Qia

Qia's Stuff

^{#4DBDB5 ....|..... outfit.....|..... anna lou's trailer}

Words

^{interactions ....|.... none ............... mentions ....|.... delia............... collabs ....|.... none}

Qia's Stuff

Words ..............................................................................................

_{Location: Ballroom
Interactions: Dorian ()
Mentions: Raelan, Rhea, Junia
#d8a7b1...|...outfit}

Pines Holler [Not Accepting]

Anna Lou

_{Faceclaim: Antonia Gentry // Color Code: #4DBDB5}
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________

_{Full Name:}

Anna Lou Caudill

_Nickname(s):

Annie (family only)
Lou (what most regulars at Husker's call her)

_Age:

Twenty-seven // Pisces // March 3rd

_Gender:

Female

_Sexuality:

Bisexual

_Occupation:

Waitress and occasional bartender at Husker's, picking up whatever shifts need covering

_{Place of Residence:}

14 Shady Hills Lane (her parents' trailer)

_{Family and Close Connections:}

• Dennis Caudill, father, 54, formerly employed at Parton's Lumber Company for nineteen years. He's quiet and not much of a complainer. Takes the bus to the Dollar General now for the few shifts they'll give him and doesn't say much about how that feels. Anna Lou gets her conflict aversion from him.
   
• Lorraine Caudill, mother, 52, works part-time at Lou's Diner. She's warm though also a little worn down. Has never once said she wishes Anna Lou had left. Has also never once said she's glad she stayed.
   
• Dallas King, acquaintance, 22, waitress at Lou's Diner. Anna Lou has known her as the younger girl who's always been behind that counter, a familiar face more than a friend. They've had approximately forty identical pleasant exchanges over the years that have never quite tipped into anything real, and neither of them has seemed to mind. Lorraine mentions her occasionally in an offhand way, and Anna Lou has absorbed a vague impression of her life without ever having sought it out (something about a relationship that didn't work out and a difficult few months). She didn't ask for details, and Lorraine didn't offer them.
   
• Elsie Woods, acquaintance, 24, works at the Dollar General and the smoke shop. Their fathers both put in years at Parton's Lumber, which gives them a shared history they've never really discussed. More recently, Dennis picking up shifts at the Dollar General has put Anna Lou in Elsie's orbit with some regularity, such as whenever she stops in to drop off her dad's lunch or to check on him without making it obvious that's what she's doing. Elsie has never commented on this, which Anna Lou appreciates more than she's let on. Their exchanges are brief and pleasant and occasionally almost tip into something more, the kind of conversation that keeps almost starting and then doesn't. Anna Lou suspects there's more to her than the Dollar General uniform suggests. She hasn't been wrong about that kind of thing before. She also hasn't done anything about it, but that's hardly unusual.
   
• Mollie McIntyre, regular, 27, manager at Smoker's Paradise. Five years of Friday nights and the occasional slow Tuesday have made Mollie one of those Huskers fixtures Anna Lou knows by drink order and by mood. She's the kind of person who takes up space without apologizing for it, loud in the way that makes a quiet bar feel suddenly alive, and Anna Lou has always found that quality somewhere between exhausting and a little enviable. She heard the gossip when Mollie first arrived(everyone did) and set it aside because five minutes of watching Mollie and Kent together told her more than five months of town speculation ever could. She knows about Kent's passing, of course. The news arrived the way bad news always does here: through someone else's mouth in someone else's conversation. Mollie hasn't been in for about six months, probably because of it, and Anna Lou hasn't checked in with her about it because, well, it's none of her business, right? What was she supposed to do? Suddenly visit her at her home?
   
• Liz Fulton, former colleague, 35, stay-at-home wife. Liz was bartending at Husker's long before Anna Lou started picking up shifts there. She showed Anna Lou the ropes behind the bar, and Anna Lou absorbed more from watching her than from anything she was explicitly taught. She still catches herself doing this thing Liz used to do — not asking someone what's wrong, just making sure their glass stays full — and has never quite decided whether that counts as learning something or just picking up a habit. They weren't close, exactly; coworkers with all the warmth and limitations that implies. But Anna Lou did hear about the loss secondhand, and she thought about calling. She didn't, of course, and the longer she didn't, the harder it became to justify doing it at all. She's heard Liz is pregnant again, or thinks she has. She hopes it's going well. She hasn't asked.
   
• Delia Carter-Reid, neighbour, 20, currently unemployed. Next door at 13 Shady Hills means Anna Lou has known Delia's face longer than she's known much else about her. There's a seven-year gap between them that felt enormous when they were younger. Anna Lou occasionally watched her as a kid when Peta was in a bind, and options were thin, and it was enough to know what Delia looked like when she was about to do something she shouldn't, which was most of the time. That expression hasn't changed much with age.
  
  Despite all of that, these days, Anna Lou and Delia exist in each other's periphery the way neighbours do, with an occasional exchange about the weather or something insignificant that doesn't quite become an actual conversation. Still, Anna Lou worries about her in a low-level, background way. She tried, once, to bring something up. It was a small thing, or maybe it wasn't; the specifics have blurred. What she does remember is that it hadn't gone all that well, and Anna Lou, whose instinct has always been to smooth rather than pry, let it go. She hasn't tried again. But she does look. She notices when Delia wears the same hoodie four days in a row. She notes the comings and goings at odd hours. And once, three streets over, while walking Gerald (don't ask), she saw something spray-painted on a wall, a tag that she didn't quite understand. She stopped. She stared. And she thought, with a sinking feeling in her stomach, that she recognized the handwriting.
   
• Elias Petterson, a familiar face, 28, high school English teacher. Anna Lou and Elias graduated the same year and from the same school. They were friendly at best with each other, that much she might be able to recall, and what has happened in the decade after is much harder to summarize. Pines Holler is small, yes. You cannot drive from one end to the other without passing someone you recognize. But it is surprising, Anna Lou has found, how easily you can lose track of someone who isn't in your immediate orbit, especially when you are busy keeping your head down in your own.

_Appearance:

• Height: Five feet, four inches
• Hair: Dark brown, natural texture somewhere between wavy and loosely coiled depending on the weather, usually pulled back for shifts and left loose on her days off
• Eyes: Dark brown
• Body Type: Soft and slight
• Clothing Style: Off-shift she gravitates toward worn flannels, faded band tees from artists she actually listens to, jeans that have seen better days, and the occasional thrifted dress she tells herself she'll wear more often.
• Body Markings: A small constellation of freckles across her nose and cheeks. One set of lobe piercings, usually plain gold studs, because she keeps losing the nicer ones.

_Personality:

Anna Lou possesses the kind of warmth that makes a room feel incrementally cozier the moment she enters it. Were you to voice this observation aloud, however, she would likely demur out of embarrassment. She is, by constitution and by choice, a deeply interested person: attentive to others, adept at listening, and quick to offer a laugh that sounds as natural as a reflex. At Husker's, she knows most of her regulars by the small, telling details of their lives, like their go-to order or the names of their pets. People gravitate to her like moths to a flame, and she likes them back, though always with that careful buffer she maintains between herself and the world.

That buffer is the part Anna Lou never discusses. Not with her mother, not with her oldest friends, and certainly not with the affable, uncomplicated men who occasionally ask her for a drink after her shift. On the surface, she appears ever-present; below that surface, a small but stubborn distance persists. It is not dishonesty that drives this, as she would never deliberately mislead anyone. Rather, it is a hard-won instinct for self-preservation, cultivated through a thousand minor, unmemorable moments. When conflict arises, her first impulse is to apologize and to soothe. Only later, in the late hours of the night, staring at the water-stained ceiling of her room, does she allow herself to sort out what she actually feels.

