#bahq:start

[gwescott]

>> @ba-central

{ LOCATION: camp entry }

  Being a House Captain felt somewhat like being a public figure sometimes. Because as Gwen’s insides curdled with disgust and loathing towards the ruins of her woodland lodging for the next unforeseeable future, her peripherals caught the sight of students fresh off of busses and out of parental Hondas, staring at her, clearly processing her reaction as it happened on her face. Quickly, Gwen snapped herself out of it. Throwing her shoulders back, lips tightening, nose high; she exhaled decisively and set off with feeling in her new NikeCourts towards the Retreat Hall on a mission to help with lodging arrangements as instructed by the sisters. 

    Though even as she pushed through the door of the camp hall everyone was supposed to be assembling in, the shock felt at home on her expression once again. It looked uncomfortably empty despite the few groups of students that were starting to mill around while Sister Michael looked visibly tense among select other staff. If that wasn’t uncomfortable enough to look at, then the damp smell of soil and neglect that filled her nose made her wish she’d skipped breakfast. After all judgment though, Gwen was mostly taken with the sight of old plastic chairs she’d rather die than sit on with clean pants and one crack in the ceiling, in particular, that was absolutely growing something out of it. Was this it? Was this as good as it got for the next.... how many weeks? She felt a slow unease settle between her shoulders, fingers slackening around papers that Sister Keough had given her upon arrival in terms of helping students find their beds for the night. Gwen had never been God-fearing... but Good Lord would she be learning to pray to get through this one, she thought.

[damianfitz]

A small gathering. Just my ‘pals’ and their ‘gals’. If that was true, then -- sorry -- what the freaking heck was this?! This was not fifteen to twenty people. This was-- Oh Lord, Damian didn’t want to know how many people this was. This was... This was an atrocity. This was chaos!

You’re going to lose your Swim Captaincy over this, he thought to himself. You’re going to get kicked out of school. You’re going to become some degenerate hobo who lived on the street and begged for change on the off-chance it made enough money to purchase a meal to settle the rumbling in your stomach that’s been going on for days. You will never feel the softness of a Tommy Hilfiger oxford shirt over your back again.

It felt like Damian couldn’t breathe, vision going blurry as he stared at a plastic cup floating in his pool. This... this wasn’t good. He needed to move. He needed to collect that cup, every cup on this room. He needed to rush everyone out, lock the doors, and bury the fact that this was even a reality to begin with. 

All of these thoughts going through his head and yet all he could manage to do was stare. Stare at the ghastly excuse of single-use plastic bobbing up and down in his pool that students were using for... fun. Oh dear Lord. 

[allishop]

{ @ba-central​ }

location: on the way to the outhouse

    “This is bullshit,” Allie grumbled to herself, angry not only that she’d had the absolute roast of her life that morning from Sister Michael for smoking behind the kitchen cabin — which by the way, she wasn’t the only fucking teenage chimney around here, how come she’d seen nobody else got that kind of serving before??? — but now she felt she was being watched like some kind of degenerate. Phrases stuck in her mind like Bishop, you’re setting a poor example, and we’ll have to call your parents if this kind of behavior continues which newsflash, old lady, she didn’t have parents! She had her mom, her mom, and that was it, get it right. Parents were just some ‘90s fantasy as far as Allie was concerned and that alone only helped keep her hate fire alive.

    Whether it was because the criminal offense was still fresh, or Sister Michael just had it out for her for no fucking reason, now Allie apparently needed a chaperone to the bathroom? She’d repeat; this was bullshit. If she wasn't so heated about it, she’d probably have apologized to the person for being stuck with her because they’d just been in her close orbit at the time of trying to sneak off and being caught, but fuck, she hated being treated like a child. This camp was a living nightmare.

    “Can you back off? Jesus, I’m going to take a piss it’s not like a threatened anybody’s life.” She snarked, stomping her way towards the outside not sure she even had to go anymore, she just wanted to be away from the noise.

[jaysster]

Jay Foster was about as good at sticking to a study plan as he was at getting just about anywhere on time. Which, if you knew him personally, you knew was practically impossible. Whether it was his fault or somebody else's, punctual was not an owned trait of his, and by now he’d stopped fighting the fact and just accepted it. The battle with homework that needed to be done though? He’d fight that one to the death it seemed. 

Parked among a sea of books he’d not even opened, his face lit up at the approach of somebody who he suspected wanted to share the space. “Hey. Ah. Sorry, my shit’s everywhere,” He jerked forward from the lounge then, lowering his phone for a second in order to shove a couple of textbooks aside ( mostly on top of the paper he was supposed to be researching, but whatever... ) and happy to make more room if needed. Heck, he’d put his work in the bin if it meant some good company. “I’m supposed to be working on an essay but I got super hooked on paint pouring vids. You ever seen them? It’s sick, I could watch them for hours, probably.”

[christianstgerard-blog]

Okay, so maybe he shouldn't have tried to see how many ‘kick me’ signs he could away with sticking on the back of nuns. One second Chris thinks he’s getting away with Nun #5 and the next he’s hightailing out of there with his tie flapping like a madman in the wind. He’s a mess of hurried spins and haphazard swerves as he makes his way out of the main building, just narrowly avoiding ramming into this student or that. And he’s not sure if it’s Gwen or something other chick that gives a mean stink eye, but Chris definitely feels the chill of some girl’s glare when brushes by them way too close on his way toward the grassy fields.

“Sorry!” He calls out over his shoulder. And what a mistake that is. Because right when he turns back around, there’s a huddle of bags he fails to take into account and his feet snag on them, sending him yeeting forward and rolling away. “Ahh!” He tumbles on and on, lost amidst grass and dirt until he comes to a stop thanks to the mercy of a tree. “Oof!”

