Status

Recent Statuses

1 day ago
Current I love flakes but only if they're frosted
3 likes
8 days ago
I've been doing NaNoWriMo every year since 2014, but I honestly don't have ANY motivation to tackle it this year. :/
3 likes
2 mos ago
Indecisiveness is the worst thing a writer can have when they have all the inspiration and motivation in the world.
8 likes
1 yr ago
I hate having so many amazing RP ideas that I would love to see fully realized but lacking the conviction and time to commit to them.
14 likes
2 yrs ago
Due to the quarantine, I'll only be telling inside jokes.
15 likes

Bio



Most Recent Posts






What was Zestasia to do with this information that Etoile gave him and Pythia? What should he do with it?

As he stared at the older blonde, he tried to come up with a level-headed reaction to everything she just revealed. A logical summary of his feelings towards it all. He hated what they did to not only him, but his brother. They were the ones who forced Pagonia to leave him with Anatoli. They were the ones who captured Anatoli. And he hasn’t let go of that hatred. Anyone who was associated with them, by all rights, were the enemy.

But with Etoile, it felt like there were too many gray areas for him to think clearly. She wasn’t an inquisitor any longer. In the short time they had spent traveling through the forest, they watched each other’s back. She may have been bossy, but that’s the sort of thing that left an impression on the younger Calore.

“Damn damn damn!” Zestasia cursed a few more times, looking around (but more importantly away from Etoile’s gaze). He found himself looking at Pagonia who was with Clara. He frowned as he thought about all of the years that the two of them lost, him and Pagonia. “Do you know why I can’t stand the imperium?” Zestasia asked as his eyes remained on his brother. “There are too many reasons to count, of course: the time I lost with my brother, the death of my family, but the one that fuels my rage is when they captured my master. Two years ago the man who took me in and taught me everything I know about magic was captured and I swore to myself I’d do anything I could to rescue him.”

In what could only be described as a rare moment for Zestasia, who up until now had always had something funny or witty to say (obviously self-believed), but as he turned to face Etoile, he had a serious expression on his face. “I don’t know how I feel about you, Etoile. I’m not even sure what I feel right now, but…” There was a pause and he bit the inside of his lip, “but from where I stand, we’re fighting the same fight and I think that’s enough for me to put any animosity I hold for you to rest.” He put his hand out awkwardly as a gesture of good will, immediately feeling his face go hot with slight embarrassment. He just hoped that Etoile would accept his gesture so they could go back to acting like the band of makeshift amigos that they were before all of the revelations came down on them.





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Marco seldom tuned into Mei’s podcast...thing, but as of late, he found himself doing a lot that he hadn’t normally. Not in a long time had Marco truly felt despair knock itself boldly at his door, screaming at him like the wails of anguish that he could remember screeching when Charlie Decker shot him. Those immediate thoughts came flooding back after a bad dream, those thoughts that plagued him in those first weeks in the hospital after he got his surgery. They plagued him like an illness that sapped just about every single light he had to spare.

And they were why he was up almost every night, kicking ass at whatever online game he could get his hands on. Some nights he dove head-first into Call of Duty. Some nights it was League of Legends. It always changed depending on his mood, but for some reason, unlike previous times where he’d just let himself get lost in mindless action, Marco was laying in bed on his side (the leg he got shot in facing up). He laid there on his side, his Bose headphones in and he listened to Mei Midnight speak.

Admittedly, Marco may have tuned her out at some parts. He was drifting into a partial slumber, his eyes heavy as he felt the chill of his fan hit him every three seconds as it blew the cold air around his room. He didn’t have his blanket on so he felt the chills start at his toes and go all the way up to his hair. It felt nice and as he drifted off into a dream, Marco heard a voice.

Marco...Marco…

It was haunting and it kept calling out to him. The voice sounded strikingly masculine but also, as it kept calling to him, beckoning him with misty strings of light, he felt an air of familiarity within it. Not only was the light reaching to him familiar, but there was something about the way that that voice made him feel. It was confident and comforting. It didn’t just call his name but it was patient in how it waited for Marco to acknowledge it.

Around him was nothing. Around Marco was something. He couldn’t tell what it was. He glanced around in all directions. There wasn’t light nor was there darkness, yet he clearly saw the light yellow hues of light that the voice seemed to originate from. It was the only color that he could make out.

And he started to walk towards it.

Correction. Marco limped towards it.