She is not unhappy. Instead, Anna Lou lives in a murky land of contentment and its discontents. She loves Pines Holler with a bone-deep loyalty, and she loves her parents. She does not regret staying, not entirely, and certainly not in any language she lets herself articulate aloud. But sometimes, in the lull between the early afternoon crowd and the dinner rush, or while wiping down the same sticky counter she has wiped down a thousand times, she feels a strange tug, and she catches herself wondering what her life might have looked like if she had pushed on her desires a little harder.

_History:

Anna Lou was born and raised in Pines Holler, the only child of Dennis and Lorraine Caudill. She grew up in the same single-wide trailer she still sleeps in, a modest home with a squeaky porch step and a kitchen window that catches the morning sun. She went to the same school everyone went to, knew everyone's business, and had her own known in return. It wasn't a hard childhood, not in any dramatic sense at least. Her parents were steady and kind; they worked hard and meant well, and even as a kid, she understood that kind of decency was something worth being grateful for.

In school, Anna Lou was a decent student, which suited her just fine. She had friends, went to parties, and stayed out of trouble because she didn't need it. So, the dream of leaving was never a huge, specific thing. It was more like a direction she kept meaning to walk in. At seventeen, she applied to a handful of schools and got into two of them, including a state school two hours away. At the time, that distance felt reasonable: far enough to taste independence, close enough to drive home if the world felt tilted. She was going to study something—communications, maybe, or education; she hadn't quite decided. But then Dennis threw out his back, and the timing seemed wrong. She deferred for a year. The year turned into two. And by the time her father was back on his feet, the momentum had dissipated.

Now she is twenty-seven, and she still tells herself she'll figure it out. She's not dead, after all. But the figuring-out keeps getting postponed for the same reasons it always has. Meanwhile, Parton's has closed its doors for good. Her father picks up whatever shifts the Dollar General will give him, his work boots heavier than they used to be. The cost of living also went up three hundred dollars overnight, a sudden pinch that turned every grocery trip into a calculation in her head before she gets to the register. Anna Lou looks at the window she always assumed was still open—the window marked someday, eventually, when things settle—and from where she's standing now, it seems to have changed. The glass is still there, but the light coming through it looks different. Smaller. More like a mirror.

_{Extra Facts // Headcannons:}

• Anna Lou harbours deeply ambivalent feelings about the corporate expansion creeping toward Pines Holler. Part of her understands the appeal of change, but another part of her is frightened. She has not decided what she thinks. She is not sure she wants to.
• Music is her constant companion. She listens at work, on her walk from the trailer to the car, while falling asleep with one earbud in, so Gerald can't chew the cord. Her taste is eclectic: Dolly Parton sits beside Hozier; older R&B that Lorraine used to play in the kitchen (Aretha, Al Green, the occasional Anita Baker) rubs shoulders with the occasional embarrassing pop song.
• She makes very good biscuits, which she learned from Lorraine, who learned from her own mother, and the recipe has never been written down because it doesn't need to be. Sometimes Anna Lou brings a batch to Husker's and leaves them at the bar without announcement, wrapped in a clean dish towel. They vanish within the hour. No one asks who made them. No one has to.
• There is also Gerald. Gerald is a very old, very stubborn cat. He was supposed to be temporary. A neighbour found him as a stray, half-starved and hissing, and Anna Lou agreed to “hold onto him for a few days.” That was eleven years ago. Gerald now rules the trailer with a kind of reticent tyranny, knocking things off counters for sport and sleeping directly in the center of her pillow. She has never loved anything quite so irritating. She suspects the feeling is mutual, which only deepens the bond.
• When things feel heavy, such as when the cost of living rises again, or her father comes home from Dollar General too tired to eat, or the corporate expansion makes another land purchase she reads about, Anna Lou steps onto the back porch of the trailer and smokes a cigarette. Just one. Sometimes two. She tells herself she's going to stop. She has told herself this for eight years.

Pines Holler [Not Accepting]

For your consideration

Anna Lou

_{Faceclaim: Antonia Gentry // Color Code: #4DBDB5}
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________

_{Full Name:}

Anna Lou Caudill

_Nickname(s):

Annie (family only)
Lou (what most regulars at Husker's call her)

_Age:

Twenty-seven // Pisces // March 3rd

_Gender:

Female

_Sexuality:

Bisexual

_Occupation:

Waitress and occasional bartender at Husker's, picking up whatever shifts need covering

_{Place of Residence:}

14 Shady Hills Lane (her parents' trailer)

_{Family and Close Connections:}

Dennis Caudill, father, 54, formerly employed at Parton's Lumber Company for nineteen years. He's quiet and not much of a complainer. Takes the bus to the Dollar General now for the few shifts they'll give him and doesn't say much about how that feels. Anna Lou gets her conflict aversion from him.

Lorraine Caudill, mother, 52, works part-time at Lou's Diner. She's warm though also a little worn down. Has never once said she wishes Anna Lou had left. Has also never once said she's glad she stayed.

_Appearance:

• Height: Five feet, four inches
• Hair: Dark brown, natural texture somewhere between wavy and loosely coiled depending on the weather, usually pulled back for shifts and left loose on her days off
• Eyes: Dark brown
• Body Type: Soft and slight
• Clothing Style: Off-shift she gravitates toward worn flannels, faded band tees from artists she actually listens to, jeans that have seen better days, and the occasional thrifted dress she tells herself she'll wear more often.
• Body Markings: A small constellation of freckles across her nose and cheeks. One set of lobe piercings, usually plain gold studs, because she keeps losing the nicer ones.

_Personality:

Anna Lou possesses the kind of warmth that makes a room feel incrementally cozier the moment she enters it. Were you to voice this observation aloud, however, she would likely demur out of embarrassment. She is, by constitution and by choice, a deeply interested person: attentive to others, adept at listening, and quick to offer a laugh that sounds as natural as a reflex. At Husker's, she knows most of her regulars by the small, telling details of their lives, like their go-to order or the names of their pets. People gravitate to her like moths to a flame, and she likes them back, though always with that careful buffer she maintains between herself and the world.

That buffer is the part Anna Lou never discusses. Not with her mother, not with her oldest friends, and certainly not with the affable, uncomplicated men who occasionally ask her for a drink after her shift. On the surface, she appears ever-present; below that surface, a small but stubborn distance persists. It is not dishonesty that drives this, as she would never deliberately mislead anyone. Rather, it is a hard-won instinct for self-preservation, cultivated through a thousand minor, unmemorable moments. When conflict arises, her first impulse is to apologize and to soothe. Only later, in the late hours of the night, staring at the water-stained ceiling of her room, does she allow herself to sort out what she actually feels.

She is not unhappy. Instead, Anna Lou lives in a murky land of contentment and its discontents. She loves Pines Holler with a bone-deep loyalty, and she loves her parents. She does not regret staying, not entirely, and certainly not in any language she lets herself articulate aloud. But sometimes, in the lull between the early afternoon crowd and the dinner rush, or while wiping down the same sticky counter she has wiped down a thousand times, she feels a strange tug, and she catches herself wondering what her life might have looked like if she had pushed on her desires a little harder.

