Current
A Perpetual Motion Engine of Anxiety and Self-Loathing
Bio
So there I am, in Sri Lanka, formerly Ceylon, at about 3 o'clock in the morning, looking for one thousand brown M&Ms to fill a brandy glass, or Ozzy wouldn't go on stage that night. So, Jeff Beck pops his head 'round the door, and mentions there's a little sweets shop on the edge of town. So - we go. And - it's closed. So there's me, and Keith Moon, and David Crosby, breaking into that little sweets shop, eh. Well, instead of a guard dog, they've got this bloody great big Bengal tiger. I managed to take out the tiger with a can of mace, but the shopowner and his son... that's a different story altogether. I had to beat them to death with their own shoes. Nasty business, really. But, sure enough, I got the M&Ms, and Ozzy went on stage and did a great show.
Blair smirked as she slid onto the closest barstool and crossed her right leg over her left. She leaned forward, resting her forearms against the edge of the counter, watching with a bright curiosity behind her eyes. "There better be edible glitter in that or I’ll be very disappointed," she teased with a cheeky grin.
“Uh-uh… Don’t interrupt the creative process.” Bax scolded, with a smile which belied his appreciation for her playful attitude and undercut any pretense of authority in the situation.
This was a party and he had no intention of robbing anyone of their fun, regardless what form it may take.
She lightly tapped the toe of her shoe against the side of the bar as she bounced her leg. "So, cocktail maestro, you gotta name?" Blair reached out and stole a cocktail cherry from a small glass dish. She popped it into her mouth with a smile.
“Baxter Marsh.” He replied, beginning to pull specific bottles to complete the art which was forming in his mind. Amaretto and crème de cacao white, amongst others. Before diving beneath the bar looking for very specific infrequently used bottles he was sure he’d seen earlier…
"Dionysus too, I’d reckon," she wagered a guess with a little twinkle in her eye. Not every demigod gave off a strong essence of their parent, but the way this guy slung cocktails like it was his one true calling set off every alarm. If he wasn’t from Dionysus’s loins then maybe she wasn’t Athena’s daughter after all.
“That’s it!” He emerged from the depths unseen below the bar with a stunned look of revelation. “I’d forgotten that name. But I’m almost certain that’s what my half-brother had said. Not ‘Dine-n-dash’… not ‘Dyin-on-the-vine’… ‘Dionysus’. Thank you. That’s helpful. Really, thank you.” He held his hand out to take her own, before realising he’d just revealed the secreted bottle of Goldschläger and its telltale gold flakes.
“You didn’t see that…” He tucked it further under his arm, before once again holding out his hand.
"I’m Blair," she offered with a smile and an extension of her right hand toward him. "And if you can guess my parent on the first try, I’ll give you a midnight kiss that’ll knock your socks off," Blair challenged him with a mischievous grin.
“Ooo don’t do that. If you don’t tell me your name now, I won’t feel so bad asking your name again in the morning.” Bax said. Parties tended to wreak havoc on his memory, and with his difficulty in holding himself back from living life to the fullest he generally had a lot of questions the day after.
The possible alternative flirtatious meaning to that comment sailed over his own head.
But certainly not the woman who sat before him and her rapidly growing mischievous grin.
Her parent? How am I supposed to know tha-- oh. Ohhhhhhhhh. We’re all the children of—okay.
He put down his collection of bottles on the counter next to the glass and ran a squinted eye of scrutiny over the form perched on the barstool opposite.
Can anyone think of a Greek god or goddess?
He held his chin in his palm, his fingers stroking his chin and cheek in contemplation.
What Greek goddess could possibly be the form of my muse sitting before me—wait… Muse. Is that one?
The muses, of course, would happen to be several…
He started pouring, if only to rebuild his confidence with something he was actually confident in.
Just guess something. Anything.
“Aaa--?” She smiled. Baxter decided to keep pushing his luck.
“—Perr--?” The smile dropped.
“—Ol..?”
“Do you mean ‘Apollo’?” She asked, kind eyes giving him a sense of hope at a second chance.
“Uh-- Yeah!” Bax said, sliding an orange bottle of Aperol spritz from view under the counter, and seizing the second chance with both hands.
“Then no.”
“Oh…” His shoulders dropped suddenly.
“But you were on the right track with the ‘A’.”
This seemed enough to lift his spirits once again immediately, as if no sign of the disappointment were ever there in the first place.
He went back to his work, he worked a cocktail shaker with one hand, grabbing a martini glass with the other hand as he worked it. He then set another cocktail shaker down and started pouring liberal amounts from other easily found bottles. Blackberry brandy which he’d grabbed earlier, with rum and tequila which were close at hand. All went in with unseen precision in quantity, whilst never losing the motion with his other hand. He donned the lid and started working both cocktail shaker’s at once. As he worked the dance took him over once again, first a hand, then his head. The shakers began playing to that same unheard beat, as he became more and more consumed with the phantom rhythm.
After a while he stopped the first and began pouring. It seemed to be some creamy white concoction, which raised an eyebrow.
“Uh! Not done.” He could see her confusion at the selection. Whilst still never skipping a beat with the cocktail shaker, he opened the small bottle of Goldschläger and began pouring a garnishing layer of the gold flaked liqueur on top of the drink in the martini glass.
In the second glass, a highball, he poured out half of the contents of the other shaker. Before adding fruit from beneath the counter, and a single cherry from the bowl immediately in front of the dark haired woman.
“So… for the dress.” He slid forward the martini glass.
“We have a modified ‘White Rabbit’. White Crème de Cacao, vanilla vodka, amaretto’s nutty depth, with just a splash of Goldschläger’s cinnamon to add that extra bit of spice. And that you wanted edible gold flakes are just a lucky, happy, seren-dip-i-tous coincidence as you might expect in Wonderland.”
He then slid over the highball.
“And what better chaser for the ‘White Rabbit’ than ‘Alice’?”
“Is that a tequila sunrise?”
“Sunset. The blackberry brandy would make it a sunset. You look like you do better with sunsets than sunrises. And for you, I’ve blended the better parts of a Hurricane and a Tequila sunset. With just a few fun surprises to make things interesting. Which I think are how you prefer life anyway.”
His hospitable smile spread across his face, as he awaited her review on his work.
This one seemed friendly and 'of the party' as well. All things which held his interest.
#0054a6 ....|..... outfit .....|..... By the bonfire
Ocean gave a chuckle and finally turned to face him, her face back to normal and a smile dancing in her eyes. She supposed she couldn’t pretend to ignore him any longer. ”You were on a roll, why stop now?” Her tone turned teasing. “I was wondering how deep you’d be able to dig that hole of yours.”
A quick exhalation left his nostrils, in relief over how quickly the embarrassment had flushed its way from her system. He quickly tried to regain his balance.
"Well, we're coastal." He said, pointing in the direction of the beach, as if to illustrate his point. "Makes sense I'd stop digging when I hit sea level." He gave a self-aware smirk that showed he was all too aware he'd been caught out, and was in on the joke.
”Though I’m not sure if you saying I’m ‘likable’ counted as a friendship proposal,” She mused, crossing her legs in front of her. Pallas had instilled a bit of confidence in her, giving her the courage to call him out a little bit, and he knew it.
"Mmm..." He mused. "Willing to play possum to try and go fishing for compliments. Now that just poses more questions... Is it a self esteem thing, or is it that the girl is just incredibly curious in what the interesting new boy thinks?"
She seemed slightly taken aback by the audacity and bluntness of his comment.
"What? You seemed to be all too willing to let me flounder around and splash around, drowning in it, I only thought it fair you'd want to catch a glimpse of that famed Athenian arrogant hyperconfidence." He winked and laughed, pulling the veil down on his own joke.
Ocean felt intrigued by this man. He clearly was more of an introvert and liked to stick to himself, but he wasn’t afraid to banter or accusatory questions. Ocean didn’t hate it, but it was definitely something she wasn’t used to. To an extent.
”Well played. I know a thing or two about arrogance- my dad is Poseidon. I feel like most of us demigods have to have some degree of hubris anyways. Though based off what I’ve read and heard from my father, you Athena kids have quite a lot of it,”
Despite talking about the prideful downfalls of Athena children and other demigods, Ocean always found herself leaning more towards loyalty. Betrayals and fickle minded people tended to put a bad taste in her mouth. Perhaps that was one of the reasons Poseidon kept her away from her peers as a kid.
True enough. Few things breed hubris like power. And Poseidon, from what he could tell, seemed to hold power in very high esteem.
