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I'll give everything a read and have a CS concept by the end of the weekend!




Interacting with: Marcella @Write, Beau @Crimson Flame (mentioned)


That fucking twink tried to brainwash me.

It might even have had some measure of success - Dallas had been through enough failed seductions to recognize the odd, cough syrupy feeling of his body attempting to calm down and slacken against the instructions of his mind - and for the rage to quickly burn a hole through the artificial layer of calm. Being directly in the sunlight, with music playing over every speaker in the cafe, helped too. Skye, Beau, whatever the fuck his name was would have been caned to death in the street if he had done that shit in a gentleman's society, but alas, they had been damned to Olympus, ruled by a house of sheep. As it was, Dallas picked up the croissant and lobbed it at him on the way out, leaving a short, wide alabaster streak of powdered sugar and a couple of almonds clinging to the back and shoulder of the Aphrodite kid's shirt.

When that barrier falls, I hope it eats him first. Good luck feeding anything to one of those shadow creatures that isn't your fucking liver.

“Crazy night last night. You holding up alright?”

What--

Oh.


Some of the immediate fury ebbed as quickly as it had flowed, leaving Dallas in a slow, labored breath. The tension visibly left his shoulders, and the tsunami in his ocean blue eyes was calming.

"It's too late, Marcy. You've already pierced me," Dallas mock-griped, running his hand over her knuckles. "I won't forgive you. My poor belly button has been deflowered. Sullied. I'll never be able to take Mass again, if Jesus didn't hate me for that Dionysus kid I hooked up with last year he sure fucking hates me now. I look like some producer's sluttiest daughter when I'm shirtless now."

His teeth scraped his bottom lip, fighting back a smile that came easier the longer he heard the sweetest thing in the world - his own rambling.

"Let's just fucking eat, alright? I don't want to talk about last night. Just tell me what's up with you."







Interacting With: Bekah @Krayzikk, Jonas @HereComesTheSnow, Rhea @Write, KamiRanger Red @Onarax


The Japanese girl's eyebrows drew together austerely at the elbow in her side, and the ribbing (no pun intended) from the girl beside her. Very smug.

"I loved your form as well, Rhea," Dana said sweetly. She looked down at her phone to hide her smirk from the rest of the assembled group and decided to put her disguise to good use.

Dana Harada
「Kaz!
Come to oniichan's dorm
We are eating his food for free
DynaBaka is growing heavier」


"「Thank you for the food, brother!」" Dana said brightly, although the gaze she gave her brother when she cocked her head held neither expression nor even a sign of blinking. "「Thank you for not filling us with your imageboard swill either. Dal-kun gave me nothing but milk at our goodbye breakfast last year. Worst flight of my life.」"

She elbowed Rebekah back.

"Faaaiyaaaabonba," she said emphatically. "If you love me you will help. We will burn all but the big one. He is mine to fight with hands. Then I will show off the meaning of show off."

I'd at least be interested in seeing the concept, especially if it's Clock Tower stuff or something.



Interacting With: Felix @jetipster, Beau @Crimson Flame, Marcella @Write


You know, it's been a long time since I actually treated myself a little.

Maybe a croissant French toast or an omelette? La Boulangerie back home had the best he'd ever tasted of either, but Viv swore by this place and its godly cooking. He wasn't exactly sure how, unless the kitchen staff had some divinities among their number without anyone knowing. It's not like many celebrity chefs found the time to disappear off the face of the planet to cook for demigods, and if any of the gods were so fucking great at cooking why did they need to keep abducting cup bearers on Earth? Dallas thought of asking his father, but what good would come of it? It's not like Dal particularly enjoyed cooking for himself unless a fling was over. And that was just an excuse not to talk to flings.

Not talking to anyone...

Now that hit the spot. Just a nice, long bout of silence, punctuated by occasional effervescent bursts of Marcy, punctuated by some little artisanal breakfast. Maybe they made a good focaccia here. With pesto and nuts, tomato and mozzarella, mmm...the claws of the cerberus mangling Dallas Relo's brain were finally starting to slacken.

“Hey, I know you’ll be meeting up with Marcy but...I'm a day late and was wondering how fucking mental your party was last night to make Hector look so… well…weird in my meeting with him this morning…?”

