Camp Half-Blood: Into the Storm - Closed!

[indigo']

━━━ 𝐀𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐚 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐬

[✩]17|she/her|Hades|Head Counsellor|outside Cabin One, Cabin Thirteen|tags: Orin

Auggie tried to smile at the lighthearted reduction of how easy it was to come back from the dead, the self-deprecating joke that was clearly diverting from the more charged emotions still lingering. The expression didn’t quite meet her eyes, looking a little closer to a grimace, but there was some form of amusement there. Maybe there’d be a point when a reminder in itself didn’t sting, but for now it did, the wound still fresh enough that it was difficult to remember everything was supposed to be okay now. It wasn't. But it was probably as close as they were going to get. She thought she could be okay with that. “Yeah, probably,” was all she said in return.

“It will.” She nodded solemnly on the topic of rats. “They’re like family. But I’ll manage, somehow.” Funny how their conversations could always turn back to something absurd. It wasn’t like a switch, because the darker thoughts were still there, the other pieces just slipped in through the cracks, holding them together and making it all a bit easier to deal with. Rats making a situation easier to deal with seemed a bit odd, but she had a suspicion it wasn’t actually the rats doing that. Auggie grinned at the accusatory point, rolling her eyes. “Two hours?” she scoffed. "That’s more than I’ve had in months.” The statement didn't feel like as much of an exaggeration as it should have. “I’ll try,” she responded, sobering up slightly. “Goodnight.”

The hestiance made her smile subconsciously, warmed by the knowledge that she wasn’t the only one reluctant to turn and walk away. “I won’t if you don’t,” she promised. It seemed like a fair deal, and a genuine concern. She was still worried that the second he disappeared behind the cabin walls he’d cease to exist, return to the oblivion he’d come from, leave her alone in the dark and the cold again. But the certainty was enough to convince her, turning to head to her own cabin as he did, glancing back over her shoulder only briefly to see him disappear through the door before hurrying her steps to reach the threshold of Cabin Thirteen. The warmth of the cabin was welcome, and though it wasn't typically a place she found refuge, she felt safer somehow. It was at least a little easier to deal with everything one she’d stopped shivering, and she wasted no time in shedding damp shoes and climbing into bed, forcing her restless mind to only replay the memories from the previous few hours that hadn't been life-threatening or panic-inducing, and finding that it was surprisingly easier than usual.

[WitchHazel]

Kathryn Blackwood
|☽|17|She/Her|Hecate|Location: Cabins Circle|Tags: Cricket, Lucy|

Dark hair, braided... a thing for snowflakes... It could have been Khione... no mention of a maxi dress or hostile personality, however. Smaller than me... that has to be Vivienne, right? She had never met Vivienne; that was before her time. But the picture the ghost was painting sounded an awful lot like the descriptions she'd head of the bitter young woman.

"Did she sound like this?"
A voice pulled Kathryn from her musings. A voice that came from Lucy's mouth but was not hers. Is that... it must be Vivienne's voice. The tone was stiff, every word enunciated crisply and coldly. Kathryn felt Lucy's gaze rest on her for a moment before her voice returned to its usual state; a voice that was considerably less alien to Kathryn's ears. Make it quick, she'd said. As much as I'd like to take my time, I'm tired as well. She raised her Stygian blade; black metal glinting violet in the distant glow of flame. But then the ghost lowered its head and faded into nothing. "Hmm. A shame, I was looking forward to adding to the Crone's gristly soul count. Then again, saves me the trouble of killing him." She shrugged, returning the dagger to the darkness from whence it came.

"The pit?" she inquired, ignoring the ominous sinking of her stomach. "You mean... Tartarus. The Doors? Luce, if this is what I think it is..." Oh my stars, we're in trouble. The Doors of Death hadn't been open since the Second Giant War. The last time that had happened, the dead had walked, and monsters respawned almost the instant they were killed. Death is a natural process... if the Doors are open, the balance is turned on its head. Could Thanatos be working with Khione? She hadn't thought him to be a sinister god. More a neutral force if anything; an inescapable destiny that everyone eventually faced. "As dark a thought that is, might it wait until morning? We need our beauty sleep, especially if this is all true. Who know what horrors tomorrow may bring?" A smile glinted in the darkness, though her thoughts remained troubled. "Let's away to bed." I've been through enough for one day.


Vivienne Isole
|❄|18|She/Her|Khione|Location: Morgantown, PA|Tags: Nicholas|

A sudden, white-hot fear turned Vivienne's blood to molten metal as the hairs of her nape rose into the stillness of the night. A creaking of a stair, and then she was frozen like a deer in headlights. Something was there, watching, waiting. A predator in the shadows, and her body knew it. She didn't dare turn her head. She didn't dare look. Even so, her head throbbed with the knowledge that it was there.

This is naught but a dream; a vivid fantasy concocted by my own cruel mind to toy with me. Her dreams were just as vivid as waking, after all - it could be nigh impossible to tell the difference. But this was no memory - was it something dredged from the darkness of her consciousness? It was watching, but it didn't feel like Khione. The primal fear freezing her to the spot was terror of a different breed; a brother to what she felt when she met Nicholas's gaze for the first time. When she looked into Xaliphax's hollow eyes, like the beckoning call of a darkened abyss.

