Mirabelle Everhart
|♡|17|She/Her|Aphrodite|Head Counselor|Location: Hampton Inn, Bathroom|Tags: Aiden|
Aiden's words warmed Mirabelle's heart to the point where she thought she might start sobbing again. But she didn't. Instead, a miraculous thing happened. She smiled. A wobbly, tearstained smile, but a true smile. Not one of the closed-lipped plastic smiles she was so used to faking. It was bright and shameless and true, and it lit up her entire face. "Th-Thank you." Just a hair above a whisper. She knew he said he didn't need the thanks, and she knew she had already thanked him quite a bit. But the words made their escape anyway. "You have no idea how much that means to me." It felt so freeing to be honest, for once. Even if that honesty was a blubbering emotional mess. She knew in that moment that she could trust Aiden fully. That he would always have her back, no matter what she had done or what mistakes she had yet to make.
She didn't flinch or recoil when he confirmed her suspicions about her looks. Not even when he touched her face, swiping away some errant tears. A soft chuckle drifted out through her lips. "Well actually, makeup was initially intended to be used to accentuate the natural beauty of the human face -" she cut herself off before she could go any further down that rabbit hole. "...aaand I'm probably boring you to death. Yes. Yes, makeup can also be used to cover up... well, damage. Amongst other things." She sniffled a little as her hand unwittingly traced the scar along the right side of her jaw. It was still hidden - no amount of caterwauling could wash away permanent makeup. That's why it was called permanent makeup, even if it only lasted a few weeks.
It was a relief to know that Aiden's immune system wasn't as horrid as hers - quite the opposite, in fact. The mention of Ash's name sent a spark of guilt through her. "Ugh, Ash..." She pinched the bridge of her nose between her forefinger and thumb. "He hugged me earlier, too, in the hall." I really hope his immune system is as strong as Aiden's. Forcing herself to perk back up, she gently slid from the lid of the rubbish bin. That's almost as bad as the bathroom floor. At least she hadn't actually been in the rubbish, she supposed. "I don't - I don't need any of the sleep sand." I need to be awake and alert, in case we're attacked on the road. "I'll be fine." The old Mirabelle stubbornness was back. "And if anyone uses any on me without consent, I'll charmspeak them into jumping through the sunroof." An empty threat, more of a joke than anything. Still, she would at least be vaguely annoyed if someone threw sleeping sand at her. "I'll - I'll clean myself up, and fix my makeup. You don't have to stay for that if you don't want to - I know makeup isn't really your thing." She didn't necessarily want him to go, but... she didn't really want to bore him with girly things either. And getting a moment alone would mean that she could take her medication away from prying eyes. Aiden wouldn't judge me for my diagnoses, she assured herself. He's literally just seen me bawl my eyes out in a hotel bathroom. Frankly, I don't think he would be all that surprised.
Her bag was sitting on the bathroom tile, where she'd dropped it. Ugh. I do not want to know the last time this floor was cleaned. She made a grab for the surprisingly heavy canvas sack, plopping it down on the sink countertop. The mirror was broken, sure, but the cracks were mostly concentrated around the place where her fist had connected with the glass. I just need to find a spot that's relatively clear of the distortion. She could always use her compact, she supposed, though a larger mirror boded for better results. "This shouldn't - it shouldn't take super long," she muttered. "Just have to - get cleaned up. Fix the damage. Then I'll be back to normal." Back to cheery, altruistic Mirabelle again. The one everybody likes.
Juliet Pratten
|⟡|16|She/Her|Hermes|Location: Half-Blood Hill|Tags: Oliver, Aoife, Sam, Ambrose|
Juliet rolled her eyes at the newbie's insistence on staying. "Fine, but if you get yourself killed, it's not my fault!" She continued her ruse of distracting the creature, darting in and out of range with ease. "Hey, watch it!" she shouted when Aoife's boomerang nearly took her head off. She was fast, though and dodged out of the way just as a splintering sound rang out over the hill. That oughtta take care of it, right?
