[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/dBxXZX2.jpeg[/img][img]https://i.imgur.com/9qIY4OK.jpeg[/img]
[sup][color=808080][color=#cb6583][b]#cb6583[/b][/color] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [url=https://imgur.com/30HT4bt][color=808080][b]outfit[/b][/color][/url] [color=2e2c2c].....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [color=#5c6d72][b]#5c6d72[/b][/color] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [url=https://imgur.com/vQtuWzG][color=808080][b]outfit[/b][/color][/url] [color=2e2c2c].....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [b]around camp ➤ cabins ➤ arena[/b][/color]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/9qIY4OK.jpeg[/img][/sup][/center]

[indent][indent][indent][indent][justify][color=808080]There is a voice, and it threads betwixt her ears as a mantra, a repetitive nature of thought and song that loops endlessly within her head and darkens behind her eyes in every utterance it spells aloud into her mind. A curse of loosely strung whispers and guttural calls shattered through a film rapt with madness that bled red within her gaze, mahogany slivers peering through blankets of ice and snow as cold sluices through her veins and weighed into her bones like stones. There is a voice, and it is always edged in laughter, slinking away in the chasm sunk into her body, a line forged that wavers into the insatiable wants of life and the lingering void that brews insanity and inhibitions. There is a voice, and sometimes it is her mother's panicked cries. When it weeps, she turns those shadowed eyes closed and reaches for the jeweled flask tucked away into her pocket and turns it up high, allows the rivers of red to run through the corners of her mouth and down the lines of a twitching throat, she drinks until silly and mad and just a little bit calmer, she drinks until the cries turn muddied and vacant and when regret forms into muted sadness, only then does she stop.

There is a voice and it wills her to climb through the cold, an enchanted path behind her as she hikes up a mountain, cheeks rouged pink from the frost.

There is also quiet, and Callista tries to ignore the weight of stillness around her, unnerving as it was, even as the mutterings through her head kept her company in the sluggish crawl of a coming dawn. Luggage dragged behind her and straps digging into her shoulders, she tries to reason the numerous whys that have run through her thoughts since she first heard the whispering riddles that ran amok in her waking world. They sometimes followed into her dreams, that mania that soured and sank into her body, rolling through her empty belly. She was hungry, always hungry, famished and gluttonous and eternally starved. Callista palmed over her stomach, her gloved hand pressed tight against the barrenness she had felt all through the night as she tossed and turned. The flight had been grueling, the entire trip sluggish, everything she consumed lacking, like ash worn over her tongue with every bite. In the distance, stone and iron spires loomed, and silently she watched as blurred shapes passed before her, entering through the gates that immediately closed behind them. The sound echoed with such finality that she flinched, unease spiraling as she leaned back against her luggage, the leather of her oversized jacket, its fur lining sweating against her pale skin, insulating her from the cold.

A moment, she just needs a moment. To think. To… [i]stall.[/i] To second-guess. Uncertain, she thinks, and twists a lock of brown around her index finger, the razored edges damp with melted snow.

The silence cocoons around her and presses inward on her lungs and bones; her ribs heave, and with every shift, snow cracks and crunches beneath scuffed leather boots adorned with curious golden charms that wink in soft, pale light. Her weight adjusts and settles, much like the clumps of ice and powder that shift from skeletal branches and incrusted pines. The world is encapsulated in stillness, and she is the disturbances trekking through it, made of light and song. It undulates and writhes to crush and surround her, beautiful and charming and picturesque, but misleading and unknown. It’s like the voice inside her head: deceptively placating.

Was this truly a camp, or was it a cage? 

It continuously aggravated the inquiries within, all the whys and hows, the burdening thought of should she just ignore it, could she, for that matter, when the voice lingered on and on, whispering into her doubts and addled brain. Callista inhaled sharply and quickly, the shock of cold spearing into her lobe as her emotional state bubbled and churned, the vast waves of an oceanic void frothing white as if caught within a storm. How long could she linger outside the gates? Could she even get in? Her invitation was only a riddle of war and festival ruin, becoming a clairvoyant feeling that tugged at her spine; even now, it pulled taut and hummed with an energy that threaded into her limbs and urged her to move.