Eventually sensation returned to her body, and it was hers once more. Footfalls quiet as a lynx, she bolted back up the stairs and slipped into her room. The door carefully and quickly shut behind her, the lock pushed into place.
'Hope' is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
Her chest rose and fell like a wild beast pursued; her mind frantically trying to make sense of what had just happened. She stood like that against the door for a time, back pressed into the solid wood. The remainder of the Dickinson poem fell into place. This one in particular was a kindness to her, likely due to the message it conveyed. A light in the darkness. The durability of hope, even if hope was for fools.

Eventually, the courage took her to slink back into bed. The horrors of her mind refused to let her eyes shut. She sat upright in the cool twilight, twitching gaze fixed on the unmoving stars out her window. Poem after poem cycled through her brain, a never-ending refrain of melancholic comfort.

[sammy,]

( *:･ﾟ✦ ) xx❝xx𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧 𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 ！！ x─────ix ♔
x──────i ii zeus iii eighteen. iiii tags: n/a.
ivi cabin one.

he did, at some point, get ready for bed. being in clothes he hadn't died in was quite a nice change, and one that beckoned sleep rather quickly.

he had learnt a lot of things about his newfound existence since being launched into it, and one that became rather clear during the night was that sleeping made it worse. it realigned everything into something more tangible, the empty canvas of his inner eyelids infiltrated, awash with visions of light and dark, colours he didn't know the names of, clear and unimpeded shots of war, of every war, any war, all blending into the same battlefield. like he could reach out through his subconscious and touch them, to make them come alive again. the souls lacked restraint. they were holding too many paintbrushes. the scene got muddier and more confusing with each new brushstroke. a thousand different layers, blurry and out of focus.

he would wake a few hours later slowly and then all too quickly, surprised to find his face wet. the immediate conclusion - blood. wrong. he might have preferred if it was. he wouldn't remember the dreams, too flighty to grasp even in the dark and the quiet, which felt all too familiar. he had never wished for the sound of a clock before, didn't think he'd ever get over that specific hurdle, but orin would find, in the still air, that he yearned for the proof that time was passing, that he hadn't woken up from a dream of being alive to find himself dead again. so he'd focus on the shard of light on the centre of the cabin's floor until his eyes blurred, and eventually fall back to sleep.

( *:･ﾟ✦ ) xx❝xx𝐥𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐳 ！！ x─────ix ♘
x──────i ii ares. iii eighteen. iiii tags: riley.
ivi the beach - cabin one - cabin five.

he wasn't really certain where he was going. there were too many conflicting emotions, too many thoughts that weren't 'punch' or 'kick' or 'gouge' rushing through his head, so he was on a walk, searching for the words that would explain away the mess that had been the campfire.
what he knew was this: he had hit orin and then, later in the day, he had died. and though there were a few explanations jumping about, rumours sourced from the stony-faced felix, leo was certain that he had had a part to play in that. and he had felt guilty. and then orin had come back to life, apparently, and he still felt guilty, which didn't make any sense to him. and a gun had been pulled and he'd watched the son of zeus' face twist in a way that he recognised, and that didn't make any sense to him either. something had changed. all of a sudden, they had something in common, though he couldn't quite detect what, and that felt wrong.

as this rolled around his head, the ideas bouncing off of the sides of his skull like pinballs, his feet took him to the beach. he wasn't sure why. they tended to have a mind of their own, and though sometimes ‘kick’ lined up in his legs’ thoughts and his head’s thoughts, they were, for the most part, disjointed. he had no idea why his feet took him anywhere. wouldn’t be surprised if one day they simply rooted to the spot and refused him movement anywhere.
regardless of what they were thinking, they marched up to a body lying in the odd mixture of sand and snow, and leo looked down to find another child of zeus, a different one, but one he had slugged all the same. it was beginning to look like he was forming a habit. didn't want to think about the repercussions of that.

it would have been of no issue. he would have just walked away, allowed her to succumb to hypothermia and her own stupidity, but he had already had enough thoughts for the day, enough guilt, and didn’t particularly want to give himself the opportunity to think any more than he was at current. he had hit her and he wasn’t going to let her die. that was the final decision. maybe, somewhere, it was him looking for redemption. regardless of the reason, he approached hesitantly, almost expecting her to leap up and punch him in his aching jaw - and when she didn’t, leo, shrugged off the hooded jacket he wore, put it over her torso, and then picked her up, letting his feet do all the rest of the thinking.

thankfully, it was late, which meant a significant lack of witnesses. he wasn’t sure she’d appreciate finding out that he had been the one to carry her through the camp and toward her cabin, and he wouldn’t much appreciate the assumptions that would be born of such an action. he wasn’t thinking about it. he wasn’t thinking, he was just walking.
in cabin one was the sleeping, or perhaps dead, figure of orin, apparently undisturbed by leo and company's entry. he’d never been inside zeus’ threshold, knew little to nothing about its contents, but the person in the photos above one of the beds looked a bit like the freezing figure that was passing an incidental chill onto him, so he settled for that one when it came to putting her down, awkwardly draping a blanket over her shoulders. he would have retrieved his jacket, but a mutter from one of the beds distracted him from any thought that wasn't get out, and so that was what he did, speeding as silently away from the cabin as he could.

on his way to his own cabin, leo caught the wide eyes of a satyr who had clearly seen more than he would have liked. that was an easy fix. a line drawn with his index finger across his neck - perhaps dramatic, but it did the job - and five words: "not a word, mutton chop,"
after a nervous bleat, leo considered that done, and shuffled into cabin five in search of a bit of sleep.

