LUKE MITCHELL, BISEXUAL/HOMOSEXUAL, CISMALE & HE/HIM (THEY/THEM WHEN ADDRESSING BOTH) — well met ! as blood demands STRIKE BECKETT/HUCK BECKETT has answered the call ! they have been chosen and are now claimed as the CHILD OF ATHENA. while they have been alive for 32 years, the adventure has just begun. they must now train hard in the ways of the BARD. while their DOGGEDNESS, INTENSITY, AND JOY / AFFECTION, CLEVERNESS, AND CAUTIOUSNESS can be an asset to the god’s cause, their HARSHNESS, PERFECTIONISM, AND SHARP TONGUE / INDECISIVENESS, PASSIVENESS, AND APPROVAL-SEEKING could create some tension. only the fates will know in the end, but now their thread has been woven into the tapestry of myths and legends !
basics
full name strike lucky beckett / huck beckett
age thirty-two
gender cis male (he/him)
orientation bisexual, homosexual
lineage athena
birthplace pellham, massachusetts, usa
birthdate 9/29/92
big three libra sun, scorpio moon, sag rising
visual
hair short, messy, swoopy, dirty blond
eyes blue
height 6'2
build lean, ft. some chest and arm
physical marks very worn fingers and palms
style athletic, fitted / loose, relaxed
face claim luke mitchell
mental
alignment lawful good / true neutral
hobbies drums, running, swimming, martial arts / movies, dance, surfing
phobias weakness, failure / erasure, loneliness
sexual preference vers top / vers
mechanical
class bard, dance (wardrummer)
inspiration if luna snow (rivals) and iron fist (rivals) watched drumline
bio
attention was something strike beckett never had to work for. from his (somewhat backwards) name, to his quick fingers, and his quicker tongue, he was never far from a friend or a rival. luckily, his dexterity and showmanship were applied to music, before he could fall into anything too nefarious.
consistent from grade school into college, strike was a hit in the umass minutemen drumline -- at least until he got hit, himself. to anyone watching, strike was struck by a minivan, went down, and then woke up in the hospital a few days later. what people couldn't figure out, was why strike just wasn't strike, anymore.
he called himself huck.
he dropped out of school.
he broke up with his girlfriend.
he cruised couches and dated around, leaving exes more friendly than he'd found them, most (re; all) of them being men.
and when he was summoned to ogygia, huck went.
but it wasn't huck that athena shone her light on. with the touch of the goddess' power, strike was awoken once more, his primary personality in something of a comatose state while huck was running the show. strike, claimed son of athena. and huck, his moderately desperate hanger-on.
unwilling to evict, and effectively kill, the one who had been living in his body for the past decade, strike opted to try to...work together. to take turns, in a way. huck had been past the mist far longer than strike was, and if they were going to survive, they likely would need all the help they could get.
The wince was subtle as the echo of the old wound reverberated from the base of his foot and shot straight up to his hip. Conan faltered for a moment, adjusted his footing and then swung out a few more times in quick succession. Off-kilter and without the usual gravitas that the warrior usually carried into a fight.
"Shit." Conan bit back under his breath as he maneuvered away from the bag before the recoil knocked him flat on his ass. "Think I'm capped."
"everything, huh?" he'd certainly have to test that theory, later.
much later, with the way conan hit the floor.
with speed and grace, strike was in a knee-slide to conan's side at about the time he'd admitted to something being wrong. "lucky for you, I don't leave guys 'capped'." said with a bit of a smirk, his hands hovering, until he paused.
frowned.
then grinned, again, very wide.
"try not to laugh," strike teased, as hovering hands moved to pair with each side of conan's...respectable chest. strike's magic needed rhythm. a pair of surfaces capable of making distinct sound. that way, when he maneuvered through athena's grand library of knowledge using rhythm to delineate his pathway, he could get sharp, precise response.
conan's pecs just happened to be the best drums within reach.
strike tapped out a quick phrase, gaze roving over conan's half-dressed body, watching as the red-blue weaving lines mapped a path. pain pathways. nerve pathways. blood pathways. where was it heading. where was it pooling. strike followed the lines through conan's hip, fingers light and tracing, until he got to the offending foot -- glowing, two tones so vibrant they almost tried to blend. he stopped there, fingers mapped out across the ankle and sole.
