( ☼ ) &. stormsouled gets a starter.
❝ Thalia Grace? ❞
Shouts the child of Apollo, slamming her fist on the silent cabin’s door.
it was almost always silent these days, but she knew the
demigod was hidden inside.
❝ I’m Amy Pond, you don’t know me, but i know you.
We all do. Anyways, the point is, the Oracle is
talking, and it is calling for you. ❞
when the door finally swings to, it's QUICKLY & irritably,
for thalia grace is not one accustomed to the interruption
of her blessed sleep. pitch tendrils hang haphazardly
before steel-forged hues still alight with their fire,
and a sharp nose wrinkles slightly as she picks apart
the girl standing before her. a sigh is heaved,
shoulders rising fluidly with the motion, before ⁽ ˢʰᵃʳᵖᵉᶰᵉᵈ ⁾
words are dragged over the hot coals of her teeth.
;; stormsouled.
“ Hey, do me a favor, would ya? Try not
to bang up the campers too badly during
capture the flag tonight? I mean, I know
how you Hunters get when it comes to
this game, but I’d actually like to get
some decent sleep tonight. ”
brows pinch together upon porcelain face, tongue
probing at the inner corner of ⁽ ᵇᶦᵗᵉ⁻ˢᶜᵃʳʳᵉᵈ ⁾ lips
in some pretense of consideration, before wry
smirk drags its knife across her chin.
there is something violently effervescent about this girl of such small stature
to make the pure volume of her smile theoretically impossible. just looking at
it is enough to cause the wrinkle of black-looped nostrils, something
fundamentally WRONG with a girl made of sunshine -- more likely, the same
flickering, fluorescent lighting caught within the bulbs of the hall outside --
when she takes her steps within a hurricane's domain. thalia heaves
a sigh to shake the world, hues flicking down to luggage set upon scuffed
floor & following long, lean limbs to the curve of slim hips, the ⁽ ᵈᵉᶫᶦᶜᵃᵗᵉ ⁾
swell of knuckles to the splay of digits against the box of possessions
she bears. still, the girl bears a striking (unfortunate) resemblance to the
reply to the ad, & it is with a certain sense of foreboding she questions,
she's thankful, for once, for annabeth's snores behind them. perhaps it's selfish, but acknowledging the silence that has tied itself between them, waving in the wind, is something she intends to postpone until the stars go dark & the oceans run dry, until hell has frozen over & every breath on her tongue died, lost on a wind that shall sweep her up & take her sailing away-- toto, i've a feeling we're not in kansas anymore. tongue darts out to wet frost- hardened lips, numb fingers fiddling with the tab of a coke can, & perhaps the chill of the aluminium ⁽ ᵇᵘʳᶰˢ ⁾ in the harsh winter air, but the capacity for CARING for such a pain has long-since fled; pain must be left for the true wounds, & something ( call it instinct, a logical conclusion, even a warning from her godly father, whoever he may be ) tells her there will be many more of those in the future.
luke's taking slow sips from a can of beer, all fourteen years old & three months, & perhaps it squirms discomfort from her thick skin, the memory of her mother's drunken tumbles down the stairs at three in the morning & the priceless treasure wine had lost thalia all those years ago echoing through her head like a whisper in an empty room. ( mom, where's jason? mom? mom! ) this time last year, she was still listening to those stumblings, & the knowledge lodges beneath her skin like a knife & stays there. she wonders where luke was-- almost asks, changes her mind. if she asks, he'll get that dark, quiet look about him-- the one that makes her chest ache in a way she hadn't fathomed it could. & she loves him, she does, in that weird, slightly twisted way, the only way she knows how, so she will not bear the cross of watching THAT look flicker across his features, not to satiate something as frivolous & meaningless as curiosity.
a sigh whispers from her lips, paper-soft, & almost of its own accord, her raven head finds his bony shoulder, stays. & it's cliche & stupid & they'll laugh about it in the morning, before annabeth wakes up ( & even after, over her head so she can't see them ) & she isn't even sure if it's midnight yet, but somehow her mouth finds his or his mouth finds hers. there's no fireworks, no rush of electricity through her veins. his smile doesn't taste like sunlight, his hand brushing her cheek is not spun from silk. it's not perfect & perhaps that's why she likes it.
she retorts in a rather impatient tone , confusion settling
quickly within cerulean hues . well manicured brows knit
together to make the fact that she has absolutely no idea
what to make out of her words all the more evident .
—————— who is this girl ?
for the first time in a long time, ⁽ ʰᵉˢᶦᵗᵃᶰᶜʸ ⁾ dogs at her heels.
she's not mortal, but is that to say she is unsafe? is there any
such thing as safety anymore at all, for that matter? lids form slits
of hurricane-holding hues, teeth pulling at a lip, the wind
at a particularly stubborn cloud. again, she falls back on
studying the small girl; the golden locks of her hair,
the truly innocent -- if irritable -- tone her words adapt as
they question her. finally, a shrug is made of bony shoulders.