"Call it both. Not only am I terrible at social interaction, but I'm also interested in what you think,"
While Ocean didn't have major self esteem issues, she was terrible at socializing. Yes, she knew she was pretty and yes she knew her personality was somewhat pleasant. She knew she was pretty powerful and that she was amazing at wielding a trident, but was she good at holding conversation? No, she wasn't.
Pallas could only imagine how they'd spoken about his mother, but Athena had never taken a backwards step when it came to her opinion or what she wanted. She was the quintessential 'strong minded woman', afterall.
And then a thought occurred to him.
"Mmm..." "Willing to play possum to try and go fishing for compliments. Now that just poses more questions... Is it a self esteem thing, or is it that the girl is just incredibly curious in what the interesting new boy thinks?"
It'd hit him with a delay, a few beats after he'd said it, because he wasn't used to socialising. This was about the most he'd spoken to anyone one-to-one who wasn't a teacher or in his own family in about as long as he could remember, in fact.
That could have been taken as flirtation.
It wasn't though, was it? He'd just meant it as a setup to playing into their idea that Athena and her family would doubtless have some kind of arrogant streak. Playing into the joke about prejudice of their families.
She saw it that way, right?
She was smiling at him. That... didn't tell him anything one way or the other. But there had been a hesitation. And then she answered it at face value.
"...but I'm also interested in what you think,"
He needed to be more careful. He wasn't the most familiar with socialisation, and it held a lot of traps. As he was getting more comfortable, he was getting more loose and careless.
She saw it for the joke it was, right? The last thing he needed was her reading too much into it, then him having to navigate that quagmire. And with her brother and father...
She didn't seem too--
You've been quiet too long
"So you've been here longer than me," He started, his spine stiffening, "...have you eaten yet? Should probably start making some kind of effort to meet some of the others here. Or I'll be looking down the barrel of having to introduce myself to forty different people tomorrow as the new guy." The smirk came back. "Poseidon's 'scheme' to have the son of Athena kill himself rather than deal with that social nightmare, through his daughter's social graces, hey?"
He was hitting the joke too hard, trying to underline that it was a joke. She got that it was a joke right? It was a joke, sure?
Ocean tilted her head to the side, slightly amused by the way Pallas rambled on, clearly flustered. Ocean wasn't entirely sure why he was flustered- perhaps over their banter, but it was enjoyable nonetheless. Ocean couldn't help but see part of herself in Pallas's embarrassment.
Ocean felt slightly confused over Pallas trying to keep the joke going, but she chalked it up to him just being nervous. "Well, I ate breakfast, but took a nap and ended up missing lunch. And I haven't eaten anything since the party started... so no, I haven't eaten yet," Ocean looked at Pallas's plate of half eaten food and felt her own stomach grumble for the first time that night. She had been so distracted by Ace and River and other people that she hadn't even thought to eat anything, though after seeing the whole debacle on top of the bar that happened a bit ago (why can't she just forget?), her appetite had vanished. It seems that after talking with Pallas for a little bit, her body felt the need to remind her that she indeed hasn't eaten anything till morning.
"Well, we should probably go and get you fed too, then. You said you haven't had a chance to meet a lot of the other people here either, I probably shouldn't hog all of your attention for the rest of the night by myself. Two people who are terrible at social interaction probably find it half as hard to meet anyone as one." Pallas wasn't sure of the logic behind that conclusion but it sounded good. He got to his feet, carrying the dregs of his first hand built gyro.
Ocean felt slightly disappointed in the fact that Pallas was probably gearing towards going their separate ways for the evening. She wasn't sure whether to tell him she'd rather just be somewhat anti-social for the rest of the night or just go back to her cabin once they parted ways. "I won't say no to food," Ocean agreed. "But I probably won't go looking for interaction elsewhere. I don't mind chillin' with you, Pallas. You're good to talk to and somewhat familiar. Besides, there will be plenty of socialization tomorrow during training. I'm sure a lot of people here like to trash-talk while sparring."
She stood up to follow Pallas to the food table, her stomach grumbling once more, when a red headed man took his seat.
The red headed young man sat down on one of the logs surrounding the bonfire, looking self-reflective. It now seemed awkward to leave just as he arrived without saying anything.
Hmm...
"We're just going to go get some food," Pallas announced to the newcomer to the fire, "You can come too, if you want anything."
He had his doubts that he would, since he just came over from the direction of the food. But it just seemed the right thing to ask and avoid any kind of offense at this early stage.
Awkward. Pallas is awkward.
Was the thought bouncing around Ocean's mind as she watched the interaction. She probably wouldn't have said anything to the newcomer, seeing as he had a glass of water and had seemingly come from that direction. Perhaps Pallas was nicer than she was, choosing to involve others whereas she was fine with just sticking to what she knew.
He barely even took enough notice to see whether the other young man followed them at first, whilst checking Ocean wasn't too uncomfortable by his sudden gesture. He wore his own coat, and didn't seem like a match for the leather jacket they had left behind, folded in its place. But everybody was still new to him, and he didn't want to blindly upset the wrong person in this place with no information at all.
Such an action would not be healthy.
He had felt it was a good bet they wouldn't have company, after all he'd just come from the food and only brought back a water. But it did seem like something of a dick move after Ocean had just made her own preferences clear.
Still, things were playing at his mind.
"...I'm also interested in what you think,"
"...I probably won't go looking for interaction elsewhere. I don't mind chillin' with you, Pallas. You're good to talk to..."
Was she playing to his ego? Is that something she was told by her father?
No. She's just a sweet girl. That's just prejudice, P. Like she's actually some agent for her father, bent on your destruction, or playin' you.
Not like it would work anyway. He'd see through that anyway.
He did like how his name sounded when she said it though. That was new. Only ever heard two people saying it, and neither made it sound like that.
"I don't mind a bit of talk when I spar. And I've done a bit myself. But not when I don't know anything about those I'm dealing with. And in a Camp full of demi-gods I'm bettin' there's surprises in bunches." He quietly said to her as they approached the food tables.
Ocean nodded along to Pallas's opinions, agreeing to a few. "There's nothing wrong with some trash-talk, but it's definitely best to not underestimate anybody in a place like this."
Ocean and Pallas approached the food table and she let her eyes glance over the different kinds of foods that were spread out. There was a little bit of almost everything from food you'd find at a potluck or party (a Greek demigod potluck). A few skewers sat on a big plate and Ocean grabbed a few of those, excited to finally get some food in her body. Even if she had waited too long and the food was a little room temperature, she was sure it'd taste good. Some fruit and veggies found their way onto her plate as well and she made sure she had a cup of water before turning to Pallas and letting her eyes glance over the tables in the field, many of which were occupied."Was the gyro any good?"
Pallas nodded in reply. "Greek lamb absolutely lived up to the travel brochure so far... More than can be said about the weather. But it's not so bad actually in here. I'm guessing that's been someone's doing."
Ocean nodded in agreement with Pallas. ”My guess is probably Andy or some demigod that has magic. Or perhaps it’s some sort of magic that’s built into the camp atmosphere. It’s fascinating. I was really surprised when I walked out my front door and I wasn’t freezing.”
Andy... Son of-- no. Mentioned 'her' before. Daughter of... Apollo? No. The sun's not out and the snow still falls. Someone else.
He gradually turned the pieces in his mind to fit.
Someone proficient in magic. Possibly in charge of the magic of this place itself. Walked out the door, and it was a surprise. So this place isn't generally climate controlled. Just for the special occasion..?
Pallas found a vacant table, recalling Ocean's request to keep things on the more quiet side, and led the way, his own plate holding fresh skewers and a second attempt at a gyro in what space remained. Lettuce, sliced red onion, olives and a splach of balsamic with cherry tomatoes adding colour to the scene.
"So training first thing tomorrow? It'd seem I'd heard right about this place, then."
Ocean suppressed a wince at the thought of what training what probably going to be like the next day.
”Yeah. I was told that camp took training seriously, but I guess a few incidents happened and now it’s gotten kind of lax?” She shrugged and took a bite of her skewer, licking the grease off her lips. ”At least, that’s what my dad told me. I’m sure River knows more. He’s supposed to be leading training tomorrow.”
Ocean gave Pallas an apologetic smile. ”He gets pretty serious about training so I’m sorry in advance for whatever insult he throws your way.
"It's alright. It takes more than words to move me, Ocean." Pallas replied cryptically.
Looking at Pallas’s build, Ocean could tell that he worked out frequently, but she also knew not to judge a book by its cover. Just because he had some bulk didn’t mean he liked to fight. Even so, she was sure he could put up a good fight against anyone here. After all, brains and brawn together was a dangerous combo. ”Do you have training in weaponry or combat?”.
"More than a little." He smiled wryly. "I-- may have known about this place and that I'd be coming here for a while."