[takara]

♠ | Isabelle Yencha
16 | She/her | Poseidon | >Hampton Inn | Rochelle, Ash, Teilo

'We'll go down in flames before we go up in smoke'

Firelight flickered over faces, casting them into monstrous shadows, and Isabelle lived to eat her bravado. If nothing else, the shadows Rochelle favored kept the shreds of Isabelle's remaining pride safe. She shrugged up her shoulders as kids hiccuped through eulogies about their friends, and was long tuned out by the time a scuffle arose around Orin the Wonderkid. ...one seventy five Mississippi, one seventy si- oh, She nodded curtly at Rochelle, clutching to an arm and squeezing her eyes shut as the darkness overtook them. Never liked this part. It's like being in a black hole. Is it one? If it is, I suppose that we're dead, but like, that's whatever. It was gonna happen some time.

Once they arrived, she let Rochelle do the talking. Knocking, really. At 'Belle' she glanced up at the boy, trying to work out his features. She drew a blank. "Am I supposed to know you?" She shrugged, barely attempting to be apologetic. "If so, I'm gonna need a refresher on that. C'mon tiger, we might as well head off any monsters that want a taste." She palmed an earring from her shirt, not bothering to check which, before finding Rochelle's hand again and tugging her toward the stairwell.

➶ | Hank Walker
17 | He/him | Apollo [Head Counselor] | Campfire-> Cabin 7 | Probably Orin, Wilhelm, campfire gang-> goodnight

'A little friendly competition'

Names got tossed around like confetti in a galestorm, and it seemed unlikely anything would change beyond whatever metal was in the man's gun making friends with Hank's chest. It came as a suprise when said mutterings managed to get the gun lowered, at which Hank eased the air out of his lungs, right past his jackrabbiting heart. Congrats Will, we love to see you using the muscles in your skull rather those in your arms to make decisions. Less carnage that way. While he probably wouldn't die from a single gunshot, the pain would be there as his body went into overdrive to correct the issue.

There was something about this Will's manner that drew familiar. Hank cocked his head as he tried to reason it out, but nothing came to mind beyond 'I've heard this accent before. I think I've had a crack at it before?'

Pastry? "Uh, you're welcome?" Hank called out to Orin's retreating form, not that he'd hear it over the great shifting horde. Pastry? A chocolate danish came to mind, one that had ended up cleared off with the rest of Orin's death bedding. Hank shrugged to himself, then pressed a few fingers to his lips to whistle for Izzy as he scuttled to his cabin. I've the distinct feelinh that I'll be on the floor tonight.

[tawneypelt0504]

Cassandra Peters|19|she/her|Hermes|Head Counselor|Demi-bisexual|Loc:Hermes cabin|Tags/Mentions:Hermes Npc's, timeskip
After Cass made her way down the hill she began heading in the direction of the Hermes cabin. Her journey up and down the hill had done nothing for her already overworked body. Although her phone call with Dick had been a little comforting, Cass' worries continued to swirl around her head. As Cass entered her cabin she did a quick headcount to make sure everyone was inside and to her relief they were. As her cabinmates got ready for the night, Cass sat down on her bed with a small grunt and began to untie her boots. As Cass was taking off her boots she noticed Cammi sitting on her sleeping bag with her knees pulled into her chest, staring dejectedly at the ground.

Cass felt her heart clench with sympathy, as she looked at her sister, noticing her red puffy eyes. Cass made her way over silently sat down next to Cammi and gently rested her hand on the young girl's shoulder. Cammi looked over at Cass and leaned into her embrace, sniffing quietly, before hugging Cass's side, burrowing her face into Cass's jacket. Cass let Cammi cling to her and began to rub her back. After some time Cammi let go of Cass and muttered a small thank you "If you need anything let me know kay, I'm gonna be here for you, Promise" Cass murmured to her younger sister giving her another hug. Cass got up and made her way back over to her bunk and climbed into her bed staring up at the bunk above her, already knowing she was not going to have a restful sleep.

Jack Morrison|17|he/himbo|Campfire--->Demeter cabin|Pansexual|Loc:Demeter cabin|Tags/mentions:Whiskey,timeskip
Jack made his way from the campfire to his cabin trying his best to process all that had happened, this really was shaping up to be a crazy summer, and not the fun blockbuster kind. As Jack entered the Demeter cabin he was greeted with a long angry meow from Whiskey who was sitting on his bed, along with her bone. "Don't worry I'm getting your food ma'am" Jack responded reaching under his bed to pull out the bin where he kept her dry food and put some into her food bowl which she immediately began eating. Jack also brought out one of Whiskey's sweaters he had made for her, choosing a dark red to compliment her green eyes.

