'd need to get through day one.