Mjolnir

Greek mythology demigods - Camp Athens

⚠️ ACCEPTING NEW CHARACTERS / WRITERS ⚠️
roles filled

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We just started a new day and have a couple openings for more writers to join camp!

There are 2 available spots for writers to join Camp Athens. Writers are welcome to have as little or as many characters as they'd like in this RP, whatever makes you excited and you can handle :) (I'm crazy and have a lot)

• Here is a list of available Gods and Goddesses. Priority obviously goes to available slots, but any God with two children is open for a third aside from Poseidon currently. (The character list is accurate but there are some character sheets on this page that are no longer in the RP, so keep that in mind)
• Camp Athens has an easy format that allows characters to join pretty much whenever, so don't worry about joining in the middle. Myself and the other writers will help you get your bearings and feel welcome!
• Writing expectations - 400 word minimum per character post with a minimum one post per character a month, although the average is more along the lines of one post every 2 weeks.
• Strict no ghosting policy, so if you have a habit of disappearing this probably isn't the RP for you. As long you communicate I'm super understanding and flexible.
• For any questions, ideas, brainstorming, or applications feel free to DM @Mjolnir. To officially apply, send me a DM with a completed CS of the character/s you are wanting to play. (You're always welcome to reach out prior to discuss your idea and see if it would fit before putting in the work. I completely understand!)

Thanks so much! I hope to hear from some of you soon! :D

Roles have been filled. If anything new opens up I will, as always, update this thread so people know! Thanks so much!

Post Deletions

I've had a handful of people leave my RP recently and due to me wanting to open it back up to new writers I'd like to remove/hide their posts for newcomers not to get confused. Any of the posts with characters or code, I've went ahead and sent that to their perspective writers so they don't lose any of their hard work.

roleplayerguild.com/posts/5602627

roleplayerguild.com/posts/5602677

roleplayerguild.com/posts/5602678

roleplayerguild.com/posts/5602816

Thank you so much! I appreciate it :)

Descendants

^{#962929 ....|..... hell's angel ....|..... outfit .....|..... #ed1c24 .....|..... vanguard ....|..... red hoodie, gray sweats .....|..... descendant tower}

Imogen and Luke exited the simulation, their wet clothes dripping a trail of water behind them as they returned to their seats. Phil took a minute to cue up the next training before calling out their names, "Jim and Myla."

Myla sighed softly, giving Theo’s hand a reassuring squeeze before she stood up. She took a deep breath, pushing her pain and discomfort back into a dark corner of her mind for her to worry about afterwards. She took a step forward like she didn’t just take a knife to it the night before. A heat flared in her thigh but she ignored it and made her way to the door. She waited for Jim, planning on using him for a frame of reference for where to stand, but deciding to not be a complete ass, she held the door open for him as well.

He entered, barely glancing in her direction as he shook his head. This entire exercise was meaningless. He would never be caught without his suit close by in public, especially given recent developments. But no, Phil wanted to make a point in the only way weak men with middling intellects could: physical humiliation. Perhaps it was the high of the morning that made him willing to play along, or he was so exhausted he was just running on auto-pilot while he was busy doing all the things everyone else in the tower was far too incompetent to handle. He wanted this over quickly.

She followed him across the room and when they were halfway to the center Myla parted her lips and filled the silence. "I heard what you said." Her voice had no inflection or emotion, more stating a fact rather than searching for a reason to start a fight. The next words churned in her stomach like acid. Her natural instinct was to choke it back like bile but she forced it out before she could think better of it. "I… appreciate the gesture." It came out slow and almost painful, like each word was its own sentence and thought. She rang her hands uncomfortably and sighed. "But, for the same reason why you won’t apologize, I will not say ‘thank you.’"

Jim rolled his eyes as he looked in her direction, making his way to the starting position in the center of the room. "I don’t apologize for trying to keep my friends and family safe, or reminding people that computers exist." His words were flat, with a hint of annoyance bubbling under the surface. With the blowup over privacy, he had been proven right: the enemy knew who each of them were already. Putting on a skimpy leather outfit and a motorcycle helmet didn’t do jack shit to hide from them or keep their families from getting discovered. What Jim did in seconds they had years to do. At least now Jim could keep tabs on them… or, more accurately, his advanced AI assistant. "But at least I say thank you when someone drops thousands of dollars on me."

Myla sighed, the muscles in her jaw tensing and her nostrils flaring as she turned her head toward the exit half contemplating calling it here. She could train with Theo later or work out in the gym or literally anything else besides trying to make nice and team build with Iron Boy. "I’m trying to protect my family and friends too. That’s the reason I have a secret identity. And once I knew what this all was about I would have told you. You don’t have to like me. I just wanted respect, but you were a dick two seconds after I walked through the door."

She crossed her arms over her chest, suppressing the pain as the stitches along her side tugged at the movement. Myla stepped onto the X as far away from Jim as physically possible. She should have remained quiet, bit her tongue until it bled, pushed through the training, and disappeared into the tower without feeding into his self righteous ego. "Then why did you do it?" The words slipped out before she could choke them back. She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head as she turned away from him. "Nevermind."

Jim was happy to have space from Myla as he stepped onto the X as well, folding his arms and giving a glance up towards the observation window. This was stupid, the entire situation. Honestly, he was pretty sure Phil was still trying to punish him or teach him a lesson about the day before. All he needed to do was further brutalize a young woman who clearly needed medical attention and rest, which was a classic Coulson move. As much as he wanted to ignore her question, he simply couldn’t. He spoke very quietly, the smallest of whispers that he had forgotten she could hear. "There isn’t anyone else left to do it. Just us."

Myla turned her head slightly toward him but whether or not she planned on saying anything else was cut off by Phil’s voice echoing around the concrete walls. "Thumbs up when you’re both ready." She sighed, slipped her right hand from where it was pinned against her side and held up her thumb.

"Emergency shut down word is ‘watermelon’. Simulation will begin in 3… 2… 1."

While she had been observing everyone else’s training, for the simple fact that they were simulations, she expected it all to not work very well on her. It wasn’t like she could be deceived by illusions when she couldn’t even see them. But she could feel the way the room changed around her, the air pressure rose while the temperature fluctuated a few degrees that was unperceivable to most. The whirring of spinning gears reverberated beneath the floor as pieces meant to be hidden from sight shifted and moved. Myla had a hard time focusing on any one thing until everything stopped.

She didn’t know how they did it, but she could hear and feel everything around her like she was actually there. From what she could tell, they were in a decent sized storage room. There was one door on the far wall and some kind of small skylight window overhead. The room was filled with metal shelves that reached nearly to the ceiling and were filled with boxes of… she wasn’t sure. There were a couple tables, a few chairs and that was about it. Compared to what everyone else was thrown into, Myla was almost disappointed at how basic it all felt. She reached out a hand and touched the cool metal of one of the shelves as if to check that it was actually there… And it was. She couldn’t wrap her mind around it but she didn’t really have the time to try and dissect how it worked either.

Myla quickly took stock of their strange environment knowing that they maybe had a minute before whatever rush of enemies came at them. What she did know was they were cornered so unlike the other simulations this wasn’t about brute strength but smarts and ingenuity. That made sense considering her current company and their combined lack of powers or muscle. With only one door separating them from their attackers, Myla hurried to the nearest shelf, grabbed the supports and started tugging it toward the entrance. She was deceptively strong for someone of her size and stature, managing to drag, then shove the heavy piece of furniture in front of the door as a barricade. She wiped the sweat from her brow while turning to face Jim. "That’ll give us two minutes… If we’re lucky."

Jim hadn’t bothered to wait for Myla to do the only thing she could: act as a barrier between him and whatever was coming. Training without his suit was cruel and illogical, and Myla was one breeze away from the ICU and a high insurance bill he would have to sort with HR. A supply cabinet was not exactly the ideal circumstances. He needed to work quickly. His eyes scanned the storage shelves. He made note of the various industrial cleaners, solvents, rolls of duct tape, a plastic funnel, two bottles of vinegar, a shop vac, and various other bits and bobs. He moved swiftly, not bothering to explain much as he already slid clean a shelf at chest height and began grabbing a few bottles.

He flicked open a small toolbox in the corner, producing a box cutter from its contents. He went to work quickly, slicing through the shop vacuum's tubing, pulling it free and tossing it on the shelf he was using for his experiments.

He began preparing his first concoction. He poured about half a bottle of vinegar into a jug of bleach, shoving the vacuum cleaner's flexible tubing over the top and setting a roll of duct tape next to it. "Stuff some rags under the door. And you better start praying this is all fake." He wrapped a healthy amount of duct tape to keep the tube secure before quickly rushing it towards the door, propping the end of the tube so that a hazy gas began pouring through the crack in the door frame. "Let's see how far Phil lets this go."

Myla did as instructed, not that she particularly enjoyed taking orders from him but because it was supposed to be about team work… Or something like that, and it wasn’t like she had any better ideas. She grabbed handfuls of rags and hurried toward the storage shelf that was pinned against the door. She quickly cleared the bottom shelf with a sweep of her leg, then knelt down onto it as she started shoving the cloth beneath the door. When Jim set the jug down beside her, she quickly snapped her eyes shut and held her breath. She didn’t need to ask what it was and she didn’t care to find out the hard way either. With a few leftover rags, she draped them over the bottle creating a shoddy funnel to direct as much of the gas under the crack and away from them.

She quickly got back to her feet and took a couple steps back, sucking in a deep breath then coughing. "Doesn’t smell fake," Myla commented, more rhetorically than anything. The smell was familiar enough to spark a faint memory of a scuffle on the docks that made her lungs feel like they were on fire for weeks. She searched a few more of the shelves until she found a couple more rags. Working quickly, she knotted them together into a shitty mask that wouldn’t filter out much but it was better than nothing.

Now what did they do? Wait? Myla felt like a caged animal, restless and antsy with nothing else to do but wait. She continued to search the shelves and various storage supplies for anything that could be used as a weapon, but a vacuum wasn’t going to be much help. There was a mop, which she removed the head from and snapped the handle in half over her thigh into something vaguely similar to her batons. After tucking them into the back of her pants’ waistband she started stacking the heaviest supplies on the shelf closest to the door, as high up as possible. She then went around to the other side, bracing her back up against it, ready to knock it over the second the door was breached. "Just keep MacGyver-ing and stay clear of the door." That time she instructed Jim. While neither one of them wanted to admit the other’s strengths, he was the brains and she was the brawn… That was the only way they were getting through it.

Jim had no such reassurance of success. He was stuck with a broken glorified bouncer with a temper who, at the very least, seemed incapable of hearing the eyes rolling in his head at her feeble attempt at a command. He had bigger things to worry about. He opened up the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and dumped some of its contents into what was left of the jug of bleach along with a small package of nails. He gave it a small shake before setting it down on the counter. Myla's comment on the smell being authentic did worry him slightly, but Jim was going to take this seriously enough. He had a hard time turning down a challenge. Phil would need to be the one to pull the plug.

The sound of approaching footsteps sent her back to her cluttered bedroom in Foggy’s apartment. Myla’s heart raced and breaths grew shallow as she lost herself to the memory. The attackers attempted stealth, but their steps were still too heavy, beating out of sync with the rattling bullets in their gun clips, the soft clinking of metal buckles shifting, and the swish of fabric rubbing together. Roger’s words replayed like a curse, burrowing into her skull with the sound of a silenced gunshot, the searing pain of a blade in her thigh, and the earsplitting tone, so strong that just the thought nearly made her knees buckle. The memory fogged her mind and deafened her to everything around her, dulling her senses and slowing her reflexes.

It wasn’t until three men had already broken open the door and started filing into the room that Myla snapped out of it. "Fuck," she muttered through gritted teeth as she kicked off the wall and threw herself back against the top heavy bookshelf. The precarious metal structure creaked and groaned before toppling over, knocking down two of the goons and pinning them beneath the shelf and all its heavy contents that fell on top of them. She stumbled to her feet and quickly kicked the bottle of chlorine gas down the hall toward the approaching mercenaries in hopes to keep as much of it out of the room as possible.

The third intruder narrowly missed being crushed by his comrades and was quickly closing the distance towards Jim. His gun was raised and finger hovering on the trigger when Myla called out, "Duck!" She ran at the man, jumped in the air and lunged at his back. The attack startled him, causing him to reflexively pull the trigger and a dart flew past Jim before impaling itself on the wall behind him. The stitches in Myla’s side tore as she wrapped her arms around the man’s neck in a tight choke hold. Her legs locked around his waist, holding tight as he thrashed around, clawing at her arms and slammed her back against a wall. Warm blood pooled against her shirt and trickled down her side, but she hardly noticed. Normally she would have tried to knock the man out, but even in a simulation that type of scenario was undoubtedly life or death, at least in her experience. Rather than wasting time, she grabbed his head and snapped his neck. When his body collapsed beneath her, she tucked and rolled off his back as he hit the ground.

Jim, in the meantime, was busy with his third mixture when the call out came. He turned his gaze back towards the open door, taking in the sight of Myla struggling with only a few mercenaries. He gave the bottle of hydrogen peroxide a shake after adding in some vinegar. He walked briskly past her, towards the men still struggling under the shelf, and poured the concoction on their heads. The projections over their faces shifted and changed as the metal masks of the training drones bubbled up. The acid tore through them with ease, but there was not nearly enough for the more he heard in the hallway. Their simulated choking and gasping was not going to keep them at bay forever. When Myla was finally done fighting the drone, Jim shook his head. "This is going to take forever at this rate."

Still crouched on the ground, Myla reached out and grabbed a half empty gallon of paint. She climbed to her feet and made her way toward the door, making sure to avoid whatever putrid smelling liquid Jim doused the pinned men with. She swung the can by its wire handle and chucked it down the narrow hallway. It slammed into the man leading the charge, hitting him square in the face and sending him tumbling over like a domino. "If it was supposed to be quick, you’d have your suit," she replied plainly, like it was obvious the training was intended to test them and not be quick. Although it would have been a hell of a lot faster if Jim threw a couple punches too.

Myla continued to search the shelves for anything weighty enough to throw at the men as they approached. She found a few random bricks, a rusted putty knife, and an old heavy tape measure. But even so, it didn’t do much beyond slowing them down and with a toppled bookshelf between them, it made it difficult when she couldn’t close the distance. She weighed her options before backing up to the wall opposite the door. It was stupid and likely wouldn’t end well, but there was only so much a half empty supply room and cleaning products could do. If she could buy Jim enough time to use the one muscle he did have, then maybe they’d pull through.

Before she could think better of it, she sprinted toward the door and leapt over the fallen bookshelf. Myla’s fingertips grasped at the small lip at the top of the doorframe, managing to hold on just long enough to swing her body. More of the stitches in her side popped in protest from the strain as she threw her legs forward and slammed her feet into the chest of the closest goon. Her grip slipped and she fell to the ground while the momentum knocked the man over, taking two others down with him. Myla pressed her palms back into the floor beside her head and got back to her feet with a quick kip up. She pulled the broken mop handle pieces from her waistband and started fighting her way down the hall, ducking punches, busting kneecaps, and slamming her makeshift batons into any body parts within reach.

While Myla was throwing junk at the assailants, Jim was busy checking the last trick he had up his sleeve. The bottle was bulging slightly at the seams, ready to combust with even the slightest bit of pressure. It wasn’t a very powerful explosive, but it was the best he could construct with such limited supplies. The nails inside would shred through anything nearby. It wouldn’t take them all out, but it would be enough to thin the herd enough for Myla to do her thing while he tried to figure out his next move.

And then, Myla jumped out into the hallway.

"Idiot!" Jim looked at his makeshift bomb, moments away from exploding, and then out into the hall where noxious gas was. There was nowhere safe to throw the bomb now, and he was not going to burn his eyes and lungs further. The large red stain on Myla's shirt was a clear sign that she needed medical assistance. This was a losing battle, and she was going to get herself killed. He had only one option as he moved away from the explosive. "Watermelon!"

Myla pushed her way through the attackers, moving farther from the gas and trying to land as many blows as possible. While she might have looked crazy for running into the fray, it was narrow corridors like that where she thrived. Tight and compact spaces made it difficult for assailants to use their weapons effectively, but she moved with a swift finesse, ignoring the pain in her side as she utilized their clumsiness to her advantage. At one point she threw one of the pieces of mop handle up into the overhead light, shattering the lightbulb and casting the hallway in darkness. She cracked the last shoddy baton in half across the face of the man to her right then plunged the remaining piece into the eye socket of merc on her left. Hearing someone else approach from behind she ducked out of the way then kicked off the wall, fist balled to bring her knuckles right down on their temple. But before her hit connected she heard Jim call out the safeword and the simulation vanished. With all her built up momentum and nothing to stop it, Myla stumbled forward and fell to her knees. Her palms pressed against the cool concrete to keep herself from tipping over as she tried to catch her breath.

Why the fuck out of everyone in the tower did she have to be partnered with fucking Stark? At that point she might have genuinely preferred Ronnie. After everything she had been through, she was trying her best, using knowledge from her own experience and pushing past the pain to try… And this is what she got? It felt like nothing she could do would ever be enough to his arrogant, elitist gaze. Fight through her injuries? Not enough. Be the body guard while he played mad scientist? Idiot. There was a fleeting thought to get up and just… walk out, out of the simulation and out of the tower. But she wasn’t there for herself, this was for her father, and Theo’s father, and everyone else who was taken. It was that thought, and that thought alone that kept her from leaving.

With a frustrated grunt, Myla pushed off the ground and got back on her feet. Her left hand ripped the makeshift mask from her face and threw the cloth aside while her right hand pressed against her bleeding ribs. She felt the warmth seeping between her fingers as she trudged toward the exit without a word, shoving past Jim in the process. Stoic, silent, and pissed, she slipped back onto the bench beside Theo, seeking his comfort while her face turned from everyone but him. There was a part of her that felt guilty, relying on him so heavily knowing the burden it put on him, but if it wasn’t for Theo… She didn’t know if she could survive that place.

Jim took the shove, standing relatively motionless as he looked up towards the observation window. He didn't care about the stares of the rag-tag group of wannabe heroes watching with either interest or glee in his failure. His eyes locked onto Phil, watching carefully with his arms folded. Phil's expression didn't reveal much, and Jim wasn't the kind of person who could read even the most obviously broadcasted emotions. The one thing he did see, however, was the agent. The older man was running calculations behind his stoic mask, and Jim saw an unflattering reflection.

Jim shook his head, slowly walking towards the door. He didn't care if he failed, or if Phil was disappointed, or if Myla was going to hit him later. He wasn't going to gamble with their safety and health. She needed new stitches and time to rest. He only hoped her boy toy was strong enough to make sure she recovered in peace.

^{interactions ....|.... theo ............... mentions ....|.... none ............... collabs ....|.... @webboysurf}

Camp Athens - Closed

^{#86a8ad ....|..... outfit .....|..... #bd1664 ....|..... outfit .....|..... around camp > arena}

Somewhere in the middle of the night, the gap between River and Anissa slowly closed until her head nestled into the curve of his chest and neck. Even with a blanket separating them, she curled and burrowed into the recesses of his body. He held her close, wrapped in his arms as his chin rested against the crown of her head, the soft scent of her floral shampoo filling his dreams with every breath. River could have slept half of the day away if he let himself.

The rising sun peaked over the treetops and the rays of light poured through the blinds and splayed across the room. Self trained to rise with the dawn, the radiating warmth across his back and the increasing brightness slowly stirred River from his deep slumber. His eyes remained shut as he groaned and subconsciously tightened his hold on Anissa, tugging her slightly closer. It wasn’t until he pried his eyelids open and looked down at the familiar woman pressed against his chest that all the events of the previous night came flooding back into him like a startling wake up call. So… It wasn’t all a dream. That realization excited him and terrified him in the same breath leaving him frozen and at a loss for what to do, or how to act.

River remained unmoving, lost to the revolving spiral of his thoughts for longer than he should have, going back and forth between attempting to fall back asleep or forcing himself out of bed. Both tasks seemed impossible. It was only when he caught a glimpse of the clock on the nightstand showing it was nearly 7 a.m. that he finally got the motivation to move. Slowly and carefully, he separated himself from Anissa’s grasp and replaced the gap from his absence with one of her pillows. He shifted until he sat on the edge of the bed, making sure to jostle it as little as possible while he quickly slipped on his shoes.

He could have gotten up and left, but there was a nagging feeling in his gut that made him want to leave a note behind or something that showed he didn’t regret it or want to leave. River thought back on how drunk she had been and while he knew little about hangover remedies, he wasn't completely ignorant to the side effects. He quickly got to work, brewing a pot of coffee, grabbing a fresh glass of water and even searched her medicine cabinet until he managed to find some aspirin. It took him a bit longer to find a spare piece of paper and a pen so he could leave her a note, but after a few minutes of looking he found a napkin which would suffice.

I’m sorry I had to leave.
First day bullshit.
I can’t hide from being the leader forever.
... I wanted to stay.

There’s fresh coffee in the pot. Take two aspirin and drink lots of water… please?

Happy New Years, Beauty Queen

Ocean boy

Quietly, River walked back into her bedroom and set the glass of water, note, and bottle of aspirin on her nightstand for Anissa to find whenever she woke up. For a moment he hesitated, listening to the soft sounds of her restful breaths and studying the peaceful expression of her face. There was a growing urge to kiss her… one last time, like the magic of the night would come crashing down the moment he walked out the door and everything that transpired would fade away like a fever dream. But he didn’t. Instead he reached out. The tips of his fingers lightly ran along her forehead and down her temple before tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

Well… It was a good dream…

With a soft sigh, he pulled his hand away and walked out of her bedroom.