_History:

Anna Lou was born and raised in Pines Holler, the only child of Dennis and Lorraine Caudill. She grew up in the same single-wide trailer she still sleeps in, a modest home with a squeaky porch step and a kitchen window that catches the morning sun. She went to the same school everyone went to, knew everyone's business, and had her own known in return. It wasn't a hard childhood, not in any dramatic sense at least. Her parents were steady and kind; they worked hard and meant well, and even as a kid, she understood that kind of decency was something worth being grateful for.

In school, Anna Lou was a decent student, which suited her just fine. She had friends, went to parties, and stayed out of trouble because she didn't need it. So, the dream of leaving was never a huge, specific thing. It was more like a direction she kept meaning to walk in. At seventeen, she applied to a handful of schools and got into two of them, including a state school two hours away. At the time, that distance felt reasonable: far enough to taste independence, close enough to drive home if the world felt tilted. She was going to study something—communications, maybe, or education; she hadn't quite decided. But then Dennis threw out his back, and the timing seemed wrong. She deferred for a year. The year turned into two. And by the time her father was back on his feet, the momentum had dissipated.

Now she is twenty-seven, and she still tells herself she'll figure it out. She's not dead, after all. But the figuring-out keeps getting postponed for the same reasons it always has. Meanwhile, Parton's has closed its doors for good. Her father picks up whatever shifts the Dollar General will give him, his work boots heavier than they used to be. The cost of living also went up three hundred dollars overnight, a sudden pinch that turned every grocery trip into a calculation in her head before she gets to the register. Anna Lou looks at the window she always assumed was still open—the window marked someday, eventually, when things settle—and from where she's standing now, it seems to have changed. The glass is still there, but the light coming through it looks different. Smaller. More like a mirror.

_{Extra Facts // Headcannons:}

• Anna Lou harbours deeply ambivalent feelings about the corporate expansion creeping toward Pines Holler. Part of her understands the appeal of change, but another part of her is frightened. She has not decided what she thinks. She is not sure she wants to.
• Music is her constant companion. She listens at work, on her walk from the trailer to the car, while falling asleep with one earbud in, so Gerald can't chew the cord. Her taste is eclectic: Dolly Parton sits beside Hozier; older R&B that Lorraine used to play in the kitchen (Aretha, Al Green, the occasional Anita Baker) rubs shoulders with the occasional embarrassing pop song.
• She makes very good biscuits, which she learned from Lorraine, who learned from her own mother, and the recipe has never been written down because it doesn't need to be. Sometimes Anna Lou brings a batch to Husker's and leaves them at the bar without announcement, wrapped in a clean dish towel. They vanish within the hour. No one asks who made them. No one has to.
• There is also Gerald. Gerald is a very old, very stubborn cat. He was supposed to be temporary. A neighbour found him as a stray, half-starved and hissing, and Anna Lou agreed to “hold onto him for a few days.” That was eleven years ago. Gerald now rules the trailer with a kind of reticent tyranny, knocking things off counters for sport and sleeping directly in the center of her pillow. She has never loved anything quite so irritating. She suspects the feeling is mutual, which only deepens the bond.
• When things feel heavy, such as when the cost of living rises again, or her father comes home from Dollar General too tired to eat, or the corporate expansion makes another land purchase she reads about, Anna Lou steps onto the back porch of the trailer and smokes a cigarette. Just one. Sometimes two. She tells herself she's going to stop. She has told herself this for eight years.

Qia's Stuff

Fun colours to try at some point:

Words
Words
Words
Words
Words
Words
Words
Words
Words
Words
Words

Eastwood Regional High: Senior Year

Interested :)

Camp Athens - Closed

^{#c9bef3 ....|..... outfit .....|..... arena ........................................................................ #5a3e85 ....|..... outfit .....|..... arena}

Blair was already settled on the bench by the time Anissa made her way over, the bag swaying lightly from her grip. She'd taken her time crossing the stands — not deliberately, but the distance had been enough to smooth her expression back into something approaching neutral. By the time she dropped onto the bench beside Blair, she looked, she hoped, like someone who had spent the last ten minutes thinking about nothing in particular.

She set the bag down between them and began rooting through it for Blair's container, the rustle of plastic loud in the relative quiet. The arena had emptied further while she'd been sitting with River, the last few stragglers now reduced to the same two girls from before, now at the very end of the course. Thank goodness. Despite being asked to watch over them, Anissa wasn't entirely sure what she could do if one of them had started drowning or something. Wave encouragingly? Shout vague affirmations from a safe distance? Her skillset had never included aquatic rescue, and she suspected River had overlooked that particular gap in her training, or lack thereof.

The boy who had been helping Blair was gone, and Blair herself didn't look particularly devastated by his departure, which was something. If anything, she looked marginally better than someone who had just dragged themselves through an obstacle course twice had any right to. Marginally. The bar was on the floor, and Blair had cleared it by approximately half an inch. Nonetheless.

"You look terrible," Anissa announced, producing Blair's container and holding it out. Coming from her, it was essentially a term of endearment. "Eat something."

Blair puffed up her lips with an exaggerated exhale. "And here I was hoping I still had some tragic, downtrodden sex appeal. Disappointing," she mused with a tired but fairly content, all things considered, smile. If nothing else she appeared to be in better spirits than the grumpy huff she left in to attempt the course a second time. If she had to put her finger on it, it was probably from a helpful and all too attractive cowboy that came to a rescue. That seemed to have lifted her mood more than she had considered.

Her hand slowly extended, surprisingly still shaky and weighed down by existence. "Thanks," Blair whispered as she took the container. The second the full weight of it settled into her grasp, her arm sank, and the food nearly took a tumble across the arena floor. She barely managed to save it with her other hand and shove it onto her lap for better stability. "For fuck’s sake," she muttered under her breath.

She took a second to rub her eyes and exhaled deeply before popping open the container. Inside was a proper meal: chicken, vegetables, part of a roll, and some sort of soup or broth. It was incredibly considerate in a way people hadn’t been for her in a long time… And the sight of it alone made her stomach churn like her body had been reminded she was supposed to be hungover. Blair sighed, her smile wavering a fraction at her body’s inability to cooperate. She knew she needed to eat, but the thought of it was enough to ruin her appetite for the rest of the day. Reluctantly, she tore off a piece of the bread and dunked it into the broth. Baby steps.

After taking an unnecessarily long amount of time chewing, Blair steeled her nerves and swallowed, praying that the bite settled. Her gaze settled on the cloth still wrapped around her hands. For a second her thoughts drifted as she tugged at a loose piece of thread. It settled momentarily on the selfless way Colton did… Well, everything, and how she felt the strong need to repay him in some way. That, however, would take far more thought and recovery time than bread and broth. She quickly pushed it aside while quietly clearing her throat as she turned where she sat until her knee bumped Anissa’s and she could see her better.

"So... Nipple boy?" Blair asked with raised brows. Her question wasn’t specific but an umbrella that covered the entire topic of River, who was conveniently not present.

Anissa glanced sideways at her, considering the question with the expression of someone sorting through a very complicated filing cabinet and choosing to hand over only the most innocuous document available. She was vaguely aware that Blair probably wasn't asking about poutine, but Anissa had spent years perfecting the art of deflection, and she wasn't about to abandon it now.

"Turns out he's just trying to fatten me up," she said finally, her tone perfectly dry. She nodded toward Blair's container. "He took my poutine."

She let that land for a second before continuing, because Blair's face in response to that sentence alone was probably worth the pause.

"It had gone cold," she added, as if that explained everything. "He noticed. Decided that was apparently his problem to fix, took the container right out of my hands before I could argue, and went to go get fresh ones." She glanced toward the arena exit, then back to Blair. "Without asking, by the way. Nipple boy, everyone."

