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[color=#A8516E][b]#A8516E[/b][/color] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [color=9b9b9b][b]Louisiana, New Orleans, Louis Armstrong International Airport[/b][/color]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/9qIY4OK.jpeg[/img][/sup][/center][color=gray][h3][sup][sup]Rosalia stalked from the security line, tightly gripping her passport and the ticket tucked within. This was an awful time to fly. Why hadn’t she left earlier? Why hadn’t she just missed Christmas? With two hours to go until her flight, she took her place in line at Starbucks. She needed coffee. Then she needed to sleep at some point on the plane. Delta and ITA Airways had already devoured over two grand. A hotel in Athens was unconscionable. Insulting. Mortifying.

Well, it all was, since her own so-called father had seen exactly fit enough to summon her and pay not a single damned cent for the whole thing. And that messenger—whom she had practically needed to wring every bit of necessary information out of—had offered no indication that whatever was so important at this Camp Athens was going to involve reimbursals. So here she was, preparing to burn more money at Starbucks, with no promise of a job on the other side. Was the home she’d bargained for worth it? Was it even there? She couldn’t have been crazy; she knew very well what she was capable of doing. Yet this messenger for Zeus made her [i]feel[/i] crazy. Was it some innate property of divinity that they needed to be unnecessarily obtuse? Why not just get everything set up, get her headed in the right direction, and, oh, maybe give her the details without her having to practically hold him back as he tried to fuck off back to Olympus—a place which, mind you, was [i]already in Greece[/i].

And here she was, drinking a large mocha cookie crumble Frappuccino at the Louis Armstrong International Airport. A large—not a fucking “venti”, you ridiculous jabronies.

Here she was, drinking an overpriced drink, flying an overpriced flight that she had to pay extra for in order to have enough space to breathe and not lose her legs from lack of blood flow. Not to mention the extra bags. Rosalia’s jaw tensed as the final tally for the extra fees she’d been accosted with flashed involuntarily through her mind. Just thinking about it was going to give her a headache. No, wait, she needed to stop drinking so fast. [i]That[/i] was going to give her a headache. Rosalia’s eyes darted towards her carry-on. She pulled out a small box and stared at it. Another $70, down the drain. She plucked out a piece of the fruity nicotine gum, then a second, and popped both in her mouth. She stuffed the box back in her bag, and reviewed her ticket briefly, before sighing. All of this frustration wasn’t going to change things. And she had a whole day of sitting on a plane that she could either stew during or find something better to do with her time. 

Well…that was the problem, wasn’t it?

What the hell were people supposed to do with that much time?[/sup][/sup][center][sup][img]https://i.imgur.com/9qIY4OK.jpeg[/img]
[color=9b9b9b][b]Somewhere over Mississippi or maybe Alabama[/b][/color]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/9qIY4OK.jpeg[/img][/sup][/center][sup][sup]Rosalia slumped in her seat. She kept feeling like there was something she needed to be doing. Like there was something left undone that she was irresponsibly abandoning. 

Of course she was. Her life as a human was there, fading away into the horizon. Would she ever know it again? Did she want to? Was what she was leaving behind a life at all? 

She stared down at her phone as the question sunk in. It stung. Here she was, swiping idly back and forth across her home screen, locked in digital pacing like a stressed-out zoo animal. Opening and closing apps, simple little games, and even reorganizing folders. It was like looking in a mirror and seeing nothing looking back. She had a ball sort puzzle game that she’d burned through over two thousand levels on. She’d done much the same for crosswords, sudoku, some off-brand bubble blast, and several variants of candy crush knockoffs. And at this point, she realized she’d managed to sit this far into the plane ride without choosing anything to listen to. She had earbuds in, and wasn’t listening to a damn thing except the dull roar of the air whipping past the airplane’s cabin. It sounded deafening now, even though it was objectively fairly faint through her earbuds. 

This was maddening. Finding entertainment felt like a massive—no, damn near insurmountable chore. But she couldn’t sleep. And staring off into the endless expanse of clouds either hurt from the glare or otherwise made her want to claw her eyes out from the sheer monotony of it all. God, would the stewards let her put on a uniform or something and do some work?