Given everything with the party and Anissa, River had all but forgotten that it was fucking winter and there was snow on the ground… Until he stepped out the front door and was hit with a frosty blast against his exposed arms and chest. If he wasn’t awake before, the frigid air was like a shock of sobriety to the soul. He crossed his arms and rubbed his biceps as he briskly hurried along the beach toward his cabin. He was outside for maybe a minute total and that was already more than his fill of winter… forever. His Hawaiian blood wasn’t made for that type of weather.

Back in his cabin for the first time since before the party, River wasted no time hopping into an exceptionally warm shower. He remained under the scalding water replaying his first day at camp, but more specifically his first night. He wasn’t able to fight the images of Anissa and the memories of their shared kisses, and almost more, that pushed to the forefront of his mind. He was thankful when the water ran cold for several reasons, but most importantly to pull him out of his mind and snap him out of his temporary haze. After finishing getting cleaned, he finally got out and dressed in more training appropriate clothing. He made sure to grab a coat and a hat to cover his wet hair, before braving the frigid weather for a second time.

First he stopped by the main office, setting the arena’s temperature to something far more tolerable and balmy, and grabbed a camp roster. River detoured past the map stand that definitely wasn’t there when he first arrived. He could find the arena easy enough, it was giant and in the middle of everything, but a map would be helpful to navigate everything else. Then he made his way to the arena. Stepping inside he was met by a large coliseum with a plethora of seating encircling a dirt clearing in the middle. He quickly realized his plan for training couldn’t be accomplished without help. There wasn’t an easy button in the office to give him what he needed which meant only one thing… swallowing his pride.

Using the map as a guide, River found his way to a small glass cabin nestled deep in the woods in the northeast corner of camp. He slowly made his way up the curving path, pacing back and forth every few steps as he tried to figure out what the hell he was even going to say. Only once he realized no amount of overthinking would solve that, he approached the door before he could talk himself out of it and knocked.

Inside the cabin, Andy and Mason were fast asleep, only having gone to bed a few hours before. Neither one of them stirred at the first knock. It wasn’t until the second louder bang that they both were startled awake with annoyed groans. Mason’s body curved around Andy’s, pulling her closer with an arm around her waist, lightly pressing her back against his chest. His face was nestled against the nape of her neck, warm steady breaths brushed her skin as he whispered, "Ignore it," and placed a tender kiss against the back of her shoulder.

Andy lightly ran her hand along his forearm and slipped her fingers between his. She gently pushed back into his embrace, finding warmth and comfort in the sensation of his bare skin caressing hers. There was a brief, fleeting moment where her fuzzy, sleep-addled mind forgot about the knock on the door. All she was aware of was Mason’s arms around her, his naked body against hers, and the way the tickle of his breaths sent a chill down her spine. She wondered if they had enough rest, contemplated climbing back on top of him, and even slowly turned beneath the blankets to face him…

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Her entire face contorted into an annoyed grimace as she reluctantly pried herself from his embrace and slipped out from the warmth of her bed. Andy quickly grabbed the first piece of clothing she could find and pulled it on, which happened to be Mason’s blue dress shirt from the night before. She groggily buttoned it as she made her way toward the door, the entire right side skewed from being misaligned. She yawned and crossed one arm over her stomach as she opened the door. A large, heavy handed fist came swinging down to knock again just as she came into view and she barely managed to sidestep before she got hit square between the eyes.

The early morning breeze was so cold against Andy’s bare legs that an involuntary shiver rolled down her body and tensed her muscles. Her face twisted into an obvious grimace as she rolled her eyes at the sight of River. "Are you lost?" She tightened her arms across her chest as if to keep in some of her warmth.

River sucked in a breath between clenched teeth, immediately regretting coming. He should have figured it out on his own or made do with whatever was at his disposal, but it was all irrelevant now. There was no turning back. "Look…" He sighed. "I am sorry for how I acted yesterday. I… There’s a lot of expectations on my shoulders and—you don’t care. Right." It wasn’t until his gaze fell to his feet that he realized how under dressed Andy was. His face flushed as he took a step back and focused his attention anywhere but her. He didn’t see her in that way, if anything it reminded him of his night with Anissa, but he still felt bashful, uncomfortable, and now even more like he shouldn’t have bothered her. He could only imagine how frustrated he’d be if someone bothered him while he was… indisposed. "I didn’t realize." He awkwardly motioned toward her and her cabin as if that filled the gaps where his words failed. "I shouldn’t have come. I’ll just—yeah." He pointed his thumb behind him, spun on his feet, and promptly tried to disappear and forget everything.

Andy sighed and tucked her lips between her teeth in thought. Before she could think better of it, she reluctantly called after him. "What did you want, River?"

He sighed, slowly spinning back around to face her. "I…" River sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I was going to start training today," he hesitated, letting his gaze bounce around before finally locking with hers. "And I could use your help."

There was a long pause while Andy tapped the tips of her fingers against her biceps as she weighed his words. She didn’t want to leave her cabin and train. That was honestly the last thing she wanted to do. Having to help River with whatever he had in store only made it worse. She had half a mind to refuse him, go back inside and close the door, but it was like Mason always said… She was too nice. And while she wasn’t a leader for long, she would have hoped someone would have been willing to help her if she needed it. Karma and all that.

"Help with what?"

River genuinely looked a bit stunned that she was humoring him, let alone actually hearing him out. "Ok, well," he started and took a small step forward. "I don’t really know where everyone stands—physically or whatever—so I was going to do a handful of assessment trainings to get everyone’s baseline."

Andy nodded her head, following along. "Makes sense."

"I wanted to start with an agility course, kind of like what the military uses, and there are a lot of controls in the Main Office, but nothing for that."

It was ironic how the one person River sought out for help was probably the only person at camp with extensive military bootcamp experience. Andy still had little to no desire to help, but it was quickly becoming apparent that she was the only person who could lend a hand. She sighed softly and held up three fingers. "I have three conditions."

Surprised that she was agreeing in the first place, River nodded his head before hearing what she had to say.

"Giant coffee. Breakfast—the more meat the better, I’ll need it for energy—and the promise you’ll never wake me up this early again unless it’s an emergency." With each condition Andy dropped a finger. Honestly, she probably could have gotten away with more, but she wasn’t mean… and she was running on only a few hours of sleep. "Deal?"

The food was easy, but not waking her up early was going to be a harder promise to keep. River was always a morning person and believed in training or working out first thing everyday. But maybe he could consider pushing training back to nine in the morning in the future or at least avoid coming to her for help that early. He’d cross that bridge when he got there. "Deal. Meet you at the arena in fifteen?"

Andy nodded her head in agreement and slipped back into her cabin without another word. She sighed and leaned back against her front door as it shut. Her gaze drifted over to Mason who she could tell had been trying desperately to eavesdrop, but his exhaustion had won out. She knew he was going to be grumpy that she wasn’t coming back to bed and leaving before the sun had fully risen, so she opted to let him rest for the time being.

The soft thump of her bare feet against the floor echoed throughout the tiny cabin as she crossed the room toward her dresser. Her fingers lazily unbuttoned the shirt she borrowed, removed it and draped it neatly over the armrest of her small sofa. Even though she was inside, the chill of winter wasn’t lost on her as she sifted through her drawers, naked, looking for something suitable for training. It had been at least two years since she ran any military exercises, but the obstacle courses were always the easiest in her opinion, so she wasn’t all that worried. She settled on a simple set of athletic clothing that was snug but breathable. Shorts might not have been the most practical decision in the middle of winter, but knowing how hot she’d get, she would be thankful for it in the long run.

As she started wiggling into the shorts, the familiar chime of the camp wide P.A. system played from the hidden speaker in her cabin and filled the silence. "Good morning campers. This is your new leader, River, speaking. It is currently 7:30 a.m. on January 1st. Your first training will begin in one hour at 8:30 a.m. in the arena. Please arrive promptly and dress accordingly." River’s announcement lacked some of the friendly bedside manner hers had, but it got the message across… She supposed. While she had expected another leader to be sent to camp at some point, there was still the faintest sting from hearing him address everyone. It could have been her. She tried her best and thought she was doing a decent job, but it wasn’t enough… Or the Gods didn’t like her. She scoffed at the thought. Andy couldn’t help but wonder if Alex had any hand in dethroning her. It’d make sense.

After she finished getting dressed, she threw her hair up into a messy bun and slipped on her sneakers. As her gaze fell back on Mason who was slowly waking and bundled in her blankets she realized that he not only came to her cabin with only the clothes on his back, but he didn’t have anything there for training or the cold. Andy waved her hand, gathering his clothes that were scattered around her room, telekinetically folding them and resting them in a neat pile on the nightstand beside him. Then her fingers did a little wiggle and a fresh set of men’s athletic attire, boxers, socks, gym shoes and a winter coat all materialized on her couch for him to find when he got up.

She slowly made her way to his side of the bed and lowered herself to sit down beside him on the edge. Andy gently ran her fingers through his hair, smiling down at him with a sad contentment, happy to see him in her bed, but sad to leave him. "I have to go," she whispered. She leaned in, turning his head slightly to face her, and gave him a tender kiss. "Don’t oversleep," she teased against his lips, gave him one more kiss, then pulled herself away before she succumbed and fell back into bed with him.

Andy grabbed a coat and disappeared out the front door. It didn’t take her more than a couple minutes with her brisk pace to reach the arena. Luckily, the second she stepped inside it felt like the entire coliseum had the heater running and was a comfortable temperature like the party the night before. River was already waiting for her in the stands with a heaping plate of food and a coffee big enough to keep her awake for a week or give her cardiac arrest. Perfect. She pulled off her coat, setting it aside as she sat down opposite him and the food. Before getting down to business, she chugged half of the coffee and ate two links of sausage. "Alright," she sighed and lightly patted her thighs. "So what am I making?"

River adjusted to sit beside her, holding out his clipboard for her to see. "Ok, so here’s what I was thinking…"

After over half an hour of conjuring various obstacles to River’s exact specifications, with an empty coffee thermos and no more food, Andy made her way back over to the stands. She bunched up her coat as a makeshift pillow and laid on her back along one of the benches. "Wake me up when it’s time for training."

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Descendants

^{#cdb6d6 ....|..... ronin ....|..... red adidas track suit .....|..... #cb6b06 ....|..... #d13b00 .....|..... ghost rider ....|..... outfit .....|..... descendant tower}

After the destruction of the simulation room, Phil and Alfred begrudgingly led everyone down one floor to sub-level 7. They had to sit around for another ten minutes or so as Phil clicked away at the computer, preparing the training exercises over a second time. But after getting everything in order, he called out to the room for the next pair. "Judith and Jameson."

James pushed off his knees and got to his feet. His gaze drifted over to the blonde he’d be fighting alongside, an uncomfortable stirring growing in the pit of his stomach. Just need to get it over with quickly, he reassured himself as he stepped into the simulation room and held the door open for her. As she walked past, his back tensed as he felt the steam billow beneath the collar of his shirt. He shifted how he stood and rolled his shoulders before following after her into the concrete room.

The spirit shifted, perking up like a dog that caught the scent of prey. "Behave," James snipped under his breath.

I will if she does, the spirit replied in his mind, alert and attentive like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, ready to pounce.

James looked over at Jules with an apologetic smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Sorry, not you," he commented while pointing at his head. He clicked his tongue as he slid his hands into the front pocket of his jeans and made his way over to the large X in the middle of the room.

Jules remained calm and collected as she entered, her eyes scanning the room as she took in the space. Despite wearing layers, she felt starkly naked without any weapons on her. Her hands smoothed out the front of her tracksuit, her eyebrows raising at James’ first comment. She nodded as he explained, her hands held up in a makeshift boxing pose as she readied herself. "Right… well… in my line of work, demons not liking you is a good thing. Usually it means you're on the right side." Her own smile didn't exactly reach her eyes as she looked James over nervously. People and robots she could handle. Vengeful spirits and ghosts were out of her wheelhouse.

"It’s a little more complicated than that," he admitted with a slight shrug and a raise of his brows. "But if it’s any consolation, the fiery guy only hates sinners. So if you have a free conscience then you’re safe." James met her gaze, flashing her a tight lipped smile. While he didn’t mean it as a threat, he found himself studying her face for any betrayal of how she truly felt. There was something that festered in her that made the spirit stir, he just didn’t know what.

Jules simply shrugged at the response, cracking her neck as she stood on the X.

"Thumbs up when you’re both ready," Phil’s voice reverberated from some hidden recess somewhere in the room.

James had watched two of the other trainings and how different they were. Going into this he had no idea what to expect aside from a lot of angry fuckers trying to shoot at them. He understood the purpose in training but knowing how powerful and practically invincible the Ghost Rider was, he was struggling to see how it wouldn’t end faster than it started. He could try to hold back for Jules sake so she could get in a couple licks, but in the end the spirit did whatever he wanted. If he was lucky they both had a hand on the steering wheel while they fought for power… But it was messy. He cleared his throat and held up his thumb, ready to get it started and over with quickly… hopefully.

"Emergency shut down word is ‘watermelon’. Simulation will begin in 3… 2… 1."

The lights slowly dimmed as the room was thrust into the darkness of night. A low hanging fog spread across the ground masking the various gravestones scattered haphazardly around a small white chapel like something out of a horror film. James stood on the outside of a dilapidated white picket fence that separated himself from the holy ground. He swallowed as an unfamiliar anxiety rose in his chest and the spirit remained eerily still. His hand hesitantly reached out to rest on the broken gate before pushing it open. "I have a bad feeling about this," he whispered more to himself and the spirit, rather than Jules.

"I know… I hate long sermons," Jules teased. "But hey… do you think they offer confession?" She walked past James with her hands raised in fists. Her steps were deliberate and swift, her eyes scanning any windows for shadows or movements. She crossed the path to the outer wall of the chapel as quick as she could, placing her back against the white wood. She was waiting for the other shoe to drop, as it had in the other simulations. Her eyes drifted to the scattered gravestones… god, she hoped it wasn’t zombies.

James forced out a weak laugh but he had a hard time finding amusement in their current predicament when something felt… off. He took one step forward, placing his boot on the hallowed ground. The walls around the spirit’s cage felt like they strengthened as the demonic presence felt foggy and obscured by shadow. He tried letting the Ghost Rider take control but where it was usually like flipping a switch, he felt like he was trying to move through water. Everything was slow and lethargic like the spirit was a tired toddler being forced to walk. "Come on," he muttered under his breath through gritted teeth. The fire flickered and sparked before finally climbing from his clenched fists and passing over him like a wave, rather than engulfing him instantaneously.

While subtlety might have been Jules’s tactic, it definitely was not his. James didn’t aim to creep around the church but trudged up the steps right for the entrance. He reached for the metal bracelet around his left wrist but as he pulled it off the chain didn’t heed his control. It didn’t grow or writhe and not a single flame of hellfire burned along it. He didn’t understand how a concrete box and projectors simulated holy ground, but he fucking hated it. Reluctantly, he shoved the useless bracelet into the pocket of his jeans then kicked open the wooden double doors.

The clicks and metallic shifts of guns training on him echoed throughout the small chapel as dozens of mercenaries laid in wait with all of their weapons trained on him. The red light of their laser sights disappeared in the roaring flames that covered his skeletal form. He wanted his mystical chain to easily rip through them but that wasn’t going to work. He then attempted to lob a ball of hellfire toward them, but something more akin to an ember fell pathetically from his hand, landed on the ground at his feet and started a small, pitiful fire on the long rug that ran down the aisle. Then a cacophony of shots rang out as darts flew at him. Some threaded the needle, slipping between bones, while most clung to his clothing with no effect, one even lodging itself into the hollow eyesocket of his skull.

"This sucks," the spirit complained, the deep ominousness of his voice missing its usual edge. If it was possible for a skeleton to sigh, he did and a small puff of steam slipped out from behind his mandible and through the hole where a nose should be. He leisurely strolled forward while rolling up his sleeves. When the first man ran at him, he balled up his fist and slammed it into the attacker’s face, feeling the bone, or whatever, crush into a pulp from the force.

Jules peeked around the corner of the front entrance, watching the hail of simulated gunfire harmlessly ping off of the spirit of vengeance. She sighed, wishing she too had made some kind of infernal deal so she wouldn’t have to deal with the incoming pain. She darted in quickly, staying low to the ground as she quickly dove into one of the back pews. She could hear the darts impacting against the wooden seats. Her eyes fell to a couple thick books stuffed into holders in the back of the pews.

"This is a really dumb idea."

A book flew out towards the right flank of the pews, gathering the attention of a few of the mercenaries to let loose a volley of shots in its direction. Jules used the distraction and James’ presence to make a quick scampering burst up the middle aisle. She winced and recoiled as a projectile threaded the needle between James’ exposed ribs and impacted her shoulder. She pushed through, making it near James’ feet before she shoved herself behind a pew. She reached out, dragging the dead mercenary's corpse behind the wood seat with her. She grabbed for the rifle still strapped to its vest, reloading it and unhooking the fabric as she could hear steps approaching. She waited for a moment before peeking her head and the rifle up over the pew, taking a couple well-aimed shots at a few mercenaries. She only managed to take one down swiftly, alerting more to her presence. She hissed out towards James, "Is punching all you can do?"

The flaming skeleton hardly noticed the darts that tore through his clothing or latched onto various bones. The electrical current was useless, just like it had been in the truckstop the day before. He waited patiently in the center of the church for the mercenaries to come at him, snapping bones, punching in faces, or tossing them out the windows whenever they got close enough. It was tedious work. Both James and the spirit grew impatient and aggravated at how slow it all was. The Ghost Rider felt like a drained battery that barely performed while charging. Every movement was lethargic. There was no hellfire or mystical chain. The only reason he wasn’t overpowered was due to his invulnerability, otherwise he was no more useful than First Lieutenant Buttplug, punching and kicking his way through the crowd.

The eyeless sockets in the skull seemed to turn toward Jules at her words, even though there was no way to know, the gaze was piercing and annoyed. A bony hand reached up, grabbed a man that charged at him by the throat, while two fingers from his other hand hooked into the attacker’s nostrils and ripped his head clean off his body with a snap and splatter of blood. The Ghost Rider let the corpse fall lifelessly to the ground before throwing the decapitated head into another mercenary with enough force to knock him clean off his feet. "Is hiding all you can do?" the spirit rebutted, flames flickering and popping in frustration.

As if being weakened wasn’t infuriating enough, having his training partner look at him like was incompetent fueled his rage, making the spirit feel more shackled than he ever had trapped inside James’s dreadful mind. Flames licked across his hands as he grabbed the closest pew, opposite the one Jules hid behind. The wood charred beneath his grasp as he ripped the bench, bolts and all, up from the ground. Wielding it like a giant bat, he swung the pew at a group of men and sent half a dozen of them careening through the air, and crashing through the stained glass windows. He then lifted the long wooden bench overhead and proceeded to slam it down on the heads of whichever moron was closest like a fucked up whack-a-mole. The Ghost Rider pummeled another five through the floorboards of the church before the pew splintered and snapped in half.

Jules rolled her eyes in a teasing fashion as the spirit responded. He had a bit more personality than expected, but she hadn't grown up with films like the Exorcist. Hell, most of the tapes her father kept around for entertainment were highly detailed training videos so Jules could practice martial arts in a cramped living room. They served her well, though good old fashion sharpshooting was of more use as Jules kept her back pressed against the wood and tried to cover their flank.

"I'm not bulletproof," she called out, crawling on the ground down the length of the pew to take up a position on the far right flank. She tilted her body swiftly, her head and the rifle shifting into view of a couple approaching soldiers who could not react quick enough. Bullets ripped through with great aim, giving Jules a little breathing room as she pulled herself into a kneeling position. She rested her right knee on the ground and popped her head up to get a full view of the scene, taking shots at any soldiers who were attempting to fight from range. For each shot, another body dropped. Jules would duck her head and shift her position up or down a pew when they caught on, but she remained slow and deliberate with her movements.

The Ghost Rider made a sound somewhere in between a scoff and a growl as the spirit’s patience was growing increasingly thin. "Fucking holy ground." He slowly trudged up the aisle toward the remaining group of mercenaries. He didn’t count, the number was irrelevant. What was important was that their numbers were dwindling too slowly or more kept flooding in, maybe both. One at a time they rushed him, stupid. He ripped the arms off of one, caved in the chest of another with a kick, and ripped the heart out of the next. Without prejudice or much methodology to his process, the spirit tore through the attackers, dismembering and disemboweling as he went.

Jules reloaded her rifle, dropping the spent magazine on the ground and taking a moment to peek just barely over the pews. There were still plenty of enemies on the field, and it felt intentional from the simulation that for every two they took down, one would seem to enter when they weren’t looking. The most obvious solution, of course, would be to just turn back and leave. They weren’t boxed in or defending a position they needed to, but given how invested the angry spirit was she doubted running was going to be an easy sell. So, Jules relented. She needed to end things quickly.

Her eyes locked onto a small cabinet bolted into the wall. A small smile curled on her lips as she racked the bolt of her rifle. She ducked beneath the pews again, taking in a deep breath. "I don’t know if you’re having performance issues, but I really need you to burn the midnight oil," Jules called out. With another moment's hesitation, she popped her head out to fire a volley of shots at the cabinet near the altar and the large glass bottles inside. Yellow liquid poured from the shredded cabinet and onto the dark carpet underneath.

The flaming skull’s attention snapped in the direction of the gunshot, watching as the oil spilled across the floor. While the corny comment would have warranted an eye roll, if he had any at the moment, the message was clear. With a clearer directive, he moved with speed and purpose. He ripped the closest pew up from the floorboards and threw it like a comically oversized javelin at one of the side doors, wedging into the opening and barricading the exit. The spirit continued tearing the wooden benches from where they were bolted, using them to block or destroy every possible escape until all that was left was the front door. "Get out and barricade the door," the demonic voice roared out the command without looking towards Jules.