"then let's not assume that someone is going to do that to you."
casimiro levels the other with a stare, face blank, but all of the intensity sits in his eyes. he could tell the other chosen that they were picked for a reason until he's blue in the face. it won't matter if they don't accept it themselves. he'll accept it for them, even if, he's sure, some of the choices wouldn't necessarily be his choices for who would be chosen.
huck and strike would have been. he got along with them, he knew they would do a good job, a great one, even.
with a quick nod of his head, he turns to face the crowd of the celebration, still out in full force, still rejoicing in the fact that fifteen demigods were chosen, the largest batch in generations.
"we'll need it. no matter what we have to do. they chose fifteen of us." the weight of that sits heavy in his belly, a stone thrown into a bottomless lake. "something is coming and when it does, we'll be ready."
since huck couldn't think of a way to respond to that, he just nodded, and looked downward.
casimiro made a point. he was just assuming the worst, planning for the worst, acting like the worst was already happening. but he still felt those eyes, those stares, judging. unworthy, he thought he'd heard, but it sure as hell wasn't strike.
"I like being ready." offered with a little grin of his own. "getting ready for things is kind of how I spend most of my time." getting ready for strike to decide he's done sharing. getting ready for the ones he cares about to turn on him. getting ready for athena to revoke her decision. assumption, self-affirmation, self-flagellation, self-annihilation.
huck huffed. "looks like a party out there." looking over at casimiro, "shouldn't you be...partying? unless this counts as partying for you, which, I really couldn't say much, since it's how I'm spending it."
a flush spreads through his cheeks, the words taking him back to huck, to their night. strike knew then, what was said. it wasn't... it felt intimate, to be brought like this.
he nods though, as he had no intention of pushing that or himself onto the other. whatever huck needed, strike did not feel the same. different rules, different men. he wondered what huck would say now, if he was seeing this somewhere.
"i didn't think it did, strike." he says, unworried about the glances their way, does not look away from strike. he feels his stomach twist some but mostly at how this was going. he was glad strike approached, that they could talk; didn't want him to leave like this, telling him to take a step back. because he didn't want to, step back. this should be easier, he should not care. he should--
"you are not him, that's clear enough." his voice is even, his frown still present. protests forgotten as he continues on the path they set when they shared that wine. when they trusted strike with the keys. "i won't act like you are, or hold you to what we said... that doesn't mean we have to avoid each other." it was confusing, but samael had done confusing, he was great at confusing. right? "i don't know, how it usually works for you, but i would prefer if we didn't."
he raises his cup, "we can share coffee, and responsabilities, if nothing else. right?"
thankfully, samael seemed to be starting to put it together. it meant strike could lay off the gas, a little. give the guy a break, some breathing room. his stance relaxed a bit, not leaning so far forward over the table, as things were laid out once again.
"it'd be hard to avoid each other. and detrimental to anything we get set to doing." already, his tone isn't as harsh or firm. "I just, needed you to have it clear-cut. there's him, and then there's me." one last time, and unnecessary, but still.
"coffee and responsibilities." his own cup was lifted. "if it makes it easier for you, I can tell you when it's me, flat out. huck can choose how he makes himself known."
he almost felt relieved, at being able to relax. strike wasn't one to shy away from conflict, but this felt...different. like grazing the surface of something deep-set, that he needed to make sure he stayed plenty far away from.
"Is terrible that the seawater part of that is kind of appealing?" Valentine mused lightly, his eyes dancing over at Strike as they walked backwards towards the exit off the roof. "Ah. How kind- getting in early has it's benefits." the smile dance on Vale's face evidently betraying that was the right thing say to him. It didn't take Valentine long to lead the other to one of the more popular bars often visited by the sons and daughters of Aphrodite- the low lights, the dance music floating over a very, very happy ground right now and more importantly, a bar made of black marble and bright drinks clearly enhanced by some fort of magic.
Valentine hand dropped down to take Strike's hand as he led him inside and towards the bar. His hand raising up to signal the bartender as he glanced over Strike with that same teasing smile.
"So are you a sweet or sour kinda drink guy?" he asked with a little tilt of his head.