She shouldn’t have been surprised at the taste of magic, not when it brewed heavy on her lips and through her fingers, but there it was, tangible and simultaneously inviting whilst also hesitating, as if feeling her out and the divinity of her bi–blooded nature that lurched in response.

Calista would’ve moved then, if only to answer that sensation that lured her in, had movement not caught her eye somewhere in her peripheral, something silvered and sleek, prowling through snow as if of the winter and born of frost. It moved swiftly and yet carefully, pawing through fallen branches and deadened grass peeking through layers of cold, golden eyes surrounded in black, pinned her immediately in place, something feral and withheld blooming there in recognition, a too-human acknowledgment that paced across a magically inclined pathway that yawned into the gates that awaited them.

Theron Vale had been wandering the mountainside for weeks now, sometimes as a hound and other times as a bear. Rare snippets caught him as a stag that traveled the browse of clearings, antlered crown raised; his instincts urged him to scrape them across deadened trunks, where bark fell away into jagged pieces, creating hollowed noises that echoed across the fields. Animals burrowing deep for the winter roused at his muted callings, summoned by invisible threads that soothed and cajoled, bidding them closer to observe and recognize that bestial magnetism that shrouded his silvered body. Theron trekked the perimeter often, the concrete wall of the camp at his left or right, but never had he come so close as he did today, woven as the body of a hound that chuffed and prowled, stalking the path many traveled. He counted them each, observed at the edges, and ferried through the shadows as dawn encroached ever closer, chasing him across the snow every ticking hour. He watched a girl dance among the flurries and recite a poem, something aged as the wind teased around her as if a friend, her laugh seeded itself inside him even as she left, and never would he forget her kindness to the foxes she fed, their bellies full and warm as they returned to their den. Theron also observed twins; he assumed by their likeness, and though he could not see them, he could smell their companions and felt the curious pull of their felidae minds. Something cumbersome moved around them, sluggish and thick, differing temperaments too, but they blended seamlessly with each other as only siblings could, and Theron let them be as they too entered the camp.

The silver light of the moon had carved a celestial beacon many nights ago and lured him here after being, technically, homeless. However, the forest welcomed him immediately, and there he had settled, content just to be. Still, every night, there started a ringing chorus of earsplitting sound, something that wrestled through his mind and spurred whining cries from his jowls, where he would bay at the moon in answer to chase away the cacophony that shattered through his revere.

And now there came the girl, whose dark eyes shimmered in the light, whose frame was wound tight in the confines of black leather, and whose madness gnawed and gnashed, awash in a glamor that his golden eyes could pierce with ease.

	[color=#cb6583]“Are you lost, boy?”[/color] Her voice rang as bells, light and playful, but a lingering sense of laughter played off his canine ears as she spoke; enchanting and damning in every titter that fell.

	[color=#cb6583]“What’s a dog doing all the way out here? Weird. But this whole thing is weird, a camp up in the mountains that they make you hike up to. Like, come on.”[/color] She ground her boot into the snow, kicking up flurries, and it reminded him of the dancing girl. In contrast, she moved with a kind and adolescent grace; everything about this woman seemed edged and untamed, a kinship to his nature, but far more uninhibited, as if she couldn’t help herself.

	[color=#cb6583]“I get it, sort of. I’m not complaining. I just –”[/color]

	[color=#cb6583]“- don’t know what I’m doing here. Do you? Gods, look at me, talking to a dog. But I guess better you than the voices -”[/color]

[color=#5c6d72]“No,”[/color] Theron answered, very much human and very much not like a dog. Here, he shook the droplets of snow from his hair, curls playing off his ears and brow, and in his grasp, he held a coat and scarf, where he pulled them from, Callista had no idea. The transformation was so sudden and daunting that she stood with her mouth agape until she laughed aloud, an even more vicious sound than his animal forms could make.