Jules didn’t need to be told twice. She held the rifle by the handguard and quickly ducked out into the main aisle, using the large skeleton man as a bit of cover from the hail of shots that was bound to come their way. She felt sharp stings in her back and another in her thigh as a few shots hit true, but Jules pushed through the pain until she burst out the front doors. She kicked, them shut behind her, and quickly ejected the rifle’s magazine. In a fluid motion, she shoved the front of the rifle between the large handles of the chapel’s entrance to bar it, and took a few steps back with her hands raised in the air as if expecting more soldiers to rush towards her.

He pushed his way forward through the attackers as bullets continued to rip holes in his clothing and ricochet off his bones. Whenever one of them was dumb enough to attack him, he snapped their leg or threw them further backwards into the church, preventing them from leaving. When the spirit reached the spilled liquid, he sparred a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure Jules was in the clear before an almost sadistic laugh rattled around his ribcage. He kneeled down and without a second’s hesitation, he slammed his hands down into the small puddle of oil. Flames rolled across the liquid’s surface and spread across the old tattered carpet like it was kindling. Within a matter of seconds the entire altar was set ablaze. The armed men panicked, dropping their weapons and desperately ran for the exits. The new flames licked the skeleton’s body and ignited a fragment of his power that was dampened by the hallowed ground. If a skull could smile, then the spirit was grinning from ear to ear as he let the fire consume him. Bony fingers wiggled before he started hurling flaming balls in the direction of every mercenary that attempted to leave, simultaneously setting more of the church on fire until the entire building and himself disappeared into a roaring column of hellfire.

Sprinklers rained water down from the ceiling as the simulation lifted, leaving a flaming skeleton and Jules standing in the middle of the familiar concrete room. When whatever bullshit that had made the room holy was pulled away, the Ghost Rider’s fire burned brighter like someone stoked the flames. A deep, gravely hum echoed from within the skull before the fire was snuffed and all that remained was James… naked. The cold water running along his bare skin made him immediately aware that his clothing had been destroyed in the fire. His eyes went wide and face flushed as his hands fell to cover his manhood. He cleared his throat and awkwardly turned his back toward the observation window.

While he tried to figure out a plan, Phil pushed on a wall panel, opening a hidden closet. He didn’t appear to be in much of a rush nor was he surprised, making it very apparent that this was not the first time something like that had happened. He entered the simulation room and held out a pair of clean, folded basketball shorts toward James. "You’d be surprised how common that is," Phil reassured him in his usual flat tone.

"Thanks," James mumbled as he took the shorts and quickly pulled them on. He then ran his hands back through his wet hair, brushing it out of his face as he quickly exited the simulation and found his seat without meeting anyone’s gaze.

Once Jules was able to recover from her full-throated laughing fit at the sight of James’ naked mishap, she too shuffled out of the training room while wiping the tears from her eyes.

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^{#a8f9ff ....|..... prism ....|..... outfit .....|..... #995749 .....|..... brutus ....|..... outfit .....|..... descendant tower}

A few minutes after Jules and James exited their simulation, Phil turned his attention back toward the room. "Imogen and Luke, please."

Luke stood up with a slow stretch, moving toward the door and thinking about how familiar this all felt. For a moment, if he closed his eyes and pretended awfully hard, he could almost imagine that they were back in those golden Academy days. He couldn’t, though. Too much had changed over the years, and who he had been and who he was now were fundamentally different, so instead he tugged open the door and held it for Imogen.

She flashed Luke a grateful smile as she stepped through the door and entered the large simulation room. To no surprise it was exactly like what she remembered, a giant concrete box with a large yellow X on the ground at the center of the floor. "Deja vu," Imogen whispered to herself as the anxiety tightened in her chest. She hated training ten years ago and somehow she hated it even more now. There was more at stake. She couldn’t coast because she was Tony Stark’s daughter or be invisible anymore. Everyone who mattered was watching her and judging what she offered in a fight… nothing. She didn’t know what was worse, the expectations resting on her shoulders or the fear of Magni looking at her differently when he realized she wasn’t a warrior like the others he had been attracted to in the past.

Her pace slowed until she stood near the center of the X. She took in a deep breath and tugged the zipper on her jacket up to her neck only for it to slide half of the way back down when she exhaled. "Ready to be reminded why you dumped me?" She laughed nervously while putting on a brave smile. Poking fun at her own weaknesses always seemed to soften the blow if she beat others to it.

Luke snorted, hands in his pockets and posture utterly relaxed as he strolled after Imogen, eyeing the familiar room with a keen sense of remembrance in regards to having trained here so much. "I didn’t dump you because you can’t fight," he paused, wincing and back tracking. "Not to say you can’t fight, of course. My dad wanted me to cut ties and move to I.H.A. and I wanted to stay at the Academy… so naturally, I cut ties and started up with I.H.A." His tone was bitter, and he didn’t once look at Imogen as he confessed this. Their breakup had been amicable, or as amicable as it could have been, and he’d let her know that it wasn’t her, but rather it was his fault. He’d thought she’d understood that, especially since he all but dropped off the face of the planet for all his friends after he left.

He’d never told her the full story though, in fact, he’d never told anyone the full story. It just made Luke angry to think about, and fighting with his temper had been trained out of him long ago. He let out a slow, even breath, and pulled his hands from his pockets, posture straightening out and he physically and mentally prepared himself for whatever fight lay in wait for them. "It was never your fault, Imogen." Lucian added, softer and very likely the most genuine he’d been with anyone thus far. He kept his eyes, pointedly and respectfully on her face rather than her failing attire, wanting the woman to understand that he meant it. Luke glanced away after a moment, an edge of that bitterness seeping back into his tone despite his control. "My dad has made it clear what his expectations are."

Imogen sighed softly, her attempt at a brave smile falling slightly. She never got the full story of Luke’s disdain with his father, but she knew some of it, enough to where she should have known better than to make the comment she did, even if it was to relieve some tension. "I’m sorry. It was a bad joke." She crossed her arms over her chest, looking around like she was on edge, waiting for the simulation to start abruptly, as they often did. "I hate this room… I hate training," she whispered more to herself than him. She took a second, rapping her fingers along her bicep before turning to face him and hold his gaze. "We’re very different people now. It wouldn’t have worked out… You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Luke. Just, you know… Don’t let your father dictate your life. It’s your life, not his."

Luke shrugged easily, waving a hand at Imogen. "No harm, I just don’t want you to blame yourself." There was no other choice for him when it came to his father and his life, every choice was calculated, a lot of the time Luke felt as if he was just a puppet being controlled, any effort to break free was futile. He looked away from her, because it was his burden to bear and his alone. "I gave up on the idea that I could choose my own path a long time ago, Imogen. It’s fine."

He glanced at the window, giving a thumbs up to the glass. "Let’s get started, boss," he called out, grinning with confidence that was all a mask to hide how he really felt about the direction the conversation had taken.

Her brows furrowed and lips pursed. She let out a slightly exaggerated sigh. "A decade and you’re still trying to lie to a telepath." Imogen shook her head and rolled her eyes. She lazily held her thumb up at shoulder height before Phil got the chance to ask. Ten years later and training was still like riding a bike. Stand on the X. Thumbs up when ready.

"Emergency shut down word is ‘watermelon’." Imogen moved her lips along with Phil, having memorized his whole speech well enough that even years after the academy it randomly popped up in her dreams. But when she went to mouth one, she was thrown off as he went off script for the first time… like ever. "I recommend holding your breath."

Luke was mentally following along with the familiar speech, rolling his neck to release some tension in his muscles, only to pause with his head tipped back to the ceiling, brows furrowing. He glanced at Imogen, and they spoke in a surprised tandem.

"What?"

"What?" Imogen looked over at Luke with wide eyes.

"Simulation will begin in 3… 2… 1."

When Phil said one, Imogen panicked and quickly held her breath. Not a moment later the ground beneath them disappeared and she was plunged into frigid water. She was disoriented between the shock of the cold and the lack of visibility once she was submerged. It took a couple seconds before her brain caught up and told her to swim toward the light. She kicked her feet and pushed her hands through the water. When her head broke the surface she gasped and sucked in a deep breath of air. Imogen looked around trying understand what the fuck she was just thrown into. The water she treaded was a black void beneath the bright reflection of the moon. As far as she could tell they were in the middle of the ocean surrounded by some kind… dock system? Even with the light of the moon, it was impossible to tell. She had no choice but to swim towards one of them, it was better than floating there for who knows how long until something pulled her under or whatever other hell Phil had in store.

She swam with the swift elegance of someone who was no stranger to spending plenty of time in the water. Imogen quickly fell into a practiced form and closed the distance to the floating platform quickly. If their training was just swimming or surviving out in the middle of the ocean she would have been fine. But there was a reason she hated training and it wasn’t because she didn’t like being active. It was because of how brutal it could be.

Her goal was to get out of the water and get out of it fast. She hooked her arms on the side of the platform and grunted as she started hoisting herself up. She shifted until her palms were pressed against the wet wood and her elbows were locked. Imogen quickly slid her knee up over the edge between her hands and stumbled to her feet. Her chest heaved as she looked around at the strange floating platform. It was huge, made of soaked wooden panels like a dock, and shaped like an old carriage wheel. There was a large center platform with several branches that stretched out to a bigger ring that enclosed everything, which was where she stood. But it was strange. There were gaps, stairs, precarious bridges, and steep ramps. It looked like she was standing in the middle of some nightmare water obstacle course, but rather than inflatable and safe, it was slippery and unforgiving. She turned around, tucking her hair behind her ears as she looked for Luke.

He dragged himself onto the dock, shaking his head like a dog, first one way, and then the next, trying to get the water that was stuck in his ears out. Luke was a strong swimmer, but he wasn’t a fan of the dark and cold water. "Dude," he coughed, on his hands and knees on the dock only three feet away from Imogen. "How the hell is this a scenario we’d ever be in? Do I look like fucking Auqaman’s son?" He pushed himself up, squeezing some water out of the front of his shirt. "I’m sure as hell not going on a cruise anytime soon."

"Exploiting weaknesses, Luke," Imogen reminded him with a sigh. She took a step toward the edge of the dock and looked down at the black abyss beneath them. "Diamonds sink," she muttered under her breath, more to herself than him at the realization. In a pool it was fine, but out in the middle of the ocean? If she sank too far she was fucked. She wouldn’t be able to shift back because either the pressure would kill her or she wouldn’t be able to hold her breath long enough to reach the surface. Of course, it was training and the simulation would end before she died, but drowning was still drowning… And terrifying.

He turned toward Imogen, frowning at her. "Go diamond, we don’t know what to expect."

She sighed and rolled her eyes. Did he not hear what she just said? "Darling, this isn’t the bedroom. You don’t get to boss me around." Imogen pushed her wet hair back out of her face as she followed the outer circle to one of the spindles that led to the large center of the platform. Halfway across she reached some sort of log balance beam that spun the second she placed a foot on it. What in the American Ninja Warrior was this shit?

Luke, honest to God, sputtered, throwing an incredulous look at Imogen. She was going to have to go diamond in a fight regardless, he just wanted it to be before they got shot at, because getting shot at was inevitable in training. "Women," he muttered, rolling his eyes but there was an air of playful familiarity about the entire exchange. Before they’d dated, they’d been friends, and even now after years apart it was easy to fall back into the old habits of their friendship. "Just don’t fall in." He said it jokingly, but there was an edge of stress in his tone. If she fell in, he’d pull her out, but it would put them in an awful spot if they were being attacked. The entire set up put Luke on edge, knowing that this simulation was designed specifically for one of Imogen’s weaknesses didn’t help.

Before Imogen could decide if she wanted to attempt to walk across the precarious log or not, the sound of boat engines carried over the ripples of the water. She looked around but couldn’t see anything through the darkness. She tried to figure out what direction they were coming from, but by the time she had any idea it was evident they were surrounded. Several black motorboats were closing in all around the platform. Glowing red dots started illuminating across her chest. She spared a glance toward Luke seeing even more lasers trained on him. Her initial response was that he’d be fine, but then she remembered he didn’t have a shield or armor… or anything.

Imogen pivoted and ran back toward him, cutting a corner short and jumping over several feet of water. Her shoes slipped on the wet dock but she managed to find her traction before sliding right over the edge. She shifted into diamond form as she closed the distance between them. "Sorry about this." She flashed him an apologetic smile then pushed him backwards, off the platform and into the water. Not a moment after she got him out of the way, gunshots rang out from every direction followed by the ting ting of the darts hitting her crystalized skin, breaking, and falling to the ground at her feet.

Luke’s hand shot out as he fell, catching the edge of the dock but putting his trajectory off balance. He choked on the air in his lungs out of utter surprise, biting down on his tongue so hard blood instantly filled his mouth, and then water was filling his lungs. He gagged, spitting out a mouthful of blood and water as he resurfaced, wondering vaguely how ridiculous he’d look out of the simulation, drowning while standing on fucking concrete. He was cold, and annoyed, and his fucking tongue hurt, so… he supposed it was time to get serious.

Kicking off the dock, diving beneath the water, Luke propelled himself toward one of the approaching boats. He could tell they were the kind that were half raft, motors helping them move quickly but the rubber fabric that kept them afloat could be punctured, and that was enough for him. The top of his head emerged from beneath the water behind the boat, eyes glinting, he looked like some horror human parody of an alligator stalking its prey, and he pulled himself onto the raft with silent agility behind the three men who were aiming their guns at Imogen.

His face was impassive as he slammed his fist into the back of the first man's head, skull caving beneath the pure force that he put into the punch, Luke ducked beneath the shot of the second man as they both turned toward him, going low so he could shove his shoulder into the man's stomach with enough force that he felt his ribs snap. The gun slipped from the simulated goon’s hand right into Luke’s, and he shot the last man in the head without flinching. It was too dark to take count of how many boats there were total, but he shot the bottom of the raft, leaving the last wheezing man to drown as it sank, and he dived back into the water, disappearing from view.

Imogen ran toward the boat that was closest to docking. Instead of stopping and waiting, her speed increased and she leapt from the platform. She landed in the middle of five men who all looked around dazed and confused for a second. Before they could get their bearings, she threw her foot into the chest of the man closest. He was thrown back with such force that he slammed into the invisible barrier of the concrete wall beneath the simulation, crumpled and fell into the water. Imogen then grabbed the next guy by the straps of his kevlar vest, spun and threw him away to die like the first one. Her brows furrowed as one of the remaining men tried to punch her but only broke his hand. "Idiot," she scoffed as she grabbed his face in her hands, snapped his neck and watched him ragdoll over the side of the boat.

That left two. They tried shooting her but the darts died and fell to the bottom of the boat. One of them kicked her and broke his foot, obviously not learning anything from the other guy. Imogen wasn’t someone for showing off or playing with her food, so rather than toy with them she slammed their heads together with a sickening crunch that caved their skulls in and made their bodies go limp. For an unnecessary extra measure, she jabbed the side of the inflatable motorboat with a diamond finger, puncturing it. Noticing how far she had drifted away. she dived into the water, shifting back to normal as she broke the surface tension and swam back to the edge of the platform.

Three more boats were sunk in quick succession, Luke slipping in and out of the water in a way that spoke of years of training, his kills quick, clean, and efficient. He dragged himself back onto the platform a few moments after Imogen, shaking his head once more so the water in his hair hit her. "This is fun," he said brightly, grinning at her in a way that was bordering on unhinged. "Way better than having to do a mission like this in Antarctica," Luke glanced back out at the water, gaze a little distant as he remembered how cold the water had been, even through his wet suit. He’d been younger then, it had been one of his first actual missions. "Yeah, way better." He held up the gun he’d snagged, weighing it in his palm.

"Fun?" she scoffed, shooting him an incredulous look. Imogen shook her head after she brushed her hair back out of her face. "You think my dad had fun when he was ambushed, outnumbered, and kidnapped?"

"Christ," Luke looked at her, his face a mix of disgust and exhaustion. "Yeah, my fucking bad. God forbid I enjoy not actually getting shot at for once." Not everyone had the fucking privlige of getting to live life in the lap of luxury until shit hit the fan, not that someone like Imogen would realize that.

God she wished she was in her diamond form when the thought crossed his mind so she didn’t have to hear it. Imogen’s jaw clenched, inhaling deeply as she shook her head. "Fuck you," the words slipped from her lips like a whisper on the wind. "Not everyone is as untouchable as you, Luke." She motioned her hand in the general direction of the murmuring thoughts of the others hidden behind the veil of the simulation. Since when had Imogen become the one who took training more seriously? A decade ago the man in front of her would have been the first to tell people to think of the gravity of the situation and now he reveled in a simulation meant to prepare them for the likelihood of being attacked and possibly kidnapped.

"Pass," He rolled his eyes, glancing down at the water with an expression verging on boredom. "I’m not the same kid I was a few years ago, Imogen. I don’t care what you think about me anymore, I’ve seen shit that would give you nightmares, just because I’ve been trained to deal with this doesn’t mean you can take your grief out on me. I can take care of any more boats." Though, she could too from what he’d seen. Did Imogen really think she wasn’t a fighter? She made it look easy, Magni was probably trying to hide a boner on the other side of the window. Whatever, he was beyond the point of caring anymore, this was all stupid.

Imogen scoffed and rolled her eyes. "And just because you let your dad plan your life for you doesn’t mean you can take your frustrations out on me." Her gaze fell to a red dot that appeared on Luke’s chest. She quickly shifted back into her diamond form, then stuck out her hand just in time to stop the dart, catching it in her palm and tossing it into the water. "Do whatever you want, Luke." He could go have fun sinking boats or doing whatever he wanted for all she cared.

Meanwhile she took off down one of the cross sections of the platform toward the center where several men had already filed off boats and made their way toward them. Imogen shifted out of her diamond form for just a second as she sprinted across the rotating log, nearly losing her balance once or twice before she slid onto the flat dock on the other side. Bullets ricocheted off her skin the second she shifted back. Her pace slowed as she came to a halt in a cross section of the platform, looking around at the dozen men that surrounded her waiting. They looked around at each other before one to her left raised his gun and tried shooting her. There was the familiar ting of the dart smacking her hardened skin and falling to the ground. She sighed, reaching out and grabbing his hand around the handle of the pistol, crushing his bones and gun with a simple squeeze. She yanked the destroyed weapon from his hand, shoved it in his eye socket then pushed him backwards into the water.

Imogen systematically worked through the group of mercenaries, letting them act first before she incapacitated them one at a time. It wasn’t until they were down to just three that they actually rubbed their brains together to do something smarter than trying to shoot her or punch her. All at once they charged her, sending the four of them falling backwards off the dock and into the water. She could barely see in the dark depths of the ocean as she rapidly sank. Just as she went to shift her hand found one of them. Using his momentum and buoyancy to her advantage, she forcefully pushed him down deeper while launching herself up a bit further. Then just before she started sinking again, Imogen shifted out of her diamond form and frantically started kicking her legs.

Her lungs were on fire when she finally broke the surface with a desperate gasp. The other two men who fell in with her treaded water nearby. There wasn’t time for Imogen to catch her breath, not yet. She swam to the nearest one, coming up behind him and wrapped her legs around his waist. Then with all the strength she could muster, she pressed her hands down on his head and shoved his face beneath the water. He struggled and thrashed, clawing at her legs but her hold only tightened the more he fought. The man beneath her was growing weak, but the other refused to sit by and watch. He pulled out his gun and shot her in the shoulder. Imogen cried out in pain, grimacing through gritted teeth as she forced herself to hold on until the goon within her grasp finally went limp.

Before she could think better of it, Imogen lunged at the last mercenary. The second her hands grabbed fistfuls of his clothes, she switched to her diamond form, letting her weight drag them both underwater. Imogen broke his hands as he tried to pry at her grip. She then pulled him beneath her, pressed her feet into his chest, launching him like a torpedo deep into the black abyss. She should have switched then, but watched until he disappeared into the voice before changing back and swimming to the surface. There was a moment where she nearly sucked in a lungful of water, but she pushed through, getting lightheaded just as she felt the chill of the night air against her wet skin. She gasped, coughed and sucked in a sharp breath.

A hand caught around her bicep, and Luke hefted Imogen up and out of the water with one arm, plopping her onto the deck as delicately as he could manage before pulling away. There was a pile of bodies behind him, messily stacked up, and he looked… bored. He wasn’t even winded, barely looking ruffled after his own fight while Imogen had been taking on her own enemies. "Watermelon." His voice rang out, tone lazy as he turned toward the window with a half shrug. "I don’t get the point, I do shit like this everyday. Maybe the training should be for people who actually need it." Luke slid his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants, stepping over the glob of blood he’d spat on the concrete and heading toward the doors without looking back.

He’d taken it seriously at first, took down his fair share of simulated goons, but… it was nothing new for him, and therefore it was boring and a waste of time. Lucian didn’t need this sort of training, and it was more of a disservice to the others to take up this time than it was to move on.

Imogen was pulled out of the water and set on the dock before she could register what Luke was doing. She took a second, knelt on the ground and coughing up water and trying to catch her breath. But she couldn’t rest long. Just as she went to push off the ground and stand up, he called out the safe word and the simulation melted away. She wheezed and spat out the water from her lungs before looking around confused. "What the fuck?" Her voice was hoarse and strained from her strangled breathing. Imogen slapped her hands against the damp concrete before she stood up. She was the last person to train, but even she could see the importance behind it. The one time where it felt more real and necessary than ever before he pulled her out because he was too good for it. She stared at his back in disbelief at how much time had changed him.