Anissa shook her head before reaching for her drink, already mostly gone. Then, she glanced pointedly at Blair's container and the very slow progress being made.

"How's that going, anyway?" she asked, nodding at the food. "And don't say fine. You nearly dropped it on the floor thirty seconds ago."

"Nice deflection," Blair mused, giving her an amused sidelong glance that said the topic of nipple boy was far from over. But she would let it slide… for the moment.

"I know," Anissa replied, entirely unbothered by being caught. She'd never claimed to be subtle.

Blair exhaled deeply as her gaze fell to the foam container of food perched on top of her thighs. The nausea nagged at the pit of her stomach, less of a threat and more like a quiet reminder of her episode on the course and apprehensive caution at the prospect of food. It was like her body wanted and refuted sustenance at the same. It was all terribly confusing. Blair pushed through the discomfort, tearing free another piece of bread and dunking it into the broth.

"Tired," she admitted plainly, exhaustion dragging out the end of the word. Her smile still remained, fatigue settling in around the edges, but persistent. "My physical prowess begins and ends in the bedroom," Blair mused with a weak laugh as she finally forced herself to eat the tiny bit of bread. "I don’t know how I finished it the first time, let alone the second. Probably wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for Colton." Her attention drifted back over toward the course, replaying each obstacle as her gaze passed over it. He boosted her on the log jump, boosted her again—and caught her—on the rope climb, bound her hands with his own shirt, kept her from falling off the log ladder, and cheered her on where he couldn’t help. While his actions were heartwarming and felt entirely unearned, she felt utterly pathetic.

Anissa followed Blair's gaze back over the course, taking in the obstacles with fresh eyes now that she wasn't the one navigating them. The structures looked different from this angle, like playground equipment abandoned at the end of a long day. Funny how perspective changed things.

"Colton," she repeated, testing the name. "That the one who was helping you?" She glanced over with an expression of exaggerated innocence, the kind that always preceded something mildly obnoxious. "Because if I recall correctly, someone was looking to kidnap a guy with big muscles to carry her home." She tilted her head. "How'd that work out? Is that how you know each other? I was a little…preoccupied."

That was, she reflected privately, something of an understatement. Preoccupied implied a degree of present awareness she wasn't entirely certain she'd possessed for a significant portion of the previous evening. There was a point past which her memory of the night became less a clear sequence of events and more a collection of impressions — warmth, and the sound of someone's voice, and the specific weight of not wanting something to end — with some fairly notable gaps in between. Gaps that she was trying very hard not to think about while sitting in a public arena in broad daylight, with the winter sun doing absolutely nothing to warm the flush that threatened to creep up her neck every time her thoughts drifted in a particular direction.

Blair actually snorted and rolled her eyes. "Preoccupied. That’s a word for it." Her gaze fell to her food, attempting to soldier through and take another bite, although she very pointedly continued to skirt around the meat and vegetables. "Yes. Tall, blond, and frustratingly gorgeous was Colton," she mused, motioning her hand toward the course as if the cowboy in question still lingered around one of the obstacles waiting to offer her a lift. "And no. He arrived this morning. I stumbled my drunk ass home last night all on my own… Even got lost," she replied with a tired laugh as she swirled another bit of bread in the cooling broth. "The party seemed to be in short supply of chivalrous men."

She chewed on her food painstakingly slow as she thought back on the party. If Colton had been there, he would have no doubt offered to carry her back. He seemed like the type. Hell, he didn’t know her and went out of his way to help her simply because she looked like she needed it. So far he seemed to be the only man… well, ever who was like that. It almost felt wrong that all of that Prince Charming niceness was wasted on her. Normally Blair would be selfish and revel in it, but she honestly felt like she didn’t deserve his charity, no matter how much he tried to convince her otherwise.

Chivalrous men weren't the only thing the party had been short on. Good friends who looked out for each other instead of getting swept up in, well, whatever she had gotten swept up in, and made sure their people got home safely. That category had also been somewhat underrepresented on the night. However, Anissa filed that away under things to feel vaguely guilty about later, a small, growing collection of moments she'd need to examine when she had the emotional bandwidth.

Besides, Blair probably didn't even blame her for any of it, given her enthusiastic encouragement to sleep with River, no less, as if that particular development had been the goal all along. It, of course, hadn’t been. She’d just wanted to spend more time with her…friend.

She watched Blair with the broth now, the painstaking avoidance of anything that required actual chewing, and said nothing further about it either. Picked her battles.

"You got lost? That really sucks, hun," she said instead before pausing in thought. "I guess I got lucky."

A beat. Anissa replayed that sentence immediately. "River walked me back or…I guess carried," she amended. "I might have been a little out of it as well."

Blair waved her off halfheartedly with a small shake of her head. "It’s fine. I found it eventually and passed out on the couch." She noted the comment about River with the less than subtle quirk of a brow, but figured she could save that interrogation for when they weren’t expecting a nipple boy resurgence à la poutine. With a soft sigh, she straightened her back and rolled her neck before looking back over at Anissa. "Cowboy Ken did however offer to carry me back to the stands after I finished. So that has to count for something, right?" she mused with a smile that was mostly playful, but there was a faint warmth behind it. That damn cowboy really was going to ruin men for her. Blair’s standards were going to be so ungodly high that she was going to be single forever. Ironic.

"Cowboy? That’s hot." Anissa's brows lifted with immediate interest. "With an accent and everything?" She had always maintained that an accent was either the making or the ruining of a person's entire case. Not that she would admit that to anyone living.

"Oh my god," Blair groaned, throwing her head back dramatically. "Yes," she added with a laugh that almost sounded more disgusted than delighted, but it was more that it was actually rude for someone so hot and charming to exist in her general vicinity after she decided to put her hoe phase behind her. Unfair, honestly. Although Colton was far too sweet for her to ever consider taking advantage of him. Just the thought of it was enough to sit uneasy in her stomach. "He called me ‘ma’am’ and everything. Even caught me when I fell off the damn rope climb." She motioned her hand vaguely toward the pesky obstacle in question. "It’s like he walked straight out of a harlequin romance novel, I swear." Her head shook in disbelief as she tore another piece of bread, but she didn’t eat it, instead toying with the food between her fingers while chewing on the inside of her lip.

"Ma'am," Anissa repeated, with the gravity of someone receiving very important news. She let that sit for exactly one second before she turned on the bench to face Blair more fully, abandoning all pretense of interest in her own missing food. This was, objectively, the most entertaining thing that had happened all day, and she intended to savour it.

"And then what happened? What did you do? Because if the answer is nothing, I'm going to need you to explain your reasoning to me very slowly."

Blair’s eyes widened at the sudden interest in her training activities and while she could pretend to be naive, she knew what Anissa was getting at and fishing for before she ever answered. She slowly closed her box of food, setting it aside on the bench beside her before turning to face her friend until their knees brushed. They looked like two girls gossiping about boys in the bleachers in High School, not demigods lamenting after strenuous training bullshit. "I thanked him, of course," she responded like the answer was comically simple. "I’m not uncivilized," she added, playing coy with a guilty glint behind her eyes.