As he walked, he felt a cold breeze touch his skin, which immediately had him shiver, reaching behind him and a black hoodie that he always wore seemed to appear and he slipped it on. No longer feeling the wind hit him in such an extreme way, Marco continued down the path the yellow mist was guiding him to. As he did, he heard sounds that felt like the revving of an engine. He couldn’t see anything, but suddenly he was able to do more than limp. Suddenly Marco felt himself able to run at speeds that he only dreamed of running.

And as he ran, the thoughts of despair came back. He couldn’t stop them just as he couldn’t stop himself from running; similarly, he couldn’t stop himself from getting shot.

All my fault, he kept telling himself. It was all his fault. Being out there after the bell rang. Being out there after knowing the bell had rang.

You didn’t know.

He heard that voice say and a wave of grief long since past came over him.

Of course I did!

Marco didn’t know what he was doing. He was carrying out a conversation as he ran, wind pressing against his face, his dark hair flowing back. And he was having a conversation with the voice of someone he didn’t know, yet something told him he did.

What sense did that make?

It wasn’t your fault!

So what? Now Marco was Matt Damon and this voice was Robin Williams? Was that even the right analogy?

Marco turned around, running in the complete opposite direction. And as he ran, he took a few lefts, effortlessly turning as he maintained the right speed. Before, he felt like he was running on what he assumed was a sensation similar to asfalt, but now he heard echoes -- echoes of his feet.

ClickclickTaptap

And another turn.

And then another and then Marco’s footsteps made no noise -- none that were as audible as before. Now they were muffled, like the brushing of blades of glass when hit by the wind.

Marco Brady finally came to a stop and what was a blissful feeling not experiencing any pain in his leg, suddenly it was so intense, Marco fell to the ground as he held his left leg from the ankle. There was a warm sensation. It was agonizing. Surging through his entire body was a pain that was more than physical. As he started to cry out, Marco yelled:

“Help!”

But there wasn’t anyone.

“Help!” He cried out again, this time screeching at it.

“Nobody is here, Marco.”

There was that voice again, but this time he couldn’t hear them in his head. The voice didn’t echo like before, but rather, as he looked up in the middle of trying not to pass out from the torture he was enduring through, he saw the shadow of someone.

“Who are you?” He asked.

The person had clapped slowly, their form slowly revealing itself. “Who am I? Do you really need to ask that, Marco?” Their question, though it was soon answered, they stepped forward and Marco soon found himself with more questions than he began with.

“You’re —”

“That’s right,” they said, smiling, “I’m you. Or what you could have been.”

Shaking his head, Marco suddenly didn’t feel excruciating discomfort in his leg. It was just the normal discomfort that had him forever limping. “This can’t be happening. This is all a dream…”

“Is it?”

With a gesture, the other Marco smiled and soon the devoid of color that Marco thought he was running in was to be revealed that he was back at the school. Specifically, Marco was in the soccer field and where he stood was exactly where he was shot.

And now he was even more confused than ever. Was it a dream? Was this real? MArco was on his bed listening to Mei’s stream. She talked about...she talked about -- oh, God what was it again? The elder tree or something like that? He wished he didn’t drift off when she was supposed to be explaining the origin of that tree or that he knew more about it.

Every inch of Marco’s mind right now was being spent trying to figure out he was looking at a fit version of himself, brandishing a soccer/Eruopean football uniform and he was on the ground, no longer in immense pain like the cripple he always felt like. Nevermind the fact that he thought he was running, but as he looked behind him, his brother’s truck was there, parked at an angle no less than three feet from where he was laying on the ground. How was any of this possible? Was he dreaming or was he awake and just couldn’t process any of it?

“So if this is all real--”

“Never said that--”

“Okay,” Marco said, getting annoyed a bit with his other, better-looking self. “If this is a dream--”

“I didn’t say that either.”

Marco narrowed his eyes at himself. Just looking at him made him confused and everything that was happening was enough to make him seriously consider checking himself into a mental institution, because it was clear as day that he was going insane if he was having a conversation with himself as he laid on the surprisingly lukewarm grass.

“So then what is going on? If this isn’t real and it isn’t a dream, then what?!” Marco’s voice got a bit intense as he slammed his fists on the ground.

“Marco, it’s alright, okay? I’m not here to cause you confusion or anything close to that. I’m here because there’s something you need to get off your chest.”

“I think I’d know if I needed to get something off my chest,” he retorted back, mumbling something inaudible under a fake cough.