After Whiskey had finished eating Jack picked her up and began to put the sweater on her to which Whiskey responded with a low growl of annoyance. "I know but we gotta make sure your arthritis doesn't act up, gorgeous" Jack murmured sweetly to the barn cat giving her a kiss on the head. Whiskey slipped out after Jack had finished putting the sweater on her and laid down in the middle of his bed. Jack got changed and tucked himself around his now sleeping feline, feeling ready to face the new upcoming day.

[WitchHazel]

Mirabelle Everhart
|♡|17|She/Her|Aphrodite|Head Counselor|Location: Hampton Inn, Room 208|Tags: N/A|

Mirabelle awoke to cold, harsh sunlight streaming in from the window. The drapes did little to conceal it, much to her disdain. What's the point of having curtains if they don’t block out the light? She squinted, shielding her eyes as she rolled over to her other side. For once, she actually dreaded getting out of bed. Her limbs were stiff from a night of tossing and turning, though when she actually had fallen asleep it had been blissfully tranquil. Besides that; she was at loathe to leave the warm comfort of the blankets. But I have to get up soon to put my face on. She reluctantly rubbed the slumber from her eyes, spitting out a strand of blonde hair in a rather uncouth fashion. Ugh. Her throat felt like sandpaper. I guess that's what happens when the air is so dry you could set it aflame. I mean, come on. How hard is it to get a humidifier?

As she heaved herself to her feet, she became uncomfortably aware of a mounting throbbing in her head. Probably just a sleep withdrawal headache. Or caffeine withdrawal, for that matter. I didn’t have any coffee yesterday, after all - could be that it’s catching up to me. That being said, she wasn't sure she wanted to risk the hotel coffee. She'd stayed in a number of hotels before while questing, and each time, the coffee seemed to have gotten progressively worse. Perhaps it's better to stick to caffeinated tea. That, and the act of swallowing had lit a trail of fire down her throat - maybe she’d add some honey, just to be safe.

Pushing through her mounting headache, Mirabelle grabbed her backpack and shuffled towards the bathroom as quietly as possible. The last thing she wanted to do was wake her current roommate, in case she was still slumbering, that was. A glance at the clock told her that it was only 6:15 - Mes dieux. Eariler than I thought. Best let Aggy sleep as long as possible. The first day had been relatively calm - eerily so - but she knew that wouldn't last. Everyone would need as much rest as they could get. She took great care to be quiet when opening the bathroom door, sniffling reflexively as she slipped inside. Ugh, I hate mornings. I always feel so gross.

Mirabelle winced when she laid eyes upon her own reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her complexion was certainly paler than usual, though she could easily attribute that to the persistent fatigue that nagged at the back of her consciousness. Sure, she had gotten a rather peaceful sleep the night previous, likely thanks to Delilah. But the fatigue of a 3-hour rest still tugged at her bones. Her brief slumber had also left its mark in the form of dark shadows beneath her bleary eyes. Well, nothing a little makeup can't fix. First things first, she applied some deodorant and changed into a set of warm clothes. Despite the relatively comfortable hotel room, she was a little chilled, and the warmth of her light pink sweater was certainly welcome. The cashmere garment was slightly larger, but fitted at the cuffs, and draped around her willowy frame in an elegant manner. She pulled on her fleece-lined leggings; newly cleaned thanks to her demigodly abilities.

She went about brushing her teeth and completing the remainder of her morning routine before starting in on her makeup. The decision to do a more understated look than she had the day previous seemed an obvious one. She didn’t necessarily have the energy for anything bold, so she simply went about obscuring the damage from her sleepless night. Primer, foundation, concealer, et cetera. When she had completed the basics, Mirabelle added a bit of blush to put some colour in her cheeks. For her eyes, she picked a neutral tone for a more natural look, added a small amount of black eyeliner, and finished off with a bit of mascara. Rather than go through the more time-consuming process of applying lipstick, she opted for a pale pink gloss. Seeing herself in the mirror now, Mirabelle looked perfectly fine. No visible remnants of the rough night she'd had, save the fatigue and glassiness lingering in her bloodshot eyes. Ugh. I wish I had some eye drops. There wasn’t really anything that could be done about that, though. She would just have to hope that no one noticed. Ash will know I haven't slept, though. There was no hiding that sort of thing from a child of Hypnos.

With makeup done, she brushed out her rather impressive bedhead. Tired as she was, she took less time than usual to properly style her tangled hair. It was still rather lovely, with golden strands falling around her shoulders in natural waves. I would do something more if I wasn't so drained. To finish up, she spritzed a little perfume on her wrists. A sneeze snuck up on her, and she quickly raised an arm to her face to cover. That was... odd. The scent had probably just irritated her, she reckoned. With a twinge of guilt, she silently hoped it hadn’t been loud enough to wake Aggy if she was still sleeping. She sniffled, absently swiping at her nose with a tissue before repairing the makeup that had been slightly mussed by the action.

After one last cursory glance at the mirror, she packed away her supplies and slipped out the bathroom door like a slinking fox.