"I should be able to hone some things I've not had much opportunity to, though. I'm very proficient with a staff, less so with a sword, but its been mainly to prepare for when I could get here and train further." He understated his training. His control was immaculate.
"Something tells me, that my weapon of choice when its all said and done will be the spear. I've-- done a little solo, when I can. But there's not much opportunity to train with any intensity with a spear in the outside world. Too dangerous."
Ocean finished off her first skewer by the time Pallas was finished talking about his training. “Impressive. I’ve never tried fighting with a spear before, but I do use a trident. I imagine it’s similar… in a way,” A trident was heavier than a spear, but they both had some comparisons.
Ocean had tried various weapons when she first started training. She was decent with a sword and a staff wasn’t too difficult to use, but they weren’t comfortable. Ocean remembered the first day she held a practice trident. It was long before Poseidon gifted her with the actual thing, but even so- it felt perfect in her hands.
“Everyone wants to grab a sword. It’s the lead guitar of the weapon world. But there’s something to be said for something with decent range which you can get your weight behind.”
“I’ll let other people take ‘cool’. I’ll be the one left standing with ‘effective’.” He grinned.
“It’ll be fun to see who’s prepared and who isn’t in terms of combat power tomorrow. Though I am fully aware that it’s not all about strength. The mind can also be a powerful tool. It’s as you said though- it’s difficult to train with specific weapons and abilities in the normal world. I was lucky enough to live on a beach that was pretty remote. We’d get the occasional tourist and visitor, but it wasn’t a hindrance when it came to training.”
“I can’t complain. I had dojos, gyms and martial arts studios all over, because it’s the city. Just tried to keep my training versatile and diverse, but always with a thought to when I’d be coming here. Hard thing was sparring to perfect technique and placement and not to win. Don’t want to draw the wrong kind of attention. Works on tightening discipline though… having to know when to stow your competitive spirit.”
“Yeah, I don’t have any experience in a dojo. Just getting beat up by Poseidon and my brother, but that seemed to work well enough,”
“I’m not sure how many here have actually had any kind of formal training though… I could be wrong, but I’m not getting the sense from how a lot of people carry themselves. Maybe they’re just able to get loose better than I can.” He was observing the wider party. Or both. It's not like Pallas had ever really been one to socialise.
“Growing up by the beach sounds nice. But then home is 'home', I guess. City or beach. At least you've got another beach here to remind you of it in the quiet times. That'll be nice.” Ocean took another bite of her skewers and watched as Pallas observed the others around them. She smiled when he mentioned the beach, all too happy to talk about her home.
“The beach definitely has its pros. Also cons. My mom was always worried about natural disasters that naturally occur along the fault line Hawaii resides over, but River and I always made sure she knew that we wouldn’t let anything happen to her. We’d just… part the tsunami if there ever was one. However, the sand was always warm and it helped that I always had access to the ocean for my training.”
Parting tsunamis, the power these Poseidon kids must wield must be extreme.
Ocean glanced to the sky above, noticing the moon reaching its peak in the sky. It must be midnight or close to. She gave thought to traditions that happened on New Years once midnight struck and frowned for a second. No doubt there’d be people kissing and making out once midnight hits. After seeing how everyone acted tonight and especially Ace’s fiasco earlier, she wouldn't put it past anyone not to make out. That wasn’t really something she wanted to be a part of.
“I actually think I’m gonna head back to my cabin… before all the PDA starts once we reach midnight. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I guess. It’s just not something I’m big on witnessing.”
Pallas gave a nod of understanding as Ocean rose to her feet. If he was even half right about his thoughts earlier regarding the leather jacket that was still by the bonfire, her actions were perfectly understandable. And he suspected they were. Those thoughts also kept him from offering his own jacket to see her return to her cabin. It was probably a similar act that led to it being so neatly folded and discarded, as it was right now. So it would likely still be a raw nerve to do anything similar.
Besides, the air temperature was warm, despite the light snowfall.
“Well it was good meeting you, Ocean. Guess I'll see you again in the morning where we can both get beat up by your brother." He spared her a wry grin, which suggested he didn't genuinely believe that would be the outcome, and for a moment his eyes held all of the hyperconfidence and self-assurance he'd previously put forward only in jest.
And with simple farewells they parted ways. Pallas finished the contents of his plate, and ran golden eyes across the full vista of campers.
Pallas spared a thought for whether the girl had wanted him to walk her back to her cabin. Which true to form turned into a multitude of thoughts. It seemed a bit confrontational to follow her back to her place. To possibly be 'cornering her', 'learning where she lived' especially in light of her previous fresh experience in trusting the wrong person. The leather jacket. He weighed it against expecting her to walk alone in the snow, no less, regardless of temperature back to some darker isolated corner of this place they were both fairly new to. Her possible feelings of being exposed in that blue dress walking alone, and what if she ran into whoever it was? He felt that was giving her too little credit for her ability to take care of herself, but it still seemed less right. Then there's the thought of her brother seeing only a fraction of what was going on and misreading the situation - he had caught a few glances from his direction whilst they were talking. And she didn't seem to be underselling how protective he was of his younger sister, even if he was giving Ocean her own space to socialize. Did he need to be looking down the barrel of some misunderstanding with the son of Poseidon after his first night. After all... Fates be weird, yo. And it was approaching midnight, how much more could he really do here? Wasn't much time for meeting the other new people. Maybe it would be better to leave things on the best possible note with Ocean, rather than hal--
Pallas realised she was gone. And that he'd probably been giving Ocean much more mind than was probably happening the other way. He chuckled to himself at the realization.
There was still much to learn here tonight. He justified to himself.
He looked back to the fire, and made his mind up. At this point it could be conceived as 'rude' for him not to return and exchange proper greetings with the man who had come to the bonfire just before they left, especially with his previous company's sudden departure.
This wasn't a place to be seen as 'blowing off' other people, much as he would in the outside world.
Particularly without knowing who he was potentially offending, and what they were potentially capable of.
Such actions wouldn't be wise.
interactions ....|.... Ocean, Leo @Theyra............... mentions ....|.... Leo @Theyra ............... collabs ....@Palindrome....
Baxter had heard it just before he told the redhead about his order.
A curious dark haired girl asking questions about bourbon. Could it be consumed via shots. And what was the kind that someone else at the party had been drinking earlier.
Easy enough to answer, but best deal with what’s at hand first.
"So it's two slippery nipples and a modified 747 with that honey mead..." His head gestured back towards the opened bottle.
"...or a Sit on My Face, Honey depending on where you're from, I guess..."
He vaguely heard something to his left from near the dark haired girl. But his attention was captured as he watched his creation sprayed through the night’s sky all over the field’s grass.
“Did you taste enough of that to tell me if you liked it..?” He asked the redhead with just the slightest dare for hope.
The blonde from earlier took it as her cue to render her feedback, after realising she’d neglected to earlier.
Which was fine. Redhead was still trying to find his lungs.
“No,yeah,you hit the nail on the head. It's great.”She seemed truly appreciative. “Would it be really bad if I said I didn't? Hypothetically ”
He wasn't really sure what to make of the question.
“You wanna tap out for a bit? Join the festivities?”
The review was just met with a crooked smile with near-vacant eyes. He didn’t understand the request. He was having a blast and felt perfectly at home where he was. Had he upset her? Did she want him out from there? It wasn't often Bax had access to a free bar and he was enjoying himself. Now redhead was talking, so he hoped she'd wait for him to get back to her and forget about whatever he'd done and let him stay.
So distracted was Bax, that he neglected to notice the girl with the dark brown hair and her friend had free poured their own shots, with a carefree pop of a cork from a returning triumphant figure in a sparkly dress.
"You’ve done me dirty, Baxter." Crimson hair shook, as he re-found form. "You’re lucky those were some of the best I’ve had."
The smile widened, and his attention returned to what he was thinking of before. What was that again? Right, the dark haired girl and her questions of bourbon... "Sylas really has pretentious taste in alcohol,"“Sounds right,” The smile flattened a little as he saw he’d been negligent to the point that they’d had to pour themselves three shots each. He'd better get on it. Maybe that's what the blonde woman was referring to, it did seem to be something to do with near the dark haired girl that she was referring to when she had made the comment.
"Just…gimme two seconds. I promised a friend something ridiculous." She leaned against the bar and turned her attention to the guy mixing drinks. "Hey? About that slippery nipple. Can you make another?"
The vague smile still on his face, he quickly closed the distance with Anissa.
“Close…” Was all he uttered to the girl, close enough to smell each other’s breath and feel one another’s ambient warmth. With a single word that was vague enough that it could have been referring to the encroachment of personal space he was presently engaged in.