The Other Marco raised his eyebrow at him and knelt down. Marco looked at him with an uncharacteristic jealousy at how easily he was able to do that without groaning. “You are here for a reason. Tonight didn’t happen because you were feeling blue. I know you because I am you. I know you have moments where you can’t keep it together for the people who love you. I know this because I am a projection of your psyche. As I said, I am what you wished you could be, but do you want to know something, Marco?”

Marco tried not to scowl, but he kept his eyes on the other him. “What? You’re going to rub it in my face that I could have been walking if I wasn’t out in this field practicing?”

The Other Marco stared at him, shaking his head with a heavy sigh. “No. I’m here so you can tell me why you still think that was ever your fault to begin with. I’m here so you can say things that you can’t to those you wish you could.”

“Such as?”

“Such as Danny Belmonte. Such as Charlie Decker. Such as everyone you feel looks down on you because you are -- what did you call it? Cripple Castillo?” There was a laugh from the Other Marco and he earned a scathing glare in response. “Remember--”

“Yes, I know. You’re me, so you’re laughing at my--”

“--Our--”

“Right. Our pain.”

It took Marco a few minutes to think. In that time, he saw his other self standing there patiently. That was something they didn’t have in common, so maybe he was a version of himself that he wished he could be. Deep down, he knew everything that perfect version of himself said was the truth. He had a list of things he wished he could say to Danny. He wished he could tell his ex how he truly felt and how he wished they could be together like they used to, but in public as well as private. He wished he could corner Charlie Decker, make him look him in the eye and ask him why he decided to shoot everyone. He wished he could walk without having to limp half the time. MArco wanted so desperately to be able to live that dream.

But he couldn’t. Damn. Damn. Damn!

Why was tonight so special? And why, of all things, did some projection of what he wished he could be show themself to him?

“So what am I supposed to do? Just start listing things? Is that how this process works?” Marco asked as he stood up. The pain surged through his body and his other self held him steady with their arms until Marco was able to support himself. “Well what am I supposed to do? What should I say? Tell you how I hate this. How much I…” As he hesitated, his lip began to quiver and he bit it just hard enough to stop himself from succumbing to the breakdown he knew was well on its way. “...How much I fucking hate being a burden to everyone? Is that what you want me to say?”

The Other Marco stood there, looking at MArco. Watching him lean forward and his hand holding his left calf to keep himself from falling over. The pressure was on his right leg so it didn’t cause immense pain in his bum one. In his eyes, he could feel the feeble Marco’s anguish in every word he spoke, the way his voice cracked with emotion. It hurt him because it hurt Marco; and because Marco hurt, he didn’t have the words to provide him with an answer.

Of course, The Other Marco knew that he felt this because he was Marco. Even if he didn’t show it, he was a projection of Marco Brady’s mind. He was the hopes and dreams that Marco Brady still clung to. In his darkest thoughts, he was the light that brought comfort to him and when he needed a reason to get out of bed, more often than not, he was the one that Marco could visualize and everything would be okay. But of course, this only worked if he didn’t let himself drown in the despair that stemmed from the reality of what could never be.

The Other Marco was this reality that was no longer possible. Marco Brady wouldn’t be like how he was and that was a fact. Charlie Decker took that away from him. And it was Charlie Decker who..

“You need to let go, Marco. But in order to do this, you need to see one more person.”

“Another? Who?” Marco asked, his voice still ripe with emotion, his voice cracked and his eyes puffed up from him trying -- and failing -- to hold back a sob of tears. “Who else is there to see? I thought you were the only person I needed to see. Isn’t that what you said?”

The Other Marco shook his head. “I am the ghost of you, Marco. All the pain you feel, while it is phenomenal that you have made it so far, it is just the internal strife you confronted. What you must face before this night is done is face your external strife. The horror that you know you have to come face to face with, it’s closer than you think.”

“What does that even mean?”

Even though Marco’s plea was genuine, his other self smiled and pointed to his heart. He pointed still until his form faded in the same bright yellow smoke that presented itself to Marco when he thought he was asleep. And even when he was left alone, Marco was still confused about many things. What was happening tonight? What did this have to do with the Elder Tree? And what did his other self mean by the external horror?

He was so confused, but it was something. Marco had something to go off of, but he couldn’t do this on an empty stomach. Somehow, through all of that pseudo-running he did, he had literally worked up an appetite. Maybe it was real or maybe it wasn’t, but all he knew was he could go for a Reuben sandwich right about now.