I will show you your voice box before you die.

"Then catch your flight next year." Don't open your eyes. You are not obligated to have to open your eyes. But the sound of a ceramic plate scraping along the surface of the table - the only surface that protected whatever wasp in a man's flesh from a lobotomy with a fucking coffee mug - distracted him, and the Son of the Sun's eyes slowly lolled open as though he'd been roused from anesthesia. Behind the eyelids that had been his paper shield against the frustrations of everyone currently alive in the solar system, his pupils were two black holes surrounded by an eye wall of lightning, iridescent blues crackling and blazing at whatever had roused them open. For a moment, Dallas looked more Zeus than Apollo.

Then he gingerly lifted up the croissant that had been offered to him in tribute and took a large bite off the end, finishing his bite in four chews and swallowing wolfishly. He didn't immediately go in for a second helping, but at least he seemed more likely to bite off another piece of pastry instead of someone's ear.

"The usual. The staff is too old to remember when they got drunk underage, and they accused me of dealing to kids. Dumbass shit. I deal with it every year." That was half-true; it had certainly been the pressing concern on Dallas' mind all day yesterday leading up to the party, and it was the usual staff response to haul Dallas, Jonas, and Marcella up to the scaffolds for discipline after parties. Underage drinking made for a convenient catch-all. Why didn't I just tell the truth about the barrier? Dallas cocked his head faintly at Felix, taking another, more pensive bite of the almond croissant and chewing over the deception. He barely knew the upperclassmen, in truth, and he had as much right as anyone to know if Olympus wasn't safe.

Maybe, Dal decided, he'll just go the fuck away faster.

“Au revoir mesdames et messieurs, you have been a wonderful audience!”

For a split second, an apology to Felix was forming on Dallas' Cupid-bow lips. It morphed into a snarl at the abrasive sound of another upperclassman, one who had apparently bee-lined in on the golden child of Olympus as so many before him had.

"Oh what the fuck."

Beau ignored him, planting a kiss so fervent on first Felix's cheek, than Dal's, that Dallas wished he could sweat lye.

"Hey." Felix was burning up himself. You would think that anyone old enough to remember where they were on 9/11 would know what a kiss was like, but maybe he was just more romantic than Dallas. A dynamo in the sack? Yeah. A little playful with the people he liked most? Sure. But there was a difference between white-hot solar passion and random meet cute infatuation. Felix should have learned it by now. It was no good being sensitive in a place where everyone was a mix between Trojan warrior and Instagram influencer.

"Hey, Skye." The greeting was far more blunt coming out of Dal's throat than Felix's. Outside, it had started to snow. The light that shone through the window and onto Dal's hands was starting to chill, and one of his hands made a fist under the other.

"I apologize for not being here yesterday. I was busy. Did anything interesting happen while I was away?"

"That's exactly what we're about to find out."

Dallas' eyes fixed on the son of Aphrodite, alabaster teeth chewing pointedly on the end of his lip. The croissant was being choked inside his fist, almonds and powdered sugar falling to the ground in a mirror image of the scene outside their table.

"I heard Kate Spade killed herself." You should go check on her. "And Michael Kors bought Versace. That must be hard for you. We can go burn a couple Kohls to the ground if you want to cheer up later."

They really were not letting this fucking party go. It always seemed like the last thing in the world Dallas Relo ever wanted to discuss was the only thing that was ever on anyone else's mind. He let out an angry sigh and ran the hand that wasn't currently disemboweling a pastry through his dark gold bangs.

"Look, gang. If I knew what kind of bugs had crawled up the asses of that waste-of-life power couple, I would tell you. Gods know they're the most useless fucking people on this campus. But all they told me this morning was the same thing they tell me every year. Don't give kids reasons to drink. If I don't listen, that's on me." Dallas' lips pursed in barely contained rage. "Now, other than that? Not much. Dusty lost a tooth in Viv's skull, that was good for a laugh. We caught the Nyx kids in the middle of sacrificing one of the last virgins on campus when we got to the lake. We played some beer pong, Marcy and Kelso held me down and pierced me with sapphires. They match my eyes. I'd show you, but we're out in public right now. Anything else--"

"Oh zut alors! Pouvez vous m'aider, Ma voiture est tombée en panne. Je ne c'est pas quoi faire!"