Before he suddenly pulled a bottle of whiskey which had been hidden unseen beneath the counter. “Not quite it though. You were really clo-- Oh shit!” He turned and took more of the bar into view, finally noticing the person the dark haired girl was with.
He stepped back as if the vision of what was before him had a visceral effect on him.
“That dress! Someone understood the goddamn assignment! It’s a goddamn party! Hell yes!” He pointed, and wagged the pointing finger in animated excitement.
He reached back behind himself as he seemed to stumble and grabbed the sambuca, steadying himself.
“Slippery nipple, right? Not a buttery nipple?” He asked the dark haired girl.
“…That was a joke.” He said after a beat. “I never forget a drink. And that dress…”
His hand shook as he re-found the beat to the music that was filling only his ears.
“In-spi-ra-tion! I’m making something special for that dress…”
His hand was waving back and forth and his head started rocking vigarously. Irish whiskey and grenadine was quickly pulled, before he started pulling more for a fresh creation.
“And if you play your cards right, the body inside it gets one too…”
“I’ve got my eye in now… A simple slippery nipple..? Please. Watch me free-layer this." He splashed the grenadine at the shot glass, blindly whilst he kept pulling bottles to consider, before he turned and layered the sambuca with a steady hand which stood in contrast to the rest of him moving to music that only he could hear.
The spirit of the party had him gripped.
He poured the Irish cream with no breach. It was so perfect it looked like the Irish cream was levitating in the shot glass.
“Cherry or no? There’s grenadine, normally people go one or the oth… bah! You’re getting a cherry!” He didn't wait for an answer. His mood was too high. He placed a cherry and the integrity of the shot held.
He slid it with care, preserving the contents perfectly, but adding insurmountable pressure on poor Anissa to somehow match that ability to get it undisturbed to its recipient.
“Now—” He put a glass on the countertop and stepped back away from the bar, to take in the scene.
“For that dress…” His hands came together, fingers finding each other like a mad scientist, as he pondered the form of the sculpture this inspiration would carve into the glass in front of him.
“You’re right. You’re dad sounds like a smart guy. There are all kinds of weirdos out there and there’s almost always a lesson to be learned,”
Wise enough to entice the Goddess of Wisdom... He thought to himself. And just enough to hold the Goddess of Justice's respect and love.
Beyond anything else, he could never make any other claim about Walt Robinson.
At his core, he was a good man. And every layer upon it, the same.
He suspected that this probably made him unique amongst the assembly of demi-gods and demi-goddesses here in this place. That of both his parents, it was his father's example he struggled more to reach.
After all, a mere mortal, what right did Pallas have to be anything less?
“Take it how you will. He’s a good guy and he cares a lot about those he’s close to, but he can be overprotective and an asshole. Like, sixty percent of the time. I’m just saying that some friends- someone who isn’t his little sister- would do him some good!”
Ah. Friends to keep him out of little sister's business. Turning the pieces over in his mind, as more of the picture began to take shape.
Big brother didn't approve of the owner of the leather jacket. Now they've had a minor argument, he's over there, she's over here.
No. He thought to himself as he remembered what Ocean led with.
"...befriended someone I probably shouldn’t have and I think it came to bite me..."
Not just didn't approve of... He was right. And now she's hurt because she knows he was right.
That was it.
Hurt and embarrassed. Pallas found himself feeling relieved that he'd played looking off the jacket and not drawing attention to when he'd noticed it.
With every minute he saw her growing smile, he felt more assured it was her proper natural state. This was a kind, warm person who wanted to make friends, and possibly - quite probably - had been denied the opportunity to do so.
Truth be told, he suspected he probably had a lot more in common with her brother. Ocean's first description certainly matched both of them. Although he wouldn't describe himself as overprotective.
Although he'd never really had anything to protect. He supposed his father aside, but even then, he was very much a grown man, and had never been in a particularly vulnerable state to require protection.
“Pallas is definitely a statement. A dangerous name to be announcing everywhere. I can see why you’d go by Paul instead,” As she repeated his name for the third time, he found himself smiling.
It should have sounded weird - after all, she was the only person outside of family who had ever called him that - but as she went on, it bound itself more with familiarity and warmth with the way she said it. As he thought about it, he dwelled on how it should make him feel uncomfortable, but for whatever reason didn't.
He quickly formed the conclusion that it must just be more fitting in this place, and that it's different when it's with a new person who has only ever known you as that.
Gone was the fear of 'being discovered'. Sure. That must be what it is. That feeling of being 'trapped' or 'found out' is gone.
“Mhm,” Ocean nodded to confirm Pallas’ question. “My mom wasn’t the most original when it came to naming her kids. Doesn't help that she’s a surfer. A… hippie surfer,”
Okay. Two-for-two.
“So, are we supposed to ignore each other? You know, because our parents hate each other?”
And there it was, so she wasn't oblivious to it...
Although from what he'd read about Poseidon in his own time, he wasn't surprised that those he felt had ever crossed him might have their names spat from his mouth.
"Ah. Yeah, I was wondering if this was gonna come u--"
“I just think we’d get along swimmingly.”
He almost snorted. Barely held his form. But he couldn't stop those golden eyes from doubling in size, much like an owl's. "Woooooooooow."
Her face turned a shade. "You did not just say--" he chuckled. It wasn't a full laugh, but it was genuine, with no malice or pointed rhetoric behind it.
She turned her face away.
Hurt and embarrassed
Shit...
He stowed his mirth when he could, but did't let her wallow long in uncomfortable silence.
"Naaah. Athena would not abide by aquatic based puns."
He quickly followed it up. She didn't deserve the cruelty of sweating it out. Not after today.
"But then, I started it... I'm the one who went 'diving on in', didn't I?"
She still hadn't returned eye contact. Shit... She's taken this even more to heart than he thought?
"Ocean. I don't know what happened earlier..."
"But you make yourself a very difficult person to not like. I think you're gonna be just fine."
Hurt and embarrassed. You're a dumbass, P. You know all-a that and you go laughin' at the girl. The daughter of Poseidon... who's the first person you meet. Shit... what's the brother doin'? He began considering optics. Overprotective and an asshole. This had the makings of a bad situation, if he couldn't get her to at least get back to talking.
"Now this ain't you getting a jump on with the whole ignorin' me because of our parents, is it?" He threw out a light-hearted joke. "Ocean..?"
interactions ....|.... Ocean ............... mentions ....|.... River ............... collabs ....|....
The blonde woman responded to his efforts with a wink and a two fingered salute. He waited for her response upon first taste, but was interrupted by the red headed gent making his own 'Surprise me' request. "Baxter Marsh. He got the introductions out of the way, before the fun could begin.
Bax had seen him down one of the B-52s earlier, and even picked up on the slightest wince at the aftertaste.
He instantly read it as his not caring for the bitterness of the orange in the Grand Marnier.
Bax got unsocially close to him, and took a quick sniff, as he discerned the brand of cigarettes and anticipated their affect on the palette.
B-52 wasn't far off for taste... but he could play even further down the sweet end of the pool.
Bax turned and pulled liquor bottles down, and got to work on a layered triple shot, once again, featuring the homemade mead in one glass.
Irish cream and kahlua were flowing...
But now he was caught mid-conversation. He slowed down and took his time with the third shot. Far more than necessary, but the redhead seemed intent on making his point, and it was a party after all.
Finally he finished his comment. Something about feathers. Bax hadn't really been paying enough attention. The music in his ears swirled and brought too much out of him. As he danced to the rhythm only he could hear.
He slid his three shot extravaganza over to the waiting figure with a single wide open palm, a warm smile as payment, in anticipation.
"So it's two slippery nipples and a modified 747 with that honey mead..."
He started to knock back the individual shots in turn.
"...or a Sit on My Face, Honey depending on where you're from, I guess..."
That was enough to send the third shot spraying from the redhead's lips.
There were more prospective drinkers approaching, but after failing to hear back from the blonde, it made him more intent on feedback.
"Did you taste enough of that to tell me if you liked it..?"
Ocean seemed a naturally sunny person, who was currently obscured through dark clouds. But her natural inclination to be sociable and pleasant kept on trying to burst through the thick gloom all the same.
“I haven’t checked the map recently, so I wouldn’t know,” Ocean replied to his comment. “There are definitely a lot of newer faces than the ones I saw this morning.”
Which means either a lot of new arrivals 'very coincidentally' arriving today, or people had kept to their accommodations until the party at night... He deduced.
He took the opportunity to run an eye over the whole camp again, a quick glimpse at his fellow campers.