"there's probably reasons that poets love the ocean." both artists of their own rights, but entirely separate means, strike could appreciate things on an aesthetic level as well.
he didn't feel like he was leading vale along, largely because he did intend to let the guy cash out. probably not in the middle of the festivities, since that'd be a signal to others how 'free and available' he might or might not be. it's still fun to roam around with a friend. even when that friend was attractive, and clearly attracted.
"either. I just want it to be a strong experience. if it's sweet, make it decadent. if it's sour, make it a test of mettle." the answer complete with a brow waggle. "bitter, salty, hot; I'll take that, and the bloodiest mary they've got." especially since those felt like cheating. vegetable intake, and drinking? and socially acceptable during the day? everyone who didn't give it a try was missing out.
"what about you? you've got an..." strike made a show of peering. "expensive taste, kind of vibe."
( this is specifically for those that DO NOT ALREADY have a thread with EITHER strike or huck. capped at two or three.)
part of the training he was assigned?
healing, throughout the city. cuts, scrapes, burns, the kinds of things that start small, but can become much worse with time and lack of attention.
clearly not someone trying to make a point, or anything.
strike returned to the 'big house' and immediately sought somewhere to wash the bits of blood from his hands, his forearms, as a full day dealing with injuries could leave someone a bit...painted.
"yeah, yeah, in a minute, hold on--" as he charged past whoever was in whichever kitchen, to start scrubbing.
( this is specifically for those that DO NOT ALREADY have a thread with EITHER strike or huck. capped at two or three.)
sound is mathematics. rhythm is mathematics. huck was never math-minded, but rhythms just made sense. keeping a beat, regardless of time. a constant pulse. rhythm is also movement. rhythm is life, a heartbeat, the rise and fall of civilizations, the steady pace of rotation, of expansion--
huck's train of thought, the rhythm of sticks on drumskin and his feet on the training dummy, was cut short. the sound of another made him whirl around, frightened, as if caught.
For a split second, Casimiro wonders if these thoughts had been crawling around in Huck's mind before the ceremony. If the spidery legs of negativity, of self doubt, were weaving a web in the space behind his eyes. He stares at him for a moment, head tilted to the side, trying to see.
"Did you ever challenge one of the chosen of Athena, in your time here? Did anyone?" He can't recall, maybe he just didn't pay attention, it wasn't his mother, after all. Casimiro never questioned a chosen of Hecate before, not that there's been many since his time at the island. "If they question you, you don't have to tell them anything. Athena picked you, they can pray to her statue for an answer." His words are a little harsh, said with some venom, not directed at Huck, but anyone who would question why they were chosen.
The Gods have their desires and plans, this is just pieces of one of them.
Casimiro's arms are crossed over his chest, eyes intent on the blonde. "Training with people within my own school is pointless. We study many of the same things, training with people outside of it, will grant knowledge and power." It's a simple enough answer, spoken with a shrug of his shoulders. "Good, we will start." A nod of his head, a half smile. "We'll make it so no one can doubt us."
even if the prior chosen of athena was, at times, a pompous self-important ass. before, he'd assume that it probably came with the position. now, he wasn't so sure. maybe his other half would've wanted something to happen, but neither of them were so set against the system in place to try.
"training with me, or him, probably means getting kicked around and healed, a lot." not the most potent, the most damaging, or the flashiest, but a unique position that was all their own. tactics, repositioning, redeployment.
but huck liked that last bit. "so nobody can doubt us," he echoed.
frown, deep, searching. was huck in there? could he separate it just like that?
he'd known from the start there were two, but are they not one as well? it isn't his place, perhaps, to tell, or ask. samael also isn't the person people should rely on to keep a straight head. had he not made it clear as well?
"you..." he tries, eyes close, then open, "keeping you safe keeps him safe. you and him, is it not how it is?" he asks, trying to be neutral. he always tries to be neutral.
"he... he said he'd let me, take care of him. maybe that's different, for you, and i will respect that. the way you like things," he is still fascinated, but he doesn't think he should show that now, "but if i hurt him the way i fear i might, i'd hurt you too. so not the same as him, okay, but not like 'any other'."
the unsaid part, which is loud in his head, is that he is not asking if he wants him away. he is not saying he'll try to keep his distance. samael is not pushing him away, and that probably should make all three of them fucking worried.