The thing was still standing, even without a ribcage. She could barely hear Oliver's voice over the clattering of bones. Something about bringing it closer? "Are you insane?" she yelled above the sounds of battle. "Fine, but you're asking to get yourself killed!" Juliet began taunting the skeleton to move in Oliver's direction, feinting and running back a few paces to lead it to him. Then, something completely unexpected happened. A resonant voice with a distinct English accent boomed out across the snow. Is that - is that Ambrose? What the hell is he doing?
Kathryn Blackwood
|☽|17|She/Her|Hecate|Location: Dining Pavilion ➡ Outside Cabin 13|Tags: Evie ➡ Nikki|
Kathryn's face never soured, though her tone carried her disapproval. "Anytime, sugar." She didn't mean that, of course. And Evie likely knew it. But the game was to keep this looking casual to outside observers, and she counted that a success. With Evie seemingly sated, Kathryn rose to her feet and offered the remainder of her breakfast to Hecate in the brazier. Chiron and Mr. D were conspicuously absent now, she noted. Probably strategising defence or something. I don't really care, not right now. As she turned to leave the pavilion, she caught sight of Orin. The son of Zeus's presence only further expedited her departure. I'll just go back to my cabin and play a bit of piano. The Apollo cabin is too crowded.
On her way back to the Hecate cabin, Kathryn noticed a lone figure sitting on the steps of cabin thirteen. Well, not exactly lone - two dogs lay beside her. Ugh. Dogs. Always so slobbery and messy. Dobermans were okay, though, as far as dogs went. What piqued her attention was the mythology book the girl seemed to be invested in. Huh. Perhaps a kindred spirit. Either that or a bit of fun. We'll see. She approached the young woman quietly, the snow masking her footfalls. "Greetings, doll. Whatcha reading there?" Her plum-coloured lips were curled into their usual sweet smile, her voice honeyed. "You're the newest member of the Hades cabin, aren't you? I don't know if we've officially met. Kathryn Blackwood." She held her hand down to the girl, expecting a handshake. "Daughter of Hecate. I'm a friend of your godly half-brother Ambrose."
Ambrose Fletcher
|♠|19|He/Him|Hades|Location: Dining Pavilion ➡ Half-Blood Hill|Tags: Oliver, Juliet, Aoife, Sam|
Ambrose wasn't quite sure where he was headed. Not until his feet were carrying him towards the ruins of the Big House. A realisation hit him; one he hadn't thought about. He needed closure. He wanted to pay his respects. Ambrose was no stranger to violence - sure, he hadn't seen World War I firsthand, but he'd lost a father to it. Or rather, the man he thought was his father. As much of a right prick as he was, he was still my father, for a time. Seeing what his death had done to his mother was the worst of it, for him. It was much the same with the campers who had died. He had known them, even cared for some of them. But they were gone now, and the people left behind were despondent in their absence. Death is inevitable, and yet each loss takes a piece of us all.
He hadn't brought any offerings, and he doubted cursed jewels would be a suitable one. He hoped his words would be enough. But as he neared the rubble, sounds of battle perforated his ears. Another attack? Already? No, it can't be! We haven't even had any bloody time to prepare! Ever the coward, Ambrose prepared to turn the other way. But then a girl was at the top of the hill, looking quite worse for wear if he did say so himself. The least I can do is check in on her, and see what in the blazes is going on.
"It's not the pine tree that's gonna save you, mate. It's the fleece hanging from it." Ambrose's voice came from behind the girl; his form manifesting in a swirl of shadow. "And have you not noticed the massive dragon coiled around the trunk? Blimey, every new arrival is dafter than the last." His easy smile faltered as he took in the situation at hand. A skeletal warrior, looking very much like a Spartoi to him. Juliet dancing around the thing trying to distract it. Aoife, lobbing her boomerang through its ribcage. And then - "Ollie," he breathed. His heart stopped in his chest. Doesn't look a day older than he did when I last saw him. He couldn't leave his friend out there alone. And if there was one thing Ambrose could do, it was command the undead. Sure, it hadn't worked the last time, but... those skeletons had purple fire for eyes. This one was different. Mustering what little courage he had, his voice boomed out from the top of the hill. "Skeletal warrior," he commanded. "Retreat to the ground from whence you came. Your presence is no longer required. Be at peace."
