World Wearied

Viorel, son of Asclepius, 40, played by nugget

[cfserpents]

He sees another Asher, but not the same as his first arrival. The name sounds right but appearance, parentage? Not at all. He gestures to the fresh face outside of Voithos. “Are you lost or did you plan to stare at the statue all day long?”

@wildashcr​

[cfserpents]

“Put your little concert on the other side of camp so I don’t have to hear it again.”

@sunchild-dean

[cfserpents]

“You aren’t a good healer if you don’t know your plants. Get going or start learning.”

@heightofhermes

[cfserpents]

“If you want to keep your hand, stay away from my animals.” 

@tuckery

[cfserpents]

Estera was getting bigger. He’s noticed it since spending time with the cub. He’s kept himself away from the others for so long, he almost walks right past Malachi if it isn’t for Estera’s curiosity. Vio follows her and then hauls the growing cub into his arms. “What were you doing? She smells meat on you.”

@goldenskiex

[cfserpents]

goldenskiex​:

A small smile flits across his lips as he reaches for the towel nearby. “Well, I’m glad to serve a purpose. It feels oddly comforting, knowing that you’ll only let me perish if it is to put me out of my misery.” He laughs. He can appreciate a man who may be calloused, withdrawn, and particularly fond of putting blades to allies’ throats, but would be useful at the end of the day. It was a quality he’d seen some lack on quests.

Malachi has already begun his walk when he spins around on a heel and starts pacing backwards. “How are you?” he asks, putting his hands in his pockets. “After, you know,” he gestures vaguely at the air—after everything. 

“I’m fine.”

A simple answer, one he’s given countless of times, and one that he will continue to give, too. Viorel looks Mal over at the gesture, his backwards walk, and attempt at probing him. Or is it probing? Seems far too superficial and open-ended for that.

He carries Estera onwards, eyes shifting from the path ahead to the backwards olympian. “I’m fine. People come and go, death is always one step away, and I’m still here. I’m fine and that’s as good as it will be.” As good as, for all Viorel knows, he deserves. Anything more is but one moment from crumbling to dust. “But you’re not, are you?”

Losing people close to him to the call of the real world, continuing to isolate himself to his menagerie, Viorel bites down on anything else to say as a war between the bear from his path and himself in his head. 

[cfserpents]

After the invasion days ago, quests kept popping up. He didn’t go on any since the camp’s attack, leaving him to help rebuild and care for the wounded. Very little did he speak during the process, and rarely—if at all—did he venture out to commune with the demis. It wasn’t until he heard of the latest quest’s results that he tracked down one of the new recruits.

From possession to near death, Blake wasn’t having the best of times.

Sorin clipped by his side as Galen fluttered further ahead. Estera, the owlbear cub, currently dozed in Voithos’ garden. When he whistled to get Blake’s attention, Sorin’s ears slid forward. “Are you helping with repairs or sulking?” He asked Blake pointedly, gaze focused and unyielding. It was as much of an offer as he’d make—provided Blake took it as one.

@heightofhermes

[cfserpents]

Why does it take an invasion to see new people at camp? Perhaps it’s antisocialism at its core, or Vio’s depression rearing its head, but the man’s kept to himself ever since Antarctica. He watched a man and bird along the shoreline of the lake, something not out of the ordinary if it weren’t for the bird’s plumage. 

He hadn’t seen such a creature before--Was it from ‘mythos’, too? 

Viorel watched Estera the owlbear cub saunter over to Grey and his poor Nero. Sorin was vigilant by his side, while Galen in the sky. The only ‘unruly’ one of the group was the newest, and odd, recruit. “Estera,” he said in a crisp tone, which got the cub’s head to turn around and her to pause a good two yards before Nero.

@drxwnedgod​

[cfserpents]

There’s no rest for the wicked, nor is there for the demigods. 

After the camp’s sudden onslaught of zombie-esque fiends, it comes to no surprise training’s on their mind. That, or rebuilding. After ensuring his three members are safe from the worst of it, Viorel heads to the training grounds to...do something. Along the way is a man that just doesn’t stay down no matter how bad it gets. 

