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everyone thinks the mothman is pretty sexy

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He was a little bit dizzy.

Steely eyes drifted to the side, focusing on the window and then past it, out the freshly cleaned panes and faded sash bars. Over-trimmed trees and dying flowers in planter boxes around lampposts. Vendors, criers, loiterers, passersby. Some faces he recognized; most he didn’t. A few he wished he didn’t. The street was filthy, he observed, and he wished the city workers would come by and do something for it. Alas, they never seemed to; and with how cold it was, he doubted there’d be rain rather than sleet or snow. His gaze tracked idly to the left- a new store a little ways down the street was being fixed up. When had that been sold? When had it been bought, for that matter? He supposed it didn’t matter. A sign, listing its opening date about a month out, advertised little clocks and watches. How quaint.

What was he doing? Right, of course, being dizzy. Well, no, not quite even that. Lightheaded. Standing up and feeling like he'd left his brain in his chair. Maybe he shouldn't drink so much so early in the day. He rose from the cherrywood stool behind the counter, and oh, yes, there was a lovely feeling of not-quite-vertigo that almost dragged him back down. He exhaled and steadied himself.

His hair was neat, laid back in a twisted braid, secured by twinkling silver rings. Carefully and meticulously done the whole way down, it didn’t betray how much whiskey he’d had while affixing it that morning. He brushed it back over his shoulder and spared a glance at the little brass entry bell over the front door. It hung, merrily as always, exactly where it was fucking supposed to be. He sighed and quietly turned to the stockroom. On his way, he passed rows and rows of neat shelves, all stained that same smooth, cherrylike color (but they were cypress, he knew- sturdy and long-lasting, but less damn expensive) and stocked painstakingly with seemingly endless books. He ran a fingertip over the edge of one and was satisfied to see it come up clean of dust. Good. As it should be. He inspected a display, next. A new nonfiction detailing a look at the relation of agricultural and environmental conservation achievements of his homeland. He noted with a hint of almost-pride that they were selling so quickly that he would already need to restock it.

Dizzy, bored. Dizzy was never good. Bored was, so long as he wasn’t idle about it. So, he opened the door of the backroom, laid his waistcoat to the side, and rolled up his sleeves.

It had been a productive week for Mordred. He and his people had picked up a substantial amount of information on quite a few prolific groups and figures. But for as careful and neurotic as he was, Mordred and Gabriel might as well have been two different people. The folders here, where Gabriel worked, were low-risk, light, and trivial, and the heavier stuff was hidden well away. Though he itched to dig through the more important side of things, he had been doing this for long enough that he knew the value of patience. Besides, it meant that he had plenty of time to go through the files he’d relocated last night and make it to a nearby café for lunch.
>:)
@Jasper19 howdy. you gucci if i drop him in char?
lmao
Oh jinx
Gabriel's motto is "FUCK"
@Entlein what the fuck
Llewellyn looks a bit sick, and it's only half because he's a jittery, adrenaline-filled wreck. There's something horribly familiar pulling at him from the earth, and he has a sinking feeling that he knows what it is.
The godly half of his parentage. His missing link. A strength that he never dared to think he might actually have.
But he wasn't claimed at the campfire. Maybe-
Maybe soon. He hopes so. Maybe being claimed will assuage the nauseating pull of power in his bones- or at least let him give name to it.
He barely hears Tony, caught up in a million racing thoughts. He nods blankly. What is he agreeing to? Something about staying out of the way. He can do that.

Gabriel looks almost startled, then his face drops into a scowl. He feels anger rising up his throat, and he snarls something in that other language. His eyes narrow to near slits, livid. "You really think I care-"
He cuts off, taking a ragged breath to calm himself. Focus. Stand tall but accept input. Voice low, he continues. "Don't lecture me on motive, skíthaus. I stayed by you so you could finish your portal and I could keep it away from the fucking-" he gestures vaguely- "fjandinn hafi það. Obelisk. Did you stop to think what would happen if it had destroyed it?"
"I am a son of Mars. I know I should've been up there. But we already had a competent enough distraction, and if you were going to sit idly by, undefended, working on a portal that the survival of half the group hinges on, then I'm going to prioritize you. It's called initiative for a fucking reason. I know what I'm doing."
Mouth twisted into a frown, he runs a hand through his hair. He inhales and exhales, calmer.
Gabriel stands tall, back straight, chin level- proud. He has every reason to be. "I'm a legionnaire of the Second Cohort. I have a handle on my powers and several years of experience under my belt. I can field questions or training, depending on demand."
Gabriel hums, amused, at Jason.
So the new kid thinks himself a leader and a battle strategist.
Is he trained? Has he learned how to fight? Or is he another pretentious, lost child who holds himself in such high esteem that he'd ignore obvious seniority for the sake of what he might think could be called "heroism?"
Maybe he, a child of Mars, the god of war, is just salty.
Maybe he, a member of the second cohort of Camp Jupiter, is just bitter.
Maybe he, who has trained for the last three years of his life in any manner possible to prepare for battle alongside his campmates and his siblings, is just overthinking it. Right?
He gives a derisive scoff.
But there'll be time for that later. He dives through the portal behind Tony, rolling to his feet with his sword at the ready, eyes narrowed in a glare as he scans around them for danger.

Llewellyn takes a step back, then another towards the portal before Theo's aura hits him. He shudders, and the ground around their group trembles.
A shaky breath in and out. He plants his feet, feeling something strange in the earth almost call to him, and his expression falters.
He shakes his head and jumps into the portal.
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