She let the silence sit for a long minute or two, waiting to see how restless or unconvinced Anissa was before conceding with a soft sigh. "I don’t know. He was a gentleman." Blair shrugged her shoulders. "If those still exist." She ran through the entirety of her second attempt at the course, sifting through the relentless and unintentional flirting for anything of note that would sate Anissa’s curiosity. "He tore his own shirt to bandage my hands—" Blair raised her hands showing the now dirty white cotton wrapped around both of her palms. "He held my shoes while I swam, climbed the ladder with me and made sure I didn’t fall, offered to carry me back to my seat or help me to my cabin if I needed it—which I declined, obviously," she clarified pointedly and with dramatic emphasis.

"He also gave me his water… So, you know, we basically had sex," Blair teased with a laugh that had far more life behind it than she thought was possible after her exhausting morning. A beat or two passed, then her shoulders rose and fell with the fatigue her laughter lacked. "’New leaf,’ remember?" she mused quietly, tilting her head to the side as she brushed loose hair behind her ears. "We’re friends," she clarified. "First man friend I’ve had actually, so you can be proud of me on that account."

Anissa listened to the full inventory with the focused attention of someone taking mental notes, her expression giving nothing away as Blair laid out the sequence of small kindnesses that had accumulated over the course of an afternoon. It really was a lot when you laid it all out like that. Any single item on that list could have been a gesture, calculated or otherwise. The kind of thing someone does when they want to be noticed doing it. But all of them together, strung end to end without apparent awareness of their own effect, that was something else. It was someone who saw a person struggling and kept finding new ways to help without once making her feel like a burden for needing it.

Blair was right. It was uncomfortably harlequin. The kind of thing that made you suspicious because surely people weren't actually like that, surely there had to be an angle, a motive, or a shoe waiting to drop. And yet it also, unhelpfully, reminded her of someone taking a container of cold poutine out of her hands without asking and simply deciding to fix it.

Anissa evicted that thought immediately. Forcefully. With prejudice.

"Wow, that's…a lot," she said finally. "Like genuinely a lot."

She glanced at Blair's bandaged hands—specifically at the shirt still wrapped around them, the fabric already darkening slightly where it had absorbed who-knew-what from the course.

"I know you said you don't think you're the best influence," she added then, her tone quieter than it had been. "But I just hope you're not…punishing yourself here." She didn't look away, holding Blair's gaze and letting her see that this wasn't casual conversation anymore. This was the real thing, the kind of moment that required both of them to show up fully.

"New leaf is one thing. Deciding you don't deserve something before it's had a chance to be anything is another."

Blair's shoulders slumped slightly with a soft sigh. She should have expected the turn the conversation was taking, but for whatever reason, perhaps it was the implications or the severity in Anissa’s gaze, she grew uncomfortable. Connecting dots that weren’t there regarding Colton’s actions wasn’t entirely out of line; she was guilty of doing it before she just… accepted that he was a genuinely kind person. But questioning if she was punishing herself stuck weirdly right behind her ribs, like a foreign ache she wasn’t sure how to shake.

She felt herself growing restless and adjusted how she sat as a more subtle excuse to move. Her right leg slid a little more onto the bench as she tucked her foot beneath her left knee. Her hands fell to gently rest along her calf, fingers lightly tapping her leg as she weighed Anissa’s words. "It’s… nothing," Blair attempted to clear the air. "He’s just… One of those people with kindness hardwired into his DNA. He asked for friendship and I gave it." Her right hand lifted, index swirling over her head to mime a halo. "Best behavior. I am capable of friendship. Although I’m also a pathological flirt, apparently. But I can’t be held accountable for that. Not that he seemed to mind."

A beat or two passed before her hands shot up into the air, wagging her fingers around to interrupt Anissa before she started. "And noooo, before you ask, he did not flirt back." Blair punctuated her interjection with a small nod. But betraying her confidence was a small crease that grew between her brows. Did he flirt? Sure, she jokingly called him out for flirting, but she genuinely didn’t think Colton knew how to flirt, not that she imagined he’d be trying to regardless. He was just kind and genuine and very respectful. There were countless times he could have done or said something, most men in her past would have, but he didn’t. She imagined it was a combination of that uncanny chivalry, inexperience, and disinterest. Which was fine, good even. The last thing she needed was a man that looked like that throwing a wrench in her whole New Year’s resolution… thing. If she could call it that.

Anissa watched the halo mime with a patient skepticism. She also let the preemptive noooo land without comment, because Blair had gotten there before she could, and that was honestly impressive defensiveness for someone who claimed nothing was happening.

"I wasn't going to ask," she said mildly. Which was almost true. She hadn't been going to ask that, exactly. Something adjacent, perhaps. But Blair's preemptive strike had rendered that particular line of inquiry moot, and Anissa was nothing if not adaptable. She looked at Blair for a moment, at the restlessness, the fingers tapping, and the crease that had appeared and was trying very hard not to be noticed. The kind of tells that most people missed, but that Anissa had trained herself to see. Blair was thinking about something, turning it over, and deciding whether to give it voice.

"I said what I said," Anissa added simply before she picked up her drink and let her gaze drift back toward the course, where the last two girls were finally, finally finishing. One of them had just hit the water with what could generously be described as commitment and less generously as a controlled disaster, and the other had promptly jumped in after her for reasons Anissa couldn't entirely follow from this distance.

"What a morning…." It made her wonder what might be planned for them tomorrow. But that was to worry about then. Not now. She took a long sip of her drink.

Blair pursed her lips and squinted her eyes, her face contorting into an accusatory grimace but she didn’t say anything. A guy being nice didn’t immediately mean anything beyond him just being kind. No flirting. No interest. But she was also very aware that if the tables were turned she’d likely be making the same passive, incredulous comments too. It was just far less entertaining being on the receiving end.

And speaking of…

Her gaze followed the two unfamiliar girls as they brought up the rear, finishing their final run on the course and making their way toward the exit of the arena. But as they went to leave, in walked Nipple boy, bundled up in his winter coat with a white foam box held protectively between both of his hands like it was more precious than simply a box of fries. A grin tugged at the corner of Blair’s lips as she slowly looked back at Anissa with an enthusiastic glint behind her tired eyes. "I don’t know. I’m sure your day has plenty of opportunities to get more interesting."

The soft sound of sneakers crunching sand and dirt underfoot grew louder as River approached. He met Blair’s gaze first, giving her a small tight-lipped smile and a nod before slowing down to stand a few respectable feet away, not wanting to interrupt. While his nerves always seemed to flare up around Anissa, there was still an underlying comfort when it was just the two of them as well. With her friend present he found himself struggling to find words or know how he was expected to act when others were listening. He cleared his throat quietly, then took a step forward and held out the container to her. "Extra warm with extra cheese curds… Because cheese is the best part," he mused softly with a lopsided boyish smile.

No shit, Anissa thought in Blair's general direction without looking at her. She was well aware, in the way one is aware of a fire in a peripheral room, of the smile that had appeared on Blair's face the moment River came into view. That particular expression, part knowing and part delighted, that said I see everything, and I will be insufferable about it later. She did not look at it. Refused to acknowledge it. If she didn't see it, it couldn't be used against her. That was simply logic.

Instead, Anissa accepted the container without comment, her fingers curling around the warm edges as the heat seeped through her gloves immediately. She glanced down at it, then did a double-take at his actual words. There were people in this world who would have just brought the poutine. Who would have considered the task completed at warm and moved on, satisfied with having checked a box. River had apparently looked at the situation and decided that extra cheese curds were a necessary variable. An unnecessary but very welcome addition.

It was a small thing, really, and yet…

Anissa still did not look at Blair.