"What the fuck."

Oh, fuck, she thinks she's helping.


Whether or not the two upperclassmen were about to leave him alone, Dallas would never know. What he knew now was that his head was about to go full Scanners in the middle of this diner, and Viv would never forgive him if he splattered her favorite cafe with his brain matter. There was way too much degenerate shit inside his skull, she would be sitting in all sorts of memories and sex moves for weeks and--

"Please monsieur, s'il vous plaît, come 'ere. Je suis tres desole."

Leave it to Marcy to say the one word he might have understood in French...in English. All he knew of French was a curse or two - what the fuck did you just say was something he'd demanded to be taught, to full effect whenever someone was irritating him past the point of wisdom, and one time in the French Quarter of New Orleans on vacation he'd learned to call a cop a whore and ask a girl to flash him. Marcy seemed like she was wearing too many layers on top for that to be an option, though.

"Marcy." Dallas' voice was shaking like a car with a slipped timing belt. "This is the Apollo Cafe. I will fucking kill everyone here with my fists, with a table, with egg whisks fucking akimbo, before I let myself get driven out of the Apollo Cafe. Sit down. And bon appetit."

To prove his point, he dropped the rest of the uneaten, smushed croissant on the plate.

Poor thing. It was kinda tasty.
I'm game.
Do you have any sort of CS skeleton we could tinker with in the meantime?
I'm not the guy running it, but you're thinking a little more generic sci-fi than Gundam. By the UC 0090s most combat roles are filled by mobile suit variants. Excepting, of course, infantry applications and ships and some other functions. They even get into the APC role a little with the Loto. There are probably still a few Swordfish around from the One Year War, but in space for certain 'air support', such as it is, is really mostly handled by transformable Waveriders. The ReZel, the Z-Plus, units of that nature.

I remember this from the last time. I might have something but it relies on a friend of mine, so we'll see.


wait, me? oh.

Okay, I'm game.



Interacting With: Viv @Altered Tundra, Marcy @Write


"C'mon, baby, you know I love you too much to hit you. C'mere."

Dallas let out a long sigh of relief and frustration, running his hands through thick, unruly blonde hair until the bangs fell along his forehead and eyes in tufts. They would serve to cushion his landing when he flopped face first, arms outstretched in a crucifix, onto the metal hood of his Subaru. The metal was warm against his cheek from the heat of the sun.

Dal sighed again.

"Mmmmmm. I mean, maybe I would. But I hit you because I love you." He laid there for a minute, face nuzzling the warm hood. The rage and color in his cheeks was slowly draining from his cheeks into to the vent scoops while he outstretched his legs and attempted to envelop the car in a long, protracted hug, face nuzzling the warming hood of his Japanese imports. This is how Bekah feels...

His iPhone pinged; some voyeur was interrupting their moment.

"Leave us aloooooone."

It was, of course, Dal who had set text messages to notify him twice; he had no one to blame but himself when his phone pinged again. Honestly, some fucking people would never understand the love between a boy and his tuner.

Marcella Bonaparte
Heyyyy, I just woke up and I’m honestly still a little dishevelled, but I should be good for some diner food if you’re still in?

Dallas Relo
apollo cafe
prettying up now
see who wears the sexier welcome mat


It was a little tradition between Dallas and Marcella to kick off the first week of classes with finding some little nook of campus and dining out together. Normally they reserved it for something before or after a party, some starchy diner food to soak up the booze followed by Marcy falling asleep on his chest in the Subaru before things could get too heated. For a girl who wanted to fuck so damn badly, Dal thought she would have learned to moderate herself a little on game night, but that kind of foresight would mean Marcy wasn't Marcy anymore. If she was already hitting him up for brunch, Jonas must have been trying to force everyone to eat clean back at home base. Fucking lunkhead.

It was probably just how he calmed down, though. He had healthier means of expressing his rage than--

Dal's vision trailed up from the Subaru, towards the trail of torn off branches and kicked over benches

--some other people he could have specified.