One man that, many times, has danced with death and lives to tell its tales. He wonders when it’ll crack Beau for good, but there’s armor to be had in shrapnel. “Let’s train,” he says, jutting his chin at the other. “Standing around does nothing. You keep getting back up after the hits and I want to keep it that way.” 

@lcthallust​

[cfserpents]

sharpestlxves​:​

The fist made contact with his jaw and his vision went blurred. One second he was lost in the world of his mind, lost in the colors and the numbness of the world. Vision blurred and he was back in his apartment, jaw stinging as he turned and hissed out, “what the fuck, James. What was that for?” Bringing his gloved hand up he rubbed at it and then–

A flash of light and the haze was gone and no longer was he in LA but standing at this new camp he called home starring at a man who had punched him. No, it wasn’t his ex after all it had just been a drug clouded haze, one that tended to sneak up on him from time to time. Stupid little pink pill. “Ender,” he growled out rubbing at his jaw still wondering why he had been punched by a complete stranger. Unless it wasn’t a stranger and he owed this guy money and forgot about it… 

“Do I owe you money?”

James? 

So he was on something. It was enough for the son of medicine to pick up, even without the blood in his veins. Viorel shook his head, wrinkling his nose at the man. No money, no. His name wasn’t James, neither. “Thought you were someone else,” he managed after Ender’s question. Someone that, if it were him, would be getting another punch--pending on the answer. But that man had been respectful of his space even when he snapped, something not many did.

What was it like, to work on it again, and in such a short amount of time? Hard, tiring, perhaps too much. But he still stood at camp, took on the new faces like some kind of obstacle in their life at Olympus. A small one compared to the proper, such as trials, paths, and quests in the world beyond. Or an irrelevant one; better things happened with people of like minds. 

Vio flicked the hand he used to punch aside, letting the dull ache fade away thanks to his regenerative abilities. “And you did, too. No, you don’t owe me money. What house do you belong to?” Better not be Voithos; he wasn’t prepared for a fourth member again. 

[cfserpents]

subtleblow​:

“I get that… I got that real early.” Voris laughed, his hands going into his pockets as they walked. “First night I was here I got an earful of what a Pali breakup sounds like.” And learned quite a lot about Amadeo and Beau in the process. Not that he knew what to do with that information at the time. “Also hear my share of other things on a regular basis but I’ve come to the conclusion that that’s just how things go around here.”

He wasn’t as close to the ground as Sorin but his footfalls were just as quiet. Muscle memory was one hell of a thing. ”Got any other tips for me?”

“Messy, loud, dramatic,” he listed off in three, succinct words with a Romanian rumble gracing each. Oh, he could imagine how Pali went. The man stepped foot in there, what, perhaps once? Vio snorted, crinkling his nose in dry amusement. Sometimes Voithos’ small number was a godsend. Then again--it always was a blessing, save for combat come. They had three demigod healers for the whole camp; was that enough?

It had to be, whether they liked it or not. 

He waited a beat as they melted into silence, letting the surroundings take over for words, thoughts. When the memorial was in sight, he jutted his chin to it. “Don’t put up with their shit if it’s rubbing you the wrong way,” he added, sitting down on the steps. Sorin sat beside him and Estera placed in his lap. He swirled the brandy in his free hand, waiting for Voris to join him. “They need a reminder that some of us still have teeth.” 

[cfserpents]

wrxn-blxkely​:

—҉

Life sometimes sneaks up on you in ways that make you pinch your own cheeks at your present circumstances. Mixing raw meat in a bowl, standing in a magical garden, watching fantastical creatures paw at one another instead of reading them in a book—it was all surreal and very real that it could only be met with laughter. “Oh no not really…I once babysat a tortoise for a whole summer when I was a kid but that definitely doesn’t count.” Wren’s family lived a busy life that raising an animal just seemed unlikely rather than unwanted, but he had always lived vicariously through others. “I almost adopted a cat once.” he remembered suddenly. He was a sophomore at college and it involved a local bar he loved, “A pretty white stray that lived near me…never could get it to come home with me but that’s all I think.”

“Tortoise.” 

No, that wasn’t what he meant. An answer was an answer, however; that much was a given. Vio shook his head while watching the cubs further play around. He combed away at Sorin’s dark, soft fur, something nice and sleek when the weather was in its favor. With Viorel around more than not, that was always the case. The man’s strokes paused, however, when he considered the rest of his tale. 