"you aren't 'keeping' me in any way, shape, or form."
if it wasn't clear that strike could peer into huck's situation when he felt the need (or curiosity) to, then that probably made the point.
"so 'he said'. huck can say, and mean, whatever he wants. that doesn't mean any of it counts for me." each able to live their own lives, as much as they could manage. that's what they were trying to do.
"if you can't keep him and me separate in your head, then maybe you should take a step back from him. for all of our sakes."
clearly, strike wasn't above a bit of a scene in a coffee shop.
samael chuckles, sudden and free, surprised at the candid way the other put it. levity that he did not expect. he tries not to linger on it, not analyze it, or him. too many moments ruined on that.
he nodded along, smile still lingering, then gone. memories of huck, beautiful, eager, swallowing him down like the wine. the best thing for him would be staying away, right? was that what strike meant?
"i want to." he responds honestly, eyes moving down, unsure what to do with his hands. "and you. i want to keep you both safe."
he looks back towards him, reason, away from the mindless encounter he had with his other self. "i'm trying to, strike. it's new." caring, protecting. wanting to like he does now. "you'll tell me, right, if i hurt him? or you."
he bites his tongue. wants to ask of him, how is he, how was he after he left, how he feels about being chosen but doesn't.
"whatever you two have going on? you and him? that's not me."
huck's internal protest was weak, but present; he could imagine how it looked, hearing that come from his face.
"maybe it's a little hard to get, to separate, and I can understand that. and sure, if huck's too worried to tell you that you fucked up, I can pass the message along. but you're not 'keeping me safe' any more than you would any other chosen."
brows up. "is that sufficient? or should I find another way to put it?"
There's a little wolf whistle at the other showing off the others arms, Valentine reaching up to give a little wave of his hand towards his head. "Oof, swoon worthy, I swear." he teased before he dropped his hand back to his side.
"Ah. I saw him once or twice. He seems like the charming sort." And very, very hot. Though that felt like it didn't need to be said.
"Oh? So you plan to never let me have a taste of you then? If I want it so much?" that finger didn't move away from the others belt as he took a few steps back, his smile dancing on his lips.
"Ah. But you have made your choice- I know exactly the place we should hit up." The entire city was a party right now but why not take Strike to one of his favourite places? His finger finally dropped away from the others waist to nod back towards the street. One of Dionysus son's had a fairly fun place to drink not far from them.
valentine likely knew, flattery could get someone a reasonable distance. not all the way, but it certainly helped smooth the path. even if it's half-joking.
"I think half of it's his aftershave. and cologne. which is mostly sweat and seawater." if the guy heard how strike described him, he might take it as a compliment. which, it was maybe half of one.
when he looked back at valentine, it's in mock offense. "we have a prior agreement! I gave you my word, before demand went up. Just might be a little more later than sooner." that being said, and assurances made, strike moved to follow where valentine led into the night. at least for a few hours, he could have some fun and revel in it all.
It's a familiar warmth, at least, the sensation of Huck burrowing in closer against his side as soon as he has his arm wrapped around the other. Idly scratching fingers against the nape of Huck's neck, all while still considering all of it.
"If somebodies gonna be giving out ideas, does seem to be her strong suit?" He was personally just hoping for a neon sign and a 'this way. destiny is this way' but he'd. Take whatever Demeter saw fit to throw his way if anything.
"I got... Pretty good at just going with things? Bend but don't break in a storm."
galahad could've said just about anything with his arms around huck, and huck would've nodded along. he's a (relatively) simple man. sort of. in some ways more than others.
"well. more bending, and no breaking, I guess?" offered with as bright a grin as huck could manage. eventually, he did succumb to those fingers, letting his eyes close and his head fall to the side, to lean on galahad more fully.
"as long as we're here. I hope we can make the most of it."
the arm lingered, a steady weight from an otherwise unsteady man already on his fifth drink of the night. the next round handed over was shots. special shots, blue-dyed and sparkly, complete with a tiny beach umbrella toothpick.
“oooh, gosh.” napoleon grinned stupid, winked at the barkeep. “love it. needed something special for him.” a sideways nod towards strike.
then it was back to the conversation. weren’t they having one?