Dallas Relo
omw
On my way!
o m w


Fucking autocorrect. Sometimes it made him want to spike his phone through the windshield. Honestly.


He had picked out a sunlit table for four in the Apollo Cafe, feet kicked up lazily on the chair opposite him and head tilted over the back of his seat. He had picked the spot in the cafe with the most natural light, finding it both a salve on his mood and good for his countenance. He felt like his face was glowing right now. Sparkling. Like a Twilight vampire after a trip to Sephora sparkling. The cafe wasn't particularly full, either, which Dal also found appealing. If Marcy was able to pick an outfit before judgment day, maybe they would even be able to bail before the next big rush. But she wasn't here yet, which could only mean that she was being held up with judging the souls from some terrorist attack - never went well for anyone - or she was still trying to decide what color most appealed to his libido.

Tough shit, dumbass. It's razzmatazz.

But with Marcy preoccupied with her Rocky Balboa pre-ciabatta montage, Dallas found himself dangerously bored and still riding the border between irritation and a total righteous crusade. He would need to vent the remaining bad vibes by talking to an equal and opposite source of good ones. Hm.

The song on the radio changed over, from Arctic Monkeys to something by the Neon Trees he didn't think he'd heard in years. Maybe not since he was a virgin - no, after that. Since the first time he'd gotten drunk with Kelsey (that sounded right, actually! Had he already figured that out?) on campus. Would Kelse...y(???) pick up for him this early in the morning? Probably not after he was late to his own gig, definitely not since he got blamed for the lesser demon that couldn't handle the booze. Maybe best to wait a day or two on Kelso.

Hmmmmmmm.

What airhead did he know that was that positive...

What dumb sack of hugs and vibes and could possibly be awake and ready to cheer him up this morning...

It wasn't a hard decision to make. He'd planned on texting her anyway.

Dallas Relo
good morrow, sis! i hope you learned a valuable lesson about why it's pointless to help people and why it will only make your life harder in the long run
and how growing up past 22 turns you into a stupid shitheel who never listens to common sense. i'm almost at the turning point. grieve for me babe
and have a good day! don't do anything/one that i wouldnt do. and definitely not anything/one i would


He could picture her stomping her foot at him already. God, that little pipsqueak. For someone he hadn't grown up with in the slightest, he did love the hell out of her. A little.

Dallas Relo
You good? Out at breakfast rn
But I can come by with something for your head if you need it. No nausea when you walk around or anything?
Headbutts are no fucking joke. Neither are demons.





Interacting With: Bekah @Krayzikk, Jonas (mentioned) @HereComesTheSnow, Rhea and Marcy @Write


"Huh." Dana's mouth tugged into a faint grin at the familiar feeling of an embrace and a peck, tugging away from the daughter of Athena's grasp after a couple seconds. Her eyes, disguised behind the pair of glasses Rebekah wore for purely aesthetic reasons - which meant they were also Dana's for the taking and smizing - glinted with mischief as she turned to face her roommate. Face.

Then everything else.

Then face. Very professional.

"You're going to need to be chic. Presentable. You're a con...conquering hero." Dana's smile grew fuller, pleased with her grasp of the sentence. "Heroes can't show up anywhere in grandma sweaters. You are dressing for my big brother. Don't look like shit."

To punctuate the point, Dana tossed the bra Bekah had discarded in a huff after their morning lecture back into her face.

"Dooon't look like shit," she repeated, a touch more emphatically. Not rude at all. Constructive and loving criticism of a girl whose beauty spoke for itself.

Dana Harada (KamiRanger Red)
Oniichan
Rhea
Marcy
see you soon! ❤️ ❤️ ❤️
Baka looks like shit



Interacting with: Nobody atm (Jonas @HereComesTheSnow, Vivian @Altered Tundra mentioned)


It was a rare and terrible thing when Dallas Relo was speechless in rage.

The dynamic duo of Dallas and Jonas had been throwing parties on Olympus Academy grounds since their first year, when a hastily-struck alliance to pirate the Weidman/Silva rematch and a couple of beers had blossomed into the truest friendship of Dal's life. They had thrown a Christmas party weeks later on the campus grounds, then a Valentine's Day party, then an Easter party (a bit of a jab at the gods? Maybe. But Dallas had been a Catholic in an old life, and these things still mattered) and on and on and on the fuck on. It had been in their first year that Dallas had conspired to first slip past the barrier around Olympus Academy.