She trudged behind him, water dripping from her hair and clothes as her sneakers squeaked against the floor with each step. Imogen said nothing, nor met anyone’s gaze as she made her way back to her seat beside Magni. She swallowed the lump of exasperation that grew in her throat as she lowered herself onto the bench beside him and crossed her arms over her chest. Frustrated tears welled in her eyes but she blinked them away, staring straight ahead with a cold anger painted across her face.

Luke, for his credit, felt a little guilty for cutting it short… but he really didn’t need the training. As far as he saw it, it was better for the people who actually needed it to step in. Sure, he wasn’t the most gentle about it, but he wasn’t a fucking kid anymore, he was… he was a solider, and he couldn’t pretend to be anything other than that, not even for Imogen. He crossed his arms, leaning against the wall, and didn’t look at anyone. He’d been wrong, the friendships he’d had before were dead and gone, and he was too different now for the people who used to care about him to care anymore.

That was fine. He didn’t care… his teeth ground together, jaw clenched so hard, the taste of blood still lingering on his tongue. He was here to help and once they sorted this mess out, he could disappear again. Not like anyone missed me last time. Luke let out a small breath, pushing all of his feelings down as deep as he could, before refocusing on the next team up for training. He reminded himself, not for the first nor last time, that his dad was right… it was better this way.

^{interactions ....|.... none ............... mentions ....|.... none ............... collabs ....|.... @Sleepy Tani}

Camp Athens - Closed

^{#c9bef3 ....|..... outfit .....|..... party > her cabin}

"Well-well-well... if it isn't the life of the party again. And the doll who's wearing it," Baxter teased her gently, eliciting the faintest bit of authenticity to slip into Blair’s smile. Then his tone and demeanor shifted to something softer, almost sympathetic and laced with concern. "Oh noooo. No-no-no. Honey? Do you need me to take the edge off enough that you could still enjoy a glass of bubbles for when the clock strikes? I don't think a glass of water's going to get it done, with what I'm looking at."

She adjusted on the stool, crossing her legs while letting her shoes dangle freely from her fingers over the edge of the bar. Blair’s expression softened a fraction as she met his gaze. It was a little odd for her to find comfort with the bartender of all people. There was always the trope that the lonely and depressed alcoholics treated bartenders like their own personal therapists, and yet there she sat across from him, lost in her own dour thoughts. Ironic. But even so, Baxter was the one person from the party that she didn’t have to demand attention from. He gave it willingly, enthusiastically. As vain as that might be, that stuck with her.

"You’re a sweet one, aren’t you?" For what it was worth, the kindness in his words alleviated some of the weight from her shoulders. It didn’t bring back her palpable aura, but there was a ray of light peaking through the dark clouds. "Well you don’t have to worry about little ole me," Blair did her best to put on her usual charm as she rapped her fingers against the counter. "I’ve been significantly more drunk and far more sad than this, darling. I will persevere." She flashed him a small wink of reassurance.

At one point Blair thought she might have overheard some comment about a midnight kiss, but considering it was New Year’s Eve, it was hardly something of note. She imagined everyone would be locking lips in the next couple minutes. But an abrupt sputtering of alcohol and a startled shout of "TRINITY!" did caught her attention.

"Jesus christ, it’s just a kiss… not sex," Blair muttered under her breath, too quiet for anyone to really hear.

Her brow rose curiously as she watched the flowers bloom around Iliana. The naive girl looked flustered beyond measure at the mere mention of a kiss. Blair couldn’t help but wonder how frazzled she’d be if the question was of a far more intimate nature. If it wasn’t obvious before, it was clear the girl was definitely a virgin and had never been kissed. Poor thing. That sounded horrible.

"Sorry, I wasn't expecting that kind of question. No, there's no one. Plus I doubt any guy would be interested in me anyway. I am not as attractive as someone like you, Andy, and others."

Blair didn’t really have plans to shove her way into the conversation but between the alcohol and her own girl code, she had a hard time sitting idly by as someone was self-deprecating. She never liked hearing someone talk that way, especially another woman. It was far more unattractive for someone to speak of themselves in that way. Regardless of how vain she could be, even Blair knew that there was far more to a person than a pretty face. Beauty faded. Everyone should know their self worth and degrading themselves wouldn’t do anyone any favors.

She turned in her seat toward Iliana and cleared her throat to get the girl’s attention. "Men like confidence," Blair interjected plainly, offering her nuggets of wisdom, whether or not the girl wanted them. "Know your worth, because if you don’t see it, then they sure as hell won’t."

Before she could add anything else, the first firework whistled as it flew up through the air and exploded in the sky over the party. Blair watched the glittering reds and golds as they blossomed overhead with a content, albeit faintly sad smile. Her gaze fell, scanning the party, initially for Ace, as her thoughts sought the baser gratification of at least one person who might enjoy her company, but he was nowhere to be found. Instead her sights settled on a surprising spectacle by the bonfire. It wasn’t even midnight, but she caught a glimpse of Anissa straddling nipple boy and lost in a passionate kiss. Her smile grew slightly, proud of her friend for making a move. Good for her.

"Looks like we’re out of time, handsome," Blair spoke loud enough to be heard over the fireworks as she turned back to face Baxter. "But just for you…" She reached out her free hand and grabbed one of the flutes of champagne. She waited patiently until the climatic roar of fireworks rumbled all around them, signaling the beginning of a near year. As others throughout the party cheered and kissed, she lightly clinked her glass against his then drank the champagne. Unlike before, she took her time, finishing her drink in a couple sips rather than a single gulp.

After the glass ran dry, she set it back down on the counter. Without much warning, egged on by her high blood alcohol content and the festivities around her, Blair leaned forward and hooked two fingers around the collar of Baxter’s shirt. "It’s bad luck to enter the new year without a kiss." Was that technically true? She had no idea. But it was bad luck for her. She closed the remaining distance between them, pressing her lips against his as they hovered precariously over the filled champagne glasses. By Blair’s standards, it was a remarkably innocent and ordinary kiss, no tongue and nothing overtly sexual. Just a sweet, celebratory kiss for the one person who noticed her when no one else did.

It only lasted for a second or two before she pulled away, releasing her hold on him with a warm, and slightly guilty, smile. "Happy New Year’s, Baxter." Then without another word, Blair slipped off the stool. With all the grace of a new born deer, she stumbled her way out of the party, across camp, and eventually found her way to her cabin… after a couple wrong turns.

^{interactions ....|.... baxter & iliana ............... mentions ....|.... anissa & river ............... collabs ....|.... none}

Camp Athens - Closed

^{#667c0c ....|..... outfit .....|..... #66356a ....|..... outfit .....|..... main hall}

"Cut into someone’s dance without realizing it." Trinity grinned as if a joke had been said. Not that she was the best at keeping her own feathers in line but it sounded small and was clearly accidental. "The night’s still young… I have a habit of attracting the wrong crowd." She thought about offering the poor guy an encouraging pat on the shoulder, a little ‘there, there’ gesture, and pro advice not to worry about it but they hadn’t established that rapport yet.

"You’ll be ‘right," she said, tactful and deeply considerate as ever. Not that he needed or sought advice anyway.

She had done her part in offering an out from behind the bar but when you were the mad scientist bar tender, prospects and socializing could come to you she guessed. Trinity spun around leaning her elbows on the bar to eye the rest of the party, tuning out the flirting fiasco happening around her. She wasn’t sure she could last in the party though and no activity other than drinking really spoke to her and apparently that wasn’t healthy. Much more, mixing alcohol with her tolerance and it was even worse.

Apparently she had just stayed there, people watching for a good few solid minutes more, blocking out whatever interactions floated around her. And right as she decided to take off, pushing off the bar, Iliana approached. "Evening Trinity. I decided to get one more drink before midnight. Do you have any recommendations? I just can't handle anything too strong, nor do I want to risk it. In the past it was either a Bailey's Cream or Schnapps. I do like something sweet though. So um, how's your evening been?"

Trinity’s recommendations so far in the night hadn’t been the best, so while she wanted to recommend go out with a bang and have a shot anyway, she closed her mouth and pointed behind her in reference to the nifty bartender. "Guy’s pretty good at pinning drinking needs. But evening’s been good," she answered. She wasn’t about to delve into how average she found the night and all those little in between problems. "Yours?"

She heard out Iliana’s response and patted her on the shoulder before shuffling by. Particularly because there was nothing else for her. Socializing wasn’t her forte, midnight was getting frighteningly close, and Wes wasn’t in sight to celebrate the new years together as a couple or whatever it was coupley people should be doing. Trinity closed her eyes and sighed out, trying to find her own chill button. If she busied herself she had less time to be snarky and think about it.

Trinity turned and wore that too tight smile once again. "So Iliana, are you wanting to kiss anyone?"

Beyond that, Trinity didn’t last much longer socially because she didn’t really care. She was sure it would all be very cute and work out for Iliana along with the odd bout of others.

Fireworks whistled out and exploded in the air marking the time. She crossed her arms to watch the lightshow that Andy pre-arranged. It was sort of the universal main event and felt like the point of the party so she saw it through until the series of colors stopped shooting into the sky.

Trinity glanced around to those who had gravitated towards each other, then her feet. She wore ankle boot heels, boot cut jeans and a see through top, why? Frustrated with herself, she officially retired from the party, pacing to her cabin. She shut her cabin door and leant against it for a moment, grateful to be rid of party expectations. Inside though, without her usual roommate, she found it was eerily quiet. Dead quiet. She didn’t need to look around to know he wasn’t there, but she still walked through her cabin to be absolutely sure.

She sat on the edge of the bed for a moment waiting in quick debate with herself. Did she wait him out, give him space, or track him down? She looked at the empty space in bed and ran a hand down her face. Erf, poor Rae as well. She was rather stand offish. That decided that then.

Trinity left her cabin pacing to Wes’s. Despite her woman on a mission mindset and speed, she walked with deft quiet feet up his stairs and opened the door narrowly to slip through the small gap and close it behind herself. She cringed, afraid the click of the door closing would be heard from upstairs. She did tell him she should make his door squeaky or get a draft stopper as something to drag against the floor but that was her battle ready paranoid mind.

She slipped off her boots at the door and crept up his spiral stairs to his bedroom, purposefully stealthy. Wes was stomach down in bed making her ambush all the easier. She crept closer, cautiously, then when he was in range, she pounced on him, sure for her knees to land either side of him. Trinity brought her head down to his. "I’m sorry," she whispered and laid a kiss on his cheek. The first of many. She kissed him again and again, littering his face in loving, tender kisses.

A groan and a soft oof was muffled into the pillow as Wes felt a weight plop down on him, pulling him out of his half asleep daze. He turned his head to the side with squinted eyes just in time to be met with a flurry of kisses. While he was still grumpy, it was hard for him to fight the faint smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. It was difficult being mad at someone he loved when she was showering him with affection. He appreciated the gesture, but he still couldn’t flip the switch on his mood just like that. It was more complicated than that.

"I’m used to having you to myself," she admitted, sitting on his backside, running her hands up and down his irritatingly muscular back. "I think," she began carefully, squinting in thought to reflect internally on how she felt and why, "It was sorta hard hearing how in kahootz you were. You know, cute bright girl keeps the stud in school and all the memories."

She shifted beside him, propping herself up on an arm. "I know it runs deeper than that but…" she trailed off and shrugged with a purse of her lips. She just didn’t like it initially. That was it.

"I was stuck failing school. Didn’t have any friends believe it or not." Trinity grinned at her own joke then sucked in her bottom lip smacking her lips together. "Then I got pulled from school and Ares said go to camp and you don’t fight with the god of war so the rest of my teen years were here."

Wes rolled over so he was on his back with his hand resting against his chest. He laid in silence, trying to make sense of his thoughts and her words, before he spared her a glance. "She’s just a friend. Probably the only real friend I had in High School." His gaze drifted back up to the ceiling as he tapped his fingers against his stomach. "Or maybe not. I don’t know with the whole allure thing anymore." He sighed. "All I wanted was to introduce an old friend to the woman I love… To show how I’ve changed. But I ruined the night and messed up my plans, so…" He clicked his tongue, turning his head away slightly.

About to complain and whine that she knew they were just friends and he had his allure, Trinity gave enough time for Wes to add his last nonsense. Trinity rolled her eyes sitting up crossed legged instead staring at him expectantly. "What exactly did you ruin and how?"

She poked his hard stomach before he could answer. "Nothing." Wes hadn’t done anything wrong and she wasn’t about to let him pretend to be the bad guy.

"Damn it, Trin," Wes huffed, pulling away and climbing off his bed before she could try to smother more of his feelings behind flippant remarks. While she might have been able to mask things behind humor and playfulness, the lack of seriousness frustrated him and only soured his mood more. "I’m being serious." His voice was deeper, lacking his usual levity and jovial tone as he met her gaze. Whatever hint of a smile that might have ghosted across his lips was gone.

A visible frown tainted her features as he left the bed and she only rotated on the spot to track him and make sure he didn’t outright leave his own room. But it definitely warranted one of those times to shut up and listen. He was rarely one not to get a smile from. Usually he was warm and playful and now he was…unhappy.

Wes started pacing back and forth, keeping several feet between himself, the bed and Trinity. "I had been planning tonight for weeks," he admitted while running his hand back through his hair. "I asked Andy to include the fireworks. She helped me pick out an outfit. I even had what I was going to say memorized, although I was probably going to mess it all up… Like I do everything else." He sighed then ran his thumb and index finger across his eyes.

"All this Aphrodite shit..." His train of thought detoured, not daring to let himself utter the question he had been saving while he was upset and struggling to make sense of his thoughts and emotions. "I can’t help it and it doesn’t matter. I’m only yours... I don’t know how else I can prove it to you and get you to trust me."

She held up her hands contesting innocence. She didn’t fully understand what he was going on about or what was wrong but she could testify to the last bit. "I do trust you!" She argued, more shocked than defensive. "I don’t think you’d do anything to jeopardize this." She threw her hand back and forth between them. "And I know you got the Aphrodite curse and you can’t help it and it must be tricky for you but it’s hard for me too. Wes, people gawk at you, paw at you, shoot their shot or turn all giddy and weird and it’s hard to swallow. I’m—" a hand came to her chest "territorial." Her eyes blinked at her own bluntness and self-reflection but she wasn’t wrong. Wes was hers, as far as she could see, and unfortunately it was all too easy to bug her.

Now did that make it right or okay? No. But it was their reality and maybe one day she’d grow immune to it but today evidently wasn’t that day. "I’m sorry," she tried again. "I really am. I can find Rae later and apologize to her too? Heck, I can find her now and do it." Trinity’s thumbs gestured over her shoulder.

"No…" Most of Wes’s steam melted away with an exasperated sigh. It wasn’t fair for him to direct his frustration solely at Trinity when his problems stemmed from himself and his mother too. It was exhausting feeling like he was always in the same rut for something he couldn’t control nor did he have a choice in any of it. "I don’t intentionally have only female friends. It’s just that most guys don’t want to be friends with someone like me," he attempted to reassure her as best as he could. It wasn’t a new problem for him. Ever since High School, most guys were intimidated or jealous, and weren’t the biggest fans of being friends with someone who got all the attention, whether or not he wanted it. "I tried to help Mason… But I’m pretty sure he hates me." He finally looked up and met Trinity’s gaze for the first time since he got out of bed. While he still wasn’t smiling, there was a subtle shift in his expression showing he was trying to get past his own shit.

Trinity’s eyes shifted to the wall behind him dumbstruck. "Mason?" She repeated as if a foreign name. He was in a huff because of Mason? "Wesley. A. He’s an ass like 90% of the time, you know this. B. How—why—" She waved a hand across the space voiding whatever she was saying and tried again. It didn’t matter how or why he thought Mason hated him or other guys didn’t like him. "Why does it bother you?" Trinity had a fleeting thought that it might be some Aphrodite complex; usually loved by all so hate was a wrong and foreign ball game but she quickly dismissed it. She felt like she was missing some important pieces of information along the way or not reading between the lines.

"What? No." Wes shook his head and sighed. He rubbed his face again, frustrated as he found the more he talked the less sense he was making. "This isn’t about Mason. I don’t give a shit if he hates me." He killed that train of thought before Trinity could cling to it. Mason was only mentioned to show he tried making friends, or at least being helpful, to people other than girls. He tried with Liam too. Both of them seemed to hate his existence.

She patted the bed. Wes seemed defeated and she was unhelpful and bad at words so she felt defeated. "I’m sorry your plan didn’t work out. I’m sure you can do it another day though right?" She offered instead. Trinity scooted up the bed to the pillows waiting for Wes to retire beside her where she could hug him.

Then, in thought and unable to help herself, beside the point as it all was, she spoke again. "For the record, even if it was guys hanging off you I’d still be the same." Come to think of it she never bothered to pry if Wes swung that way as well but having gotten to know him, she was strongly betting he didn’t.

While Wes had heard everything she said, he was too hung up on her comment about his plan to really register, digest and respond to her second statement. He even noticed the way Trinity patted the bed, beckoning him to sit back down, but he didn’t. Instead he began pacing back and forth again as he started rambling. "I can’t do it a different day, not the way I had it planned. I had every detail figured out." Then, before he realized what he was doing, it all came pouring out of him, rapid fire, in a single breath of frustrated annoyance. "I was going to find you before midnight, make you dance with me even though I know you wouldn’t want to. Then when the fireworks started I was going to kiss you and tell you I love you and ask you to move into my cabin. But then you were mad at me or I was mad at you or maybe both. I don’t know. Because of stupid Aphrodite shit that I can’t control. I was too stupid to know that Rae was going to upset you. I should have known. You hated Alex—for valid reasons—but that’s the only frame of reference you have for my friends and—"

"Wait, wait, wait." Trinity held a hand up for pause. The guy was hitting an overload of information but one slice rang out louder on repeat for her. "Move into your cabin?" A rollercoaster seemed to hit her all at once, varying from happiness to concern. On one hand it was completely sweet and progress in their relationship, on the other what if they had a tiff and needed their own space? But she found the latter thought pushed aside and something they’d deal with as they came to it. More importantly now was the matter of if he still wanted it or she completely ruined it with her famous temper.

"I mean if you still…" Trinity trailed off and shrugged. She didn’t know and she didn’t want to appear pushy about it.

"Fuck," Wes muttered under his breath as everything he said finally caught up to him. He slowly looked over at Trinity, but her face wasn’t beaming or elated for his accidental slip up. She just seemed confused and unsure. The moment would have been perfect… The fireworks, a midnight kiss, the way the colorful lights would have reflected in her eyes as she smiled up at him. Serves him right for trying to paint a picture of a moment before it happened. His romanticized brain tried to build an image before it came to fruition. But it wasn’t supposed to be like this, not her uncertain shrug or her lack of a smile or his incoherent, frustrated monologue.

Wes could feel his heart rate elevating as his own panic took root, pissed at their fight or whatever it was, pissed he messed up the night, pissed that he let his entire plan slip out. He inhaled a shaky breath as he walked around the bed. "I need air," he mumbled before disappearing out onto his balcony into the cool air that was quickly descending back to the normal chill of winter.

Trinity crossed her arms, hands holding her own upper arms but not because she was in a mood but because things were taking a turn for worse the more she opened her mouth as the night went on. She even looked the opposite way like that gave him more privacy to himself. Looking at the entry way to his room she contemplated leaving his cabin because it was his space and she was doing no favors for his sanity. But up and leaving wouldn’t go over well either.

Then something else took over. Something meaner and bolder that refused to act like a child that had just been scolded. With a tense jaw she left the bed, marching out to the balcony after Wes. "Look, I’ve apologized one hundred times over tonight and I’ve meant it. Rae didn’t deserve that, sure. You’re a ladies man with not enough guy friends, whatever. You’ve got Aphrodite shit, fine. Plans don’t go exactly accordingly, so what. You wanna talk about these things, then talk. You want me to move in, I’ll move in." Trinity could see the offer being invalid since all the romance had been sapped but Wes only ever had to be straight forward with her. "I wanna be there for you. I know we do each other’s heads in but it doesn’t mean I don’t care about you or don’t wanna be around you or anything."

Trinity took in a steady breath to calm right down and lose the firmness in her voice. "Now. If you’ve got something to say, no matter what you can say it. If this is too much tonight I can go, I won’t take offense and I’ll still see you and love you tomorrow." Her eyes shot downcast to his feet as she made a half attempted stroke down his arm. She didn’t want to leave but she rarely saw Wesley irritated and upset so being the cause or making it worse, Trinity opted to remove herself. It was hard to see Wes like this and harder to be the cause.

Wes sighed, bracing his hand against the railing when he heard the door open and Trinity file outside after him. He took a couple deep breaths before looking over at her, holding her gaze as she spoke to him. But where he would have been calm, tender, and reassuring, her words were sharp and lacked the soft empathy he wanted. He swallowed as his gaze drifted down toward his fingers tight around the railing. Their entire circumstance was uncharted territory. He was always the one trying to calm her down or cheer her up, never the other way around. But her words were not a balm, they poked at his soreness and made him feel invalidated in his emotions.

There was a long drawn out silence where he mulled over everything Trinity said, unable to form a coherent thought. "I don’t know what to say," Wes confessed barely above a whisper as he watched the snow fall around them. He wanted her comfort but couldn’t end the tormenting cycle of her words replaying in his mind. Whatever… Fine… So what… Then talk. He knew, deep down, that she didn’t mean for it to come off harsh and insensitive but it all felt like she was telling him to get over it, disregarding how he felt rather than trying to understand and sympathize. And at the end of it all, he wanted her to want to move in with him… Not agree to it because she thought it’d slap a bandaid over his mood and pack it away.