Vivienne Isole
|❄|18|She/Her|Khione|Location: Waffle House, Lancaster, PA|Tags: Kayle|
"A book... club?" Vivienne's brain immediately pictured a weapon made of books, but that was impractical. Perhaps Kayle meant to use a book as a bludgeoning weapon, like a club. The confusion was short-lived, as the other girl's next words clarified the issue. "Ah, a social gathering in which literature is visually consumed and subsequently discussed. Correct?" She didn't need to wait for confirmation before the conversation continued. She was approximately sixty-seven percent certain that's what a book club was.
Vivienne's curiosity was piqued by what Kayle had to say, but her mouth was occupied with coffee in that moment. The mention of Xaliphax sent a multitude of additional questions racing through her mind. "Exactly how expedient is Xaliphax?" she hastened after setting down the now-chilled mug. She'd read stories about a foul-mouthed gold-eating horse who could travel at incredible speeds during her time at Camp Half-Blood, but that horse's name was Arion. Perhaps Xaliphax functions on similar principles. "We should indeed check in on your... 'Biscuit', time permitting." The booth squeaked under her as she shifted her weight uncomfortably.
"I would... desire to procure a change of attire as soon as possible, if it poses no difficulty. These articles of clothing are not... entirely to my liking." The light foam-like cages on her feet especially. Come to think of it, she had no idea what her style actually was. Khione had provided her wardrobe for the good part of five years, and before that, she had taken anything she could get. Her brow furrowed, not that Kayle could actually see it. "I do not know what clothing I do find pleasing," she admitted. "Perhaps something snug and crisp, with a certain elegance to it. No skirts or dresses - they are impractical. I believe I would like full covering of my arms and legs. As for footwear... something sensible, yet pleasing to the eye." In cooler colours, obviously, but Vivienne could colour-coordinate herself... at least she hoped so. She had never been much of an artist.
|♡|17|She/Her|Aphrodite|Head Counselor|Location: Hampton Inn, Bathroom|Tags: Aiden|
Aiden's words warmed Mirabelle's heart to the point where she thought she might start sobbing again. But she didn't. Instead, a miraculous thing happened. She smiled. A wobbly, tearstained smile, but a true smile. Not one of the closed-lipped plastic smiles she was so used to faking. It was bright and shameless and true, and it lit up her entire face. "Th-Thank you." Just a hair above a whisper. She knew he said he didn't need the thanks, and she knew she had already thanked him quite a bit. But the words made their escape anyway. "You have no idea how much that means to me." It felt so freeing to be honest, for once. Even if that honesty was a blubbering emotional mess. She knew in that moment that she could trust Aiden fully. That he would always have her back, no matter what she had done or what mistakes she had yet to make.
She didn't flinch or recoil when he confirmed her suspicions about her looks. Not even when he touched her face, swiping away some errant tears. A soft chuckle drifted out through her lips. "Well actually, makeup was initially intended to be used to accentuate the natural beauty of the human face -" she cut herself off before she could go any further down that rabbit hole. "...aaand I'm probably boring you to death. Yes. Yes, makeup can also be used to cover up... well, damage. Amongst other things." She sniffled a little as her hand unwittingly traced the scar along the right side of her jaw. It was still hidden - no amount of caterwauling could wash away permanent makeup. That's why it was called permanent makeup, even if it only lasted a few weeks.