	[color=#5c6d72]“I don’t know why I’m here either, I don’t think anyone does.”[/color]

	[color=#cb6583]“Holy shit, look at you, wait, are you a demigod kid too? You have to be. Duh, Cal.” [/color]

He declined to answer her string of words and opted to don his coat in silence, all threadbare and frayed, his scarf in even more disarray as he looped it around his throat and breathed warmth in his hands. Without the comforting fur of his animal form, the frost finally purchased his mortal constitution and took it ransom as the camp lingered and beckoned, tempting with hearth and home, he mused. Still, even weeks in the forest, it had not convinced him to enter, not yet.

	[color=#cb6583]“Silent type, huh. I bet that works for you. Just wait, some good girl is bound to make you crack. Or… good boy, pick your poison.”[/color]

	[color=#5c6d72]“...Such an odd thing to say.”[/color]

	[color=#cb6583]“I get that a lot,”[/color] she flicked a wrist, where bangles were hidden beneath the arm of her jacket and chimed against one another; more jewelry glimmered in the dawning light, glinting off brass-colored rings worn on her thumb and middle finger in slender stacks with thick middle pieces wedged in between.[color=#cb6583] “It’s hard to stop it when I’m so damn hungry.”[/color] She punctuated with snaps of her teeth, her lips peeled wide against the smile that adorned her face prettily and eerily all at once, too wide and too white, as if polished bone left to bleach in the sun. It reminded Theron of a jungle cat, the way she spoke and moved, the kind of creature that deceived many into its inclinations by lying in the sun, but with their senses always on edge and alert, ready to pounce.

That appetence stewed low within Callista, and she could feel the threads of her power inch and creep closer, as if vines were weaving across the ground, coiling as snakes to snag against his ankles to drag him deep and under.

As it would seem, she’d easily swallow him whole, if not for an echoing call that surrounded the pair with a gust of wind, it picked up the loose powder that had settled over the glazed crust of snow at their feet, the biting cold snapped through Theron as it rolled over Callista and urged her forward, a magical thread spooling through her still as the iron gate appeared closer than it had before.

	[color=#5c6d72]	“I think that’s a sign to go… in.”[/color] He bit out, the golden sheen having faded from his piercing eyes as they traveled up, studying the simplicity of the iron that spun higher still. He had never come quite this close before, but he knew that within came an end to the path woven from moonlight to bring him here. As the girl had mentioned before, he didn’t understand why he was here, only that he had traveled from afar as both beast and man, guarding the forest for a time before approaching as he did now. Theron had seen how the others entered the camp: a device that read their thumbprints and permitted them entry. Carefully, he approached that gate now and lifted one trembling hand. Behind him, he could hear the girl move, dragging something heavy through the snow that crunched beneath her boots with every step.

	[color=#cb6583]“You don’t have any luggage? No suitcase or anything?”[/color]

	[color=#5c6d72]“No,”[/color] Theron admitted with a whisper, pressing his thumb against the pad that flickered with light. With a click, the iron gates began to peel apart, bidding them in with a tantalizing sensation that vibrated through his arms, all the way into his chest that cracked at the telltale feeling of coming home, as many times before when he was traded from home to house to place, never taking root and always wandering.

	[color=#5c6d72]“I don’t have anything, really. Hard to keep things when you move around as a dog. Or a bear.”[/color]

	[color=#cb6583]“A bear?”[/color] Callista tracked her gaze down his form and back up, committing every detail to memory, lashes fluttering from the intensity of her observation from crown to foot. Her brow arched; slip-ons at that, ankles exposed from ill-fitted pants that appeared too short to sheath him entirely. With that speculation, he wasn’t much taller than her, but his presence was riddled with mystery and intrigue, and a muted sadness, and the way he spoke, as if unused to his human nature and interaction. This deep resonance slid through his throat and dragged against his teeth, more animalistic than anything, though there was little to compare it to.