His thumb tapped against the railing, chest constricting at the words that were about to fall from his mouth like every letter and syllable hurt him to utter outloud. "I…" The lump grew and knotted in his throat, trying to trap the words and keep them from being spoken. "I love you… but." Wes met her gaze briefly. His eyes sparkled, betraying his projected strength by highlighting the tears that started building. "I want to be alone." His voice cracked on the last word. He placed a brief, but tender kiss to her forehead before he walked back inside.

It was an odd sting that came over her as she winced slightly at his words. A feeling she couldn’t quite shake for as sturdy as she was. He kissed her head and left while Trinity stood there trapped in thought and where she went wrong for a moment, feeling her eyes bubble up. She sucked in a breath and with it, gathered her senses again, raising her head. She left as quiet as she came, returning to her own cabin alone.

Wes didn’t bother undressing. He simply pulled back the covers and slid into bed, burrowing his thoughts, emotions, and himself deep beneath the blankets.

^{interactions ....|.... nate & iliana ............... mentions ....|.... baxter, rae & mason ............... collabs ....|.... @xNocturnax}

Camp Athens - Closed

^{#ffc300 ....|..... outfit .....|..... #0a6d6b ....|..... outfit .....|..... party > sylas's cabin}

Lochlan’s words, while confident in himself and his own ability, struck Evelyn as unfortunately true. One thing she didn’t have to do was worry about him. She was sure Lochlan possessed an endless supply of tricks up his sleeves and he wouldn’t allow a repeat encounter like what happened in the duels. The abilities she knew of Hera were poison, possession, influence, destiny and darkness but that didn’t account for anything when it came to predictability.

Evelyn sipped her drink to fill the growing silence between them. She even raked her fingers through her hair and sighed. “I just try to give everyone an even playing field. Even if you don’t need it. And I try to look after myself in the process.” She flashed a coy smile, like it was a secret that she had some self-preservation.

“I’ve got to g—” She began to step away.

“Hi, Evelyn, hi Lochlan. Do you mind if we join you?” Nelly greeted them with Fiona and a new demigod in tow.

Evelyn reluctantly paused, eyes quickly flickering to Lochlan to be the charming extrovert or the dismissive mean guy. Or maybe she only hoped it because then she could creep away without seeming rude.

As Nelly flew forward with introductions and her objective, Evelyn glanced to the dark haired man and flashed him a pleasant smile on cue, then looked over at Fiona who held a very contrasting energy. But maybe more alcohol would make her jolly and talkative? Or work the opposite way, entirely depending on where impulses took her.

“Well, the good news is with Nelly and Fiona as your guides you’re already well versed, socially anyway.”

She imagined Morne was reasonably put up to speed too, but last time she assumed that, she dealt with a very confused Elysium. Was it possible Nelly had lost room for gossip and her loose tongue, or maybe the less people they told about activities around the corner the better. But Nelly never quite struck her as so deliberately careful or deceiving for the latter. And Fiona didn’t look like she delved into rumors and expectations for fun.

While these thoughts ran through her brain, she was looking a little too intently at Morne and Fiona, trying to extract all their secrets and what they knew to lay them bare. Thankfully, there was a touch of friendliness in her eyes and lips to stop her from appearing totally creepy or threatening. Nelly popped up from the bar and gave them the run down of her favorite drink, sparing them her gaze. She offered a smile to the most energetic of them all. “None for me, thanks.”

“You know, I really want to go into this New Year with no regrets. There is one I do have though. But I do have time to rectify it. If y'all would excuse me, I'll see if I can get back before midnight.”

Sylas had been content enough wandering around the party with his hands in his pockets, watching and observing rather than partaking. There were a few interesting developments that caught his attention here and there, along with the satisfaction of knowing he was at least moderately correct about Anissa and River. His sister was sitting with Duke which seemed odd but something he made a note to keep an eye on, and to everyone’s benefit, the nosy busy bodies seemed to be keeping themselves occupied with one another. Otherwise the party felt like it was losing some of its luster and numbers were dwindling.

At one point his attention shifted over to the familiar mane of red hair in the enchanting white dress, contemplating if he should say to hell with waiting until midnight. But when he found her she was standing over Lochlan as he stumbled to the ground. While Evelyn tried to support his weight, the man ran his hand along her leg as he found his way back to his feet. In the flash of a moment, the sight caused a visceral knot to twist and tug in his stomach. Sylas’s pulse quickened as he clenched his fist and took a step forward.

He wasn’t able to make it far when a flurry of auburn hair beelined straight for Evelyn and Lochlan before turning her attention toward him. Nelly stopped right in front of him and spoke up before he had a chance to escape. "I know you're not a huge fan of me, but I wanted to remedy the mistake I made earlier this year at the last party. I am sure you already have someone in mind for who you want to be with at midnight, so maybe we can make this quick. I just wanted go in the New Years regret free, and I hate that I didn't pick up the lures you were casting. I just didn't understand the rules of 7 minutes in Heaven. So would it be okay to ask you to kiss me real quick or it can be vice versa? And if so, we can do it away from the crowd if you want."

Sylas contemplated walking around the notorious yapper but the more she spoke the more curious and utterly confused he became. It took no small amount of control for him not to burst out in laughter or to keep his jaw from dropping in genuine bewilderment. He was able to hold it together for a couple seconds before the deep and genuine chuckle rolled out of his mouth, quickly muted by the first crack of a firework overhead that decorated the sky in bright crimson and gold. "I’m not in the business of erasing other’s regrets, dear little Nelly." His voice purred as he leaned toward her slightly, making sure she could hear him over the thundering lightshow emitting from the arena. He hooked his index finger under her jaw, guiding her to look up into his eyes as he got temptingly close… Close enough that when he spoke his next words, she could feel the warmth of his breath brushing across her lips. "You missed out on one hell of a kiss."

With that, he released his hold on Nelly and walked around her without a single glance backwards.

The daughter of Hermes left as quickly as she came with the group and, openly interested in her mysterious mission, Evelyn’s eyes tracked Nelly with a smile. She seemed to sail across the field and home in on Sylas!? Evelyn’s initial amusement made way for blatant curiosity and confusion. Whatever she was hoping to achieve or ‘rectify’ with Sylas was something she would die to be a fly on the wall for. Weirder yet, he laughed and he leaned in and Evelyn averted her gaze. It wasn’t her business.

As the fireworks continued to rumble overhead, Sylas spared a glance toward the arena noting how close midnight was and decided he had done enough waiting. He detoured past the bar, grabbing the first available shot, downed it, and slammed the glass back down on the counter as he continued walking. He noticed the handful of people that lingered around Evelyn, but it was New Year’s Eve, almost midnight, and he had a burning desire to claim her, no matter who saw.

Sylas joined the small gathering of Fiona, Lochlan and some man he didn’t give a flying fuck to meet. He shoved past anyone who was in his way as his gaze was fixated on Evelyn and only Evelyn. His right hand rose to gently, but demandingly, seize her neck in his grasp and then he pulled her closer until her chest brushed against his. He held her gaze intently, waiting temptingly close as the tip of his thumb ran along her throat and the ghost of his lips hovered a breath away from hers. Once the final cacophony of fireworks roared around them, his other hand slid around her waist, rested against her lower back and pulled her against him. Then his lips pressed against hers with a wild abandon and zero concern for anyone around them.

She saw him approaching, figuring he had come to say goodnight and bid a happy new year before he slunk off to do some revision on his acquaintances and plotting: who to use, who to avoid, who to turn against who, who to bed. The unwelcome thought caused a twinge of annoyance. But she turned to receive his final words nonetheless. “How nice of you to–” There was no bracing for him. Startled, her fingers clung to his wrist and she backed up a few paces and tried to pull away before he pulled her in. There, she caught his gaze and her eyes travelled to his lips, a mere inch apart from her own. While her pulse quickened in anticipation and thrill, she silently pleaded for him not to do what they both wanted. Something she couldn’t quite bring herself to verbalize under his touch.

He gave her another pull and their lips met. Evelyn’s eyes widened in horror. This was public. Had he gone mental!? Yet, his lips felt nice to have on hers again, untamed and passionate. For a moment, a blissful moment, Evelyn allowed her eyes to close and move her lips with his. Didn’t it feel right? But just as she began to enjoy it and get swept away in the moment, her mind alerted her to the obvious view they were in of many. She moaned her protest, arms wedging between them before tearing herself away. “What are you doing?” She demanded. They weren’t in the confines of their cabins or shrouded in trees, they were public. And their thing, whatever it was, had always been private.

She wiped her thumb across her lips looking elsewhere, riddled in dirt, shame and guilt. While Sylas had the right to engage with whoever however he wanted, she felt dirty that he could do whatever with Nelly then try to claim her as his favorite toy in a flash. And what about Nelly? How did she feel? But what could Evelyn say? ‘You don’t get to treat me that way’? Sylas could treat her how he wished, he had no obligation to her. She couldn’t even be mad at him technically. Her arms dropped to her sides, defeated.

Sylas inhaled deeply through his nose as his hands fell through the air at the absence of her body in his arms. The tip of his tongue ran along his bottom lip as if to savor their kiss a moment longer before he opened his eyes to look across the growing expanse between them. The muscle in his jaw tensed, brows furrowed, and teeth clenched as he watched Evelyn wipe her mouth almost like his kiss was tainted. He spared a glance toward the others that surrounded them before flicking his gaze back to her.

It wasn’t often that Sylas felt embarrassed or unable to think quickly on his feet. He should have known better. He was aware of her effect on him, yet he let himself slip into a moment of selfish vulnerability in full view of some of the worst people to see him in that light. The quick elevation of his pulse deafened him to everything around him. He could feel the heat building in his chest, threatening to become visible across his face. His hand flexed at his side as he took a step backwards. "Making a mistake, apparently." A cold venom laced his words as he took a defensive step backwards and averted his gaze.

Before any of them could catch a glimpse of the emotions that attempted to reveal themselves across his face, Sylas removed himself from the group. He turned his back to them and started making his way toward the edge of the party, locking away his feelings behind a stoic facade until he was within the safety of his own cabin.

Her icy stare fell back on him at his words, part offended and part…hurt. He walked off and somehow Evelyn felt a new level of shame and guilt and exposure wash over her. She didn’t dare scan for any eyes or reactions too afraid to acknowledge them, but she would steal glances at Sylas’s retreating figure. Of course she considered leaving it at that. The last thing she wanted was to have more potential witnesses or to extend their show. She sighed through her nose with only one solution that didn’t aid appearances, but it got them alone and inhibited Sylas from slithering away. And the next thing she knew, she was walking off in the same direction as him.

She hurried after him to try to make up for lost ground and thankfully his silhouette came into view outside of the field. He hadn’t reached his cabin yet where he could simply lock up and ignore her. As she neared, Evelyn darted in front of him putting a hand on his chest, stopping him in his tracks. Though she immediately released him like it stung, sure he wasn’t a fan of being touched right now, least of all by her.

“That was brutal Sylas, even for you,” she told him evenly. Though she did taste alcohol on him so maybe that was to play in his impulsive act and harsh burn.

Sylas sucked in a sharp breath, faltering slightly to stop his momentum so he didn’t slam right into her. His jaw tensed as his gaze fell to her withdrawing hand, like every part of him was toxic and if she touched him for too long he’d contaminate her. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her, turning his head away slightly to focus on the snow covered trees or distant campers funneling into their cabins. "‘See you at midnight,’" he repeated his earlier words. His voice rang out in the cold space between them, mirroring her even tone as he shifted the conversation back to her. "What did you think I meant?"

Well, of course he meant something. “You looked a little preoccupied,” she muttered, suddenly withdrawn and small. But he didn’t get to behave like she did him wrong when she asked a completely valid question. What the hell did he think he was doing? He did whatever with Nelly then thought he could beeline to her because the clock struck a certain time. “Shamelessly hopping between people is…” She didn’t want to say low or something with too much bite she couldn’t take back, given all they’ve been through. “Classy.” Now she was being unbefittingly sarcastic. What she devolved to around him was always more unbecoming, but she couldn’t help it.

She looked around, having no desire to delve deeper into their affairs in the open. She could feel herself losing her composure and sensibilities. “Walk with me.” She turned her back to him and took a couple of steps. Evelyn had a second thought to ask him instead or add please, glancing over her shoulder but the whole situation had soured her and manners could be forgotten for the moment. And for once, he could do as he was told. He didn’t have to fret, she’d only walk the rest of the way to his cabin to sort things out.

"What the f—" His attention snapped back to Evelyn at her accusation, but she was already continuing forward as if she already knew he’d follow her command whether he agreed to it or not. Sylas swallowed, giving himself a moment to attempt to compose himself until they were somewhere more… private. After all, that was what she wanted, wasn’t it? For him to remain her dirty little secret? She could dance with the darkness in secret, but couldn’t let herself be seen flirting with it in the light of day. He shook his head, following after her with his hands in his pockets and eyes fixated on the ground. Sylas didn’t need to look where she was going, he already knew, and it was like muscle memory to him after months at camp. It didn’t take them long to round the arena and make their way up the small secluded path to his cabin. His pace quickened just enough to ascend the stairs to the entrance before her and open the door.

Entering his area granted the raw space for them to talk like she wanted but watching him pass her and hold the door open made her pause briefly. Entering his cabin felt unwise because it was entirely his territory and confining. Whether it was courage, stubbornness or stupidity, something propelled her forward proceeding through his threshold anyway to deal with the daunting son of Eris.

Once she was inside, he followed after her and locked away the rest of camp. Sylas’s hand gently but commandingly pressed against Evelyn’s stomach, stopping her from walking further into his cabin and backed her into the nearest wall. He held her in place as he took a step toward her, looking down into her blue eyes within the darkness of his living room. Her words had been replaying like a broken record with every footstep. Now that she had her precious privacy, he wanted answers. "The fuck do you mean ’hopping between people’?" His whisper filled the silence, deep and sharp with a cold defensiveness. It was one thing to be caught in his own bullshit but being accused for something he didn’t do… by her? It struck something in him he couldn’t describe that made him feel like a wild animal backed into a corner.

Evelyn glanced quickly at the wall to her back as if the confines of the cabin had indeed betrayed her, then locked on Sylas looming over her. Her lips parted, thinking of a retort was easy while it’d be equally as self-incriminating. It’d confess she sought him out more than she wanted to at least. She swallowed a gulp of air as her hands rested on his chest. “Nelly.” The name departing immediately made her feel stupid.

The daughter of Hermes wasn’t the exclusive problem. Sylas and Nelly’s thing didn’t stem from attraction between the two that she could tell, but it was something. “Seduction of your victims,” she said again. “I’d hope you’d at least keep it some minutes apart.”

A dark glint flashed across his eyes and his nostrils flared at her words. Sylas’s free hand pressed against the wall beside her head as he leaned in close enough that she had nowhere else she could look, but at him. "Nelly—" he visibly grimaced like the girl’s name tasted like acid in his mouth, "—Came to me. Asked me for a kiss." His head dipped further until the tip of his nose hovered so dangerously closer to hers, that the touch could almost be felt like a phantom caress. "If you’re going to watch me, you could at least make sure you knew what you were talking about before accusing me." His gaze drifted along her face, taking in her sharp nose, square jawline, and unblemished skin before finding his way back to her eyes. There was a faintest hint of honest vulnerability hidden in his words. "I didn’t kiss her."

Why did it bother her? Why did Nelly bother her? The girl was an annoying mosquito that didn’t know how to shut up and rarely garnered more than a passing detestable thought. She was probably the last person at camp to earn a second glance. But just the thought of him playing his little games with her bothered Evelyn. It couldn’t be because they were friends. He never saw the two of them share more than a friendly word in passing. It didn’t make sense.

Unless…

Sylas’s demeanor shifted from defensive to dominant and probing. His hand ran up her torso. A feather-light brush of a single finger ran along the fabric stretched taut between her breasts, touch climbing higher until he seized her neck in his grasp a second time. His thumb trailed from the base of her throat up to her chin and tilted her head backwards to look him in the eye. "Why do you care, Evelyn?" His gaze never averted, searching her face intently for any shift or slip in emotion. "You’ve never been the jealous type."

This was all wrong. Somewhere along the lines she decided on silence and ignoring this whole situation as she scolded herself for ever allowing herself to get visibly frustrated or say anything. But Sylas would allow no such escape. Her chest thrummed harder as his hand crawled up her torso to her neck where an involuntary small gasp escaped when he grabbed her. She met his gaze as he wished but stared back with a certain coolness and defiance. Her lips were sealed.

He took a step forward, slowly pressing his chest against hers until she was pinned in place between him and the wall. The tip of his nose traced the edge of her jaw and curved around the cusp of her ear as he guided his lips close enough for her to hear the faintest of whispers. "If you want me to yourself…" His words were breathy and hot against her skin, laced with control and a hidden desire to hear Evelyn admit what she wanted. "Then say it."

She hadn’t turned hard of hearing but it seemed difficult to believe what he was saying. The conclusion she was afraid of, threateningly close to a potential true dark desire. And what would it accomplish for him other than a petted ego? She drew away a fraction only to turn her head towards him as her fingertips delicately prompted Sylas’s face up, forfeiting any hiding or distracting sensations beyond her eyeline. She needed to gauge him and see him properly. Evelyn’s eyes searched him fascinated, like a new piece of the puzzle had come into the light. Her lips twitched in an unsure smile before faltering. “Sylas…” she began with a small shake of her head. That was unfair of him but playing fair was never his priority. “What if I did want that? What if I confessed I wanted you all to myself? What would you get out of that?”

Sylas’s head lulled to her touch, moving as she commanded until he was looking down into her eyes from beneath his dark, prominent brows. He was of two minds when it came to her question and they were both fighting to overshadow the other and speak. The easy, manipulative, and almost reflexive answer was… nothing. He got nothing from her confession beyond power and control over her through a chokehold on her emotions. But then there was a hidden, tentative reality masked by his flippant and cold demeanor, a vulnerable truth that he himself struggled to come to terms with. Both thoughts twisted and churned in his gut as he tried to detangle them and choose which one to voice. "I’d get you." The words fell from his mouth before he could wrangle his conflicting halves and make a conscious decision. With the confession, his gaze averted to space on the wall beside her as he slowly started to pull away.

It was hard to imagine him tethered to anyone. Much more herself. She always figured Sylas had the appetite for people and games like she did knowledge. Enough was never enough, she wouldn’t suffice. Did he have any idea what he was saying? Did she have any idea what he was saying? While her mind ran rampant and her head was in a muddle, she still couldn’t fight the hint of warmth and excitement inside due to his response. All she could do was stare speechless for a while, eyes tracking his every shift in movement.

Between the drinks she had and her mess of emotions around him, she didn’t trust herself to make the right judgement in that moment. “You can force me to say it if you like,” she added lower, knowing well he wouldn’t like that option. As she also knew better than to believe Sylas would let her skirt around a genuine response of her own.

"I may be a monster," Sylas admitted beneath his breath. "But I’ve never used my powers against you." The insinuation of her comment made his words run cold and distant while his body mirrored the intent. His hand started to slide down the wall alongside her arm as the space between them grew slowly, inch by inch. While he could use his abilities to manipulate and puppet others like his own personal playthings, Evelyn was the one person who sought him of her own volition. He had grown almost addicted to her presence and the way she didn’t recoil from him. And while he was desperate to catch a glimpse into her mind and what she really felt, that was the one time where he knew forcing it would only make it all come crashing down. No matter how much he fucking hated it.

Her eyes scanned him still. She knew he had never used his powers against her. At least she thought she knew but something gambled he hadn’t. Every moment and word she gave him struck as clear, free and true. Steadily, Evelyn aimed to close the distance and rift between them that she caused, both physical and mental. If he allowed it. “I —” The words stuck, suddenly becoming difficult. She couldn’t do it. She placed one hand on his chest, fingers gently twisting into his shirt while the other slid cautiously up his torso to hook onto his shoulder like he was some wild beast that could lash out in a moment’s notice. She pushed off the wall and pressed her chest to his, not as commanding as him but checking if she could be this close. She found herself leaning into the man she was most magnetized to then forced herself to pause, lips hovering over his. She glanced hesitantly between his eyes and lips. A realization seemed to strike her at the same time. He rarely, if ever, initiated physical contact with her or others outside of some ploy. It was gentlemanly on one hand, on the other, it could’ve been part of his grand game. She chewed her bottom lip though she couldn’t tell if she was doing it out of a sudden anxiousness of why that was, or eagerness to have him. “Kiss me again,” she whispered, somewhere between asking and telling him.

Despite a certain leniency he tended to have with her she knew she didn’t walk on water around him and her luck had been pushed repetitively. This time there was no public or other girl to do it for show or whatever compelled him beforehand. There were just the two of them. But this felt like something she needed even when she didn’t quite know what she was testing or what exactly she wanted proof of.

Sylas didn’t pull away when she struggled to find words but he didn’t step closer either. He remained stoic, distant, and unchanging… That was until her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt like he was an animal in need of leashing to keep him from pulling away. His gaze studied her face intently as she attempted to close the distance he created between them. There was a strong urge to pull away, to sever the connection Evelyn desired until he got an answer from her. If it was anyone else he wouldn’t give a second thought to the limbo they had grown complacent in… But he wanted more, as much as that realization made him want to pull away and cling to her more. It would only muddy the clarity he sought if he caved to her touch. But then he zoned in on the way she bit her bottom lip and the desperation in her voice, entranced and unable to deny her.

His hands hungrily seized her waist, pushing her back against the wall as his body followed, pressing against her. He held her gaze, prolonging the moment and anticipation until every ounce of Evelyn was begging for him to close the last sliver of space that separated them. Sylas pressed his lips against hers, passionate and deep, skipping over any pretenses of gentle tenderness. A heavy exhale slipped from his nose and caressed her cheek when he was unwilling to pull away long enough for either of them to catch their breaths.