Rosalia huffed and shook her head at the thought. Obviously it was a ridiculous idea. And she’d splurged on breathing room already. Why not sit back and enjoy it? But that’s exactly what she’d been trying and spectacularly failing to do for the past couple of hours! Rosalia fidgeted, scratched her nose, then her chin, then brought her hand to scratch her hair before hesitating, remembering that she’d put her hair in a tight braid to keep it from being too awful by the time she landed. 

The stewards were approaching. Shit. [i]Right[/i]. She was a whole, [i]real[/i] adult. She could definitely find a way to relax and be entertained on this flight. She just needed to drink enough to make what she had available to her easy to enjoy.

[color=#A8516E]“Yes ma’am, I would. Could I please have some tequila?”[/color][/sup][/sup][center][sup][img]https://i.imgur.com/9qIY4OK.jpeg[/img]
[color=9b9b9b][b]Over the Atlantic, Probably[/b][/color]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/9qIY4OK.jpeg[/img][/sup][/center][sup][sup]Rosalia felt a peaceful smile settle on her face. The world made sense again. Well, it wasn’t like she could think hard enough to talk herself out of letting the world be as it was. The duty-free store at the JFK International Airport was a blessing, really. Was two bottles of Rosé too much? Probably. But as she held one bottle in her lap like a precious baby, each little sip said otherwise. The in-flight entertainment was enough. Movies could be fun. The miserable atmosphere of air travel was almost lost on her, for how her senses had been lovingly drowned in the beautiful miracle of wine. Moonstruck, the Count of Monte Cristo, the Birdcage, and Joker: Folie à Deux got her to Rome. 

After trudging through Italian customs, mumbling just enough half-remembered Sicilian that the officers there caught on to the fact that she was from the American Diaspora and waved her through indifferently, Rosalia was confronted with the fact that she had neglected to eat. Unfortunately, there just wasn’t enough time. And the half-bottle of Rosé would tide her over on the flight to Athens, wouldn’t it?[/sup][/sup][center][sup][img]https://i.imgur.com/9qIY4OK.jpeg[/img]
[color=9b9b9b][b]Greece, Athens, Athens International Airport[/b][/color]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/9qIY4OK.jpeg[/img][/sup][/center][sup][sup]Rosalia jerked awake as the plane’s wheels met the tarmac. Had she actually slept through that whole flight? The little stream of drool sneaking under and through her shirt seemed to say so. 

Yeah, this was Athens. 

Rosalia massaged the bridge of her nose for a moment as her wits came to her.

Well, at least she wouldn’t need to put the empty bottle back into her bag now. Not that either option made her look like less of a drunk to the other passengers. Hell, if they were in such a position, they’d be drinking too. Air travel was bad. Family Christmas was worse. Being a daughter of Zeus? Well, what she’d read of the myths suggested Zeus’ children had pretty awful destinies. [i]Jesus[/i], why did people on airplanes always have to take absolutely forever to get their asses in gear? 

Rosalia found herself glaring across the cabin at a group of middle-aged folks who seemed to be having a bit of trouble with the baggage compartment. Even after they finally figured it out, she kept staring at the same spot, in the same direction, until her peripheral vision finally caught one of the people nearer to her fumbling with their own bags. She pulled her carry-on out from under the seat in front of her and prepared to push out at the earliest opportunity. Her moment came, and she bolted upwards and to the side, cutting off the nearby people preparing to go after their bags. The only thought that dominated Rosalia’s mind was how badly she wanted off the plane and out of the airport.