“Ugh...” Chris squints his eyes open, unsure where he is after all of that tumbling. Using his arm, he pushes himself up off the ground to look around, eyes landing on a student rested against the very tree he bonked against. “Hey... ‘Sup?” As if he didn’t just do a really great re-enactment of a tumbleweed on a super windy day.

[kitsnovak-blog]

as darkness descended upon the aloysius wing, kit felt a wave of cold dread wash over him. the wrongness that had been plaguing the academy since winter break, that had only been ratcheting up since then, had just been turned up another notch. it was like white noise, slowly turning up and up and up until it was all kit could hear. 

once he’d gotten a hold of himself, kit had dashed towards his bottom drawer, nearly tripping over his own two feet. there, underneath his sweatpants, lay his witchier paraphernalia. his hands were already shaking, he wasn’t sure if it was because of his inhalers or because of the horror slowly settling into the pit of his stomach, creeping up his chest and tightening around his ribs, like vines. he pulled his protection sigils out of his grimoire, copying them onto his arms in black sharpie. he grabbed a hoodie that was lying under his bed and pulled it over himself, just in time for a knock at the door, for kit to be, essentially, evacuated. he didn't think to grab anything else besides the sharpie, which he shoved into the front pocket of his hoodie. and his phone, of course. in such close quarters, anything else kit might use to protect himself would be too suspicious. 

it was on their way out of the dorm that kit saw it out of the corner of his eye. he turned for a proper look, and suddenly it was like the noise was cranked to eleven. it was a shadow, like solid darkness, walking- no, no, it was floating- away from them, into the forest. kit’s breath hitched in his throat, pure terror choking him out, and he clung to the person nearest him. “holy shit,” he managed, voice breathy and barely there. “holy shit.” he turned to the person, and turned back to the woods, and the figure was gone. 

[ofdianaes-blog]

It’s eighty-whatever degrees out, and for some ungodly ( ha ! ) reason, she’s found herself outside. She’s tucked in between a tree and the brick wall it’s nearest to, worn leather satchel sitting next to her. It’s quiet and it’s calm and she appreciates it more than ever with the headache that constantly having to be on brings her. She’s not used to it, she’s used to being able to flop on her bed at home — rather a home, whatever flavor of the month that be — and actually be. Nowadays, she’s stuck in the land of vinyl records and black coffee, when she’s always preferred mp3s and cream, no sugar. Popular opinion digs a pit in her stomach, starting debate that’s not wholly good-natured brings her out of it. It’s a never-ending cycle of change, spinning and spinning and only making her mixed up and dizzy. Is she self loathing, or is she better than everyone? Is she silent, or does she speak her mind? Beyond stereotypes and caricatures, it’s almost impossible for her to find herself. And thus: solitude seems a much more reasonable suggestion. 

Her journal is rested carefully on her knees, the inky black pen scratching words into unlined paper, bound with leather. She writes in cursive chicken scratch, perhaps the only remnant of her that is wholly Diana. There’s lines of poetry and doodles in the margins, pressed flowers between cream toned pages and movie tickets plastered to the front of the book, a makeshift scrapbook of memories. She has at least a dozen tucked away in her suitcase, with the newest edition always tucked under her mattress in a lame attempt at secrecy. Now, however, she isn’t entirely engrossed, blue eyes darting upwards over and over again to make sure no one was coming — nun or teacher becoming the worst of her nightmares, with cigarette smoke tumbling from her lips. Though she’s been lost in la-la-land for the past page of her writings, and it’s only when she hears the pressure of footsteps behind her. Shit. Quickly, cigarette is discarded into the grass, burning her thumbtip in the process, to which an expletive is uttered as she nervously stares up at her new companion. Thankfully — another student. Wide eyed and feeling mighty guilt but not showing it, through squared jaw and steely silence, she waits in challenging them to question her presence so tucked away from the rest of the student body. And the smoldering Newport in the grass. 

[nicodigiovanni]

Yeah that was not exactly like Nico imagined the evening would have ended, trying to sleep wrapped in a blanket on the cold floor of the dining hall. At least the booze kept him somewhat warm, a plus given that he was too groggy to think clearly while they had been kicked out of their room and the boy didn’t have the presence of mind to grabbing much more than what he went to sleep in before being forced outside.

The party had died out earlier than he had thought, annoying, but at least he had hoped that he could have gotten some sleep, but nop… F*ck. He was struggling to find a position that would allow him to get at least a bit of rest when he realized that a nauseating stench was now pervading the hall.

“Come on guys who dropped the bomb?” He chuckled at the fart joke and shifted again under the blanket, it couldn’t be that though, it was too overwhelming. “Christ, this stinks… literally.” Dead Bear number two? It looked like it came from the kitchen didn’t it? Well there was no chance that he could get any sleep, so the least he could do was try to figure things out. “Well let’s see what the hell is going on. 

Domenico lit the flashlights they have given him to get to the dining halls and slowly stood up from his makeshift bedroll.

His eyes scanned the room for anything that could be used as an improvised weapon in a pitch, after all what if there was an actual live beast inside? There wasn’t a lot of useful stuff in the dining hall at night though, still he tried to memorize where the fire extinguishers were, just in case he needed to grab one to us as a blunt instrument.

He pointed the light toward the kitchen door. Locked for the night it seemed. ‘Yeah always lucky.’ He thought.

“Do you think we can force it open or something?” He turned to face the fellow who had just joined him.