Almost a cat, but no dice. 

Wren didn’t strike him as a cat person: did that work out, in the end? 

“Almost doesn’t count. You were probably a source of food for it,” he idly answered, shoulders rolling. “These two are different than what you would’ve had--cat or tortoise it doesn’t matter. Pets are like having children but without heavy debt. These two are more or less the same except how dangerous they are.” Because cubs were still capable of killing, even when they were cute as buttons.

[cfserpents]

Cars whisper down the wet roads and leaves commune in the trees. Footsteps quietly echo atop concrete or they fall short, retreat, or ascend into cars. A stable pair storms down the street with an almost silent tip-tiptip-tip beside him. Fabric dances against skin and silence of two is replaced by the loudness of many. Or is it one?

Lights strobe the club as bodies move to its rhythm in such differing paces, styles, that it looks pulsing upon an unfocused eye. Focus and sobriety leave it a mess, sweaty and writhing and hormonal, that isn’t the source of the demigod’s desires. He weaves through the crowd of many, of deceitful youths and escapist young adults, like the shadow following lights that sweep across the crowd.

When one goes, he follows.

He reaches the end of the club and passes its doors to the back without so much of a word. The look in his eyes is haunting, while the taunt line on his lips troubling. People have seen him around enough that his presence needs no explanation. If it does? It comes with a phone call, or a bounty.

“Luca,” he greets the dank hall, ears perking at the slightest drip of water, breath of sharp air when the door opens to the club. Viorel doesn’t see him, so he goes deeper, descending the stair well for a room. Chipped paint coats the door with a well-worn knocker haphazardly angled below a peephole. He knocks it three times as Sorin hovers to his right.

After a silent beat of his heart, it opens.

Lips part and he rushes in like a ghost, sharply closing the door behind him with his boot and he wraps his arms around the man. They become a mess of limbs, tangling one another while undressing each others shirts. Soft breaths greet the air between them, while their hearts soar in their chests. Scars come alive under the lighting in the room whereas features soften and emotions follow through.

Luca’s pinned to the wall as Viorel tosses their shirts aside. His lips caress his beck, where he circles faded bruises with the same things that caused them. A press, a nip, then a glide, he ascends his neck to close in on his soft, pierced lobe. Nails dig into Viorel’s back, running on and into scars, but it doesn’t deter him. No, nothing does, when he’s in the navy room, existing and alive with his man.

The couch smells like faded perfume but it’s not their final destination. The hallway’s partially lit and it’s not theirs, neither. The living room lit only by a small, flickering desk lamp in the corner is their haven in the night, church in a graveyard. Vio loses himself to the man’s voice, body, taste, while soft ‘vio’ and ‘stay with me’ fills his ears like a siren’s call.

One night. For one night, does he feel at home. Only on that one night can he go home, go to that someone whose address is on his heart. Home’s not a place but rather a person, and Viorel’s—

He wakes up, jolting in bed. Estera rolls onto her side nearby while Sorin hops onto the bed and prods his arm. Viorel manages to scritch the dog’s back, but his hand’s shaky and uncertain. Luca’s voice rings in his ears but the blond’s nowhere to be seen. He eyes his hand, as if awaiting him to take it, then drops it in his lap.

Home’s not a place but rather a person, and Viorel Lucaci’s burned years ago.

[cfserpents]

When he heard there was a familiar face back at camp, he felt furious. Anger filled his blood in a heat rivaled by the flames that span the forge’s furnace. Viorel was quiet as he stormed over, features cold and muscles tense. Sorin bounded by his side yet lacked a common ‘glee’ found in canine eyes. The shepherd was concentrated, not looking for a treat but a command instead.

Three more steps and the sharp crack of knuckles to jaw resounded in the air. Viorel’s fist collided with Ender’s jaw and his eyes hardened a fraction more. You left. Trădător. It was only after he completed the swing, staring him down, that it didn’t feel right. Not in the moral-way, but tactile, retribution-like fashion. This wasn’t the man that dumped their friendship and left. This was a stranger; who?

“Who are you?”