	[color=#cb6583]“Crazy. What God is that, who is your parent?”[/color]

	[color=#5c6d72]“Doesn’t matter,” [/color] Theron answered, [color=#5c6d72]“Who is yours?”[/color]

	[color=#cb6583]“Doesn’t matter,”[/color] she easily quipped back. Now, with the gate open, she adjusted the straps digging into her shoulders and moved past him; she smelled like heavy and heady fruit and a flowering plant, potently fragrant and teasing his nose, bitten with cold.

It was surreal, stepping into the camp; the entrance was bracketed in trees, but the entirety of it stretched forward and spilled outward, a field blanketed in white, slushed and browned by activity, and cabins scattered in sporadic placements, some formed into clusters and bisected by fringing trees heavy with snow. Worn pathways spidering through the thickets, all of it never known and never seen, but it gave Callista pause as some queer familiarity blossomed inside her, the chasm of her gluttonous soul pooled and churned something awful, sour, and all of this rekindled a memory of the vineyards of where she had grown up. She waltzed into that dream willingly, the vines of the past, warped and wrapped and quivering, wrapped around her heart as she walked further in, hardly noticing the stand positioned there at the start, with maps made available. Theron, though, spotted it right away; the entire campus melded into rich scents that reached inside and pulled against a keen yearning, that lone heart of his that flitted along the edges of society, lulled by the prospect of belonging. The proximity of everything close and yet set apart, with a quaint eagerness, he leaned forward and studied every facet that the map revealed, every cabin and every structure, some of which remained unclaimed… Did that mean he could choose one for himself? A place to call his own with no strings attached, no false labels or family to burden, no sense of loss to compel him elsewhere so he could be alone.

He could have this, [i]possess it[/i], the simple luxury.

It was overwhelming, but Theron selected one tucked away into the edges of the camp, its path curling into the copse of trees; he didn’t want to be too close, and yet…

[color=#5c6d72]“I think it’s your turn,”[/color] he announced, [color=#5c6d72]“Uh, I realize I don’t know your name.”[/color]

[color=#cb6583]“Callista,”[/color] she snapped, dark eyes spinning mad with some weighted emotion that burned, a fire banked within that stare, such a peculiar color of reddish-brown with underlying tinges of rose and gold; swatches of unusual color that he immediately glanced away from.

[color=#5c6d72]“Theron,”[/color] he provided, though she had not asked, and instead approached the leaning stand and chose randomly, somewhere along the southern cluster, where a beach was marked with the illustrated pool of a lake. Their names shimmered and looped, spelling out in memorized characters, numbers punctuated beside. Then came the warmth that settled as a weight in each, like banked coals given life, breath rushed through their ribs; Callista saw the winter as an oppression, cumbersome, Theron saw it as a blanket to shield new life, where Spring bid its time and lulled others to sleep to be born anew. Around them, cabins flickered to life with frost-shaded light, window panes glimmering amber and yellow, aromas of simple existence woven through the path at their feet, another invisible tug as early risers moved. Some sat to enjoy the coming dawn; others headed towards a looming stone figure; industrial works, all wreathed in magic that permeated the air and threaded the firmament, all things, in a way, blessed, all in preparation for things unknown.

[color=#cb6583]“Huh, guess we’re meant to go there. Judging by all the pinched, hungover faces, it must've been a crazy night. Sad I missed it.”[/color] She almost pouted, adjusted the weight on her back, and shifted, her body angled toward her cabin, judging by the map, in the opposite direction. [color=#cb6583]“By what everyone is wearing… I guess it really is a training camp. Fun. I almost thought it was a cage. Maybe it still is.”[/color] A lingering taste tantalized on her lips that allowed a glimpse into the activities that had occurred the night before, further punctuating that pit of hunger that stewed low.

