"so you're telling me that the olympian gods, beings that are at higher points than we could hope to reach, the creators of myth, the shapers of earth -" he paused. "- those olympian gods, they pick favourites based on location? it's a postcode lottery?" teilo chuckled at the thought. "makes sense, mind. had to trek over the sodding atlantic just to get here. should have camps in every continent." he recalled the journey without much fondness. it had been rather bleak - an exhausting tale, pushing his capacity to remain invisible at the right times to the limits. "there could be hundreds out there who just don't know. who aren't - who aren't being picked up by satyrs or told where to go. i don't know if they're the lucky ones or if we are."
"oh, yeah. no, i'm definitely down for that. i'll just pop down now. make it a raffle draw, that'll draw attentions," he raised his eyebrows. "you could just do it by picking names out of hats. i feel that would be a bit..." he cut off his thought. "no, that's the hunger games, isn't it?"
the dining pavilion came into view, and with it, the bustling campers. some remnant of the energy from hours before had survived, it seemed. light poured from the windows of the big house, but the ones on the porch seemed to have fizzled out. a strange aura, he thought. the faces they passed seemed pensive enough to belong to politicians. they knew something was happening, they were just collectively attempting to ignore it for as long as they possibly could. "well, i've got a gardening tool, and in a pinch, you can paint a pretty picture for any monsters who fancy a bite. i think dreams are out the window here. qualifiers or not, it's gonna be... interesting." he referred to the paintbrush he had harboured such shock towards, felt the watch in his pocket weigh down - as though the object was offended at not being held with utmost regard. "i feel like i've just blasphemed."
teilo took the hot chocolate handed to him, happy to find that it sent warmth coursing through aching hands. "well, i don't know about everyone else, but i think this is the most i've spoken to anyone in all the months i've been here," he shrugged, then frowned at the mention of age. "how old are you? some of the people here, they've got faces like they're thirteen and eyes like they're thirty." it was good to hear, in an odd way, that other people had their days where the world collapsed in on them. there seemed to be an impossible standard that each and all of them held themselves to - expecting to be the next hercules, the next achilles, the next perseus ripping enemies to shreds. not all of them could be a hero. teilo wasn't sure he wanted to be. "who does that for you?" an innocent enough question, but dangerous in the wrong light. "who's aiden's sounding board?"
-
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𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚗 '𝚕𝚘𝚏𝚝𝚢' 𝚐𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚗
big house
zeus - counselor
mentioned: auggie
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𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚗 '𝚕𝚘𝚏𝚝𝚢' 𝚐𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚗
big house
zeus - counselor
mentioned: auggie
╚xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx╝
auggie was thinking, and it was almost as though orin could hear the grate of cogs turning, buzzing to life, creating a plan, a plot, a scheme, culminating in something that he almost dreaded.
and then it came, and he was quiet for a rather long time, putting the threads together. on one hand, he practically jumped at the thought. on the other, there was something hedonistic about the whole thing. he rolled it over in his mind, weighed it up, and finally took a breath to begin to speak.
"world's ending. i might see her sooner than i think if we don't sort it," he said slowly. "so - you know, ask me in a month, or however long, right? ask me when the sun's shining and i'm cracking jokes and there are no venti or angry gods to speak of. if i talk to her -" a brief wince. "i want to talk to her happy. i don't think she'd wanna see me like this. she'd be raging." a little nod in auggie's direction. "thank you. for offering. even if it doesn't work out, that's - you know, you say you're not nice, but..."
-
the hotel was nice. the receptionist was nicer. hicks had resigned himself to his assigned room, as per malcolm's order, and he was, for the first time in six hours, alone. resigned to the quiet.
a moment to sit down, relax, was thrown to the wind. a sudden surge of pressure on the back of his head, a migraine of larger standards, numbers, names, flooding images through his mind's eye.
"just a minute," he muttered, shutting his eyes. the pain grew larger. "okay - alright. alright. fine. have it your way."
reluctantly, he stood, picked up a pen and began to write the things that popped up. a phone number, he realised, and a name attached to it. "is that it? is that all you're giving me? not - not his profession, not his part in all of this, just... just that?" a disgruntled mutter. "fine. i'll google him."
it took a moment, taking his laptop from his bag and plugging it in a little haphazardly, but was especially delayed when he witnessed the headlines. the shadow chancellor had resigned. it cited 'personal issues' in the article, but not much more. it took all he had not to rub his hands together with glee. he hoped that his new secretary was good at the soapy farewells, for if his response statement was in his own hands, he may have been tempted to reveal exactly what those personal issues had been.
anyway, onto the matter at hand - as the stabbing pain in his head guided him away from his career. there were other matters to attend to, and schadenfreude could come later with a finger of whiskey and a cheap cigar.
all expenses paid, of course, by the taxpayer. kind of them.
"he works in a mortuary," malcolm said. "'final witness' - it's a bit dramatic, isn't it?" still, he pulled his mobile from his pocket - a little blackberry that he had not seen the need to upgrade to a newer model - and began dialling the written sprawl into it. as it began to ring, he stood, walked over to the window that overlooked the snow-dusted skyline.