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Location: Carinival (High Striker)
Interactions: Ali @King Kindred

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The moment that Kyle finished trying to give Ali pointers about how to get the most of the swing of the High Striker hammer, he handed it off to her and smiled when she stepped up to plate (yes he knew it wasn't baseball but the saying still applied). He didn't know exactly where his head was going, but watching her take that hammer and successfully drop it on the platform and bell making a loud ding, he stood there with widened eyes and a very Kyle-like dropped jaw expression.

Wasn't it just a minute ago she didn't know how to swing it? Am I really that good of a teacher? Soy and the others would just love to hear about this!

But okay, so she really took your pointers to heart and applied them. He helped her be better at his favorite game. He showed her how to properly swing the hammer and get the most effective result. Kyle did that for her and he couldn't have been more proud of someone even if he was staring into a mirror and he saw himself.

Okay, that was kind of a creepy tangent. Kyle wasn't vain enough to see himself as hot in the mirror and he sure as hell didn't think Ali looked manly...although she swung that hammer like most men he knew.

Focus Kyle!

Yeah, focus Kyle. Focus on the fact that she is smiling back at you. Focus on the fact that you're able to have fun with Ali without any worry of faking how you truly feel. Focus on the fact that she's looking at you to give some kind of response.

"Y-yeah.." Kyle said, feeling choked up for some reason. "Just like that!" He smiled, looking between her and the hammer. "I can't believe my advice actually worked, though. I mean, I knew it would but, you know sometimes I don't usually help things, so I'm just really surprised that it actually worked." He knew he was rambling and he let out a nervous chuckle. "I mean, you gave that platform a hell of a swing. You're a lot stronger than you look, y'know?"





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Location: Carinival (High Striker)
Interactions: Ali @King Kindred

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”Okay, that wasn’t bad. Good form, but--” Kyle stepped forward after he watched Ali take first cracks at the high striker. Kyle was, after all, a gentleman first and foremost. No amount of grand confessions against some fence nearby to her would change that. Besides, Ali was looking eager to go first, so who was he to deny her that pleasure? “--you have to put more swing into your swing.”

As Kyle looked at the bell at the top,there was a moment when he turned his head around to look at Ali, who he saw was just smiling at him, and he immediately became flustered internally (no so much externally because Kyle was a master at mostly concealing it). Nevertheless, he had someone watching him. He did say he would show her how to do it...not that she did anything wrong. Kyle wasn’t trying to mansplain her or anything. He hated when he heard people did that. But he also didn’t want Ali to hurt herself. The hammer was heavy and, well, he just wanted to show her how to properly get the most out of her swing.

That’s noble of him, right? Right!

“Right..” Kyle gripped the handle of the hammer, stepping up to the plate (so to speak) and raised it up. As he took in a deep breath, making sure to breathe from his stomach, as he exhaled, the hammer came crashing down onto the rubber pad. The next thing he heard was the bell sounding off and a wide smile came across his face.

“Now you give it another shot, Ali!” Kyle cheerfully said, handing her the hammer. They were the only ones at the game, so they could play it for as long as they wanted.


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Location OIC Quad → 155° Cafe
Mentions — Lola @Venus, Riley @WindsofFate
Interactions: Charlie @smarty0114

Andre's outfit of the day
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"Sloth? Really?"

Andre stood in front of the bulletin board, staring at the polaroids with just about everyone who was anyone. It was titled "The Elites". He thought that was an atrocious name. Not because some of the faces he saw weren't just that: elite, but that someone decided that these people, some of whom were his friends -- best friends, even -- should be dubbed The Elite. Like they had a say who was classed as such and who wasn't. Dre hated that. He hated that someone was separating those on the board, whose picture had but a single name attached to it, like they were defined by just that.

And, yeah he hated that his morning started off like this. But maybe it was the fact that his polaroid had the name Sloth. He didn't know what impression he gave to whoever was behind this to deserve such an insulting name. Did he favor being inside more than going to some stupid frat or sorority party? Sure. Of course, he would. He'd prefer it if he could just go about his business, not have to deal with the idiots who got accepted to OiC because of their parents' money or whatever pull they had with the administration. And yes, Dre understands the hypocrisy of this train of thought since he has full access to a well-off trust fund.