[color=#cb6583]“Well, Theron,”[/color] she mulled around his name, straightforward but regal, as if destined for something.[color=#cb6583] “I’ll see you around, then, unless you want to follow me to my cabin.”[/color]

[color=#5c6d72]“If you’re asking for an escort, then I’ll take you.”[/color]

[color=#cb6583]“Oh,”[/color] she laughed. [color=#cb6583]“Look at you, already getting attached. I think I can manage,”[/color]she patted her luggage. [color=#cb6583]“I hauled all of this up the mountain just fine on my own.”[/color]

[color=#5c6d72]“I saw.”[/color]

Scarlet immediately blushed, something about the admission and the assuredness in which he spoke coloring her embarrassment as she smiled. Their companionship was brief but unforgettable as Callista nodded farewell and dragged her belongings along behind her. It wasn’t a terribly long trek, the path easily worn by others, but Theron watched her the entire time, hands stuffed away into his pockets before he [i]shifted[/i], the cold flesh of his mortal self peeling away to the silver body of a hound that shook out its fur before galloping off in the other direction, cutting a swift trajectory betwixt the stables and the armory. He loped around the arena, skirting around the edges of others that entered and immediately ran up to the entry of his cabin across the trampled snow, tongue lolling from his jaws, every muscle contorted and bunched tight from the excitement of finally having a place to call his own.

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The cabin was simple: the structure was painted a dark evergreen, camouflaged by the shadow of pines; iron-framed steps led up a simple porch; and black posts supported a slanted roof. Theron paced around it on the pretense of inspection, every exterior wall shored up solid, aside from tall, slender windows slivered in between at random sections. The true splendor of it, though, came from the back, where the walls were replaced by accordion doors of ebony metal and glass, planks of wood sloping away into the snow to create the inviting illusion of a back porch where a sunken pit of iron lay, filled with wood and shielded by a grate. Theron sniffed it out carefully, claws clicking over treated materials, the entirety of it faced the trees where he felt the draw of temptation beckon, curious to search through the confines of the camp. Instead, he shook out the remains of frost from his coat and allowed the comforts of his animal nature to shift back and away. A sharp whine heaved from his throat as he stood, shaking and panting, sweat beading on his brow as he yanked open the glass doors, pushed them open entirely, and stepped into the cabin barefoot and bare-chested. What greeted him was simple comforts, but it was his, [i]his own[/i], where possessions were few and far between.

Clean and fitted with low and spaced beige furniture, a hearth that beckoned from one corner, all furnishings made of iron, dark wood, and natural accents that created bright specks of color. Above lay a loft where slanted windows embedded in the roof admitted rays of dawning light, and dust motes flitted to and fro in the gloom. Theron’s breath caught at the glimpse of clothes as he climbed up bracketed steps, where thinned metal formed a staircase that led to a closet beckoning with deep, earthy tones and dark, jeweled hues of cotton.

All new. [i]All his.[/i]

He didn’t even know where to begin, where to start, what even paired together sensibly, drawers were similarly filled with different specs of clothing, tucked away further in where simplistic shoes awaited- all in his size, had the magic of the camp done this? Grant him with such luxuries that many would take for granted, bequeathed him with not only a home but such meager things that meant the world to him. He began eagerly plucking through layers of black and white. He knew he had somewhere to be, judging by scents and the shuffling bodies he had passed, but for Theron, a moment of humanity could be spared as he held up pairs of sweats, jeans, shirts, and hooded jackets. He pinched and bunched fabric between his gestures, stretched out the polyester blends, the cotton, the random inlays of silk he spotted, and even familiarized himself with the thick socks carefully arranged. Was this a gift, perhaps, from some divine that saw what he indeed lacked? The emotion that ran through him went unnamed and unchecked, forgone of a label Theron could not discern as he made quick use of a shower tucked somewhere behind a nondescript half-wall that bisected the loft from bedroom to restroom, bathed in soft, amber light from scones attached to the black-painted walls.

He had even laid out his outfit on the bed, crisp sheets a dark, warmed gray where other pieces of clothing lay scattered about hazardously, christening the cabin as lived in, belonging to someone.

Belonging to him.