“You’re not wrong, Pallas. The water can be unpredictable. So much so, that even testing the waters beforehand sometimes doesn’t work. It’s fickle and short-tempered,” A smile broke through the fog. One doubtless more natural than his. She was amused to be able to participate in the back and forth aquatic wordplay, and Pallas felt pleasantly warmed that he was able to at least do that much.
He turned and watched the fire, not wanting to make her uncomfortable for staring at her smile. He had a habit of unintentionally making people feel a little self conscious. Even when he wore his brown contacts, which he wasn't currently wearing. Something about the way he looked at people, just seemed like he was watching 'too much' or thinking 'too much'.
While hunching over his plate he grabbed another bite of his gyro.
He wanted to keep the white garlic sauce well away from the black turtleneck he was wearing if at all possible. He hadn't dressed up for the party, hadn't even known there would be one, but he always kept himself fairly well put together, and the black turtleneck and single thin gold chain still held up fine once he'd removed his polar jacket, if he could keep it as clean as it was fresh.
“I befriended someone I probably shouldn’t have and I think it came to bite me in the butt tonight.”
He turned back from the fire and returned eye contact as she spoke again, nodding. Trying to piece things together.
Could've been anyone, but she probably has a sense of why I'm a bit stand-offish right now. Trying to get a read on the room before I go making that kind of mistake.
He kept the thought to himself though. And cut eye contact again, this time keeping his view closer, around the fire. Self-conscious thoughts wouldn't be welcome there, that's for sure. If she got the sense he felt that way she'd probably think he thought of her as stupid, or lesser for making such a mistake or not being prepared.
Befriended someone I shouldn't have... Disappointed or weary...
He ran the numbers in his head and came to the statistically probable conclusion.
Probably a guy...
And as his eyes went around the campfire they fell upon a perfectly folded jet black mens leather jacket..
“Some of the people just seem really…”
His mind clung to the contradiction. Perfectly folded. Jet black mens leather jacket.
He was pretty sure he'd seen her look at it once before, earlier. For a moment. And since then subtlely turned away from it and avoided looking in that diretion entirely.
If the owner of that jacket had ever folded it in his life, Pallas would be very surprised. More likely hung over a chair, draped over a lounge. Maybe slung over the weird out of place chair they put in a cheap hotel.
But folded with care? That wasn't the usual treatment.
Definitely a guy...
“Out there,”
He blurred his vision and gazed beyond it, looking to the distance. Not wanting to turn back to her too quickly and tip her to the fact he'd been looking at the jacket and figuring out what she meant.
He finished chewing his food, and swallowed.
“And now they're in here.” He ominously joked with a flash of his eyes to sell the pretend horror, and a ready smile.
“Like my Dad always says... 'It takes all sorts'. We've got the kids of f'r real deities in here. The embodiment... the personification of actual concepts. We're probably gonna get some 'out there' personalities. And we're gonna have to make it work, at least well enough to have something resembling civility.”
“There's a lot of people in this world, and I've never met a one of 'em I couldn't learn something from. Even if that lesson was just realising the kind of person I knew I didn't want to be.”
There was a slight pause, before Ocean moved on to more pleasant pastures. To see the good in the immediate world around her.
“There are definitely some nice people here as well, though. That woman over there, talking to the surfer dude? That’s Iliana. She’s really sweet, but is a bit timid. The surfer guy is my brother, River. He’s nice-ish and could really use some friends,” River... He checked another mental box next to her presumed ancestry. “I’m afraid I really don’t know anyone else besides Andy. She was the camp leader.”
“Nice-ISH..?” He said, letting out a laugh that rumbled deep from his core.
“Now just how'm I supposed to take that description?" For the first time he had flashed a genuine grin, amused by the puzzle of that descriptor for her brother.
I mean, people could describe me as 'nice-ish and could really use some friends', Hell... I think Pops did say that about me to Mom on at least a few occasions...
He broke down the possibilities in his head: 1. He's her brother and they care about each other, but recently had an argument or disagreement - hence 'nice-ish'. 2. He's her brother and an asshole, but she still worries about him. 'Nice-ish' becomes her overselling. 3. She thinks he's pretty much me. Nope... Don't like that... 4. He's her brother, but deeply, worryingly overprotective... to the point where even just being seen talking to her, could become a 'thing'. 'Nice-ish' is Ocean trying to make sure I don't judge by my first impression too hastily when he tries to throw his weight around and intimidate. 5. Something unconsidered due to too many variables.
He was still smiling from trying to crack this puzzle, when Ocean pivoted to the topic of his own ancestry, making brief eye contact after she'd pointed to her brother and the timid girl he was talking to. “Pallas is an interesting name. I take it your godly parent is Athena?”
She said it without any judgement at all, which told him she either wasn't aware of the rivalry and issues between both of their divine parentages, or that she didn't see any relevance to it in how she should see and treat him.
“That's right. She didn't care much for my Dad standing his ground on that name, neither... even if we only used it when kicking it around the house.”
“And with names like 'Ocean' and 'River', I'm guessing either your father was Poseidon, or your mother was a full on hippie?”
His genuine smile flashed once more which came across as being amused at his own joke, but was really for reasons unspoken, as he thought about what his mother would be saying to him right now, and how the conversation would play out.
'Of EVERYONE in camp, you just had to talk to HIS daughter first, huh?'
And how she'd immediately come to the same conclusion he had, once the emotion had flushed from her immediate reaction. She might even say it at the same time, knowing her.
'Fates be weird, yo.'
interactions ....|.... Ocean ............... mentions ....|.... Iliana, River and Andy ............... collabs ....|....
Pallas took the opportunity to run golden eyes over the feminine figure that was now seeking to make conversation with him.
It was the first time he'd really looked at her, since he was previously dodging eye contact to avoid drawing attention to himself. She was well put together for the event at hand, wearing a nice dark blue mid-length dress, and with a white hibiscus clipped in to adorn her hair, Pallas immediately assumed he was looking at someone who had been here for a while - to have dressed up for this party occasion in order to meet new faces.
An assumption she immediately squashed with her next statement...
”You’re not wrong. I only got here this morning and all I’ve seen so far is a few friendly faces, chaos and public indecency. Definitely not my scene,”
She got here today.
But something had definitely happened. He could tell that much. Something had worn her down, tired her out, or otherwise disappointed her.
Presumably whatever she'd seen as 'chaos and public indecency'.
He took another bite, as he saw she was about to speak again, to ensure he had extra time to come up with a reply.
A white hibiscus, culturally it tended to mean innocence... or peace. If Pallas had to fathom a guess, it looked like something had shattered that with this one.
”I’m Ocean. Did you get in earlier this evening?”
'Ocean.' One guess at her lineage...
As he chewed he came to the decision to go back on his earlier choice to stick with 'Paul'. It seemed more sociable to go with the other name, so as to not have her at a disadvantage, given her own name.
"I'm Pallas. Or Paul, if you prefer. And nah, if the map's anything to go by, think I might be one of the last few in."
It was the second time she had mentioned 'chaos'...
"That's the thing... I've never been one for just diving on in, without having some idea of the depth first, Ocean. Figured I'd get a sense of the turbulent waters and chaos first, before I throw myself in."
He offered a smile. It met his eyes, but did seem a little forced. He was never one to smile readily.
"But I'm sorry to hear you haven't been having a good night. Any chaos in particular you think I need to be looking out for?"
Swaddled in soft cotton there wasn’t a tear from golden eyes.
Always watching, silently curious. His bright eyes asked questions of her that even a goddess couldn’t refuse.
She couldn’t stay. The Fates tended to frown upon immortals who tried to hold a mortal love.
She looked at the photo on the dresser. Walt’s warm smile creased across his face looked on at the pair of them. Their story could only have one possible ending anyway. As she looked on, the lines on his face became more pronounced to her divine immortal sight.
A sight which could easily see the cracks and weaknesses in an enemy’s formation needed little help to see the cracks and flaws from the cruel effects of age, even now, in the man.
But what she could do, was give her son the best chance possible, even if she couldn’t give him a present mother.
There was no need to dwell on finding the words; Athena found them naturally as she started to talk. To let the infant know about the world as it stood now, and the demands and requirements of him in the future.
The night she imbued young Pallas with wisdom.
He never forgot a word from then, or since.
Pallas swung his bag around his shoulders onto his back, as shoes and seating squeaked with the end of his last class.
“Hey P, you wanna--!”
He was already gone, slid out the door amongst the crowd, weaving through the slow moving students.
He had a full card, and an extremely varied courseload at Columbia University.
Advisors had repeatedly gently tried to prod him into a more specialised pathway, whilst his grades were fantastic across the board, his course selection risked his degree becoming so broad that it would be useless for whatever he wanted to do when he left the school’s protective walls.