But here's the difference between Dre and them (or at least in his mind). He wants to make his own way. He felt like the one member in his family (except his oldest brother, Xander) who didn't want to use his family's money. If it were up to him, he'd do away with his surname, but even his mother's name was recognizable. So he figured the lesser of two evils.

And speaking of two evils, as Dre kept glaring at the board, he found himself centering on Lola's that was just above his. What were the odds? Probably slim, but considering Andre had a habit of calculating them, he wanted to study this board. Part of that was to prove that he wasn't a sloth.

Looking at his phone, Dre just noticed the time. "Oh fuck..." He cursed, rushing off, picking up his electric scooter that was leaning against a nearby tree. "I'm late! And after I finally caved!" Caved to finally meet with Charlie outside of classes and meeting to fix her computer.

He hopped on his scooter and made his way to the 155° Cafe.

After a couple of weeks of nonstop nagging to get him to hang out with her, Andre finally admitted defeat yesterday. Late last night, in fact. He was out about, going for a walk to clear his head after he had a less-than-vocal conversation with his roommate, Riley, about something he couldn't be bothered to remember right now. All he knew was she buttered him up without even realizing it. Honestly, it wasn't so bad. He rushed out of his dorm so quickly after he woke up that he forgot to eat. He had his eye on his leftover chicken sandwich from a couple of nights ago. He was pretty certain that would be gone, though. Like the bull he was labeled as, Andre had no doubt it would be gone by the time he returned to the dorm later today.

And thus why he wasn't totally sour about meeting Charlie at the cafe.

Speaking of, it came into view and, as he locked up his scooter on the bike rack next to it, he took in a deep breath. He didn't know why, but whenever he felt anxious about...,well anything, really, he felt that was the thing you were supposed to do. He didn't know and he wasn't a psychiatrist, but it was done and it helped him calm whatever nerves were getting out of wack.

When he opened the entrance door, he thought he heard someone call his name and that caught him off-guard.

..Okay, so maybe he was a little tenser than he was letting on.

God, I hope Charlie doesn't pick up on that...

As his eyes scanned the room, he realized someone did call for him. Waving from a table in the back, he saw Charlie and he instinctively gave her a smile, waving back, but he didn't move. Maybe part of him froze but there was a delayed response on the physical end of things. When it finally registered, he was walking towards the table and took a seat opposite of Charlie once he reached it.

"Hey, uh, sorry if I'm late.." He offered as an apology, laughing way too nervously for his own good. "Kinda got caught up in that bulletin board and just kind of lost track of time."

Way to prove that you're not a sloth, Mossos.

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Location: Carnival
Interactions:Mims @viktorseier

Outfit for The Vass Siblings
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Malu definitely hated lines with a passion.

Maybe it was her innate impatience or just the fact that when she was starving, especially on a day that didn't get off to the best start, she was extra irritible. But all she knew was that watching the line go so slow and how it just seemed to be like an old person driving -- like someone in their forties. And the longer she was forced to consistently watch the people inside the truck move like snails, the more she was starting to wonder if it was even worth being at the back of the line. Not even the text she just received from Mia, saying she was on her way, asking her to save her a spot in the line, was enough to put her into a better mood.

The only thing that might set the chemical imbalance that was about to result in her fist in someone's face was three orders of crunchy chicken tacos with extra hot sauce and lime juice.

"Hurry the fu—"

Suddenly, from behind Malu felt a decent enough force cut her off and that familiar smell of a certain Italian friend of hers always smelled of. Something consisting of something you'd expect the Kardashians to wear, but way hotter. "Jesus fuck, you sure know how to make an entrance."

"Hey, grouchy! I missed you!"

"Yeah, missed me so much you pounced me from behind." She gave Mia a teasing smirk. Their banter was always borderline sexually charged. It was a nice contrast between the nerdy one she often had with her Nala. Kind of a yin yang of her friendships. Question was, what was Mia?

And that's a question that would have to be answered later, because even before Romano spoke up, she noticed the new bangs.

"So, bangs, what are we thinking? ...Please say something nice. Vincent has been calling me a 'little lad' all morning, I need it for my self-esteem."

"About Vincent? The fact he didn't fail last year is proof I always have something nice to say about him, but after he did you dirty? He's only getting a C for the next quarter. Let's see him bitch after that." The thought made Malu laugh for a solid couple of moments. As she toned it down, she gave her girl a smile. "But you're killing it, bitch. And trust me, I bet he's just deflecting -- what with his little lad."