Once free of the cheesy offering River took a step back and slipped his hands into his pockets. "Thanks for uh… holding down the fort," he added, nodding his head back over his shoulder in the direction of the now abandoned obstacle course. He then looked back and forth between the brunettes, unable to hide the redness that crept up his neck when he noticed the overly pleased smirk that Blair didn’t try to hide. He quickly looked away feeling like a kid that got caught with his hand in the cookie jar… but he didn’t know what he did or didn’t do.

"Anytime," Anissa said, which was not something she had planned to say but emerged anyway, easy and automatic, like it was simply true.

She watched as River registered Blair's smile and went red to his collar in approximately three seconds. There was something almost unfair about how readable he was in moments like this. Most people managed at least a cursory defence. River just…didn't. The colour arrived, and he had no apparent strategy for it beyond hoping nobody noticed, which was not a strategy so much as a wish. The kind of optimism that assumed the world would look away if you wanted it badly enough.

But the world, Anissa reflected, was not that kind. And neither, apparently, was she.

She was aware, distantly, of something she couldn't quite name settling uncomfortably in her chest. Some instinct that wanted to file this particular version of River — flustered, unguarded, ears going pink over nothing — under a category marked private. The impulse was visceral and unwelcome, arriving without invitation or explanation. Not for Blair. Not for the random beautiful girls who liked to poke noses. Not for anyone who hadn't earned the right to see him like this.

But hers. Hers in the same way you might want to keep a sunrise or a particularly good Halsey song to yourself, because sharing it felt like losing something.

Anissa wasn't sure what to do with that thought, so she set it aside. Added it to the growing collection of things she'd examine later, when she absolutely had to. The mental shelf was getting crowded, but she was nothing if not organized.

Before the grinning girl could give him the third degree, River took another small step backwards. "I don’t want to intrude or anything." he held up his hands innocently then jabbed his thumbs in the air toward the exit. "I’ll uh… leave you both to it." He nodded his head resolutely. "Good job out there," he added quietly, hardly more than a whisper as he held Anissa’s gaze then wandered his way out of the arena without looking back, very much not wanting to know if they were talking about him.

Blair waited patiently until their new leader left, her bright smile never once wavering. She made sure he was far out of ear shot, already disappearing beneath the archway when she finally spoke again. "So… I feel like there is a lot you’re not telling me."

Anissa maintained a neutral position successfully for the entire duration of Blair's patience, which turned out to be longer than expected and shorter than she'd hoped.

"There really isn't," she said, with tremendous composure. Blair's expression, however, didn't change or offer any of the usual social cues that would have signalled acceptance of the statement and permission to move on. Anissa sighed before reaching into her pocket with her free hand, fingers finding the familiar fold of the napkin without having to look. She hesitated for only a second before holding it out to Blair.

"You can read it now." Her voice was quieter than she'd intended, stripped of the usual defences. "Help me... fill in the blank."

Blair hummed quietly, her brows raised in that unconvinced sort of way as she reached out to take the napkin with a gingerness reserved for broken glass, not a thin piece of paper meant for cleaning messes. Before unfolding it, her gaze softened as she studied the poise that settled rigid and measured through Anissa’s shoulders. "Are you sure you’re not punishing yourself?" she asked, taking her words and turning them back on her. It wasn’t mean or harsh, but a gentle whisper of a thought that maybe Anissa could consider her own advice from time to time.

There was a pause, no more than a beat or two before Blair’s gaze fell to the napkin. She carefully unfolded it with a reverence for something that obviously was sentimental, even if it wasn’t hers. She cleared her throat then patiently read the note, word for word, as if she was deciphering a puzzle with this… blank that needed solving, as Anissa put it.

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

Her lips pursed, reflecting on the weighted simplicity of the note while slowly folding it back the way she was handed it, making sure the creases aligned without creating more. Blair held it back out toward Anissa, not needing to read it a second time. It was only once her hand was empty that she finally spoke, quiet and calm… And missing that usual sarcastic levity that often colored her words. "Before I draw any… conclusions, what exactly happened? And what blanks am I supposed to be filling?" Because, to her eyes, it seemed pretty cut and dry. Whatever happened last night—kissing, sex or otherwise—River must have enjoyed it enough to take the time to brew coffee, leave her medicine, and a note so he didn’t leave in a rush of guilt or regret, but because he had to… reluctantly. That was a huge difference. Men didn’t do that for her. They rarely stayed the night in the first place.

Anissa took the napkin back and put it in her pocket. "That's the thing," she said, with considerably less composure than she'd had thirty seconds ago. "I don't entirely know." She picked up her drink, then set it back down without taking a sip. The condensation had formed a small ring on the bench beside her, a perfect circle of moisture that she stared at like it might contain answers. It didn't. Of course it didn't. But looking at it was easier than looking at Blair, whose attention hadn't wavered once.

"We kissed," she said as if recounting a dream she was afraid to misremember. "That part I know. After that, it gets..." Her hand moved vaguely, circling near her temple in a gesture that encompassed everything and nothing. "Fragmented. I don't think anything else happened. I would know if it had."

She stared at her drink, at the condensation sliding down its sides in slow paths. The drops gathered at the bottom, pooled briefly, then fell to join the ring on the bench.

"I think." Two syllables that undermined everything that came before them. Two syllables that acknowledged the possibility, however small, that her memory might be wrong, that things might have happened she couldn't recall, that the gaps in her recollection might contain something she wasn't prepared to find.

Anissa nibbled at her bottom lip, a habit she thought she'd broken years ago. The skin was rough from cold, from anxiety, and from the repeated attention of teeth that couldn't seem to stop.

"Not that it matters," she added quietly, mostly to herself.

"Ok… Well, for the record it does matter," Blair clarified as she reached out to gently tap Anissa’s leg in an attempt to pull her out of her head and stop all those negative thoughts, even if they were mostly meant for herself. "You obviously like him, to some extent, or you wouldn’t be overthinking it so much. And losing your virginity is a big deal… For most people. Mine was less so, but we’re not using me as a frame of reference." She waved her hand dismissively over her shoulder, pushing the thought and the detour of subject away before it could stick.

Blair remained silent for a moment, weighing all the information and trying to piece together what she could. If nothing else, River obviously didn’t regret what happened, which again was obvious. He went very much out of his way to make that clear. But that didn’t clarify what happened. She drew in a deep breath and clapped her hands together. "Well, I suppose the easiest question would be… was there blood on your sheets? Are you sore?" She gestured her hand toward Anissa’s lower half. "Not from the course, obviously."

Anissa blinked. Whatever she had been expecting Blair to say, it was not that. Or, actually, it was exactly that, because it was Blair, and she should have seen it coming, and yet somehow she hadn't. Either way, she considered the question with the focused expression of someone doing mental inventory they hadn't anticipated needing to do today. The gaps in her memory were still there, sure, but some things she knew with certainty.

"No," she said finally. "And no. I don't think so." She caught herself and heard how tentative that sounded. "No," she repeated, more firmly. "Definitely no. I would know." Because some things left marks that couldn't be mistaken, couldn't be forgotten, and couldn't be lost to the fog of a night that had swallowed so much else. Because her body would remember even if her mind didn't, and her body remembered nothing other than warmth and presence.

She paused again, something shifting in her expression as the implications settled into place. If nothing happened—if that didn't happen—then the meaning of waking up alone was different now. The coffee and the aspirin and the napkin were something other than what she’d originally thought. The only question was what. In her experience, people stayed until they had a reason not to. Until something strange happened, or something uncomfortable surfaced, or the cost of remaining outweighed whatever had drawn them there in the first place. She understood that kind of staying, too: conditional, finite, with an expiry date she was always bracing for.