“nah, the spotlight’s got room for more. heard you!” emphasized by a squeeze from his arm, “got chosen as well! always knew it was our destiny. strike and napo, in the stars.” napoleon waved dreamily at the ceiling, looking up at the rot-stained wood boards like they were stars. “imagine that, amore.”
if huck could've clapped the phone shut on strike, he would've.
he did end up supporting napoleon's weight, somewhat, which huck certainly wasn't about to complain about, at least until all that attention moved back onto him.
"ehehehehhh..." a very un-strike-like anxious laugh, as he's pulled in. "was I really in your short list of chosen guesses?"
it might be flattery. but huck could never turn down a good bit of flattery. "anyone could've guessed it'd be you, tough..."
napoleon took a moment to drain his glass and it was not a moment too long. “ah!” he exhaled a second later, setting down the now-empty glass. the back of his hand wiped his salt-tinged lips – which were already smiling at the face before him.
“strikey!” an arm wrapped around the other’s neck, pulling him closer for a quick, sweaty hug. “big news for the city, you know. they made a good choice.” his grin stretched wider. “you here to celebrate the choosing with me? always knew we had something special.” even if strike went distant at times, like when his eyes would change from warm and friendly to a bit more calculated.
still, napoleon waved the bartender over and loudly acclaimed over the pulsing beat: “one more drink for me and my man, please.”
pretending to be strike never went well. that's why it never went on for long. usually, he could play it off as humoring someone, aside for when it was painfully obvious. but then the heat of salt-warm skin was pressed against him, and huck melted in those arms in a very huck-like way. but maybe, if he was lucky, the illusion held.
"it's all you," pushing back verbally, but certainly not pushing back physically. "your time to shine."
the way huck went and gulped down the first drink that napoleon got him, to make room for the second, would've likely fooled just about anyone.
that, and he couldn't tell if napo knew that he was chosen too, yet. heavens help him, he hoped the man didn't hear.
'Were you going to drag me? with those burly muscles of yours" The Frenchman asked with teasing arch of his eyebrow. As for the wine- well, it was a party though the entire city. It wasn't like it was going to be hard to find another drink.
"Oh. I bet." the artist chuckled- because who wouldn't enjoy the attention?
"Sometimes you gotta take a quiet moment to enjoy all the vices, my handsome Strike." Valentine countered as he mirrored that grin. "I'm sure I'll find myself in some utterly depraved and debauched situation by the time the sunlight hits the beach.'' He was a son of Aphrodite and he knew his own reputation enough.
"The Chosen of Poseidon?" He'd heard enough of the other by now. Though, they hadn't really crossed too many paths. His tone was enough that he was a little confused. Valentine took a step in front of Strike as he dropped a hand to curl into the others belt look and tugged him forward a little as he walked backwards.
"So. Pick the bar, party or orgy for the next hour. Your treat. And then the hour after that, the drinks are on me."
to that, strike had no choice but to pull up his sleeves and flex.
not anywhere near as large as some demigods he knew, but strike counted himself among the quickest, the most trained and taut. corded arms, lean build, firm chest.
"the very same." talking with casimiro confirmed what he'd known from his own and huck's experiences. which were...mostly the same. probably because, if he had to guess, napoleon didn't really tell the difference.
"we'll start with a regular party. the more people want to see my dick, the less I feel like letting them." not that he'd hold out for long, with the right incentives, but there was a thrill to the power of denying it.
Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on the day, almost all of Galahad's humour was entirely unintentional. Comments just... Lined up a little too well whether he meant it or not.
"At least it's a relief knowing you'll be dancing and drumming you way up next to me?" It's at least an attempt at offering some form of comfort, a reminder that he would be up in the middle of the fray with the other while figuring this out. An arm reaching out to wrap around familiar shoulders and squeeze. "Means she see's something in you. Something she wants to help cultivate and grow, something she believes in."
at the arm wrapping around him, huck immediately pressed in close. almost tucking in under galahad's shoulder, even if he had to slouch even more to get in there.
"well, I could use a heads up on what she's going to want." not that athena would reach down and tell him first-hand. she'd probably leave it to him to figure out. chances were, strike would, before he did.
"you already seem adjusted to the idea? giving me advice like that."