@sharpestlxves​

[cfserpents]

subtleblow​:

“I like wherever I can find some peace. Lead the way.” Voris wore the mask of the social fly, pathological flirt well but he did enjoy his space. Before and after his first go at a mission, he didn’t get as much of it as he’d like. A lot of are you ready? and how was it? There was also the many mishaps along the way, including his whole temporary paralysis and the temporary loss of Wren. Not his fault but he sure did get asked questions about it. And if there’s one thing he didn’t like, it was a lot of questions.

Voris waited for Viorel to return. He opened his jacket to show the flask he had hidden in his shirt pocket. He was locked, loaded and ready to unwind.

Peace wasn’t common to find. He had moments and cherished them wherever he could, with most being in his little apartment in Bucharest or the parks, woods, surrounding the city. Lately it shifted to the steps of the memorial, where one name was recently added to its walls. Vio returned with the brandy, giving it a little swish in his hand. He nodded to Voris’ own store and returned his way. 

Both with booze, they were ready. 

He whistled and Sorin led them out towards memorial. The shepherd’s paws were near-silent in the grass and dirt alike, dark form like a shadow as it weaved along the path. He held Estera in his other arm, however, keeping her close. “There’s very few spots you can have that,” he spoke up in regards to peace. “All of them are away from the houses.”

[cfserpents]

subtleblow​:

“Good. That’s good. ‘Cause I’m sure Sorin was gettin’ tired of me talkin’ to him and tellin’ him ‘just a little bit longer.’” He laughed quietly as he took a few steps closer to look at the newcomer. “Nope but it’s uh… cute. Looks like it’ll be able to maul me in a couple months when it gets bigger, though. That part is kinda alarming but, hey, what’s life without a family that can’t kill you, am I right?”

Voris turned his head to look back at Pali, pointing at it with a thumb. “Was gonna offer you a drink as a congrats on being back on your feet but don’t think my room’s got enough space for everyone to hang out and be comfy.” Not to mention he didn’t know how much attention Estera needed… or what Estera exactly was. “We could walk and drink. Or go sit somewhere outside and drink.” Whatever the case, drinking was on the table… even if there wasn’t a table.

Vio snorted again, quirking his brows. ‘Just a little bit longer’ was the motto, mantra, and slogan when it came to waiting. Usually Sorin was with him, but the new life didn’t allow for such. He didn’t want to call it ‘side-lining’ the pup, but...Oh well. Viorel rolled his shoulders, then pressed a sharp smirk at the comment. 

“She probably could. Her mom was the size of a polar bear.” Looked part-one, too. But that was obvious enough given their kind, no? The last time he shared a drink was with Wren. He hadn’t shared one with many others--save for Leo and Ender. The man hesitated internally, putting on a distant look to his face. He gestured towards Voithos, “Let me grab a drink and we can walk somewhere else. The houses are too stuffy; I like the outdoors more. What about you?”

He gave him a moment to either consider or accept his words, before Vio walked down to Voithos to grab his brandy from his room. One of the few things he brought with him, and one of the few, too, he visited Romania to replenish.

[cfserpents]

subtleblow​:

“Yeah, you got me there. I didn’t think about that.” He chuckled, shoving his hands into his pockets and slowly making his way over to Viorel and Sorin… and the other additions to his clan. If he didn’t know about the man’s history and having a big family, he’d question it. If his own family experience hadn’t been a dumpster fire, maybe Voris would’ve been the same. But it wasn’t and he isn’t so the best he could do was admire what the other had even if he didn’t particularly want it for himself.

“You’re back in one piece, yeah?” A simple question rephrased to be a little less invasive than ‘are you okay?’ Voris had heard more or less about what had happened on their mission. With how messy his first one had gone, he was starting to wonder how often they went poorly. “And who’s uh,” a nod towards the owl-ish creature, “who’s your little friend?”

Viorel gestured to himself as if it answered him. One piece, certainly. It was good he didn’t run with the ‘okay?’ roulette; his personality didn’t make such easy to answer nor end well. Physically, after a day in the infirmary, he was good as new. The psyche left itself as much of a warzone as before the trip. Unlike pre-antarctica!Viorel, post-quest was frayed at the edges instead of sharp, pointed. 

“One piece and then some. Estera; we brought she and her brother from antarctica.” He lifted the cub for Voris to get a better look if he wanted, then managed a smirk. “You’ve never seen one of these?”