He always listened, but calmly and respectfully told them he would not be taking their advice, without any reason or argument provided on his end.
Afterall, how do you explain that the piece of paper at the end would have no value whatsoever, when his time in this level of learning came to a close? That his selection was the result of a pursuit of knowledge for knowledge’s sake.
And with his classes at a close, he was now racing away from campus to make his next appointment.
He’d privately found a small dojo which trained armed fighting techniques and bushido only fifteen minutes from campus. With classes starting twenty minutes after his final for the day, it didn’t leave much time – particularly if he didn’t want to draw too much attention to himself whilst getting there.
He cut down a back alley and felt a vibration on his hip. It stopped him in his tracks, but his excitement elevated despite his stoic exterior.
He dared to let a wry grin crease across his face as he pocketed the phone, and turned around to go back to his dorm after leaving the two-word message on Read.
It's Time.
Pallas steadily advanced through the winter wilderness.
He came fully prepared for the weather with teal and yellow polar-level snow-wear, including boots.
He tested branches, and poplars as he advanced through the forestry. A well placed kick to the base, paired with tearing and twisting from the top and he could have a makeshift staff – a weapon he was well versed with utilising – in seconds. He kept silent, and watched the sight lines. Both for his own defense now, and in consideration of how defensible the camp which would be his home for the duration, would be from ‘external forces’ and potential paths to approach.
It was for this reason as well, that he chose to do a full lap of the gated camp, before returning to the front gates. It was true that they were imposing in size for a mere mortal man.
…it was also true that there were more things in this world than mortal men. Pallas understood perfectly, even if he was yet to personally make first contact with any such things, his mother aside.
Finding that the terrain made such a trek around the camp impossible – the camp itself was coastal and held a beachhead, he had to settle for two arcs around it’s exterior to the sands on each side. He looked out to sea with a furrowed brow, taking it all into consideration, before returning to the entrance once more.
Approaching the gate’s security device he removed a glove and used the fingerprint pad, and the gates creaked open before him.
Darkness had fallen upon the camp by the time he’d completed his recconoitre. But life hadn’t left this place.
It didn’t take long for him to hear talking, laughter and the sounds of some kind of party in full effect.
Meet and greet? An opportunity to run an eye over new demi-gods like himself?
He felt a little exposed. Like a cold chill ran down his back.
No… he didn’t. In fact, he felt… unseasonably warm?
Divine magic. A small exhalation from his nose in recognition of what he was experiencing. It would have come out as a plume of visible air, if not for the warmer local temperature within the gates. He’d never experienced it from another, but he had little doubt that was what it was.
He found himself a little impressed by the subtle functionality.
All too easy to lose yourself in the power that came with their genetic dispositions and exert reckless shows of force, he presumed. That wasn’t what he was experiencing here though. It was just enough to take winter’s bitter chill from the air. It didn’t even prevent the snowfall.
But he was starting to find himself a little uncomfortable, as the Gore-Tex jacket he wore now leaving him somewhat overdressed and on the warm side.
He decided he should stow his pack, before trying his luck in social situations with the progeny of the pantheon. He pushed on through the camp before coming to a map board that gave the layout and offered locations of cabin accommodations.
Slim pickings.
Of the limited options though, he quickly came to a strategic decision. A cabin protected on the lee side of the front gate by the arena, and tucked back from the open beachhead. Closest remaining cabin to the armoury, and in convenient proximity to most amenities for training purposes.
He selected his cabin, making use of the map’s magical properties and watched as his name covered his selection.
The name that took his cabin made his decision for him.
On the trek here he’d wondered how to refer to himself. “Pallas” or “Paul”. Back home and growing up, he’d always gone by “Paul” outside of the walls of his home. For their protection, as his mother had warned. Now that he was in this place, which should it be?
If he went by “Paul” was he hiding something? If he went by “Pallas” was he big-noting?
The name by Cabin 18 read “Paul” though. So for convenience’s sake, and to prevent confusion… Paul it would be.
He pushed on through the camp, running a passing eye over the closed Hall, infirmary, practice range and armoury. He rounded the immense arena and picked up his pace to a slow trot.
He found his cabin, and not turning the lights on. He opened the door and dropped his bag inside, before locking up and starting to walk back around to where the party was. He removed his jacket and tied the sleeves around his waist.
He walked past the stables, and for a brief second pulled up; his head tilting, as he thought he had heard some strange grunts, groans and whinnys beyond the equine usual, before deciding it either wasn’t likely or worth the effort of checking and continuing on his way.
Besides, the big blonde guy coming this way was probably onto whatever it was...
He continued on into the clearing where the party was spread out and in full force.
How to approach this....
As far as he could tell, he was the last to arrive. The group had him at a disadvantage, with everyone at least being somewhat familiar with at least somebody else.
He hadn’t eaten, and that much would be easily apparent as the most recent to make the trek to the camp. Eating would at least give him some measure of socially acceptable excuse to keep quiet, or to take considered time with his answers between bites. Grace while he still got his bearings.
The irony. Grace from the demi-gods through eating. The thought brought a wry crease across his face, as he considered his approach.
There were quite a few tables, two with conversation in mid-flow between a man and a woman. A dog at one, and not the other, one of the few variables.
Along with the fact that at one table the man and woman were sat across from one another at the table closer to the campfire, rather than side by side.
Whilst the expression of the large man sitting across from the woman held as aloof, something about his body language made it abundantly clear that passers by would not be welcome. It gave him pause about sitting at the other table as well.
An irritating third wheel was not the first impression he wanted to give off within this camp.
Alternatively, there was a third table with a man talking to two women. And he could tell from the smirk across the man’s face that he was trying his luck, possibly both ways. Possibly to mixed reviews if their expressions were anything to go by.
No. Last thing he wanted was to be some girl’s social refuge when he was still trying to figure things out himself. And back on the third wheel if the guy felt at all bent out of shape about it. He still didn’t know enough to throw himself into those kinds of situations at this stage.
Grab a plate, stand and eat?
No. That made too big a statement in the other direction. "Unsocial".
Which of course, was exactly what he was being, but he didn't want the fact to be broadcasted around the camp this early on in things.
Bonfire seating.
Makes a ‘I’m willing to be sociable’ implied statement, whilst also giving me a place at the moment in solitary. To observe. And if past camps are anything to go by, people will move to the campfire later on in the night.
Perfect. Meet people on your own terms, whilst still giving time to just watch and figure things out for now.
Because for now, everybody’s by the bar. No, thank you.
More than anything, he knew that in a place like this he needed to maintain full control of his faculties.
He grabbed a paper plate by the food and started to assemble himself a gyro from the food on display.
There was a lone girl sitting at the bonfire. Seemed quiet, or at least enjoying the moment of peace. He felt comfortable he could ‘thread the needle’ though, with the social obstacle. Keep not too distant that it seemed like he was avoiding her, but not so close that it would seem odd to not address her or say anything.
He perfectly timed a bite as he passed, to coincidentally dodge eye contact. Found a seat clear of the fire’s smoke plumes, and turned away from the girl before running an eye over the campsite in a full 360 degree vista.
He let ignorance and wonder be his cover, as he continued to avoid eye contact with the other person, hoping that the weight of silence would set and make it more difficult for the inertia of the conversation to be overcome.
He took another timed bite, further allowing the surface tension of the silence to solidify, before running his eye across his fellow campers at the distant bar.
Well, that one’s Dionysus’ kid through and through… couldn’t be any more clear if he wrote it on his head.
Another bite.
Although the green paint… he practically had written it on his head.
So it was a cheap ‘gimme’ guess anyway, by his coun--.
“The crowds too much for you? I’m not much of a solitary person by choice, but there’s something calm about being by the fire and removed from the chaos, don’t you think?”
The voice came through, sombre in tone, yet still warm by its nature. In spite of everything.
Pallas froze mid-chew, as if movement would have made him suddenly visible. Lamb and garlic sauce dropping to the plate still perched in his lap, as he peered out of the corner of his eyes at the source of the voice.
Finding his eye contact, a weary half-smile dared to break through dark clouds. Whether she were more tired, or saddened by something remained to be seen.
He thought of an answer whilst he finished chewing. Something to justify his less than social behaviour.
"It's a lot of 'new' for one night. Might as well start a fresh year as well."
That... sort of... made some kind of sense. In a completely cringeworthy way.
If nothing else it demonstrated why someone like him might stick to less talk and fewer social interactions...
A few of the B-52s disappeared off the counter, with nary a word, from opportunists. Thankful to take a free drink with no cost, no effort and no small talk. But Bax didn’t mind.
He was just warming up, after all.