Vivienne Isole
|❄|18|She/Her|Khione|Location: Morgantown, PA|Tags: Nicholas|

The morning found her reciting Dickinson poems in her head.
Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
Appropriate, given the circumstances.

She wasn't sure when she'd fallen back asleep, or even if she'd fallen back asleep, for that matter. When she rose, it was still dark. The faint blooming of sun on the horizon could barely be seen; the stars illuminating the charcoal empyrean like shattered wishes glimmering amidst a sea of darkness. What tore her gaze from the window was a persistent dryness. Her mouth was a desert; lifeless under the weight of the primal terror that had gripped her just the night previous. Or morning? She wasn't really sure. It was this that eventually coaxed her to slink from the covers. Water. She would have to go down into the den of the beast for that, though. It wasn't like she could summon it in any state other than frozen, and then what? Wait for it to melt? She didn't even have a glass. I will not lower myself to drinking directly from the sink like an ill-mannered laggard.

As she crept into the darkness of the hall, her fears returned with a vengeance. What if that - that creature is still lurking in the darkness? What if - no, be reasonable. That must have been a dream. She shook her head to clear it of such silly notions. Still, the anxiety remained, its teeth slowly chomping down on her heart like a ravenous animal eager to saver its last meal. It - it was not real. It couldn't have been... right? Then again, with everything she'd experienced in her short lifetime, it was entirely possible that some horrible monstrosity was waiting for her in the dark. It was Nicholas's house after all, and he was... well, he was Death. Death with a capital D.

Her thirst had made the decision for her; bare feet carrying her petite form down the stairs before she could stop them. A silent bodily betrayal. It was only when they found solid ground again that she felt like prey being hunted. It was there. Watching. Waiting. Her heart threatened to pound out of her chest, her breathing soft and unsteady. She didn't dare make a movement. But her treacherous need for water drowned all that out; a simple requirement of survival overcoming all sense.

There was a faint blue light emanating from a singular bulb, but she didn't dare turn her head towards it. She was able to find the glasses under the cover of moderate darkness. A few wrong cabinets opened, a few fumbles in the pervasive blackness. But eventually, her hand closed around a smooth glass. She silently moved to the sink, filling it with fresh, cold water. The dread churning in her stomach never ceased even as she raised it to her lips. And then - movement? She caught a glimmer of something. Something dark and reflective; like blackened glass. Obsidian? Were those... feathers?

Nicholas. If it was just Nicholas, everything would be alright. Every fiber in her being begged her to get out, to run, to wedge herself into the smallest hiding spot she could find, but... something compelled her towards it. Her head pounded, her heart raced in her chest. With trembling fingers, she traced along the wall until she found a light switch. In retrospect, it was foolish. Counterintuitive, even. Whatever survival instincts she had left were screaming. But she did it anyway, even though she regretted it almost the instant it was done.

She turned on the light.

[sammy,]

( *:･ﾟ✦ ) xx❝xx𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧 𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 ！！ x─────ix ♔
x──────i ii zeus iii eighteen. iiii tags: open.
ivi campfire.

at some point in the night, orin had woken up and forgotten how to get back to sleep.
his defence of this was simple: he'd been dead for a few hours, which basically qualified as a night's sleep anyway, and the rest was just recuperation. he'd managed just staring at the ceiling for a while, watching the flat surface curl in the vague and smeary light, and once he had decided that he had had enough of his own mental concoctions, he'd dressed as quietly as possible, taken the pills that had been left in his drawer, and slipped outside.

he wasn't sure what people called the turning point from night to morning, that purgatorial space just a few seconds before the dawn, where everything was a little greyer than usual. sitting by the campfire, he supposed it was a morning twilight. that seemed too reductive. orin thought it needed its own word. the stars died with each shade change of the sky around them, smothered by new light. it wasn't an impressive sunrise. he didn't suppose it needed to be. it was something to look at, though. a bit of quiet before everything got too loud again. the mutterings had ceased for a while, as he protected himself against biting cold, fixated on the canopy of grey that blanketed the camp. he was, at the very least, dressed for the weather now. he hadn't packed gloves. wished that he had had the foresight to consider the articles of clothing he would need in the face of an unnaturally-timed winterscape.

the camp woke up rather slowly. satyrs and nymphs drifted around him, either ignorant to his presence or disinterested in it. that was, in its own way, welcomed. he had been sitting still for so long that he wondered whether they thought him a statue with its neck craned toward the dulled sky, a fixture of marble looking for something profoundly other in the clouds. whatever they thought, they didn't ask, and he didn't answer, just sat on the logs, breathing harsh air through slightly aggravated lungs.