Someone had to stop Malu or she was going to commit verbal murder on him before the day was done.



Location — Working around town
What I'm wearing
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Levi found himself frozen in more ways than one. Paralyzed from the rush of adrenaline he knew he was experiencing because his heart was beating at a rapid pace and all because of that almost fatal blow he could have taken from whatever shot out of that monster's rifle. If he hadn't tackled the girl down when he did, they'd both meet a similar fate her door met. But another reason why he felt frozen was when another shot came and she pulled him down to where they were in a very similar position and the beam of whatever-it-was shot through the wall and the roof. The sight of the debris brought Levi back to planet Earth.

“Hand over the energems and I’ll let you live!”

Huh? Levi blankly glared at the freak of nature who made such a demand with a puzzled expression. "What are you talking about?"

After the confusion set in and remained on his defined face for a few more moments, Levi found himself on his feet, turning around. When the girl went for one of those things on the ground, he saw her pick up the blue one. He couldn't explain why, but he felt a...pull towards that green one. Like something beyond his comprehension was at play. Levi wasn't a believer in things like that. He found it to be too complicated, but he knew that his gut feeling was always right and it told him two things. One, something terrible was going to happen today, which based on the past five minutes, it did. And two, if these glowing rocks were those Energems (he was venturing a guess), then there was no way the worst cosplayer ever should get their hands on these.

As he picked it up and held it in his hand, it felt rough, but at the same time, it felt as smooth as granite. As he examined it, he heard his former customer taunt the monster and he cracked a smile as he closed the hand with the crystal thing in it, looking at his former customer next to him, leaning close. "You sure you should be taunting him like that? If he hits us with his rifle, well..." Levi glanced behind him at parts of her house that were in rubble, "well if it did that to your house, what do you think it'll do to us? It's not like we have anything to defend ourselves with..."







I was inspired today lol







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LOCATION Big House
INTERACTING WITH The Fleeting Grey-Grey @Moro || Claire my soul sister! @KatKook
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Vivian felt like she was struck by a tsunami.

Which made sense because Greyson was the Son of Poseidon, but also because as fast as her name was being called, the Daughter of Apollo soon found herself going from idle waiting to being solely responsible for showing the -- what did she say she was again? A Huntress of Artemis? Did that mean this Claire was a daughter of Artemis? Wait no, she remembered dad telling her once that Artemis didn’t birth children. She trained warriors like Wonder Woman.

Oh man, that reminded Vivian that she needed to watch the latest Wonder Woman movie. The one with Pedro Pascal in it. She’s heard mixed things, but she wanted to see it for herself.

“Wait what was I doing again?”

BLinking a few times, she heard Greyson say to meet him and the others at the hill in half an hour.

Half an hour.

Thirty minutes.

Right. This was doable, right? Yeah, she could totally show...uhh, the not-daughter of Artemis-but-still-weirdly-relating-to-Arty around.

WAsn’t there something else her father told her about Artemis? Something she was forgetting about?

“Artemis...Artemis…”

A noticeable gasp escaped Vivian’s lips as she turned her confusing expression into a wide smile, grabbing Claire’s hands as she brought the girl into an impromptu hug. “Artemis is my aunt! And even more, she and my father are twins! So that practically makes us twin sisters, doesn’t it?” As she said all of this, Vivian was squeezing the girl so close that she thought she might suffocate her.

And maybe she did, so she let go, backing away a few steps. “Sorry!” She gave the girl an apologetic expression. “I...can get carried away sometimes.” That was the God’s-honest truth and it was something Vivian was working on not doing as frequently as she did.

Nobody was perfect.

When she dialed it back and found herself brushing off not only herself, but did a mental brushing off, her hyperactiveness settled and Vivian stared at her fellow blonde, smiling at her in a normal way.

“Do it myself? Don’t be silly! Grey-Grey said I have thirty minutes. And, what you’ll probably be staying at, uhhh…” She tried to think if there even was an Artemis Cabin or not. She didn’t necessarily excel at this part. Her lessons in the layout of camp haven’t been great. She only knows her way to the beach because that’s her happy place. “I think there’s a cabin somewhere...over that way?” She pointed to her right where she saw the forest. “Or that might be where the tents are.”

Vivian thought and hummed for a few moments, looking away and to Claire frequently. “Are you more of a cabin girl or tent?” She asked matter-of-factly.


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