❛ —— what i am.
which ISN'T human, before you ask. ❜
it’s been so long now since she had walked the stars that, gazing up at them now, they look strangers. perhaps this should not discomfort her as it does, setting loose a wildfire unlike any other within her soul as ⁽ ʳᵉᵇᵉᶫᶫᶦᵒᶰ ⁾ searches desperately for her memories of the sky, the space between stars, the way the sun had unleashed its light upon the earth’s atmosphere below them; strange, slow, splendid, something somehow alien but familiar now, as well known to her as the terrible red pulsing within ashen veins, the roaring blue of her eyes, the jutting, sharp edges of her bony limbs. still, the recollection is stilted, WRONG somehow, & it is with a sigh torn from lips by hooked frustration that she turns her gaze away, teeth gritting together.
bellamy’s presence is tolerated at best, if only because he’s the only one at camp not celebrating the new year as tradition dictates. the taste of sweat & the stringy meat by the fire dance on her tongue, not altogether garnered by her own means, & the blood dripping from satin- soft lips provokes memory of the intrusion of an ark boy, previously unknown, & the teeth that had found home within the soft flesh of his inner lip.
she swipes it away with the back of her hand distractedly, some vague kind of ⁽ ᵈᶦˢᵍᵘˢᵗ ⁾ building within her as stormy hues follow the trail of red across ashen flesh, bones achromatic with their strain. gaze follows the sharp lines of his form, black in the dying lights of the fire so far behind them, before following the long, graceful curve of bicep to elbow, elbow to wrist, wrist to the priceless bottle of moonshine clutched within tenacious digits. a sigh is heaved from the great chasm within her torso, before careful feet pick their way fastidiously through the thick undergrowth. silence remains between them for four more heartbeats, some kind of familiar blanket they will share within this new year on a new planet, before she speaks,
it provokes one of those smiles that is not a smile from bellamy’s smooth features, & she will shamefully admit to the darkest corners of herself that she has not touched since she was twelve & her mother had whispered into her pillow, half-mad with drink, i wish you had never been born, that she knows bellamy’s smiles well enough to trace them in the dark, even if they’re never directed to her. ( perhaps her fingers itch with the urge all the same. ) the action seems to take an age, her eyes somehow torn between meeting his or following the substance that had so thoroughly ruined her life so long & yet only a year ago, & so instead she settles on scrutinizing the arc of trees behind his wide shoulder. somehow the bottle is pressed to her hands, hesitant but somehow understanding, & she feels his eyes burning a gaping, bloody wound into her forehead as she lifts it with traitorous, shaking paws & takes two deep swallows.
she comes away hissing & swearing with the acidic blaze within the delicate flesh of her throat, & a laugh is coaxed from his lips that will have her glaring. he’s unfazed. somehow, she finds it hard to be SURPRISED. she shoves the bottle back, perhaps a little violent.
❛ —— never had moonshine before, grace? ❜
the surname has her lip curling. there is the ripple of something not unlike a wince across his features for perhaps a [ moment, ] before he shakes his head roughly.
❛ never had a reason to. ❜
the words are released reluctantly, fire on pursed lips. his lips quirk but bring with them no flash of teeth. not a true smile, then. ( that she knows the difference is a point of shame. the devil’s in the details, she reminds herself, & perhaps bellamy blake is no devil but he’s certainly no angel, either. )
the night passes slowly between them, the rotation of stars above their heads a constant reminder of what has been lost, the home they had once had above their heads. perhaps she doesn’t miss the bunker she had been raised in, not as she misses her drunken, DEAD mother, in her own sort of way, but the sky had been the only home she had ever known. she voices as much to him, when the moonshine has warmed her belly & her feelings towards him, if only slightly.
his face, familiar & oddly kind, crumples in a frown.
❛ THIS is our home now. ❜
it’s not spoken as a leader to his people, not this time. in fact, she realises, surprise blooming within her, it’s spoken as a friend to ⁽ ᶠʳᶦᵉᶰᵈ ⁾. weird, she muses, the things moonshine can do. a sigh is huffed into the cold air between them, & as though it had been a sign of some sort, behind them comes the inevitable countdown to the new year. perhaps she shares a scowl with him, but it forms only half-hearted. she can’t bring herself to be frustrated by this.
❛ yeah. yeah, it is. ——— happy new year, blake. ❜
he nods, taking another swig as though to garner courage. she notes for a moment his face, lined by a soldier’s determination, knowledge of an oncoming battle & the possibility of survival, before that face is suddenly oh- so-close, darkened by the shadows at their backs.
( she goes to sleep with lips tasting of moonshine & hope, still recalling the feel of his own against them though she will try to block it out. it never happened. it never happened. )
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