Like a businesswoman running late for an important meeting, Rosalia stalked off the plane and hurried along towards the baggage claim.[/sup][/sup][center][sup][img]https://i.imgur.com/9qIY4OK.jpeg[/img]
[color=9b9b9b][b]Greece, Athens, Tempi Hotel[/b][/color]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/9qIY4OK.jpeg[/img][/sup][/center][sup][sup]After a quick lunch, Rosalia made her way to her hotel. Tempi Hotel had about the cheapest listing she could find save for the hostels, while seeming decent enough. It just had to be enough to get her through one night. Then, it was a matter of getting to that damned Camp. The directions to which, Zeus’ little messenger had so generously defined in terms of [b][i]fucking paces[/i][/b] from the Olympieion. Paces which, after converting to real units, led her from the center of Athens to clean off of any paved road or apparent trail. She knew she needed sleep, and needed it badly. Even though it was the middle of the day, she was already exhausted. Once she had showered and prepared for bed, she took some melatonin, just to make completely certain that she would get her sleep. And sleep she did.

At 4:00am the next morning, she awoke. Time to get started. Denim mom jeans and steel-toed work boots for durability, then a sports bra, tank top, flannel, and zip-up hoodie for layers, hair in a bun, sunglasses on, and she was dressed for the day. 

She got some food from the buffet breakfast, got her bags, checked out of her room, and flagged down a cab. Rather than begin from the Olympieion itself, Rosalia gambled on spending far less time bartering with the driver to drop her off at the furthest paved part of her route. And so it began.

…

[color=#A8516E][i]‘Right, hills. They rule from a mountain. Why wouldn’t I have to climb a ton?’[/i][/color]

…

[color=#A8516E][i]‘Snow?! In Greece?![/i][/color]

Rosalia groaned under the weight of her bags and chucked them into the thin blanket of snow. She lunged after one of the suitcases, and opened it. She pulled out a scarf and a long peacoat. She couldn’t button the coat anymore, but it’d have to do. She wrapped the scarf around her head to cover her ears and to tuck her chin in, put her oversized backpack on again, then put one huge duffle on each shoulder, and finally lugged a massive suitcase in either hand. All in all, it was about as heavy as she was—and it felt like it too. She hissed as her joints remembered the weight they were demanded to carry, and then shakily checked her cheap little pedometer watch. Halfway there. The sun was out. Hopefully it’d start getting warmer.[/sup][/sup][center][sup][img]https://i.imgur.com/9qIY4OK.jpeg[/img]
[color=9b9b9b][b]A Gate? Camp Athens?[/b][/color]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/9qIY4OK.jpeg[/img][/sup][/center][sup][sup]Rosalia had long ago passed the point where any coherent thoughts were replaced with a vague yet intense sense of exhausted frustration. Time lost its meaning. Each breath was its own eternity. Each pace was a heartbeat in her ears. Rosalia had never been keen on hiking even when it was nice out; but snow? Unfamiliar terrain? Frustratingly, incessantly vague instructions her only guide? Rosalia seethed at every remaining step. Until at last, the numbers dwindled into the thousands. Then the hundreds. And at last, it came into her sight. The alleged Camp Athens existed, and so too did it have campers coming to fill its numbers again. 

With a sputtering breath, she pushed harder again, reinvigorated her march, and at last made her way to the gate. And as she marched on, growing redder in the face as she scarcely remembered even to breathe, she heard it.

[i][color=c9bef3]"I’m Blair, and this—You, no doubt, already know—Is the hellhole that is Camp Athens."[/color][/i]

Rosalia groaned and buckled into a belaboured, wheezing laugh. She relaxed her arms, and started dragging them along behind her as she approached. Each breath came in and out of her mouth with the force of a steam engine. Her gaze, though obscured by her black sunglasses, rested squarely on Blair, with the others present hardly even registering to her as she approached.

[color=#A8516E]“Please,”[/color] she sputtered, [color=#A8516E]“Tell me ya’ fuckin’ jokin’. It can’t be a fuckin’ hellhole.”[/color]

She let go of the right suitcase and wiped the trail of snot streaming from her nose into her mouth with her sleeve.[/sup][/sup][/h3][/color]

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[color=808080][b]Interactions[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] Blair  [color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [b]Mentions[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] Ace, Lochlan, Osée, & Blair  [color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [b]Collabs[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] None[/color]
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