It was a relief to know that Aiden's immune system wasn't as horrid as hers - quite the opposite, in fact. The mention of Ash's name sent a spark of guilt through her. "Ugh, Ash..." She pinched the bridge of her nose between her forefinger and thumb. "He hugged me earlier, too, in the hall." I really hope his immune system is as strong as Aiden's. Forcing herself to perk back up, she gently slid from the lid of the rubbish bin. That's almost as bad as the bathroom floor. At least she hadn't actually been in the rubbish, she supposed. "I don't - I don't need any of the sleep sand." I need to be awake and alert, in case we're attacked on the road. "I'll be fine." The old Mirabelle stubbornness was back. "And if anyone uses any on me without consent, I'll charmspeak them into jumping through the sunroof." An empty threat, more of a joke than anything. Still, she would at least be vaguely annoyed if someone threw sleeping sand at her. "I'll - I'll clean myself up, and fix my makeup. You don't have to stay for that if you don't want to - I know makeup isn't really your thing." She didn't necessarily want him to go, but... she didn't really want to bore him with girly things either. And getting a moment alone would mean that she could take her medication away from prying eyes. Aiden wouldn't judge me for my diagnoses, she assured herself. He's literally just seen me bawl my eyes out in a hotel bathroom. Frankly, I don't think he would be all that surprised.
Her bag was sitting on the bathroom tile, where she'd dropped it. Ugh. I do not want to know the last time this floor was cleaned. She made a grab for the surprisingly heavy canvas sack, plopping it down on the sink countertop. The mirror was broken, sure, but the cracks were mostly concentrated around the place where her fist had connected with the glass. I just need to find a spot that's relatively clear of the distortion. She could always use her compact, she supposed, though a larger mirror boded for better results. "This shouldn't - it shouldn't take super long," she muttered. "Just have to - get cleaned up. Fix the damage. Then I'll be back to normal." Back to cheery, altruistic Mirabelle again. The one everybody likes.
Juliet Pratten
|⟡|16|She/Her|Hermes|Location: Half-Blood Hill|Tags: Oliver, Aoife, Sam, Ambrose|
Juliet rolled her eyes at the newbie's insistence on staying. "Fine, but if you get yourself killed, it's not my fault!" She continued her ruse of distracting the creature, darting in and out of range with ease. "Hey, watch it!" she shouted when Aoife's boomerang nearly took her head off. She was fast, though and dodged out of the way just as a splintering sound rang out over the hill. That oughtta take care of it, right?
The thing was still standing, even without a ribcage. She could barely hear Oliver's voice over the clattering of bones. Something about bringing it closer? "Are you insane?" she yelled above the sounds of battle. "Fine, but you're asking to get yourself killed!" Juliet began taunting the skeleton to move in Oliver's direction, feinting and running back a few paces to lead it to him. Then, something completely unexpected happened. A resonant voice with a distinct English accent boomed out across the snow. Is that - is that Ambrose? What the hell is he doing?
Kathryn Blackwood
|☽|17|She/Her|Hecate|Location: Dining Pavilion ➡ Outside Cabin 13|Tags: Evie ➡ Nikki|
Kathryn's face never soured, though her tone carried her disapproval. "Anytime, sugar." She didn't mean that, of course. And Evie likely knew it. But the game was to keep this looking casual to outside observers, and she counted that a success. With Evie seemingly sated, Kathryn rose to her feet and offered the remainder of her breakfast to Hecate in the brazier. Chiron and Mr. D were conspicuously absent now, she noted. Probably strategising defence or something. I don't really care, not right now. As she turned to leave the pavilion, she caught sight of Orin. The son of Zeus's presence only further expedited her departure. I'll just go back to my cabin and play a bit of piano. The Apollo cabin is too crowded.
On her way back to the Hecate cabin, Kathryn noticed a lone figure sitting on the steps of cabin thirteen. Well, not exactly lone - two dogs lay beside her. Ugh. Dogs. Always so slobbery and messy. Dobermans were okay, though, as far as dogs went. What piqued her attention was the mythology book the girl seemed to be invested in. Huh. Perhaps a kindred spirit. Either that or a bit of fun. We'll see. She approached the young woman quietly, the snow masking her footfalls. "Greetings, doll. Whatcha reading there?" Her plum-coloured lips were curled into their usual sweet smile, her voice honeyed. "You're the newest member of the Hades cabin, aren't you? I don't know if we've officially met. Kathryn Blackwood." She held her hand down to the girl, expecting a handshake. "Daughter of Hecate. I'm a friend of your godly half-brother Ambrose."