( *:･ﾟ✦ ) xx❝xx𝐭𝐞𝐢𝐥𝐨 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐬 ！！ x─────ix ♖
x──────i ii thanatos. iii seventeen. iiii tags: ash.
ivi hampton inn, room 207.

the night had been longer than he'd anticipated. teilo recalled a brief interruption, a few of them, in fact, but not the meat of the wakefulness. a foggy mist of a collection of dreams: a gun; an ocean; a decision; a drowning; a forest. he knew the gist of what he had seen. understood it to have been unfavourable. clive's dream-voice was ringing in his ears when he woke, a horrific tinnitus effect of two words, repeated over and over.

when he broke out of the fugue of fatigue, it was with the realisation that his face hurt. the gauze had shifted once more, needed changing, felt damp to touch. despite all of his threats the day previous about being woken prior to nine, he sat up earlier than anticipated, grabbed a change of clothes, stumbled into the bathroom with all of the grace and decorum of a newborn deer, and shut the door behind him. perhaps a little louder than he should have. he didn't know whether ash had woken, hadn't thought to check.

suspicions were confirmed when he caught himself in the mirror. it was rare that teilo caught his own reflection, even before fleeing to america. his mother had had an aversion to the vanity of peering at reflections. the reminder of her caught him off guard. he hadn't thought about her in a while. it went best ignored.
in the space of about fifteen minutes, his teeth were brushed, his clothes donned, pillow-mussed hair tamed with a tap-water soaked hand, and his kaleidoscopic yellow-red-brown stained gauze replaced with one of stark and clinical white. the contrast of his skin to the bandage should have been stark, should have put a little colour in his complexion, but failed miserably. the only deviance from pallidity came from the uncovered red scuff above his eyebrow, and even that made pale look paler. at least it proved that he had blood, that he wasn't walking around, stuffed with congealed, brown ooze trundling through his veins like the corpses he seemed to be contending with in terms of appearance.
"crikey. you're worse in the daylight,"
"you can shut up, for one," teilo muttered, trying to straighten a crease in the navy rugby jersey, chosen for its long sleeves, in vain. "go on. go and scratch. bother another medium."
"tetchy," but he went, thankfully, and with everything in working order, teilo opened the bathroom door and returned to the main bedroom.

[indigo']

━━━ 𝐀𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐚 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐬

[✩]17|she/her|Hades|Head Counsellor|cabin circle|tags: open

Sleep didn’t come easily, and when it eventually did, it didn’t last long—broken into fragments of dreams that were a little too dark and a little too vivid, nothing more than sickening intervals between gasping awake, choking back the panic caused by nightmares that seemed realer than they should have. It took her longer to fall back asleep each time, clinging to the guitar pick around her neck, the lingering scent on her pillow and the remaining ache in her arm to ground her to reality, remind her what had really happened and what hadn’t. Reality hadn’t been much better than the nightmares, but there were certain key points that reduced the sense of despair greatly. Those seemed to be the parts most difficult to focus on. When Auggie woke up again, the silvery light of dawn beginning to creep into the cabin, she gave up on trying to slow her heart rate back into slumber, instead forcing herself to lie there with eyes open, watching the shadows grow as they gradually crept across the floor towards her.

When lying there any longer felt more like a step into insanity than anything that was good for her, she got up. The hoodie with the bloodstained sleeve was starting to seem like a better choice than the one full of holes. At least it wouldn't let the cold through, and if anything, would encourage the other campers to stay away from her, because she was fairly certain her reputation had suffered recently. After a moment of digging through her belongings, she found an option that didn't involve blood or shredded fabric, though it was considerably worn—an old hoodie she hadn't dug out in years, displaying the name of a band she wouldn't exactly go around claiming to worship as much as she had at the age of fifteen, but it would do.

She stepped out into the early morning chill, quickly realizing it didn’t really matter whether her hoodie had holes in it or not, it was still freezing. She didn’t like that feeling. She’d never liked the cold, or the engulfing sense of dread that came with it, but it was worse now. Worse that it was there when it wasn't supposed to be, that for once the temperature being a source of anxiety was actually reasonable and not just the result of her own head. Her eyes went immediately to a figure by the fire, a sense of relief washing over her. It was ridiculous. She knew that. Stupid of her to be so afraid she'd wake up and he'd be gone again. At any other point of her life she would have berated herself for caring so much, for letting it get into her head, but it was different now. And she was relieved.

She barely had time to let the thought process before she was practically ambushed. Someone moved to the right of her and she realized a little too late who it was. Too late to pretend she hadn’t seen her. So, she did the next best thing: turned and walked pointedly away without a word. Despite the stoney expression on her face and the purpose with which her feet lead her off into the snow—directionless besides the notion of: no, no, no, get out, get away, run—she actually felt bad. She knew she couldn’t avoid Stella forever, knew that she’d have to talk to her at some point. She owed her friend that at the very least, maybe herself. But she couldn’t do it yet. She was used to running away from things, and it was a difficult habit to break.

━━━ 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞 𝐀𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐨

[☾]16 (immortal)|she/her|Hunter of Artemis|cabin circle|tags: Auggie, open

Stella had never had difficult getting up early. She’d always found peace in the quiet of early morning, before anyone was awake, when the world felt calm and still. It was a little different here. It didn’t feel like the tranquil silence that came before the sun had risen and the world awoke. It felt like a graveyard.

Regardless, she was awake and ready to make herself useful long before she needed to be, but there was something else she had to deal with first. She felt a bit awkward just lingering outside the cabins, far enough away from Cabin Thirteen to avoid raising suspicion but close enough to see the second the door opened.