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Callista’s emotions were a turbulent affair, tossed carelessly into a storm; it was memory that eclipsed the impression as she stepped into a simple, dark, wooded cabin that shone in the light of dawn. Golden wood with tinges of red, rose tones, and mahogany colors, fringes of black accessorized here and there, splotched randomly like ink on parchment. She ran her fingers over the embossed vines wreathing the door frame, such simple details that she dragged her nails against, manicured tips of pale pink scratching into the wood and dragging it down. It was a distracting gesture that molded her into the present, something to chase away the phantoms of her past, which shimmered as hazy vines and whimsical flowers unfurled under the sun. Charcoal dust with a shadowed face adorned in a crown of ivy, a continuous vision that cycled through her mind as the voices bubbled and collided,  [i]welcomewelcomewelcomewelcome[/i].

[color=000000]‘Hey, Calli –'[/color]

She slams her door shut, kicks her luggage with a swift boot, shifting it across the floor to collide with a thick, boneless chair that squats near a quieted woodstove. She drags the heels of her palms against her temples and into her hair and tugs, sharp pinpricks fire alive into her nerves as temperance sluices through her frame, bringing with it an uneasy calm as the voice quiets and dissipates, her petite figure shuddering under the weight it dispelled.

There it is, she thinks, and sheds the confines of her leather jacket and folds it over the arm of the chair, she shimmies out of her clothes, all crooked layers of her blouse and trousers, socks plucked clumsily from her cold feet, strewn about in a path as she tosses them over her shoulder and to the side. On her spine, she proudly displays the knotted work of vines that snake themselves up the planes of her slender back, inked and needled into her skin to fringe ivy leaves over her shoulders and hips, as if a skeletal system of flora that peeks around the sharp edges of her ribs over which Callista runs her fingers and stretches, hearing the pop of her bones.

Exactly how much time did she have to get ready? Should she even bother? Was all this mandatory? She mused and located the hidden staircase that wound upwards into another living area. A glance revealed a low-sitting bed lifted only a couple of inches on wooden shafts, a thick, comforting duvet draped over it, and mirrors artfully displayed to reflect the light from ceiling-to-floor windows, accentuated by thin, sheer curtains. Further within the lower space, Callista found the shower, modern appliances, and potted plants curling on floating shelves, all of them crawling with ivy that spread aloft the ceiling on thin hooks. Immediately, they shuddered and moved, as if waking from a long slumber, and beckoned toward her as she passed, turning the facets to the hottest temperature she could withstand, fogging the space instantly with heated steam.

Callista showers quickly, having pinned her hair up into a claw clip to remain dry, and bathes her body in scented soaps with wild berries and woodsy herbs. She’s equally quick to dress, pulling her arms into a thick, oversized sweater cropped at her waist, slipping into fitted joggers, and knotting the thick band tight around her hips. She had to wonder if all bi-blooded children here were so equally repressed as Theron, for whilst he exuded a silent sort of feral authority, there banked something else that pulsated yonder the barriers erected around his stoic countenance. Layers upon layers not so easily dismantled in the simple minutes that had ticked on by in each other’s company, and as she laced her shoes up tight and stepped once more out in the frosted air, she couldn’t quell that thrum of magic and energy that pounded through her limbs, eager at the prospect of meeting others.

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Outside the archway that led into the arena, Theron stood, black cap pulled down low over his brows, lips drawn into a grimacing smile as Callista came jogging up close and tossed a wink in his direction, all nuances of being strangers having melted away as others filled the expanse of packed and trampled earth and meandered away into the staggered benches fringed around what appeared as an obstacle course. He eyes her curiously, for earlier she had expressed some variation of a wayward fire that burned alive in her stare. Still, here she stood, eager, refreshed, her earlier emotions traded for something lighter, almost carefree. The switch from then to now was an envious trait, to be so easily suspended on the whims of one's heart and appear better and more for it, unashamed in a way that Theron admired but made no subject to comment on as Callista entered the arena and eagerly trailed her eyes over everyone there.

Though so small in stature, she commanded a charismatic charm with her lips parted and lifted into a smile, another broadcast of something wanton, unrestrained, as she weaved herself among the stands and left Theron there at the entrance before he hid himself away into a pocket of shade to his right, uncertain what to do with his hands, much less if he should follow. Instead, he leaned back against the stone wall and finally released a held breath that whistled through his teeth.
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