It wasn't as awful as it sounded - and, he liked to note with some pride, he'd learned to do it long before he'd even learned Bekah existed. Granted, it was a simple bit of mischief to do in hindsight; more likely than not some demigod or another over the years had figured out how to do it when things got truly desperate. Whether he was standing on the shoulders of giants or not, he had figured it out in only his first year - and judging by the fact that his parties reigned uncontested in his half decade tenure at Olympus, he felt pretty confident that he and Jonas were the only students alive with the knowledge to do it. On its face, the barrier was a mighty, intangible iron curtain, capable of absorbing and refracting any energy by a demigod thrown at it. It made slipping out of the academy's curfew with the use of your powers nearly impossible - but it was still just that, intangible, and could be bypassed if it were fooled. Dallas had spent weeks practicing his illusions at the barrier as a first year, attempting to trick it into thinking one Relo was another, or another, or another. Eventually, as he practiced earlier and earlier in the morning and spent more and more time in the sunlight, his illusions had reached a point where even the barrier was fooled by which Dallas Relo was capable of passing through it and which wasn't. Over time, and with more practice, he was able to survey the area surrounding the barrier while on-campus at fall or winter break and figure out paths, weak points where you could fit another student or two on a trip out.

Or, say, a truck. A truck that could carry a lot of beer, and a meathead capable of navigating it through the mountains.

But such a thing never did any damage to the barriers - they just had to get back by sunset for Dallas to be able to refract sunlight back into it, and the barrier would register the pulse as a fruitless escape attempt and soak up its power. Often the invisible air seemed grateful for the extra juice; for a second it would go from transparent to translucent, a brief shimmer in the air from heat and light that clued an eagle-eyed observer in to the existence of a safeguard. His escape attempts made him more certain of the barrier's fortitude, if anything; he was sure the headmaster and headmistress could brute force it, and he had found a few little paths in and out, but that was it. There was no way to just break the fucking thing. He wasn't that strong. Right?

No.

There was no way. He hadn't done anything they hadn't done for years, Dallas was positive of that. But the idiot head motherfuckers in charge didn't want to hear that from him - with uncharacteristic urgency, Dallas had warned them that no, this wasn't his fault, something was wrong with the Academy's defenses. He had let his guard down, just for a second, sleep deprived and bones quaking with fury at the danger his friends - his sister - had been placed in, and they had looked at him like dog shit and threatened them all with expulsion. Like Dallas could give a fuck about not being forced to come to some godly boot camp where he could relearn the same myths he'd learned in fifth grade. Like he could give a fuck about anything other than the fact that it was him on the cross for this, 'Dallas Relo's party' being held up as an example to rule breakers and miscreants about the dangers of ignoring the Academy's rules, when it was the staff ignoring actual threats to the Academy.

Like they thought he would actually put Viv in fucking danger.

The mountain air felt thin in his heaving lungs this morning, and his hands were quaking from the heat and strength of the sunlight, burrowing into pores and boiling his blood. It filled Dallas with the comfortable, familiar buzz of power in his veins.

We didn't do anything wrong! he wanted to scream into the empty courtyard, but only the bench he was pacing circles around would have heard him.


Like they thought he would actually put Viv in any fucking danger.

One hour since they had been dragged into the Headmaster's office and read the Riot Act, and still the words had been stripped from Dallas' incredulous throat. Words wouldn't express how he felt. So he screamed.

It was long. High. Furious. The scream only died when his throat started to break, still parched from alcohol consumption and his wasted explanations. When his voice finally cracked and the red left his vision, the park bench was the last thing to come into view; it had flown forty meters from the strength of his toss, and against all odds had landed askew in the branches of an imposing-but-ancient oak tree that had been dying since the oldest student was born. The branches of the poor old oak were holding the bench for now, but a shower of leaves was raining from the branches on its right side, which made loud groans of protest with every bounce of momentum from the bench put.