She knocked back into the wall again, breath hitching and she clutched him tighter without thought. The way he looked at her sometimes she didn’t know if he’d kiss her or kill her but she still found herself wanting to close the only gap that remained. The only reason she didn’t was because it was vital he did on his own accord, albeit, with her prompt. As she got close to uttering a ‘please’, he gave her what she asked for. She inhaled sharply, caught off guard by his conviction before feverishly catching his lips. How she should have kissed him back on the field in the first place.

Evelyn’s mind nagged to justify she didn’t use their attraction and physicality as a distraction to get out of answering things herself but Sylas’s zest was silencing and more swaying to other needs that she silently pleaded for him not to stop. He devoured her doubts and ignited her nerves in the best way that Evelyn was happy to be set ablaze with desire. Her hands slid down his dress shirt, freeing him of the last remaining button of his navy shirt then his pants. Evelyn raised one leg up by his hip, thankful for her heels and the wall for support while her dress drifted a little higher up her thigh, inviting him closer.

Sylas shrugged out of his shirt, letting the fabric fall to the ground without a second care as his lips trailed hot, ravenous kisses along her jaw, below her ear, and then down the crook of her neck. His hands slipped from Evelyn’s waist, running down her legs until he felt the soft exposed skin of her thighs. The tips of his fingers dipped beneath the hem of her dress, slowly inching it higher. He couldn’t be bothered pulling himself from her to carry her to bed, or even waste the few seconds to stumble backwards toward the couch. Sylas wanted her, needed her, to hell with everything else. He kept Evelyn pinned between himself and the wall as he hooked his hands around the back of her thighs, lifting her off the ground, and guiding her legs around his waist with a breathy, desperate grunt against her neck.

Her eyes fluttered closed, tilting her head to better expose whatever he desired as her hand cupped around the back of his neck. Her fingers flexed and grabbed into the nape of his neck and hair, her mouth found his own skin when possible, hoping to spur him on. No words were said as they were lost breathlessly but both understood there was no more waiting. He picked her up and she wrapped her legs around him. It was easy to succumb to pleasure and let go with Sylas. And more than anything right now, Evelyn wanted to be enveloped by him. She missed the serpent’s coils.

^{interactions ....|.... lochlan, nelly, fiona & morne ............... mentions ....|.... none ............... collabs ....|.... @xNocturnax}

Camp Athens - Closed

^{#c7b29b ....|..... outfit .....|..... party > her cabin .....|..... rocco}

Having a conversation about Sloane’s shitty taste in men didn’t feel like the best topic, regardless if it might have been the catalyst that led her to take up a seat besides Duke and seek refuge with him. It was hard for her to tell if it all came about because it was that obvious, thus she was that stupid, or just really well placed irony. She probably would have mulled it over more if a warm hand on her shoulder didn’t pull her out of her thoughts. Her brows furrowed as she looked over at him.

"You’ve got a good heart, that’s all. They’ll start weighing things out in time," Duke said as he pointed between her head and heart.

Sloane wanted to ask how he knew. It wasn’t like they had ever had a conversation before then. But she wasn’t going to ruin his attempt at being kind with her own demons and doubts. "I hope you’re right," she replied with an uneven smile that tugged toward her right cheek.

The tension across her back eased and she was able to relax into her seat a bit more as the conversation turned to lighter subjects. Ok, so Pandora’s box wasn’t necessarily lighter, but perhaps easier and more relatable than Sloane’s dating history. She’d much rather talk about nearly dying rather than the mistakes of her past. Although the way Duke laughed at her shitty romance novel reference dipped them slightly back into unfamiliar territory. "Not at all," he confessed. Sloane’s face scrunched up slightly at her failed attempt at a terrible joke. She should have known better. It wasn’t like he looked like the type to read shitty werewolf smut. "You’ve got a werewolf claw scar? Don’t worry, it makes you look pretty tough. Enduring," he added with a smile.

"I didn’t see what attacked me," she clarified with a shrug and weak smile. "It is a claw mark. But if that’s from a werewolf? Or a bear? Or someone with really long nails? That I don’t know." Sloane wasn’t entirely sure if she agreed with his assessment. It felt wrong for her to have a gruesome scar like she was a battle hardened warrior, when all she did was run too slow to avoid getting caught in its talons. Others, like Duke, would probably find a way to wear it as a badge of honor. But to her eyes she just felt blemished. She wasn’t the type to think she was particularly pretty, but a giant scar that ran down the length of her back and halfway down her leg only made her feel… uglier.

"I sort of like your company," Duke admitted while rubbing the back of his neck.

Sloane hadn’t considered how the joke she made at her own expense could be taken. So when he spoke up, his words caught her a little off guard. She might have looked a bit bewildered but her smile was soft and almost warm in a way it hadn’t been since Ace indirectly ruined her night. "So you’re saying there is something wrong with you then?" she teased gently, but only for a moment before she let her tone become the faintest bit more serious. "Thanks." Her head tilted to the side slightly as her smile grew a fraction at his confession.

Subconsciously, she took a small step in the general direction of her cabin assuming he’d follow after Fiona. But the dismissive way Duke waved his hand and almost scoffed caught her attention. "She can handle herself. But you." She pointed to herself a little confused as he met her gaze and smiled. "Can I ask who you’re hiding from?"

She sucked in a breath through clenched teeth as tension knit across her shoulders and her gaze fell to Rocco sitting patiently beside her. Sloane tugged her sleeves over the heels of her palms as she tried to piece together her answer. "He’s new," she replied with a sigh. "His name’s Ace. Tattoos. Looks like a walking red flag," she added with a self deprecating laugh before she pointed in the direction of the bar. "He was the one who uh…" Her brows furrowed as she tried to find a delicate way to word it, but ended up grimacing and waving her finger in that direction instead of saying it. "... with Blair."

Duke sighed, seeming about as over the party as she was. "If you’ve had enough I’ll walk you to your cabin. Or we could just walk?" He held up his hands in surrender before she had a chance to answer one way or the other. "I’m sure you can walk yourself. Especially next to a few other people. I just wanna get away before the midnight festivities."

"Yeah," Sloane sighed softly in agreement as her gaze drifted around the people who lingered around the party, drunk and likely to partake in less than tolerable making out within the next couple moments. Witnessing that was not on her list of fun activities. She looked back over at him with a warm smile, a bit surprised by his offer to walk her, but appreciative of the gesture. "Are you sure? My cabin’s near the beach." She pointed over her shoulder with her thumb in the general direction of her cabin. She didn’t have much of an idea where Duke’s was, but considering they never really ran into each other, it was likely on the opposite side of camp.

When he didn’t seem bothered and proceeded to follow her anyway, Sloane didn’t argue and started leading them down the path around the stables. They walked in silence for a bit before Duke filled the silence while looking down at Rocco. "You know how big he’s gonna get? If you need a bed or doggy door for him I’m happy to help."

"I don’t even know what kind of dog he is," she confessed as she looked down at the pup, ears bouncing softly as he trotted alongside her. "He was Liam’s," Sloane admitted quietly. She wasn’t entirely sure why she felt the need to share that. Maybe it was because a small part of her felt like no matter how hard she tried, that she still wasn’t Liam and that Rocco would rather be with him, given the choice. Her smile faded slightly as she sighed, but she tried to push past it as she looked back over at Duke. "Thank you." Her voice was barely above a whisper, but no less genuine. "He’d sooner die a pathetically dramatic death before giving up his spot in my bed," she added with a soft laugh, reminiscing on how much he whined whenever she kept him out of her bed. It didn’t even last an hour before she caved. "But he’d probably love a doggy door. Although I might need to focus on some kind of fence first or he’d get into Gods know what."

They had made it about halfway to her cabin when a firework soared into the sky and exploded overhead. The initial bang made Sloane jump slightly before her gaze immediately fell to Rocco. She didn’t think of the possibility of fireworks but knew how dogs commonly got spooked by them. He jumped a little like herself and looked around a bit confused, but he was quickly mesmerized by the sparkling lights then distracted by Duke as he lowered himself to his level. Her brows tugged together as she watched them curiously. He patiently earned Rocco’s trust by letting the dog sniff his hand then scooped him up into his arms like he weighed nothing. A surprised gasp escaped her lips when a wet snout was turned to face her. "Only guy you need to spend the new year with."

Sloane’s smile lit up her eyes as the fireworks thundered its climax over camp. She reached up, adjusting Rocco’s tartan bowtie then gently cupped his face in her hands and gave it a playful little shake. "He is a loyal one." She rubbed his ears before shifting to the tips of her toes and leaning in to give him a kiss on the top of his head. The second she went to pull away his tongue slapped against the side of her face, licking a wet trail up her cheek. Her face contorted into a playful grimace as she used her sleeve to wipe the saliva from her face.

"He knows the rest of the way." She pointed down the path as her heels lowered back to the ground, shifting off the tips of her toes. Once Rocco was set back down, Sloane pointed down the path. "Home," she commanded gently. Then with a jump and a bark the dog sprinted off in a streak of grey, disappearing around the bend.

Her pace remained leisurely and steady as the dusting of snow crunched beneath her boots. Sloane frowned at the streak of makeup smudged along the sleeve of her shirt. It was strangely poetic how with the final fireworks at midnight Rocco lifted the veil, turning her back into a pumpkin with a single kiss. But rather than the party being full of ballgowns and Prince Charmings, there were drunks and sexual exploits. It was like ruining her makeup dropped the illusion, removing the pretense of being a person she wasn’t, and slowly pushed her back into the comfortable invisibility she was used to.

As the lake came into view, Sloane led them down a narrow path nestled between the trees to the left. It gradually opened to a small clearing around her tiny cabin and Rocco sitting patiently in the snow right in front of the door. Her steps slowed until she stopped a few feet away from her dog as he let out a long and dramatic yawn. She laughed softly and the faint traces of a smile curved at the corner of her lips. "Thanks again for letting me hide with you… And the escort." Her head nodded slightly. While she didn’t cross paths with Ace or Blair or Sylas, it was nice having the safety of his company. "Happy new year, Duke." Her voice was quiet, filling the stillness in the air in the absence of the party. She flashed him a warm smile and a small wave before disappearing inside her cabin with Rocco on her heels.

^{interactions ....|.... duke ............... mentions ....|.... ace, blair & sylas ............... collabs ....|.... none}

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^{#86a8ad ....|..... outfit .....|..... #5a3e85 ....|..... outfit .....|..... party > anissa's cabin}

River’s chest heaved, hot breath mixing with hers in the small space between them when Anissa finally broke the kiss. He could feel her eyes on him, but he waited a moment or two longer as a new fear twisted and rooted itself in his gut. Without the loud bangs of the fireworks, he could hear his gulp between deep, shaky breaths. When he had dragged out the quiet stillness long enough, River slowly opened his eyes and met her gaze. "Happy—"

His hand slowly slipped from her waist and rose to cup her cheek, but before his fingers could brush against her soft skin, Anissa all but threw herself off his lap. Panic immediately roared to the forefront of his mind, washing away every other sensation like a tsunami. River watched her with wide eyes as his telltale flush quickly flooded his cheeks. His thoughts immediately cycled through any and every way he fucked everything up, while frantically trying to find the words to apologize or the will to move. But the moment she fell to her knees, all other thoughts fell to the wayside. He was off the log and crouched beside her in a second, one hand gently rubbing her back while the other held her hair out of the way.

Anissa stayed hunched forward for what felt like an eternity, her palms pressed into the frozen earth as if she needed its solidity to keep from falling apart. Her chest heaved, the metallic tang of salt still burning her throat and clinging to her nostrils. She spat, trying to rid herself of the taste, but it persisted on her tongue like seawater swallowed mid-drowning. The cold ground stung her palms and knees, a distant discomfort against the clammy sweat beading on her neck.

When River’s hand smoothed along her back, Anissa nearly flinched; her nerves were so raw. But the rhythmic circles he drew sliced through the nausea, providing a sense of anchor. His presence alone helped her breathe without gagging. Yet, despite his kindness, shame prickled against her cheeks. Gods, what must he think of her? One moment she was kissing him with desperate intensity, the next she was on her hands and knees, sick from some cold, internal wrongness only she could feel.

Anissa’s eyes stung with embarrassed tears, but she refused to let them fall. Instead, she dragged a lightheaded breath into her aching lungs and whispered hoarsely, "Sorry… I don’t…" She trailed off, the apology feeling futile. What was she even sorry for? Ruining the perfect moment? Her audacity? The bourbon, or this deeper, sickening violation of her own body? Her voice cracked as she tried again. "I don’t usually…" But the sentence was impossible to finish. I don’t usually lose control. I don’t usually end up like this. The words died in her throat, leaving only the sound of her ragged breathing and the steadfast pressure of his hand.

He waited patiently until she stopped retching, listening to her struggle to find words and inevitably falling short. There wasn’t much he could say or do that could console her or give her the reassurances she needed, besides just being there. It wasn’t like she chose to get sick. While the past five minutes had been a whirlwind he was still trying to wrap his mind around, River was pretty confident the last thing she had intended was to bring it all to a screeching halt… Or at least he hoped so.

"Alright." River’s voice was quiet and calm as whatever nerves he had vanished and were replaced with a singular goal. "Let’s get you home."

He reached over and picked up her boots, then gently scooped her up into his arms. As he turned from the party, a stray thought redirected him toward the bar. It took a moment of searching along and behind the counter, but he eventually found a couple of bottles of water. He crouched down low enough so they were easy for Anissa to reach. "Grab a water," he instructed her gently.

When River’s arms slid beneath her, Anissa let out a tiny, surprised gasp. Her fingers instinctively clutched his shirt as he lifted her with an effortless strength that left her weightless. Against her will, her body relaxed into his, the pounding in her head dulled by the solid warmth of his chest. The sting of embarrassment remained, but the relief of no longer having to hold herself upright was overwhelming. Her boots dangled from his grip, his attention entirely fixed on her.

He carried her with a focused consideration that made Anissa want to hide. By the time he crouched by the bar, her hands had almost stopped shaking. She fumbled with the cap before finally twisting it open and gulping the water greedily. The cold liquid was a shock, doing little to erase the acrid salt lingering in her throat. Yet, the simple act of his care was a comfort in itself.

Tucked against him, Anissa felt something she hadn’t experienced in years: a profound sense of safety. It was the safety she had desperately dreamed of as a girl, when no one believed her visions and the word “histrionic” was hissed behind her back. It was a safety she never expected to find in another person, and the sensation was so intoxicating it tempted her to let her guard down completely.

But another part of her, calloused by years of ridicule and honed by survival, clawed its way back. This ingrained impulse recoiled from the comfort. To be safe was to be vulnerable, and to be vulnerable was to be seen. In her experience, being truly seen always led to risk—a risk that ended with people shrinking from the truth of who she was. The memory of others pulling away rose like a spectre, that familiar fear coiling hot in her chest, a serpent of doubt fighting the balm of his presence.

Anissa couldn’t help it. She hid her face as much as she could.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled again, the words muffled by his shirt.

Nevertheless, she was no longer trembling.

River spared a glance down at her, seeing nothing but the crown of her head and brunette hair as she buried her face in his chest. He gently adjusted his hold on her, the hand that held her boots shifting more securely beneath the bed in her knees. "I’m not upset," he replied quietly as he stepped off the field onto one of the main paths that led around camp. So many thoughts were buzzing around his head, but he was struggling to catch a single one and make sense of it. He didn’t think he was upset. There was a part of him that would have preferred to still be by the bonfire, lost in the sensation of Anissa’s lips on his with her arms around him, but it was a selfish thought. He wasn’t sent to camp to be distracted by a girl. He was sent there to lead, guide, and train warriors. Yet, for reasons he couldn’t fully grasp, at least for one night, none of that mattered.

It took him a moment or two to find his bearings, but he was eventually able to retrace their steps from earlier and find the correct direction that would lead them toward the beach. River kept his pace slow and as steady as possible to hopefully not stir Anissa’s stomach any more than it was already unsettled. Without taking their unnecessary detour earlier, it didn’t take him long to find his way back to the cabin he assumed was hers. "Is this yours?" he asked while turning slightly to make sure she could tell him one way or the other.

The girl nodded her head weakly and hummed an affirmative. After receiving this confirmation, River slowly climbed the steps of her porch. It took some coordination, but he managed to crouch down, grab the doorknob with the hand that held her boots, and open the door. Once inside, he set her shoes down beside the entrance before he wandered around the unfamiliar cabin until he stumbled upon her bedroom. Figuring that after getting sick, Anissa might have wanted to be taken to the bathroom before passing out in bed, he carried her into the small adjacent room. He slowly set her back down on her feet on the small bathmat in front of the sink. His hands hovered in the air around her, preparing to catch her in case she wobbled or fell over. "I can go wait outside. I just want to make sure you make it to bed ok." He spoke quietly, watching her intently through her reflection in the mirror.

Anissa swayed once, catching herself with both palms flat on the cool porcelain. The mirror offered a brutally honest reflection: her skin was flushed, her hair tousled. The phantom taste of salt still clung to her throat, and she forced herself to take slow breaths, waiting for the world to stop tilting. Her gaze then lifted to find River in the glass, his figure hovering behind her like a steadfast promise.

"I can manage," she said, her voice more delicate than she had intended. River hesitated, his concern evident in the slight furrow of his brow, but he gave a short, respectful nod. He retreated into the main room, leaving the door deliberately cracked open. The sliver of space was his compromise, a gesture that honoured her dignity without surrendering his refusal to abandon her.

Once alone, Anissa fumbled with the faucet, twisting the handle until a rush of cold water streamed forth. She bent over the sink, splashing her face with cupped hands. The shock was immediate, a jolt that banished the fog in her head and chased away the worst of the nausea. Droplets clung to her lashes, beaded on her cheeks, and slid in icy trails down her throat. She welcomed the discomfort; it proved she was still here, still in control of at least this one, minute thing.

Her hands gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles stretched taut. For a moment, she hated the sight of herself: fragile, dishevelled, reduced to a gasping version of the girl who had, minutes ago, burned so brightly in his arms. She closed her eyes, inhaling the sterile scents of clean water and soap, and forced herself to stand upright. Her gaze drifted toward the narrow gap in the door. She cleared her throat, speaking just loud enough to be heard.

"I’m just going to brush my teeth." It was half-explanation, half-reassurance. A way to demystify her actions so he wouldn’t worry and she wouldn’t feel so exposed under his vigil. Her fingers found the cup by the sink, then the toothbrush. She ran the bristles under the water, added a generous streak of mint paste, and began the familiar, scrubbing pattern. The foam spread cool across her tongue, its crisp freshness finally pushing back the last vestiges of that awful, briny taste. The act was mundane, almost absurd after the night's events, but it held her up more effectively than the water alone. She spat, rinsed, and repeated until her mouth felt truly clean. After dabbing her face with a towel, she turned off the tap. The ensuing silence felt huge, broken only by the hum of her own, now-calmer breathing.

Steeling herself, Anissa squared her shoulders and stepped toward the doorway, catching his reflection once more in the mirror. "You can walk me the rest of the way now…" she mumbled, still unable to meet his eyes directly. "Just…to the bed."

River waited patiently in her bedroom. There were several reasons why he didn’t sit on her bed while waiting, the main one being that it wasn't his cabin… And, you know, it was her bed. He slipped his hands into the front pockets of his pants and leaned back against the shared wall between her room and the bathroom. There was a moment where he contemplated waiting in the living room, but he didn’t know if he'd be able to hear if she needed help all the way out there. It wasn’t like he was her keeper or anything, but he couldn’t, in good conscience, turn a blind eye when she could barely walk straight. His gaze remained fixated on his shoe as he idly bumped his heel against the baseboard.

When her voice cut through the silence, River pushed off the wall and turned to face her. "Yeah, ok." He nodded and took a step toward her. Then he hesitated, hands hovering in the air around her again like they had when she first fell in his lap. It wasn’t like he didn’t have his hands on her ten minutes earlier, but it was no longer triggered by blind temptation and a lapse in judgment. All his faculties had returned to him, and he was thinking clearly, enough. So, of course, his awkwardness rooted itself back into the forefront of his mind. He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the blush that crept up his chest as he stepped up behind her and lightly rested his hands on her waist to help stabilize and guide her towards her bed.

Anissa caught the hesitation in his hovering hands. It was so different from the sure grip he’d had at the bonfire, his fingers holding her as if afraid she might vanish. Now, he seemed afraid to touch her at all. She didn’t call him on it, perhaps because she herself was wary of the answer. Was it regret? Restraint? Or something else entirely?

When his palms finally settled, a tentative pressure at her sides, Anissa allowed herself to lean back into the support they offered. Her steps across the short distance to the bed were sluggish but sure. As she reached the edge of the mattress, she let out a long, slow breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her fingers brushed the blanket as she lowered herself, but instead of releasing his hand, Anissa tightened her grip in a wordless request for him to stay. At least before she glanced up, catching the flush that still coloured the high planes of his cheeks, allowing herself to imagine how easy it would be not to let him go at all. To pull him down beside her. The compulsion was so strong she had to avert her gaze, saving herself from its full force.

"Thank you… for staying. For getting me here." Anissa still didn’t look at him when she said it because she already knew what his answer might be: it was his responsibility, his duty as a leader and nothing more. And maybe, a cautious part of her warned, that was all this was.