Ambrose Fletcher
|♠|19|He/Him|Hades|Location: Dining Pavilion ➡ Half-Blood Hill|Tags: Oliver, Juliet, Aoife, Sam|
Ambrose wasn't quite sure where he was headed. Not until his feet were carrying him towards the ruins of the Big House. A realisation hit him; one he hadn't thought about. He needed closure. He wanted to pay his respects. Ambrose was no stranger to violence - sure, he hadn't seen World War I firsthand, but he'd lost a father to it. Or rather, the man he thought was his father. As much of a right prick as he was, he was still my father, for a time. Seeing what his death had done to his mother was the worst of it, for him. It was much the same with the campers who had died. He had known them, even cared for some of them. But they were gone now, and the people left behind were despondent in their absence. Death is inevitable, and yet each loss takes a piece of us all.
He hadn't brought any offerings, and he doubted cursed jewels would be a suitable one. He hoped his words would be enough. But as he neared the rubble, sounds of battle perforated his ears. Another attack? Already? No, it can't be! We haven't even had any bloody time to prepare! Ever the coward, Ambrose prepared to turn the other way. But then a girl was at the top of the hill, looking quite worse for wear if he did say so himself. The least I can do is check in on her, and see what in the blazes is going on.
"It's not the pine tree that's gonna save you, mate. It's the fleece hanging from it." Ambrose's voice came from behind the girl; his form manifesting in a swirl of shadow. "And have you not noticed the massive dragon coiled around the trunk? Blimey, every new arrival is dafter than the last." His easy smile faltered as he took in the situation at hand. A skeletal warrior, looking very much like a Spartoi to him. Juliet dancing around the thing trying to distract it. Aoife, lobbing her boomerang through its ribcage. And then - "Ollie," he breathed. His heart stopped in his chest. Doesn't look a day older than he did when I last saw him. He couldn't leave his friend out there alone. And if there was one thing Ambrose could do, it was command the undead. Sure, it hadn't worked the last time, but... those skeletons had purple fire for eyes. This one was different. Mustering what little courage he had, his voice boomed out from the top of the hill. "Skeletal warrior," he commanded. "Retreat to the ground from whence you came. Your presence is no longer required. Be at peace."
Vivienne Isole
|❄|18|She/Her|Khione|Location: Waffle House, Lancaster, PA|Tags: Kayle|
"A book... club?" Vivienne's brain immediately pictured a weapon made of books, but that was impractical. Perhaps Kayle meant to use a book as a bludgeoning weapon, like a club. The confusion was short-lived, as the other girl's next words clarified the issue. "Ah, a social gathering in which literature is visually consumed and subsequently discussed. Correct?" She didn't need to wait for confirmation before the conversation continued. She was approximately sixty-seven percent certain that's what a book club was.
Vivienne's curiosity was piqued by what Kayle had to say, but her mouth was occupied with coffee in that moment. The mention of Xaliphax sent a multitude of additional questions racing through her mind. "Exactly how expedient is Xaliphax?" she hastened after setting down the now-chilled mug. She'd read stories about a foul-mouthed gold-eating horse who could travel at incredible speeds during her time at Camp Half-Blood, but that horse's name was Arion. Perhaps Xaliphax functions on similar principles. "We should indeed check in on your... 'Biscuit', time permitting." The booth squeaked under her as she shifted her weight uncomfortably.
"I would... desire to procure a change of attire as soon as possible, if it poses no difficulty. These articles of clothing are not... entirely to my liking." The light foam-like cages on her feet especially. Come to think of it, she had no idea what her style actually was. Khione had provided her wardrobe for the good part of five years, and before that, she had taken anything she could get. Her brow furrowed, not that Kayle could actually see it. "I do not know what clothing I do find pleasing," she admitted. "Perhaps something snug and crisp, with a certain elegance to it. No skirts or dresses - they are impractical. I believe I would like full covering of my arms and legs. As for footwear... something sensible, yet pleasing to the eye." In cooler colours, obviously, but Vivienne could colour-coordinate herself... at least she hoped so. She had never been much of an artist.