Fuck. I should get that down, he thought, guilt forcing a deep sigh from his lungs while the anger slowly stopped lapping away at his insides. It seemed like he had two choices on how to get it down; fall and cushion it, fucking up his back or ribs, or break the branches and dismember even more of the oak tree beyond repair.

Dallas stared at the swaying bench for a second before turning and stalking away from it, headed nowhere in particular on campus. Blaming him for breaking shit that was already busted seemed to be this year's MO already.






"Sun's out," Harada Dana observed, leaning out the open window of Apartment 2B with her elbows on the windowsill and the aforementioned star reflecting off her smile. "Dal-kun's blood is gonna cook. Very funny."

Not that Dana could blame the hotheaded, short-sighted heart of her friend group for his irritation at the situation. Dana had been roused from a perfectly blissful night of revels and then deep, deep sleep to be informed that they were being summoned for a lecture. At first she assumed it was because they had forgone the second bedroom in their dorm and turned it into Dana's exercise palace, but no. It turns out that the staff had no problems with the bedroom situation. That was good. The girls didn't either. They weren't even here about the noise complaints emanating from the bedroom after their return from the party, which was good too. Baka was always feisty after getting to play with weapons.

It turned out they were here about playing with the weapons at all, which was very rude, and very unfair considering none of them had even conjured a shadow demon. All she did was sit on a truck and admire all the skin everyone had on display all night. If she had wanted to dice that ghoul into sashimi she could have. But she sat still and followed the rules, and was still being threatened with expulsion for her restraint. Expulsion meant it would be harder to take trips here, especially on student visas.

Very rude. She had already texted her mother asking for legal advice, and would be getting onii-chan to communicate with Father about white phosphorus usage on impolite teachers immediately.

For now, she was just having fun watching Dallas throw furniture around. It was always more fun - and more safe for others - when he went outside and did it for a change. Americans were so hot under the collar. She liked that in them. Boys and girls alike.

"Ngh."

"Don't be so grumpy," she chided the girl who had managed to bury and tangle herself in the mess they'd made of the covers overnight. "You're white. You'll wrinkle."


...

"Fine. I'll be the one to say it. Anyone seen Get Out?"

Lauren Negasi frowned at her team, her teeth certainly not chattering. Her teeth were, in fact, enjoying hot girl summer to the max, currently engaged in a torrential on-and-off fling that brought them into contact with each other time and again - oral sex, if you would. No doubt a foreign concept to a boy from a small town in Vale where nobody knew how to find the clitoris.

"Okay, fine. How about Jurassic Park? Samuel L. Jackson, coldest motherfucker to ever live. He took three steps down a ramp, and what did they do? Those raptors ran the nigga for his own leg. Nuh uh. Nooo way. From now on I pick the missions. Does anyone feel that buzz?"

Of course, part of her routine was keeping spirits light, but Lauren had always been a girl with a honed survival instinct, ready to bail on people or situations that were clear lost causes. If this were a side street in Mistral, she would have thrown Sangue - the only person here who didn't deserve to die - over her shoulder like a sack of wheat and booked it back to an escape route. She probably wouldn't even struggle. She could teach Sangue to use that prosthetic to hijack cars, and they could set up a fun new side gig somewhere nice...far from Mistral...

Maybe give Atlas a chance again. Or head to Vacuo. Somewhere she could find Umeko Kawaguchi and grovel for pussy. She wasn't too dignified for it.

Then she found Ben's big, blue, guileless eyes - like an innocent little lamb who'd never seen a pair of titties. Something in her gave. She had to be strong in her capacity as team leader.

"Well, the plot of Get Out is that this bad white bitch leads you to this factory in the rich part of town so they can stuff your grandparents' minds in the bodies of strong, able young OGs. Which makes me an OG, y'all two motherfuckers the bad bitches, and this place..." Lauren craned her head to look suspiciously into the elevator, lit up like a sign from God.

"The Nigga Conversion Factory."

"Lorena. Get out."

"The Nigga Conversion Factory. Get Out's the movie. If I start acting differently, ask me about tennis. I don't know shit about tennis so if I can answer, then you'll need to get my real brain back. In the meantime....hhhhh. Let's just take the ramp. But if something eats my leg y'all two will be the ones cryin' about it, with your horny asses."
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