With a few strides she was close enough to get Auggie’s attention, and she could tell that she had. “Hey—” If the day before had been any indication of her old friend’s feelings about seeing her, she shouldn’t have been surprised when she turned and walked away, but it still stung. She reached out instinctively, tempted to grab her arm and force her to stay, but she knew that wouldn’t work. It would only make Auggie angrier, make her want to run more. She’d seen the look on her face at the campfire the night before, seen the swirling darkness in her hand. She didn’t really understand it, but she had a feeling her friend was more dangerous than what she had been when Stella had known her. Or maybe she just hadn't known enough. It didn't matter. She wasn’t afraid of her, but she knew when to give her space. She’d just have to give it time and hope that eventually, Auggie would come around. That, or she’d have to come up with a plan to get Auggie to come to her, and there was already an idea forming in her head.

━━━ 𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐞 𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞

[✿]16|he/him|Iris|Hampton Inn, room 204|tags:

Despite the ever growing knot of anxiety in his stomach, Jamie did manage to fall asleep and stay asleep relatively easily. He was exhausted, and worrying all day left no room for doing so into the night. He woke quite early, likely due to the anticipation of the day ahead. Sort of like waking up super early on Christmas, if Christmas was awful and terrifying and probably the day you were going to die. And with a lot less sugar cookies. So maybe it wasn’t at all like Christmas.

Once he was awake and the thoughts had begun to spin around in his head, there was no way he was getting back to sleep. He didn’t move right away, loathe to extract himself from the warmth and safety of his bed—not his bed, but a bed, a protective barrier of blankets and sheets between him and the world—to begin a day that promised to be worse than the last, but eventually he had to. His hair was a mess as usual, with a bit of water on his hands from the bathroom sink, he did his best to tame it down—at least to its usual level of disaster—before brushing his teeth and getting dressed.

When he was ready, he returned to the main room, sitting down on the end of his bed and reaching down to pull a pen out of his bag. The doodles that had covered his hands and arms the previous morning had been washed away, leaving plenty of room for his nervous scribbling to resume, scratching at his own skin like covering it in smudged blue ink would somehow protect him from the raging storm outside, or the one in his head. That's not good for you. The anxious voice of his father was still ringing in his ears, even with eight-hundred miles between them, warning him against using pen on his skin. His dad would've encouraged him to use paper instead, or to trace lines with the pen closed. Jamie knew he should've listened—whether the supposed effects were true or not—but even the hypochondriac in him wasn't enough to stifle the habit, not when there were so many bigger things threatening to kill him anyway.

[Kveykva]

──────── 𝐀𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐫
[✦] | Athena Head Counselor | 15 | Male | ➡ Hampton, Room 204 | Tags: Jamie
❝ 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑙 𝑖𝑡 ℎ𝑢𝑟𝑡𝑠❞

It came as no surprise to Aiden when his internal clock set its alarm for just before dawn. At least, he imagined it was before dawn. The weather made it difficult to tell. He had no qualms pulling himself from the depths of the covers and tiptoeing his way to the bathroom, crossing out the list of a barebones morning routine in record time. It was no wonder he always looked like he'd just climbed out of bed. He didn't intend to wake Jamie up unless the other camper planned to sleep the day away. After everything they'd been through the last two days, they needed all the sleep they could get; it was a luxury they might not see in the future. Having finished brushing his teeth and getting dressed, Aiden quietly rummaged through his bag in search of a pencil and notepad, sitting on the floor with his back against the bed.

In a way, the checklist method was therapeutic. He started the routine when he was in first grade, just before his journey to Camp Half-Blood, in an attempt to combat his dyslexia. The effort had been in vain, but it did teach him some level of organization that came in handy once he started teaching combat classes. We still need to Iris message Chiron about the diner incident." Aiden wasn't positive they'd come to a solid conclusion about what exactly happened to Teilo the day before, but he felt that it wasn't enough of a coincidence to be brushed off. Still, he'd pose his concerns to Mirabelle and hear her thoughts. Will also said he planned to Iris message sometime today, so we could just wait for that instead. He wrote these musings down in the margins beside his list.

At some point, he heard Jamie stir, he but didn't think to make his presence known until things grew quiet. Aiden frowned, knitting his brow as he set his pencil and pad on the floor next to him. He didn't turn on any of the lights or say anything, that's weird. The boy climbed to his feet, realizing once he crested the edge of his bed that the lump of blankets and pillows were haphazardly human-shaped, at least in the dark. Guess he thought I was still asleep. Aiden faulted himself for that one. "Good morning," he said, at last revealing himself from behind the bed.

──────── 𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦
[✦] | Horseman of the Apocalypse | 56 | Male | ➡ Morgantown, PA | Tags: Vivienne
❝ 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑠𝑎𝑡 𝑜𝑛 𝑖𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝐷𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ❞

The interior of the house sheltered suffocating darkness, one that caused hallucination and tricks on the eye to run rampant through its host. Visual ones, figures standing around corners and eyes, unfocused, bubbling just at the edge of peripheral vision. The sounds, however, were far more real. Rather than the sound of footsteps or simple, uncanny silence, the sound of a single, large shape adjusting itself filled the otherwise still air. Settling itself with creaks and groans, all of which could rather easily be dismissed as the house itself; even the slipping sound of glass grating against glass that sometimes sounded akin to voices could be cast off, dubbed a symptom of perpetual blackness. It's no surprise that a simple flick of a light switch would cause all this darkness to vacate the premises. This, however, did not go as planned.