She didn't have anything to explain this kind of reasoning.

"So whatever happened... that didn't." Anissa looked at Blair, letting her see the confusion she usually worked so hard to hide. "Which means I don't know why he stayed."

Blair was patient and quiet with her hands cupped together in her lap as Anissa worked through it, uncertain then forcing resolution even when she couldn’t find it. Confusion was plain across her face as she attempted to connect the dots and make sense of the fog she couldn’t clear. Blair could understand. She had been drunk far more times than she could count and a good handful of those are dark blanks in her memory full of what-ifs and more questions than answers. Unfortunately, even if she had been in the same position, every scenario was different, so her clarity only went as far as tangible facts… Like soreness and blood. Other than that, she can only assume based on observation.

She sighed softly, a patient and softly amused expression settling warm across her face. "Have you maybe considered it’s exactly as he put it in that note?" Blair asked quietly, pointing lazily at the folded napkin. "He wanted to stay." Her brows rose slightly as she posed the answer. Perhaps it was so simple and plain and blatantly obvious that Anissa refused to accept it. She didn’t know. "I mean, from my perspective, he was very much kissing you back and he walked all the way across camp in the freezing cold for no other reason than to get you fresh poutine with extra cheese curds… just because."

Blair clapped her hands together softly and shrugged. "I’ve slept with men who couldn’t be bothered to open a door for me, let alone any of that." She slowly shifted her right leg to cross over her left, groaning and wincing as the ache and fatigue sank deep into her bones. The sweet bliss of a scalding bath was calling her name, but as much as she was uncomfortable, this was more important. It could wait. "Maybe I’m a simple woman… But, perhaps you should just ask him."

"I know. I will," Anissa replied, which was not the same as saying Blair was wrong. Blair wasn't wrong. That was the problem. "I just..." She looked down at her drink, at the condensation sliding in slow rivulets down the sides, gathering at the bottom in small, inevitable drops. "What if I ask and the answer is something I don't know what to do with?" She turned the cup slowly in her hands. "Like…what if he really did just stay because he wanted to. Because he actually..." The sentence trailed off, dissolving into the space between them. Because he actually what? Cared? Wanted nothing in return and was exactly what he appeared to be?

Anissa was quiet for a bit. Then, quieter still—

"There are things about me, Blair. Things that make wanting to be around me... complicated. For him specifically." She didn't look up. Couldn’t. "Things I probably should have considered before I let any of this happen."

"Hmm..." Blair weighed her words carefully, but no matter how much she pondered it, the solution didn’t land at her feet. There was more to it, but if she learned anything during her time at camp, private conversations rarely remained private when they were shared openly. "I think," she started while slowly closing the lid to her food container. "That this conversation is better suited for warmth and comfort out of reach of nosy ears with ample amounts of chocolate," she mused with a tired, lopsided smile.

Whether or not she liked it, Blair had built up as much energy as she could that was short of passing out in her bed for twelve hours. It was as good of a time as any to force herself up. She pressed her hands against her knees and stood, wobbly and uneasy with a soft groan, but with slightly more stability and strength than earlier. "Come on. My cabin isn’t too far… Thank the Gods."

End of Part 1

^{interactions ....|.... River............... mentions ....|.... Colton, Rae, Zelia, Veronica (indirectly)............... collabs ....|.... @Mjolnir}

Fashionably Late: A Crime Thriller Roleplay

Camp Athens - Closed

Circle of life.

Anissa turned the phrase over once, the way she might finger the edge of a coin before pocketing it. It was a diplomatic answer, and she appreciated that he hadn't tried to express guilt about it or dress it up in philosophy. The murmurs, though…she knew something about that. Except hers came with the cold, so, if anything, murmurs might be too peaceful a word for her. She imagined River waist-deep in the ocean, receiving gentle wisdom from a very sincere mackerel and quietly felt that was unfair.

"I think you underestimate how boring of a man I am."

Anissa glanced over at him. She didn't, actually. The itemized list that followed seemed more like something she could have predicted if she'd thought to guess. It was still a little baffling, if she was honest. The pleased hum that accompanied it especially. Most people had the decency to be at least a little embarrassed about SpaghettiOs, but Ocean Boy over here was not like most people.

When she extended the fork, it was reflex more than anything. The kind of thing she did without thinking because it was easy, and easy was her preferred register with him, she was beginning to realize. She liked easy. She liked watching his ears go pink over something small. What she hadn’t accounted for was him leaning in, mouth closing around the offered fry, eyes finding hers for exactly one second before glancing away. Unhurried. Unbothered.

Anissa felt her own ears grow warm.

"It's good," River said then, chewing with the same thoughtful seriousness he'd applied to the lamb. "It looks terrible though."

"It's an acquired aesthetic," she replied, and was privately relieved her voice came out the way it usually did, revealing nothing of the warmth that had crept up her neck. She turned back to her container, spearing another fry with perhaps more focus than the task required.

After a while, River broke the silence in a way Anissa hadn’t expected, and she didn't, no couldn't, let his next passing comment settle where he seemed content to leave it. Why do you say that? Because you don't have all the answers? And then she listened while he laid out his explanation with that same honesty she'd come to expect from him.

"No…" He sighed, shaking his head slightly. "Because people don’t like authority? I mean… who wants to listen to a guy they’ve never met bossing them around?" His head turned slowly to look over at her. His expression wasn’t sad or angry but painted with a solemn sort of acceptance. "I think that’s why my dad chose me. I was always kind of a loner. So, if I didn’t make any friends, it wouldn’t weigh as heavily on me… in theory."

He shrugged and lightly clapped his hands together, a small, final gesture, as though closing a book he'd finished reading.

Anissa stared at him.

The poutine sat forgotten in her lap, its gravy growing cool, its cheese curds losing their precious stretch. She stared at this boy—this honest, unguarded boy—who had just explained his father's apparent logic with the same matter-of-fact tone someone might use to discuss the weather. If I didn't make any friends, it wouldn't weigh as heavily on me. As though loneliness were a feature rather than a bug. As though being chosen for leadership meant being designed for isolation.

No wonder she couldn’t help but expatiate, giving him probably more than she’d intended to, and yet the words had their own momentum once they started; Anissa had never been particularly good at stopping herself once something struck her as worth saying or doing, a fact that had gotten her into trouble more times than she could count and would no doubt continue to do so.

She watched him sit with it after. That was the thing about River: he didn't rush to fill the silence the way most people did, didn't reach for the nearest comfortable deflection and deploy it before the air could grow heavy. He just... sat. Hands clasped between his knees, eyes somewhere in the middle distance, actually thinking about what she'd said rather than simply waiting for his turn to respond.

Anissa found that quietly devastating, though she would not have used that word aloud.

"It's ok, Beauty Queen."

She blinked.

Then his hand was on her knee and gone again before she'd fully registered it, withdrawn with a flush that crept from his jaw to his ears as he cleared his throat and looked determinedly elsewhere.

Anissa said nothing. Mostly because there was something a little ridiculous about the whole sequence — the gentleness of it, the immediate panic, the way he'd patted her knee like she was the one who'd needed reassuring when she'd been trying to reassure him — and she wasn't sure she could address any part of it without making it worse for both of them. Especially when her knee was still tingling where his palm had briefly rested, which made no sense given the layers between them.

"It was more of an observation anyway," he continued, with the air of someone talking himself down from a ledge. "I don't need friends or to be liked to do…" He exhaled, motioning vaguely at everything around them. "Whatever the fuck it is that my dad wants me to do."