River had intended to turn down the blankets and help tuck her in, maybe grab some water and aspirin if there was any stashed somewhere in her cabin. But the way Anissa grabbed his hand like a lifeline that was keeping her from drifting out to sea stopped him dead in his tracks and erased all other thoughts from his mind. His gaze searched the faint bits of her cheeks and nose that he could see beyond the crown of her head as she spoke. "Of course." His voice was quiet and calm, but held an assuredness that showed there was no alternative where he wouldn’t have helped her. Even before their kiss, he would have helped her because they were friends. Now? Things were different in some unspeakable way that he couldn’t put his finger on. But that didn’t change everything. It didn’t change the magnetic pull that he had to be there for her, even if he didn’t know why.

His thumb brushed over her knuckles—an unconscious motion, if Anissa had to guess—sending a delicate shiver tracing its way up her arm. Regardless of his intent, he didn’t try to reclaim his hand, and that simple fact meant more to her than any words could. Midnight had already come and gone, the fireworks burned down to drifting smoke they’d left behind on the field, but she found herself clinging to the spell of it all. A part of her had always believed the New Year marked a definitive ending, a boundary line where the night's magic would inevitably evaporate. Yet here he was, his hand still tangled in hers. And here she was, still daring to imagine that this moment didn't have to vanish with the final turn of the clock.

"You don’t have to hover. Just…" Anissa gave his hand a firmer yet benign tug, urging him down toward her. The mattress dipped under his weight, the space beside her now occupied.
"Stay. A little longer?"

The words were a cover for a deeper plea, she knew, but her heart raced with the truth of it. She didn’t want him across the room, or poised at the door, or retreating into the safe, neutral territory of duty. She wanted him close enough to make the last remnants of midnight’s magic stretch into the early hours of the morning. Close enough that, when the spell finally broke, she wouldn't have to face the sobering aftermath alone.

When she tugged his hand, there was a fraction of a second where River’s mind raced through what it meant and what he should do. Did he step closer? Did he sit beside her? Did he push her back onto the bed and kiss her like before? No. No, River.
"Ok," he whispered, folding to her demands without hesitation or a second thought. He cleared his throat, not meeting her gaze as he let her beckoning lower him to sit on the bed beside her, close enough that their knees touched and his arm brushed against her shoulder. Even after dropping himself beside her, Anissa’s hand didn’t relinquish its hold on him. In the quiet simplicity of her cabin, alone, feeling her warmth radiating into him, he couldn’t stop his heart from racing. He swallowed, trying to steel his rising nerves, but the sound of it was so loud against the silence that it only made it worse.

Anissa kept her eyes on their joined hands, her thumb brushing his knuckles in a deliberate echo of his own gesture. The room was silent save for the wind brushing the windowpane, and she understood she would have to be the one to speak now. To act.

She risked a glance upward. He was close enough that she could see the fine tension in his jaw, the red still high on his cheeks. Her powers hadn’t stirred. There was no cold ache in her palm, no hungry urge to take. For once, she didn’t feel like a danger to someone she wanted to be close to, and she leaned into that precious reprieve. It might be gone in a minute, with the next heartbeat. But right now, she was free.

The realization lodged in her mind, hot and insistent. Suddenly, it wasn’t enough to just hold his hand or feel his presence beside her. Not when she could still taste the memory of his mouth against hers, the rush of that first kiss he had claimed in a moment of thoughtless bravery. That had been him crossing the distance. This time, she needed it to be her.

Anissa’s free hand lifted, seemingly of its own volition. It quivered only once before her fingers rose to trace the strong, defined edge of his jaw. A hint of stubble met her touch, and she smiled. A private, wondering thing. She had somehow missed that detail before. She turned toward him fully, closing the scant distance until his breath mingled with hers. She held there, suspended, close enough to feel any uncertainty in him and to test the resolve in her own heart.

But her nerve didn't fail. Instead, her lips met his with an unplanned tenderness, a kiss that held none of their previous frantic urgency. It was brief, a soft and searching question. The realization of what she’d done caught up to her swiftly, a wave of vulnerability that made her breath stutter as she drew back, leaving their mouths separated by only the barest, most charged of inches.

River’s gaze had been fixated on a random spot on the wall opposite them, focusing on steadying his breath and grounding himself… Until he felt the tips of her fingers brush hesitantly against his jaw. He inhaled a short breath at the gentle contact, and his chest tightened in nervous anticipation. He slowly turned his head into her touch so that he could look down into her dark eyes, cast in shadows beneath her messy hair and soft brows. While tension still hung in the air between them, there was also a calm curiosity absent from the additional factors that had ignited them earlier. He didn’t help Anissa to her cabin with the assumption of getting another kiss. If anything, he figured she’d pretend it never happened. Yet, like the countless times that evening, she subverted his expectations.

Her lips found his once again. It wasn’t desperate or passionate, but a gentle caress that was far more tender and affectionate, like a whispered secret between the two of them without the chaotic haze of fireworks and prying eyes. There was something about the kiss that felt far more intimate, even though everything about it was vastly more innocent than what they shared before.

When she pulled away, River felt a sinking weight at the distance between them and the absence of her warmth against his lips. The boldness within him that had fallen dormant stirred back to life as his hand moved of its own accord. His fingers ran along her collarbone, hooked around the back of her neck and slipped into the hair at the base of her skull. The gentle pressure of his hand eased her closer as he filled the space between them with another kiss. He exhaled deeply through his nose as his lips locked with hers, tender but sensual, not seeking immediate gratification but to prolong a moment that felt like it would slip away with the dawning of a new year.

His mouth moved against hers, tasting of clean water and something uniquely River: a flavour both invigoratingly plain and profoundly reassuring, chasing the last persistent doubts from her mind. He wanted this. He wanted her. The pad of his thumb stroking an unhurried rhythm against the nape of her neck all but confirmed it, eliciting a shiver of pure contentment, nothing like the frigid wrongness that had followed their first kiss.

Anissa’s free hand rose to rest against his chest. Beneath her palm, she felt the thundering cadence of his heartbeat, a wild, insistent drum matching her own. His breath came in shallow bursts against her lips, and she caught the way his frame inclined toward her, leaning into a current he was desperately trying to hold back. Her fingers curled into his shirt, gripping him as if she could coax that restrained flood to break and sweep her away.

And then, it did.

A creeping sensation began to build in Anissa’s chest, a pressure like an unseen tide pulling her under. It was stronger this time, more pronounced, stealing her breath and making her lightheaded in a way that was both terrifying and intoxicating. She had thought she knew what it meant to be dragged under, to lose herself in something infinite and merciless. But she’d been wrong.

Her fingers clenched tighter in his shirt, and the kiss deepened by untamed instinct. Anissa guided him with the arch of her body, easing back against the mattress. Her hand slid from his chest to his collar, drawing him down with her. He followed in a gradual capitulation, until the mattress sighed beneath them and the reality of him hung over her. She welcomed that engulfing weight, folding it into the kiss and the shelter of his body blanketing hers. If she was going to be swept away, she wanted him there with her. An anchor against the force threatening to pull her into the depths.

River’s body acted on instinct rather than thought, heeding every silent command. Whenever her lips found his, he pressed in more. Whenever she pulled him, he leaned in, closing more of the distance between them. The hesitations he had before around the bonfire fell by the wayside with every gentle reassurance, from the way she wanted him to stay, how her hand still held tight to his, and how the pauses between their kisses grew fewer and farther between as every touch became more needy and intentional.

There was a fleeting moment where River paused, trying to find the strength or resolve to stop. But feeling the way her hand tugged at the collar of his shirt, enticing him to fold to her every desire, all sense of control and reason vanished piece by piece with every kiss. His hand slipped free from hers and hooked around the small of her back as it arched, easing her back against the bed as she pulled him down with her. His other hand fell from the back of her neck to brace against the mattress and support some of his weight. As the distance between their bodies shrank, River’s waist nestled into the space between her legs and his chest lightly pressed against hers. His kisses grew deeper and hungrier as he began trailing his lips along her jaw and down the side of her neck while his knee hooked beneath her thigh as it slid up the bed, easing her leg up and around his waist.

The fervour of his body enveloped her as his lips traced down her neck, his breath searing against her skin. Anissa angled her head without thought, offering him more. Her fingers clutched his collar as if afraid the moment might unravel. She curved into him, her hands digging into the solid muscle of his back, urging him closer, eliminating any space she might have used to retreat. But she didn’t want to. That certainty only sharpened when his knee pressed between her thighs, sending licks of fire through her. The whimper that broke from her throat was unbidden and unmistakable.

Anissa swallowed hard, the sound dissolving into a breathy laugh tinged with nervousness and raw want. Lost in the haze, her fingers drifted to the first button of his shirt, fumbling against the simple obstruction. The movement was uncoordinated, her dexterity blunted by adrenaline and bourbon, yet the intent was indisputable. She wanted more of him. More proof that this was real, and that she wasn’t dreaming it out of suffocating loneliness.

The quiet, pleading sound that slipped from Anissa’s lips between heavy breaths ignited an insatiable fire inside River like nothing he had ever felt before. He slowly reached back to seize her knee gently in his grasp. Heat radiated from his palm, through her tights, and along her supple skin as his hand slowly trailed up her thigh until the tips of his fingers brushed along the hem of her dress. He was lost in her warmth and intoxicated by the sounds he pulled from her. His heart fluttered, and every muscle in his torso tensed when she started unbuttoning his shirt.

There was a second where River didn’t only let it happen, he wanted it to happen. He wanted to lose himself entirely to her in that moment, consequences be damned. But the lingering hint of bourbon on Anissa’s tongue and the fumbling of her fingers as they migrated to the second button of his shirt pulled him out of his mental fog. He groaned, frustrated at his own inability to ignore his moral code as his forehead fell to rest against her collarbone. "I can’t… I’m sorry," he whispered. His hand slipped from her thigh to press against the mattress beside her.

Slowly and reluctantly, he pushed off the bed, regretting everything as he caught a glimpse of her bewildered but beautifully flushed face beneath him. River turned his head away, trying to hide his own frustrated disappointment, before he sat up and moved himself to sit at the foot of the bed. His elbows rested on his bent knees as he buried his face in his hands. "You’re drunk… I can’t…" He struggled to form proper sentences and make any sense of his thoughts. He wanted nothing more than to climb back on top of her, but the knot in his stomach kept him from moving from where he sat. "It wouldn’t be right… I…"
He sighed. It took more strength than possible to restrain himself, but he refused to be the type of man who took advantage of a woman while she was drunk. If Anissa wanted him that badly while sober, then… maybe. But he didn’t want to be one of her regrets.

She couldn’t move, her body suspended between disbelief and the sting of humiliation. The fire she had leaned into with rare conviction was extinguished the instant he pulled away, leaving her stranded in the ashes of their unfinished moment. Anissa could have weathered straightforward rejection; she was an expert at folding that particular hurt into a neat, small package. But this was different. He had wanted her. She’d felt the proof in the desperate way he’d kissed her, in the possessive climb of his hand up her thigh as if he were losing a battle with his own control. That truth, brighter and more painful than any refusal, was what made his restraint carve into her so deeply.

He was stopping himself. For her. Because she was intoxicated, and he refused to be the kind of man who took what she couldn't consciously, completely give.

The realization severed her in two. A warring tide of gratitude and frustration swelled within her: gratitude for his integrity, and a hot, clenching frustration at being treated like a cautionary tale. She had grown up without a father to look out for her, without anyone to indicate which hands were safe. Her mother’s fierce love had been a sanctuary, but even that couldn’t watch every door. Anissa had learned to scan faces for hidden threats, to be the sole architect of her own survival. To need protecting now, from him, felt like being forced back into a role of powerlessness she had worked so hard to escape.

Her fingers grappled the blanket beneath her, nails digging into her palms as if she could pin herself to the present. She didn't want him to see the frightened child she’d once been. She wanted him to notice the woman who had chosen him, who had met his gaze and leaned in without a second thought. And yet here she was, paralyzed by the contradiction of craving his strength and resenting the safety it offered.

Anissa’s pride demanded she look away, to cloak the pain with indifference. But something more primal was taking root. A chill, born not from the air but from some deep, internal well, began to seep under her skin. The solid presence of River had kept it at bay. Now, with him gone, it came rushing back. A cold, heavy, merciless weight. She didn’t understand its origin. She only knew she felt terrifyingly and unbearably alone.

Her voice finally broke the silence, little more than a hushed admission.
"I didn’t want you to stop."

The words escaped before she could call them back, far more revealing than she would have ever allowed sober. But River was right. She was drunk. And there was no way she could truly blame him for stopping.

River’s hands slid down his face until his palms pressed together over his nose and mouth with a deep, regretful sigh.
"I didn’t want to stop," he confessed under his breath, unable to bring himself to look back at her. The way his chest tightened and ached with yearning told him that a single glance would destroy every ounce of conviction he clung so desperately to. "I don’t want to be a drunken regret." His leg started bouncing as all of his anxieties and nerves came crashing back into him like a wave, no longer hidden behind the haze of uninhibited passion. "When—If we…" He cleared his throat, struggling to find the words as the truth got stuck in his throat for the first time around her.

Anissa’s chest squeezed at his unfinished words. The implication, even unspoken, sorted out the disorder in her head more than any outright rejection could have. He wasn’t claiming a lack of desire. He was confessing that he wanted her too much to cheapen the moment. That truth, so utterly River, left her aching with an emotion that felt dangerously like hope. She forced herself upright against the pillows, her gaze hooking on the frantic bounce of his leg, a telltale drum of the war inside him. Her pride told her to let it be, to let him marinate in his principles while she gathered her dignity. But her pride was a feeble thing, and it was useless against the creeping chill.

"… if you can’t right now, then don’t. Just…don’t leave me." Be the one to hold this coldness at bay. Be the one who doesn't disappear.

Anissa slid over, the sheets rustling as she made a space for him.

After another moment of silence, River steeled his resolve before he forced himself to turn to look at her. He noticed the way she had shifted to one side of the bed to make room for him. He should have left, but the way Anissa looked at him like he was two seconds from vanishing into a cloud of smoke made it impossible for him to find the will to stand. "Alright," he conceded with a soft sigh as he slowly slid off his shoes and left them on the ground. With one more deep breath for restraint, River lay back on top of the blankets in the space she made for him, letting his head rest against one of the pillows.

The sound of his answer washed through her like a first full breath after breaking the surface. Relief was a treacherous emotion, one she knew could cultivate a craving for the unreachable. Yet she let it settle regardless. The mattress shifted with his weight, his presence a living bulwark against the cold dread seeping into her bones. Anissa turned her face toward him, her gaze tracing the strong line of his jaw and the resolved set of his mouth. She allowed herself a true, releasing exhale, a final surrender of the tension she had been clutching inside.

"Thank you," she said, the words almost lost to the hush of the room. Her gratitude was not for the kiss, his restraint, or even his company. It was for this fragile truce, this uncharted territory between his wanting and his will. Her fingers stirred against the blanket, a faint impulse to bridge the space between them, but she resisted. For now, the simple certainty of his presence was sufficient. It had to be.

She slipped beneath the covers, turning onto her side to face him, her cheek nestling into the pillow. His head rested mere inches from hers, so close the dark arc of his lashes was clearly defined, so near she could sense the subtle catch in his breathing when she shifted closer. Finally, she let her eyes fall shut, choosing to trust that he would remain when dawn arrived, even as a small, stubborn part of her whispered that she of all people should know better.

End of collab pt. 2/2

^{interactions ....|.... none ............... mentions ....|.... none ............... collabs ....|.... @Qia}

Camp Athens - Closed

^{#0bbdaf ....|..... outfit .....|..... #04ed42 ....|..... outfit .....|..... tappi's cabin}

Tapeesa led Nate across the snow dusted grass back toward her cabin. With every step her hand shifted in his until her fingers slipped effortlessly between his. She kept her gaze forward as her heart skipped and a flush threatened to return to her cheeks. As they rounded the side of the small cottage, she noticed how the front door was still wide open from when they sped off without a care and chuckled softly.

She continued to pull him along behind her as she went back inside and closed the door behind them. Tappi paused for a second, looking around the dark living room. "Light switch," she mused to herself as she ran their joined hands against the wall until she found the switch and illuminated the room. The sconces emitted a soft yellow glow that just barely shed enough light to see her way around her living room. Her brows furrowed slightly as she slowly walked around the couch and found a small nook that looked like some witchy apothecary corner. It was only then that she turned to look back at Nate with a warm smile. "You can have a seat if you want," she offered, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before slowly slipping her own hand free.

Nate had a hard time reading Tapeesa. Grabbing his hand the way she did made it seem like they were far more familiar to each other than a few hours of conversation would permit. Yet, he somehow still felt comfortable with their fingers entwined as if they were meant to hold each other. It didn't mean his heart didn't race as she led him inside. When a seat was offered, he took it. He gently lowered himself down on the couch, his eyes naturally following Tapeesa as she turned away to get to work. Did she always look so stunning, or was he far too distracted earlier by the bolder women who usually dragged him back for one night stands?

Tappi dipped into the alcove and tucked her bottom lip between her teeth, deep in thought. She subconsciously started humming a song her mom used to sing her as she searched the cabinets. She pulled out an empty jar and a small plastic bag, but after checking every available compartment she’d have to settle for a mortar and pestle. "Guess I am a witch," she muttered to herself with an amused giggle as she started plucking buds from the dried plant and tossing them into the empty jar. Once finished she put a small handful of buds into the mortar and started grinding them by hand. When she finished, she carefully dumped the prepared weed into the plastic bag and sealed it.

She crossed the room back to where Nate sat on her couch, her smile was bright with dimples prominent in her rosy cheeks. Tapeesa pinned the small bag against his chest with her index finger. "To your remission." Her face scrunched up and she laughed softly. "I don't know if that counts since I'm literally giving you drugs… but," she shrugged her shoulders innocently.

He reached up, grabbing the bag and Tappi's hand again in his own. The corner of his lips were upturned in a slight smile as his brown eyes studied her expression. He spoke softly, as if too much noise would scare her away. "You know… I don't think this counts as a favor if you offer it before I ask, Tapeesa." He held her gaze as he gently tugged the bag free, shaking it a little as he did so. His eyes only briefly dipped to admire the gift before he stared back up at her.

Nate's other hand was slowly raised up into Tapeesa's line of vision. He waved it slightly, and seemingly out of nowhere a single cigarette appeared held between his thumb and index finger. He held it with the filter facing the ground, letting out a sigh. "But since you were so kind, I have decided what favor I want from our race." He extended the cigarette out towards her, almost wincing as he did so. "It might sound dumb… but I want you to hold on to this for me, ok?" He clicked his tongue in his mouth for a moment, seeming to anticipate Tapeesa's hesitance. "Not to smoke it… it's Lucky." He said it with a surprisingly straight face, a small air of gravity towards the move.

Tapeesa’s smile grew with silent amusement at the sleight of hand. She looked at the single cigarette then back at him, brows furrowing as she noticed the subtle way the offering almost seemed to pain him. Her head tilted to the side, faint concern and confusion crossing her face. "Ok," she agreed softly with a nod. She hesitantly reached out and gently took it from his grasp, treating the small bit of paper and tobacco like it was delicate and in need of safe keeping. Her gaze fell to where it rested in her hand, rolling it slowly between her fingers before looking back up into his eyes. "I didn’t know they could be lucky." The inflection at the end of her words hinted at an unspoken question. The concept of a lucky cigarette was lost on her. A glint of curiosity sparkled in her eye and tugged at her smile. She owed him a favor, so she wouldn’t argue, but the way she waited expectantly and inspected the cigarette like it was some rare artifact showed she was interested in knowing more if he was willing to share.

Nate nodded softly, tilting his head back and forth as he considered how to answer her unspoken question. "It’s an old tradition my dad passed on… the basic idea is it is the one you would smoke last, decided when you first open the pack. And I usually save it for something special." He leaned back on the couch, his tongue running along his inner cheek as he thought through his next words carefully. "Quitting Cold Turkey is a bit of a tough ask… but I can’t open another pack until I smoke the Lucky, so…" He tilted his head up slightly, hoping Tapeesa could finish the thought for him.

Something special. Tapeesa looked down at the cigarette held between her fingers with more respect. Her lips scrunched as she tried not to let her smile grow too bright that it outshined the meaning behind his words. While she didn't expect him to quit based on a single comment she made, let alone cold turkey, his willingness to try didn't go unnoticed. She chewed on her bottom lip, spinning the cigarette between her fingers once more before she tucked it behind her left ear. "You're kind of sweet. You know that?" She lightly bumped the toe of her boot against the side of his foot for emphasis.

A blush bloomed across Nate's cheekbones as he instinctively turned his head away from Tapeesa for a moment at her comment. He couldn't help but let a soft, sardonic laugh loose. A glance back to her face and the tapping of her foot against his made it clear that she wasn't joking. That only made the bright red of his face grow a shade darker. "I… don't think I've been called sweet before." He ran his free hand down his pant leg, unable to smooth his wrinkled jeans. His question began before he could even comprehend what he was saying. "Is that something you're—" Nate paused, his eyes flashing wide. He shook the thought from his head. "Sorry… uh… force of habit," he stammered.

Tapeesa shifted her weight from one foot to the other, holding her left index finger in the palm of her right hand. She tilted her head, watching the way the redness bloomed across Nate's cheeks, rivalling the color of his hair. Her smile changed slightly at his comment. Maybe he was different with her? There was no way for her to know, but he was being sweet and, for whatever reason, she felt the need to tell him that. Her brows raised and a soft chuckle slipped out at the way he cut himself off and stumbled through his words. She didn't know what he was starting to say but rather than focus on it, she shrugged her shoulders with a smile. "It's ok, Nate," she reassured him quietly.