The bass in his head beat hard, and he kept bobbing his head to an unheard rhythm.
“Damn… where did you learn to serve like that?” One decided to break the ice. Ironic, since he hadn’t used any.
He shrugged, but never lost tempo. Neither of the music in his head, nor momentum from his concoctions.
“Always could. Don’t get much time with a self serve bar, though.”
Because the few instances where he had, the parties had turned to…
…well, he had to keep moving.
His hand swung in percussive beat to the music, as he continued.
He knocked back the mead, his eyebrows raised at the impressive brewmanship. As the taste swirled across his palette, possibilities revealed themselves as to complementary flavours. It stood on its own feet as a mead as well, which was impressive – but the possibilities of a unique experience for party-goers, with a cocktail which used it as a base, personalising the night. Giving these people a moment, a taste, a fulfilled desire that would stand in time. Connecting these people with the man who had been so selfless as to bring the bottle, the product of his own efforts, himself?
Such a prospect was irresistible.
His head bobbed, merlot eyes flickered behind the spring green paint which crossed his face.
He had it, he was sure…
“Seriously, you’re a beast,” The shots were attracting a crowd, and the crowd was attracting interest in himself. A blond woman sidled up to the bar, and continued the red headed man’s discourse.
She passed on the few remaining B-52 shots on the bar and called for her own custom request. An open palm, a strong wrist and forearms resting on his bar. “Alright, surprise me.”
Bax’s smile broadened. Someone who was open to discovering what they wanted, or rather new what she didn’t want – having passed on the sweeter creamy B-52 crème liqeur based shots.
A challenge. His hands clapped together excitedly behind the bar. An opportunity to divine desire and taste.
He quickly discounted the ‘cheating’ method, as her body language immediately shut down any interest in wanting him to ‘learn more from unspoken means’ with her.
Another glance at taut, muscular forearms.
Possibly with ultraviolence.
So the puzzle required its own deduction. Powerful, blunt, no interest in wasted words or saccharine sweetness.
‘You’re telling yourself you want something strong, or something bitter…’ Bax told himself.
"Hey, bar-man," They greeted. "What's a fella gotta do around here to get some water around here?"
Bax flicked a bottle of water from below the bar with a toe drag, and a quick flick to his hands. Wanting to waste no more time with… ugh… water, than he had to, when real fun was at hand. He slid it down the bar to the order with the mop of hair. His effort to withhold a grunt of disapproval, constituting immaculate customer service in his eyes.
‘But beer or bourbon… that’s a trap. Strength and flavour.’
With a flicker of merlot eyes, and a broadened smirk of confidence, “I think I gotcha.”
He turned and pulled three rums and multiple liquers. Syrups, juice and fruit garnish.
“You, I’m gonna make you something special. Tell me if I got you wrong, but I think this will hit right…”
She seemed to tense, seeing how much he grabbed presumably anticipating a long wait, but with how quickly he worked, it didn’t justify the brief agitation. Then a bottle of the regular mead.
He pulled a cocktail shaker and a regular tumbler.
Ice, rum, coconut rum, fruit juices, grenadine and banana syrups, and 151 proof rum.
He started shaking the cocktail with his left, whilst prepping layering of a tumbler glass with his right. Thick white cacao liqeur, kahlua, banana syrup and a comfortable layer of mead. He sped up the shake with his left as he felt less resistance and rattle from ice. He concentrated as he poured a layer from the shaker, supported with a spoon, using his powers to assist in not breaching the surface tension of any of the layers as it somehow held together, seemingly defying physics to not collapse upon itself. With a single cut he sliced pineapple and added it to the side of the glass.
Satisfied with his work he slid the glass over.
“The cocktail mix was mostly a Hawaiian hammer, but layered into a baby… and it should work with the straight mead from that guy over there as a foundation.”
“Call it a… Honey Baby Hammer. Tell me how that goes for you.”
More began to gather, and the tense silence would have suggested significant pressure of leaving the blonde woman any less than pleased… if Baxter were the kind of person who could make sense of that.
Instead he grinned like an idiot, and went back to making other drinks. Another woman had helped herself to malibu and coke, further highlighting how much he’d been slacking, concentrating on the blonde woman’s drink. But he’d do it all over. He loved the challenge.
Baxter Marsh's eyes barely held lucidity, but that hadn't changed as much as one might think since he started walking.
He'd left Berlin Brandenberg Airport and staggered alone in his own style. That was a month ago, and the small rolling suitcase he dragged behind him had long lost all plastic covering on it's wheels and would occasionally spark on flint and dryer bitumen. It had been a long time since it's last spark though, since he'd most recently been dragging it through snow covered woods, however.
Bax pulled his black feathery coat taut around his shivering form, and tossed the pink boa around his neck with a twitching hand. The warmth of the brandy sitting in his core, doing little for his extremities. For the most part the change in seasons had been enjoyable for his little traipse across Europe. His family may have left him in the dark but he'd enjoyed a good many dunkels in Germany, becherovka's bitter herbal kiss as he detoured slightly through Prague, slivovica struck him plum(b) as he cut through Slovakia, a shot of unicom after his meals in Hungary, he'd even celebrated Christmas with locals and a good few varied bottles of rakija as he'd hit Serbia with the irony of his destination completely lost on him, and the omnipresent mulled wine of the evenings before he'd stop at a backpackers for the night.
By the time he'd hit Greece though, winter was in full force. He didn't remember hearing about the cold Greek nights anywhere. Olive oil and vineyards were what came to his mind. He always thought Greek winters were supposed to be fairly balmy. But the snow apparently felt otherwise, and made it its business to correct his ignorance.
His breath was stilted and shaky from the cold, as his breath belched out in thick plumes like he was chain smoking fat Havana cigars. He looked down at the panel with curiosity on his brow, and the omnipresent wide smile on his face. He tried to mash his whole hand on the tiny pad to no avail, before concluding that the pad was far too small for such a function. He tried breathing on it. Stuck his tongue out and considered whether he was supposed to put that on it, before trying a finger. Still nothing. Wrong key. He tried his thumb and with a great creaking, the giant iron gates made way for his entrance.
Where he was met by nothing and no one.
As he took a few staggered steps into the gated camp, he considered calling out, but the silence seemed to insist on more silence. Maybe everyone was still asleep. He knew that after his late nights he wouldn't normally be up this early - back home you wouldn't see him awake before noon - and the only reason he was still awake himself, was because he pushed on through the night with his own excitement as he'd drawn near his destination after such a long trek.
If a trek could be done in a thin button-up shirt (with the buttons undone), beneath a thick feather coat, skinny pants and dragging a rolling case.
He noticed the weather seemed slightly warmer since he'd walked through the gates, and a more sensible person might have considered it to be hypothermia setting in.
Baxter Marsh was not someone to be confused with a sensible person.
A voice came over an unseen PA.
It announced the time as a novel new thing called 9 AM. He'd heard about such a time as a child. Mainly that he was supposed to be at places that he hadn't bothered to be at by this strange mysterious time, but apparently some continued this nonsense beyond adolescence in this strange pocket-world inhabited by the supposed children of gods.
The weather seemed equally ridiculous. -9 degrees celsius? That's not a real temperature. And if it was he certainly wouldn't have chosen to be out in it. Everything about it was absurd. A non-existent hour... A made up temperature... News from the gods...
"Oh right... that's why I'm here. Or something."
Something-something-- New demi-gods will be here today.
"Oh good... got here just in time for that. Looking forward to seeing them..." With no sense whatsoever that this included him. Or any sense in general really.
Tonight-- a New Years Eve Celebration-- Hope to see you campers there.
"Wow... they're holding New Years really close to Christmas now. Hey, they should invite these new demi-gods too."
Bax listened on, but the voice from the PA had stopped. Its message concluded.
He leaned closer to the open air, not knowing where the PA was actually located and listened harder, but still nothing further was coming. He squinted, as if that would help. Nothing.
Then he realised he still felt cold and that he should get inside while his legs still worked.
Bax pushed on and came to a large sign which appeared to have a map on it.
He squinted through the haze in his head, broad vacant grin still omnipresent on his face, as he looked upon the map and the code beneath it, that seemed to direct the residents to their prospective homes for the duration of their stay.
He checked the landscape in the map, and corresponding numbers for a few, before deciding he should check for his own name.
He started to pass by the names and numbers.
"Cabin Thirty-One... Beachfront property... Heh-heh-heh. Sounds good to me." He passed through all of the cabin numbers, never catching his name. His laughter almost delirious from a combination of the cold and his nature.
Reaching the end, he widened his eyes, and delivered a cold handed slap to his cheek, as if that would accomplish anything from his years' long cumulative present state and went back to the top of the list and scanned through the cabins again.