Since Nicholas almost never dreamed, his once-in-a-blue-moon sleep went uninterrupted by visions or mental fantasies. He couldn't have hoped for better, but his worry now was returning to the land of wakefulness sluggish, especially when he already had to face down the goddess of winter weather at less than his fullest. It was visual weakness, which normally wouldn't bother him, but it was clear Vivienne needed a rock to lean on. Which meant "visual weakness" wasn't an option. The horseman mused on these thoughts until sleep overtook him, and after that, his mind was a barren wasteland, void of any conscious thought. That is, until a bright light snapped him into wakefulness. His first utterances were incomprehensible, but he didn't think anyone actually spoke English when they first woke up in the morning. "Wh - What's going on? What time is it?" Nicholas shifted and sat up, scrubbing the sleep from his eyes, his words slurring together as he tried to make sense of the situation at hand. He reflexively checked his watch, squinting to read the time until he realized it was missing. He didn't wear it to bed, so that didn't surprise him. Did I fall asleep in the kitchen? It was the last place he remembered being, but a part of him assumed Kayle would take him to bed instead of leaving him there. Then again, he shouldn't put that much faith in Kayle anyway. The clock on the wall read almost 5:45 in the morning, so Nicholas could be thankful for at least a solid four hours. If nothing else, he did feel a bit better.

Upon the flicking of the switch and ignition of light in the room, the beast in the dark was revealed; except the beast was the darkness. For the first moment, the light cleared away the shadows, only to reveal the room was still black, surrounded entirely by sharp geometrics. Black, glassy shapes akin to obsidian, with golden ichor littered within the ranks like stars in the sky. The Mist hung heavy everywhere besides where Vivienne looked directly, and the shape of the wings blurred to something less tangible, with pockets of lavender eyes bubbling among the mess. At this point, the jagged, angular wings looked less like feathers and more like teeth. The mass of innumerable eldritch wings pulled back sharply in response to the light, revealing the floor and the bottom half of the kitchen, but continued to take up much of the ceiling, knocking over a few glasses and unplugging the toaster in the process. Then it spoke, from everywhere in its depths, with a painfully familiar voice. "Oh, Vivienne. It's just you. Good morning, I hope you slept well enough." Still slurred by sleep, but kind and unmistakable.

[*Lovel*]

〖 ☾ 〗Ash Davis〖 ☾ 〗

Son of Hypnos ☼☽ Cabin 15 ☼☽ 17 ☼☽ Bisexual

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Tags: Teilo
Location: Room 207

Ash hadn't fallen back asleep like he thought he would have after the girls left. Once they had fled up the stairwell he had plopped on the bed wide awake and alone with his thoughts which was never good. He'd end up thinking more about Teilo, Evander, Mirabelle, and Delilah. To keep his mind and hands busy he played with one of his knives. Turned out he didn't need Mira to wake him and turned out Teilo wasn't going to sleep till 9 or past it. "Good morning, fancy breakfast?" Teilo didn't seem fully with it as he talked to who he assumed was Clive and headed straight for the bathroom.

"Koimismenos" he whispered and his knife returned to it's earring form. He put it back on just in time for Teilo to shuffle out of the bathroom ready for the day. Ash grabbed clothes that consisted of a tan sweater, white button up, and black jeans. He carried the pile into the bathroom and set it down on the sink before popping his head out "Oh and a pair of girls came asking for you, one had a bad attitude problem. Anyway, I sent them away to wait, they went looking for monsters." he pulled his head back in before making himself presentable not particularly concerned about the girls. In a matter of minutes he made his way out of the bathroom. His eyes were burning from both the lights and lack of sleep, he rubbed them and surely they were red. He popped a bit of ambrosia into his mouth to try to prevent the pain in his hand and wrist adding onto the pain he already felt.

『☣』 Rochelle Di Angelo『☣』

Daughter of Hades ☠ Cabin 13 ☠ 16 ☠ Bisexual

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Tags: Isabelle
Location: Outside Hampton Inn

Rochelle was about to say more to the lavender haired boy but Isabelle whisked her to the stairwell to go monster hunting. They went down to the lobby and out the front doors, she shivered at the cold air that stung her face. Everything was fine for a few hours until she heard the sound of metal vibrating together. It was an eerie and awful sound that threatened to give her tinnitus. She looked to the trees and spotted pigeons resting in them, she wouldn't have thought about them for more than a second if not for the metal sound coming from them.Crap, stymphalian birds the monsters unrelenting stared the two demigods down with their red beady eyes.

Rochelle flipped open the case that held her celestial bronze rocks and sling shot. She looked to Isabelle an motioned to her to go in from the back. "Go slow and try to not make too much noise." She whispered. They'd either have to deal with them with their weapons or make an ear splitting sound to drive them away. Her aim wasn't going to be as good as it would if she was fully rested but it'd be something. Rochelle filled her sling shot with the rocks and got ready, if worse came to worse she'd pull out uncle Nico's sword. Her eyes drifted to her bag momentarily before looking to Isabelle and mouthing ready?