Nate nodded to her words, small smile on his lips as he seemed easily convinced by her calming tone. He needed a distraction, though. He didn't want to leave yet. He needed an excuse to stay. ”Should we…?" He shook the bag a little, smiling at her as he did so with a sort of bolstered confidence. "Just a taste. Always hits better with good company."

She nodded in silent agreement, smile never fading as she took a step past him. Then Tappi paused, rubbing her forehead as she peeked over at Nate. "I don’t actually have paper," she confessed before making her way over to her bag and kneeling down beside it. After a minute or two of sifting through her belongings she pulled out a sweater. She slowly unwrapped it, revealing a pipe that was easily older than both of their ages combined, and then some. Her hand dipped into a side pocket of her bag, grabbing a lighter, then she stood back up and returned to him. Tapeesa slid onto the couch beside him, sitting close enough that when she crossed her legs beneath her, her knee lightly brushed his leg. "Hope you don’t mind looking like an old man," she teased softly while holding up the pipe with a lopsided smile.

Nate smiled, carefully taking the pipe from her with a bit of reverence. He could tell the pipe had some significance, even if she didn’t share what it was. "I think it would make me look dignified," he whispered with a grin.

"Oh yes, very dignified." Tappi laughed softly as she turned to face him. Her knee pressed a little into his side as she leaned forward slightly to grab the bag from him. "It’s walrus ivory. Belonged to my grandfather and was passed down in my family for… I don't know, generations?" She opened the bag, pinching a small bit of weed and started packing it into the pipe while he held it. "I've never actually learned how to roll a joint or whatever," she confessed with a soft laugh.

Tapeesa reached out, gently taking the pipe back from him with her left hand. In her right hand she held an old antique brass zippo. It was dented and scratched from a rough life before it ever fell into her delicate grasp. In a single fluid motion she flipped open the lighter against her thigh, then ignited it by rolling it down her leg in the opposite direction. She brought the pipe to her lips and carefully lit the other end. It took a couple puffs and a cough or two, but she eventually got it started then passed it off to Nate with a warm smile.

"Hot." Nate couldn't muster enough brain cells to try and hide his absolute delight and infatuation with Tapeesa's trick. His left hand fumbled for the pipe, his eyes focused on Tapeesa's face so close to him. He shifted his right arm up onto the back of the couch so he could face her, his torso rotated at a slight angle. He lifted the pipe to his lips, letting a bit of smoky air into his mouth. It was a familiar sensation, though the taste and quality seemed a bit higher than he remembered. He lowered the pipe from his lips, turning his head away to let out a small cloud of smoke from his nostrils. He repeated the motions, taking another puff of the pipe.

When he offered it back in her direction, he spoke softly as his muscles seemed to relax a bit. He hadn't realized how stiff he had been around her since they got to the cabin. He pressed his leg against her knee, his body lingering in that slight warmth of contact as he settled in. When he spoke softly to her, a bit of smoke fell from his lips as he did so. "You are full of surprises, aren't you?"

Her head turned away slightly as Tapeesa became very aware of the growth warmth in her cheeks. She never really thought about the way she lit her grandfather’s old lighter before. It was more muscle memory and repetition at that point. But the unabashed compliment made her stomach flutter with a foreign anxiousness she was quickly growing to associate with Nate’s presence. She took back the pipe and raised it to her mouth. Before pressing it against her lips, she looked over at him from the corner of her eyes with a curious expression. "Am I?" She inhaled, letting the smoke slowly fill her lungs and warm her chest.

As she went to hand over the pipe to Nate, still holding in her breath, a boom cracked in the sky over her cabin. The rumble was so loud and jarring against the tentative silence that filled her living room, that Tappi started and coughed out the smoke from her lungs. Her gaze drifted toward the large window opposite them, catching glimpses of sparkling reds and golds against the glass as the familiar sound of fireworks thundered overhead. She looked around her dimly lit cabin until her eyes set on a clock hanging by the stairs. One minute until midnight. "Time flies…" she commented softly, trailing off before she finished her thought. Her voice was almost lost beneath the explosive lightshow outside, hiding a faint timidness in her tone at the realization Nate would probably wander off back to the party or his own cabin soon. Her shoulder rested against the back of the couch beside him as she chewed on the inside of her cheek. She held the pipe out for him with her gaze fixated on the space between them where their legs touched.

Nate took the pipe, his eyes focused on the flashes of light coming in from the windows. He had almost forgotten it was New Years. He took a quick puff, blowing out the smoke into the air above him as he remembered the various parties he had attended over the years. "You have any traditions to ring in a New Year?" The question was simple and probing, turning his head back in Tapeesa’s direction as he held the pipe out towards her. He noticed the changing color of her cheeks, a smile cutting an arc across his face.

She took back the pipe, but rather than taking another hit, it remained cradled in her palms, resting in her lap. Tappi shook her head, running her thumbs over the etchings in the ivory while the corners of her lips tugged downwards slightly in a pensive frown. "No," she answered plainly as her gaze slowly lifted to look over into his eyes. "The orphanage never really did anything for New Year’s and this is—was my first party," she confessed with a sheepish laugh. "What about you?"

Nate shrugged, his eyes shifting back towards the window for a moment. "Fireworks, drinking, dancing… hit all the highlights really so far." He sucked in his bottom lip as he paused, considering his next words carefully. Even with careful thought, they didn’t exactly come out right. "But… well… there’s this old tradition that when the clock strikes midnight, you…" He turned his head back to face Tapeesa, his awkward speech halted as he caught a glimpse of her face again. A small exhale whistled past his teeth before he continued. "Well… kiss someone."

It was hard for her to look away, even as her stomach knotted at his words and her heart skipped. Tappi swallowed softly, forcing her gaze to fall to the pipe in her hands and hiding her face behind loose hair that had long since slipped from her braid. "I know of the tradition… I’ve seen a movie or two," she teased quietly, attempting to relieve some of the tension with a bad joke and hide her own awkwardness with a weak laugh.

Nate let out a nervous wheeze at her joke, his nerves fraying as he continued to face her. His heart thrummed in his chest at a speed that certainly wasn’t medically safe. He moved slowly as he raised his left hand up, absentmindedly brushing loose strands out of Tapeesa’s face. His fingertips brushed softly against her temple, tracing a line down her cheek more by muscle memory than intent. His question was quiet and brief. "Do you want to try it?"

Tapeesa drew in a shaky breath when she felt the tips of his fingers softly brush along her skin. Her face already felt like it was on fire and somehow Nate’s touch still felt warm against her cheek. She couldn’t tell if it was the fireworks or her own pulse that pounded furiously in her ears. The tips of her thumbs continued to run along the engravings of the pipe in methodical repetition in an attempt to calm her nerves… but it wasn’t working. The sparkling lights reflected more brightly against the window as the rumbling intensified. It must have meant it was midnight but she couldn’t bring herself to check the clock. She cleared her throat before slowly looking up at him from beneath her lashes. "What if I’m bad at it?" she whispered, unable to hide the nervousness that was evident across her face.

Nate’s grin grew wider as he slowly leaned closer, moving his right arm in to gently cradle Tapeesa’s left cheek. He was committed now, his own lids lowering as his words became breathy. As he spoke, the heat from his words radiated across her nose. "Then we practice until you aren’t." He spoke like it was the most obvious solution in the world. His hands kept Tapeesa steady as Nate continued to lean in, his neck craning so that he could close that final distance between them.

He kissed her. His cracked lips had interposed themselves around Tappi’s bottom lip. He was gentle and slow, letting his lips linger between hers for a few seconds that felt like ages. The resounding shake of fiery explosions in the sky barely held a candle to the jolt of electricity that coursed through his body at their connection. He tasted like nicotine, weed, and still faintly of honey. His lips pulled back slightly for a second, letting loose a small pop as the suction was broken. He pressed in for another kiss, a delighted exhale slipping through his nostrils as he did so.

Tapeesa's eyes remained open a fraction of a second longer than Nate's as he removed any space between them, finally slipping closed before his lips pressed against hers. At first, her body remained frozen in place as a surge of tingling nerves washed over her. She forgot to breathe and to think as everything else slipped away into a cloudy haze of background noise. It felt like all her nerve endings were ignited, radiating out from their kiss to the tips of her fingers and toes. Nate flooded her senses, drowning out the world around them.

Her lungs burned and when he pulled away for a brief moment, she sucked in a sharp breath. But then his lips found hers again, catching her more off guard than their first kiss. Tappi's nervous tension slowly slipped away as the seconds ticked on while they were still wrapped up in each other. The now cold pipe and old lighter slipped from her grasp and fell into her lap. Her hands moved to rest in the dips of his elbows and against his biceps. She pressed back against his lips, growing more confident as she slowly found her rhythm.

When Nate broke the kiss to give himself some room to breathe, he leaned against the side of the couch. He took a few shallow breaths, his half-lidded eyes fixed on Tapeesa’s face. He kept his hands holding her face, unsure if he was going to go back in for another round yet as he smiled. "I… I think that was a good start." He let his tongue peek out from lips to moisten them.

Her chest heaved in sync with the waning roar of the fireworks as shaky breaths slipped between her parted lips. Tapeesa lingered in the dark safety behind her eyelids for a moment longer before slowly opening her eyes as her nerves slowly started to build once again. But seeing Nate’s smile shining back at her eased the tension in her shoulders, while his words elicited a soft laugh. Her gaze fell to his mouth as he wet his lips before quickly looking back up into his brown eyes. "I had no idea what I was doing," she whispered the confession. Her smile matched his, dimples prominent beneath his hands on her still flushed cheeks.

Nate nodded, his eyes flashing with recognition as he processed what she had confessed. He shouldn't have been too surprised, but a pressure grew in his chest at the thought that he was her first kiss. He shrugged off the thought, leaning in close until the tips of their noses were pressed together. The least he could do was help. "You should pout your lips out a little more before the kiss… helps make sure you don't bump teeth." He closed his eyes, his nose sliding next to Tapeesa's as he began to close the distance between their lips again. "Otherwise… Just follow my lead."

Tapeesa swallowed, heart racing like it had never stopped as Nate drew closer. Her hands fell to her lap, fumbling around as she scooped up the pipe and lighter before stretching out her arm to discard them on her coffee table. Her breath caught in her throat as his lips lingered dangerously closer to hers for a second time. The familiar flurry of nerves spiraled in her stomach and tightened in her chest when his nose brushed against hers. "Sorry," she whispered. The warmth of her breath tickled against his lips as she nodded her head faintly beneath his hands, silently agreeing to let him guide her.

"Don't apologize… I like this." He responded quietly, his lips brushing against hers as he spoke. A moment later, he went in for another kiss. It had a little more force behind it, the burning in his chest spurring this one to be a little more passionate. He held her face steady, that faint feeling of her dimples beneath his palms reminding him of that infectious grin she had been wearing most of the night. His core fluttered at even the thought of her, or maybe the weightlessness came from the weed truly kicking in. Either way, when Nate broke the kiss, he shuddered as he let out a euphoric gasp. "Yeah… yeah, that's good."

Being the faintest bit more prepared, Tapeesa leaned in to meet him halfway, or as much as she could considering the tiny bit of space that remained between them. Following his instructions, she pouted her lips a little more and attempted to mirror his movements. For a fleeting moment she had expected another kiss like the last one, but then he pressed in more. The passion stirred a rising heat that churned in her chest and ignited her boldness to where she no longer followed but matched him. Her hands rested against his sides, the warmth of her palms radiating through his shirt as she gently grabbed onto the fabric. When Nate parted their lips it pulled a deep, trembling breath from her. A coy and slightly guilty smile tugged at the corner of her mouth hearing the sound that came from him. "Good," she whispered, followed by a breathy laugh.

Nate let out a small laugh too, closing his eyes for a moment as he tried to ground himself a little. His hands slid down from Tapeesa's face to her neck, and then her shoulders. When he opened his eyes and took her in, his grin grew. "What about you? Good enough for you?"

Tappi took a deep breath, trying to calm down… if possible. When she agreed to come to camp she expected to train and be around others like her. Getting kissed on her first night was the last thing she expected and left her head spinning… or maybe it was the weed… or Nate. Maybe both? Her smile never fell, bright and bashful as she slowly released her hold on his shirt, hands subconsciously brushing against his legs as they returned to her lap. She remained close, basking in the warmth of his hands on her shoulders and where her knee was still pressed against his thigh. "Yeah it was," she reassured him with a gentle nod of her head. Her fingers anxiously picked at the skin around her thumb as she searched for her next words. "I should have told you I had never been kissed… before." She gestured her hand as she spoke, moving her index finger in a general going backwards motion. "I’m sorry."

Nate's smile faded a little as she let go of him, and even further as she started apologizing again. He shook his head, his hands quickly sliding down the length of Tapeesa's arms until he was holding her hands in her lap. "Don't apologize for that." He squeezed her palms with his, his thumb gently caressing that same spot on her thumb that she kept picking at. He clicked his tongue as an idea crossed his mind. Nate lowered his voice to a whisper, "Can I tell you a secret?" He leaned in a little closer, his eyes darting to the door as if afraid someone would barge in and overhear. "That might not have been my first kiss, but it was my favorite kiss." His devious grin had returned in full force, his drooping eyes making it clear just how relaxed he had become.

Her gaze drifted over to her left shoulder and watched his hand as it trailed down her arm. Tapeesa's shoulders dropped slightly, not out of sadness or dread, but out of relief knowing that he didn't feel deceived. It wasn't like it was some secret. She just never felt the need to share, never found herself in a situation where it was relevant until it was apparently too late and Nate was already kissing her. She watched the way his hands cupped hers and the gentle stroke of his thumb against the irritated flesh beside her thumbnail. Her head tilted slightly near his, ready to hear his secret with curiously raised brows. Nate's confession made her stomach flutter and the flush that seemed like a permanent fixture around him returned rosy and warm. Her lips scrunched in the way they did when she tried to suppress her smile from being too bright or too big. "Liar," she teased him playfully as she lightly bumped his arm with her own.

"I don't lie." The words slipped out quickly, a dazed smile still shining brightly on his face. He let his head roll onto his left shoulder while his own face scrunched to mirror hers. "I don't really see a point in it." He paused, letting in a hiss of breath as he felt a need to clarify. "Well, I guess I do see the point. But I don't agree with it." He had a nagging feeling in his chest that he needed a cigarette, but the sensation of Tappi's smooth hands kept the urge at bay. Did he always light up before going on another one of his long-winded speeches?

"The way I see it, lying is a sign of weakness. It's a way to control someone, turn them against themselves or others just for your gain. Doesn't matter the lie, how big or small, if you're trying to be kind with it. If you lie, you hurt someone more than being honest ever could." His eyes shifted towards the cabin windows for a moment as he tried refocusing, but found it difficult through the fog of exhaustion and intoxication. There was only a single thought that burned through the proverbial smoke. "So… No, Toppings… I am not a liar. I mean it."

While Tapeesa had meant her comment as a playful joke, and maybe a way to deflect some of her new budding nerves that keep building inside her while she's around him, his words struck a calmness in her that she had never felt with someone so soon before. Her shoulder sunk more into the back of the couch beside him with a content sigh. She studied his face and got lost in his brown eyes as every word made her smile grow the tiniest bit more. "I agree… with everything you said." Her thumb idly brushed against the side of his hand, almost in a self soothing-like repetition.

"I believe people tend to think I'm naive or gullible because of how honest and trusting I am." She shrugged her shoulders like it was a fact she had grown to accept years ago. "Lying to make people like you more? I don't know. You can't build anything if there isn't a stable foundation. I'd rather be honest and have people hate me, than lie and lose who I am… You know?" Her head tilted to the side, loose hair sweeping across her brow as she watched the way he looked out the window. It was like he was illuminated with a phantom light that slowly revealed another piece to the puzzle that was forming her image of Nate.

"I find it really attractive that you're so honest," she confessed into the dark silence of the room. While being honest to a fault, Tappi couldn't recall if she ever admitted to anyone that she found them attractive. Her chest tightened at the words she spoke into existence but even in the vulnerability of her embarrassment, she couldn't bring herself to look away. Nate was attractive. She had noticed it before, she wasn't blind, but in the growing comfort of his presence she found herself really noticing it for the first time. His natural confidence, his charming weirdness, how his warm smile accented his jawline, the way his hands lingered on hers and how he listened to every word she spoke like gospel. Her gaze subconsciously fell to his mouth finding that all the reasons she found attractive made her want to kiss him more. She never really believed people when they claimed things ‘just happened.’ But now seeing how the space between them felt like a mile and she clung to the faintest bit of physical contact they shared, she could see how a single kiss could open a floodgate.

Most people wouldn’t admit to thinking lying was good. Most people would repeat the same tired lines about trust and honesty being the cornerstones of relationships, but then turn around and lie or hide their true motivations. Nate was always bad at telling when someone was lying. He would get a feeling, but he always felt it better to try and trust and build that connection than let a few lies keep him cynical. Yet, as Tapeesa echoed his points about honesty, he was incredibly confident she was being truthful. She hadn’t lied to him thus far from what he could tell. He truly connected with her desire to be authentic in her thoughts and words. He couldn’t help but smile a little brighter as she continued. He did know what she meant.

What he did not expect was a confession of attraction. Perhaps he should have, given how they were being honest. But to be considered attractive because he was honest? That was usually not on the list people would share with him when trying to get him to come back to their place. It was usually something superficial, like his physique or his smile. Sometimes he would be told that his vibe was attractive, or any other number of vapid buzzwords that he couldn’t argue with. It wasn’t like he cared, really. He was just happy to make others happy, and to share in bliss with someone wasn’t a bad deal either. Tapeesa’s words hit a little deeper than that. His eyes met hers… or, well, as close as he could. His smile was warm and his tone soft as he spoke. "Tonight was fun because I met you, and I can honestly say I have not felt as… in sync with someone before."

Tappi’s heart fluttered for only about the millionth time since she met him. If someone had told her that she was going to meet a guy, have the corniest dance battle in existence, and then an hour later be kissing him on her couch… She would have asked if they hit their head. Everything about it was so far out of the realm of normal for her. She had always made friends easily, anything more than that less so. It wasn’t uncommon for her to catch feelings quickly when someone was kind, attentive, and insanely good looking like Nate was. But it was the unbridled honesty and reciprocation that caught her off guard. It was weird how easily they both clicked, matched energies, and fell into a comfortable symbiosis. Weirder still how the words fell so effortlessly from his lips and made her cheeks ache from the inability to stop smiling. Weird was quickly growing to be the best word to describe all of it, but in the best possible way.

Nate let go of Tapeesa’s hands, raising his palms to gently hold her cheeks. He slowly tilted her head up slightly, guiding her eyes to meet his. He quickly ran his tongue between his lips to provide a little bit of moisture before he continued. "I also think you are very pretty, and I want to kiss you some more." His smirk grew a little with his bluntness, before he closed his eyes and leaned in again for another kiss. He locked his lips with hers, his left hand slipping away from Tapeesa’s jaw to slide between her arm and torso. His hand rested on her side, his pinky finger lightly grazing the small sliver of exposed skin between her shirt and jeans. As the kiss gradually transitioned from tender to yearning, he leaned into her more. He moved from sitting to kneeling on the couch next to her. With each passionate exchange, he leaned further into her as their heat intertwined. Before either of them knew it, Nate had guided Tapeesa onto her back on the couch while they perfected their techniques.

The early moments of the new year were lost to the murmur of heavy breaths, soft moans, and the quiet sound of their lips parting only for them to meet again in another kiss. Tapeesa’s hands pressed against his lower back, warmth emanating from her palms, seeping through the fabric of his shirt and blooming across his skin. Her thighs lightly hugged Nate’s waist as he rested in the space between her legs and his chest pressed against hers. The scent of weed that had clung to the air had long since faded away and her high disappeared beneath waves of sensations that surpassed anything the drug had ever accomplished.

The ache in her lungs forced Tappi to break the kiss and take in a shaky breath. She swallowed and flicked the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip where the taste of him still lingered. Her smile returned with a natural ease as she opened her eyes to look up at him. The heated flush that she felt across her chest and cheeks was reflected back at her in the redness of Nate’s face. "I think we lost track of time," she filled the silence with a breathy whisper and a soft laugh.

Nate merely nodded, opening his eyes and reflecting Tapeesa's smile back at her. He held himself up with his knuckles, his arms acting almost like blinders on either side of her. He took in a shaky gulp of air, smoothing his hands flat on the couch with some readjustment. He looked up towards the wall, taking a moment to read the time on a clock. It had been around an hour, but Nate didn't seem too concerned with how he had spent that time. He turned back to look at Tapeesa, whispering softly. "I don't have anywhere better to be."

Logically, she should have taken advantage of the temporary pause and found the motivation to detangle herself from him. But a single kiss—ok, more than one kiss—unlocked a dormant need in her that she didn’t know existed until Nate freed it. When he looked back down at her, Tapeesa’s heart skipped a beat like she hadn’t spent an unknown amount of time lost in him. "We should stop," she spoke softly, but her words lost all conviction as her body sang a different tune. Her foot hooked around his leg while her hands slowly ran up his back and pressed against his shoulder blades, beckoning him closer, contrary to what she said.

"Should we?" The question was more rhetorical than anything. Feeling her beckon him closer, he was more than happy to oblige. He pressed down into her, holding himself up enough to not crush her under his weight while his lips met hers yet again.

They both fell back into their rhythm like they had never stopped to catch their breaths in the first place. Neither one of them ever spared a second glance toward the clock, getting lost in each other while time ticked on. Every so often their embraces were broken up with whispered words, until it grew to be more talking and less kissing. Then, in the warmth and comfort of each other’s presence, still entwined on the couch, Tapeesa’s head lulled against Nate’s chest and they both drifted off to sleep.

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