Cabin 31 - Bax
That... did that say that before. It must've. Right?
"Huh..."
Not thinking anymore, he dragged his case towards what would be his humble home for the duration.
_ _ _
It turns out his humble home had quite an ego on it.
It was one of the weirdest designed placed he'd ever lived, and it's shape was most peculiar. After walking through the entrance the living space opened wide and vast, with exits in both corners, but large one-way windowing overlooking the woods, and peeking out to the sand and surf of the beach just beyond in the distance.
It could have been considered to be shaped like a bunch of grapes, that grew ever smaller towards the front door. Or a pinecone, similarly with it's point, upside down at the entrance. A wine flute. Or even a womb.
Whatever shape one wished to call it, to Bax it would be home. He walked up the few single step levels to the back window and marvelled at the natural view.
And then with a shiver he remembered why he was in such a rush to get here. He rushed over to a wall which kept a sizeable bath with jacuzzi jets and promptly ran the water. With confusion he couldn't find different temperature taps, and looking around, he found the water temperature, along with other environmental conditions for the cabin controlled by a single thermostat interface. He set the water to 37 degrees.
A sensible person would not jump straight into a hot tub after braving hypothermia for as long as Bax had.
Again, Baxter Marsh could not be confused with a sensible person.
He stripped down and jumped in, after several squeals from how hot the water felt against his exposed, almost frozen body. Steam rose into his face and he was in danger of passing out, before he stepped back out and remembered he'd need clothes for the other side.
He opened his case, pulled out a similar shirt to what he'd just worn. A faded button up shirt that archaeologists could reveal once said 'Tequila Sunrise' before large orange patches which were once the aforementioned sun. A pair of underpants and randomly pyjama bottoms.
There'd be a party tonight, but he fully intended to get his sleep in before then. He'd just treked all through the night to get to this place, and well earned his rest.
A sensible person would have wished he still had one of those bottles of rakija left over, but he'd drunk them as he was offered them, with no luggage space to spare. Even if he had luggage space to spare, the outcome would likely have been the same.
Nobody would confuse Baxter Marsh with a sensible man.
It now dawned on him he'd never taken the opportunity to try locally sourced ouzo, and hoped someone would have the foresight to bring some tonight.
All of this crossed his mind, as well as the one question he'd had that kept one foot in front of the other all the way to this, his final destination. Perhaps he'd finally have an answer.
Does ambrosia ferment?
He stepped back into the hot tub to contemplate such things, wetting a flannel and putting it over his face, as he slowly worked on feeling normal again, in this place which may well be anything but.
_ _ _
Bax awoke from his discombobulated sprawl across his bed once he'd had his fill of bedrest. It was dark outside, he could immediately tell that from the window view. He mouthed at nothing, as he slowly awoke, and with the area light from the hot tub hurting his eyes he brought his own blood alcohol level up to a happy buzz. The vacant smile once again restoring, as what would have been the pain of an accumlative hangover once again receded to the fog of memory.
Dressed. Gotta get ready.
He remembered they were having some kind of celebration tonight. He'd be fashionably late. So now the onus was on him to hit the 'fashionable' part. He was still wearing an unbuttoned faded button-up shirt and pyjama bottoms from after his bath. He opened up his case and withdrew three different buttoned up shirts on coathangers from it's contents and laid them on the bed, considering his options.
He chose one. Hung the other two in the wardrobe, and took his own shirt off before pulling the new choice on over his head, before running hs fingers down and undoing all of the buttons.
Leaving him looking identical to how he looked less than thirty seconds ago.
He picked a pair of pants and underwear and put them on, in the appropriate order. A feat he achieved most days.
He checked himself in the mirror, and unsatisfied with the effect his clothes were making, he dove through one corner of his bag looking for something. His art supplies. He pulled a small container of Spring Green from his paints. With a brush in the mirror, painted a firm block line just above the brow level, and as low as the bridge of his nose, including across both closed eyes, and covering his ears. He waited a moment and re-checked himself in the mirror. He liked it. Made the deep merlot of his eyes *POP* with the contrasting bright light green.
Now happy with how his face looked he ran his fingertips through his hair. Alcohol from his pores working wonders to hold and shape his hair to his satisfaction. Eyeing it through the mirror and moving his head to check the angles, his smile widened, and snapping his fingers and pointing at the man in the mirror, and withdrawing all of the alcohol from his hair to prevent it from drying out and getting damaged.
It mostly stayed up.
It also looked almost exactly like it had forty seconds earlier.
He grabbed his feather coat from earlier and winced that it still wasn't dry from the wet and cold. He furrowed his brow, but was about to put it on nonetheless, when he spied the thermostat.
The exterior temperature was... Huh.
Not giving it a second though. After all, -9 is not a real temperature, he threw the feather coat over a chair and stepped outside to confirm that reality did indeed have a real temperature.
Only to hobble back inside with the realisation that the warmth in the air had somehow not affected the snow which was settling on the ground in the moments before it melted.
Real and unreal seemed to have a confusing habit of not knowing what it wanted to be of late.
Bax decided to put shoes and socks on before discovering whether chillblains and digit loss through extreme cold were indeed 'real'.
He once again stepped back out through his front door and back towards the main entrance, in hopes of finding signs of life now that this celebration should be underway.
And as he walked past a bonfire and seated people eating and talking, he indeed found signs of life.
Leaning against, and sat atop the bar, being extremely lively in the place his eyes would most naturally fall.
He hesitated a moment, before breathing a sigh of relief in realising he couldn't blamed for whatever this spectacle was, because he'd only just gotten here.
Regardless, he was glad the girl and guy, whoever they were, were well and truly enjoying themselves.
He kept a steady pace, and re-filled their absence as they disappeared in the other direction, albeit on the other side of the bar.
He didn't bother with introductions. There was work to be done. There was a broken wine bottle on the floor and he quickly set to cleaning that up and away before anyone got cut. Then he settled in to real work. He laid out six shot glasses and with the speed and precision of a DJ perfectly layered a row of B-52 shots to start with, just to get his eye in. Half way through, he spied a bottle on the bar which numerous partygoers in front of him had commented on. One dark haired guy, and a blonde girl in particular, who said the name he'd heard once before, seemed particularly taken by it, and Bax recognised it as a homemade mead.
With no wasted movement he pulled the cork, snapped a splash over his right shoulder, which found a glass without spilling a drop and recorked the bottle, whilst continuing to layer the shots.
"Homemade..? I'll try that..."
He left the six shots on the bartop before sweeping up an empty wine glass wanting a refill, and with a sniff of the residue, identified the match to have been the bottle that now was swept beneath the bar. He sorted through the available wines at his disposal, a man on a mission, before pulling three and blending an approximation that was indistinguishable from the original in a decanter - himself appearing as some blend of mad scientist, artist and chemist as he moved with a swift pace, bobbing his head at a rhythm inconsistent with the music everyone else could hear. Completing the process in barely a minute, he refilled the empty glass, and left it on the bar for whoever was awaiting their refill.
He ran his eye across the people on the opposite side of the bar, and tried to anticipate desires. Omnipresent broad grin across his face, and his bopping head had started to spread to occasionally include hand tapping, as the music in his head swirled.
So there I am, in Sri Lanka, formerly Ceylon, at about 3 o'clock in the morning, looking for one thousand brown M&Ms to fill a brandy glass, or Ozzy wouldn't go on stage that night. So, Jeff Beck pops his head 'round the door, and mentions there's a little sweets shop on the edge of town. So - we go. And - it's closed. So there's me, and Keith Moon, and David Crosby, breaking into that little sweets shop, eh. Well, instead of a guard dog, they've got this bloody great big Bengal tiger. I managed to take out the tiger with a can of mace, but the shopowner and his son... that's a different story altogether. I had to beat them to death with their own shoes. Nasty business, really. But, sure enough, I got the M&Ms, and Ozzy went on stage and did a great show.
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">So there I am, in Sri Lanka, formerly Ceylon, at about 3 o'clock in the morning, looking for one thousand brown M&Ms to fill a brandy glass, or Ozzy wouldn't go on stage that night. So, Jeff Beck pops his head 'round the door, and mentions there's a little sweets shop on the edge of town. So - we go. And - it's closed. So there's me, and Keith Moon, and David Crosby, breaking into that little sweets shop, eh. Well, instead of a guard dog, they've got this bloody great big Bengal tiger. I managed to take out the tiger with a can of mace, but the shopowner and his son... that's a different story altogether. I had to beat them to death with their own shoes. Nasty business, really. But, sure enough, I got the M&Ms, and Ozzy went on stage and did a great show.</div>
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