I don't need friends.

Anissa looked at him for a moment. Just a moment.

She thought about midnight. About the specific, swimming quality of the last thing she remembered clearly and the inconvenient blankness that followed it. About waking up to coffee already made and two aspirin lined up like small, considerate soldiers and a napkin that was currently sitting in her pocket, folded along its original crease because she hadn't quite been able to leave it behind.

She opened her mouth.

"River, that's not—"

He was already standing. Already collecting her container from her hands with that apologetic smile, already telling her to stop eating those, already pointing at the last two girls on the course with his chin. Already moving, and entirely unaware that she'd been about to say something. Entirely unaware that she'd been about to offer some half-built thought about the difference between needing friends and wanting them, about the space between isolation and loneliness, and about the way he'd sat with her words like they mattered and then dismissed his own like they didn't.

Anissa closed her mouth.

She watched him go and turned the contradiction over once, the way she might a sentence that didn't quite parse.

I wanted to stay. I don't need friends.

Both his. Both apparently true at the same time, which meant she couldn't make them fit together no matter which way she arranged them. She wasn't sure what that made her in the space between those two statements, not that she felt unnecessary. Just…unclassified?

Her fingers found the folded edge of the napkin in her pocket without meaning to.

Circle of life, she thought, distantly. That was what he'd called it. The way certain things found you, whether you'd gone looking or not. The way sound that wasn't quite sound had a way of arriving regardless of whether you'd extended an invitation. She'd spent years learning to carry things she hadn't asked for. The cold. The voices. The visions that came whether she was ready or not.

She hadn’t asked for this either.

Whatever this was.

Figure it out later, Anissa decided, which was the only sensible conclusion available to her at present.

She picked up Blair's container and made her way over.

---

_{Location: Arena
Interactions: River
Mentions: Blair}

^{#5a3e85...|...outfit}

Camp Athens - Closed

The scrape arrived before the greeting did—a chair hauled across floorboards with all the subtlety of a structural collapse. An entire chair, dragged, because apparently the simple civility of lifting it was a refinement too far. Maylisse registered the sound without acknowledging it. She finished her sip of tea, returned the cup to its saucer, and only then lifted her gaze.

The first to speak was the brighter of the two, in every conceivable sense of the word. Maylisse's eyes moved over her once like a coroner establishing a cause of death. The girl — Nelly, apparently, short for Penelope— was wearing what could only be described as an experience: a printed catsuit in shades of neon yellow and electric blue, cropped inexplicably at the calf. The overall effect was less fashion statement and more chromatic assault, as though a highlighter had exploded in a neon dream.

Maylisse had attended fashion weeks in three countries. She had sat front row at each, and she had watched designers deconstruct and reconstruct the very concept of wearability. She understood the avant-garde. She did not, however, understand this. The faint crease forming between her brows announced her bewilderment to anyone paying sufficient attention, a small betrayal she smoothed into oblivion before it could fully form. When Nelly offered a compliment, Maylisse acknowledged it with nothing more than a slight tilt of her head, the gesture carrying the weight of a much longer response she simply couldn't be bothered to articulate.

The second girl arrived in Nelly's wake with considerably less wattage. Fiona. The redness around her eyes was too fresh and too specific to be anything other than what it plainly was. Not that Maylisse cared enough to bring it up, and at the offer of whiskey, she merely regarded the bottle with the expression of someone who had just been handed a live moth.

“No.”

The single syllable declined not merely the whiskey but the entire civilizational tradition of drinking before the afternoon had the decency to properly begin. She lifted her tea instead and took another sip, the heat blooming against her palm while the bitter notes unfolded on her tongue. Then, since the appropriate interval had elapsed and she could identify no strategic advantage in withholding it, she set the cup down.

“Maylisse.” The name was offered cleanly without embellishment or warmth. The silence that followed was Maylisse's, and she made no effort to fill it. She returned her attention to her plate and ate with the unhurried composure of someone who had never once felt obligated to perform comfort for a stranger's benefit. If either of them found the quiet uncomfortable, that was entirely their own affair to manage.

It was Nelly who broke it, because of course it was.

Maylisse listened without looking up, contributing nothing beyond the occasional tilt of her head that could, with considerable generosity, be interpreted as engagement. The girl chattered on, her words tumbling out like water finding its level, filling every available space because silence, for her, was apparently a void that required immediate occupation. Maylisse had encountered this particular quality before: the kind of person raised in houses full of warmth and noise who had never developed a tolerance for quiet because they had simply never been required to. It wasn't a flaw, exactly. Merely a limitation, if she had to put a label on it.

Her mother, by contrast, had never wasted a dinner party. Every introduction, every handshake, and every exchanged pleasantry had been an exercise in intelligence gathering, and she had taught Maylisse to treat them accordingly. Know the room, she had said, before the room knows you. It was advice Maylisse had taken and refined over the years, stripping away the social veneer until only the essential question remained. Not who are you, but what are you made of. And in a camp full of demigods, that question had a considerably more literal answer than most.

Maylisse set her fork down.

“And your parentage?” The question was directed at Nelly first, of course, and delivered in the mild impersonal tone one might use to enquire after the time. “I find it useful to know who I am sharing a table with. In the broader sense.”

Nelly, she had already privately resolved before the girl had even opened her mouth. The restless energy, the compulsive occupation of silence, the way she moved like someone perpetually en route to somewhere else — it all pointed in one direction with the kind of clarity that required very little deliberation. Hermes produced a recognizable type: children who had inherited not merely the god's speed but his inability to alight anywhere for long, as though stillness itself were a kind of death. Maylisse had read enough to know that much, and sitting across from the living proof of it was, if nothing else, confirmatory.

Fiona was another matter entirely.

Maylisse had been turning the question over since the girl had sat down, running her observations against everything she knew with the methodical patience of someone accustomed to finding answers through elimination. The redness around her eyes suggested feeling and feeling deeply, but that was hardly diagnostic. Half the gods produced children capable of feeling too much—Apollo's brood with their artistic sensitivities, Aphrodite's with their romantic intensities, even Dionysus's with their boundless capacity for experience. The whiskey was interesting, though, and the shadows were more than interesting. Something chthonic, then. That was her first instinct. Hecate, perhaps, or one of the darker bloodlines, the kind that produced children who walked comfortably in twilight and carried their grief like inherited heirlooms. It would account for the shadow trick, certainly. And the sadness.

And yet. Something still didn’t quite fit.

There was a particular quality to Fiona's grief that Maylisse couldn't place against that framework. Too proud for it, somehow. Too contained. As though the feeling wasn't a symptom of her nature but a thing she was actively managing. Children of the chthonic gods, according to her father, tended to wear their darkness openly. Fiona, on the other hand, wore hers like a dress that didn't quite fit.

She was still privately deliberating, which was, in itself, unusual enough to be irritating. Maylisse was not accustomed to uncertainty; she had been trained out of it the way other children were trained out of nail-biting or interrupting. Her mother had possessed a particular genius for making ambiguity feel like a personal failing, and the lesson had taken root deeply enough that even now, even here, surrounded by the children of gods in a camp that defied every rule of the world she'd been raised in, she found herself chafing against the sensation of not knowing.

So, she lifted her gaze, her expression revealing nothing of this internal commentary, and waited for one of them to answer.

---

_{Location: Main Hall
Interactions: Nelly @Pristine1281, Fiona @Fabricator
Mentions: N/A}

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