#samsonofapollo

[scalesworn]

@samsonofapollo (sc; made it thanksgiving instead of halloween bc ye)

camp  had  taken  on  the  quiet  hum  of  preparation  —  laughter  drifting  from  cabins,  the  smell  of  pine  and  smoke  threaded  through  the  cold  air.  cian  stood  halfway  up  a  ladder  along  the  main  path,  trying  to  loop  a  garland  around  one  of  the  lampposts  while  samson  passed  him  the  next  stretch.  the  thing  kept  slipping,  pine  needles  catching  on  his  jumper,  and  he  huffed  out  a  laugh  that  fogged  the  chill  between  them.

“we’ve  been  at  this  an  hour  and  the  place  still  looks  like  it  survived  a  storm,”  he  said,  glancing  down  at  samson  with  a  wry  grin.  “you  sure  this  was  your  plan,  not  punishment?”

cian  shook  his  head,  still  smiling  as  he  steadied  the  ladder.  “you’d  think  we  were  decorating  a  palace  instead  of  camp,”  he  said,  tugging  at  the  garland  to  make  it  stay.  though  there  was  no  place  he'd  rather  be  right  now  than  right  here,  with  samson. 

[bladedjudicator]

"What prompted you to turn your cabin into a haunted house?" the son of Nemesis asked as he approached the son of Apollo, hint of a smile tugging at his lips. Samson had always been someone that Victor had enjoyed the presence of, even if they hadn't really spoken that often. The optimism in him, the way he saw the best in everyone, the way he tried to uplift everyone to make them better... It was something he admired and applauded, and he knew that Samson was someone good.

It seemed he had a habit of surrounding himself with people that were just generally and vehemently good.

"I would've figured after our encounter in New Hampshire, you would've had enough of the holiday. Or, at the very least, of a good scare."

That certainly seemed to be what the Pumpkin King had given them all, anyway, nearly taking out a couple of their own before they had managed to take care of him.

@samsonofapollo

[maddeningmoonlight]

For: @samsonofapollo or @adamsonofzeus

"I feel like I should have studied antiquity more when I was you know. A normal human being. It might come in handy now." There were countless stories and legends that would probably prove to be useful if he had taken the time to pour over them like he did with so many other subjects that had tickled his fancy as he was in college. "I'm making up for it now I guess, but it's all the more interesting with an actual connection you know? It's not just a story- probably. Some of this may become helpful." Lucian sat in the middle of a ring of books, dozens of them all stacked and half open, notes in the margins and scribbles on the loose pieces of paper they were scattered about, A little world all his own as he worked. He was half talking more to himself than the other person he was half aware was there.

[talonblades]

closed starter for @samsonofapollo

The quest unnerved Arthur, his mind had been the playground of the titaness of memory and he was almost erased from existence entirely. His physical form had slowly started to disappear, but if it wasn't for the help of the others he may cease to exist now.

So of course he was locked away in the library, Arthur wanted to find a way to combat this in the future. He needed to know everything he could about Mnemosyne. More than he already knew about her. He'd pretty much taken every book from the Titans section, how far did all of this go?

Hours must have passed before he snapped out of his own world, the lights were dimly lit and nobody else was around. Well, except for one person. Samson. His mind went back to that thought that had been shoved in the back of his head. 'He was never going to pick you when Samson is there.'

[divineholdings]

@samsonofapollo location: infirmary area

The  infirmary  still  hummed  with  the  ghosts  of  earlier  chaos—scraped  knees,  cracked  ribs,  someone  screaming  about  a  dislocated  shoulder  like  it  was  the  end  of  the  world.  Now,  though,  it  was  quiet.  Peaceful,  in  a  way  only  a  place  that  had  seen  pain  could  be.  Golden  evening  light  filtered  through  the  slits  in  the  canvas,  catching  on  dust  motes  and  casting  long  shadows  over  the  cots.

Raúl  ducked  inside  with  a  cloth-wrapped  bundle  under  one  arm—just  some  extra  supplies  from  the  stores.  Nothing  heroic.  He  wasn’t  even  sure  why  he’d  come  in  person,  only  that  something  about  the  calm  here  called  to  him.  Or  maybe  it  was  the  feeling  of  shared  purpose  that  hadn’t  worn  off  since  Thunderdome.

He  spotted  the  other  man  near  the  back,  sleeves  rolled  past  his  elbows,  methodically  cleaning  down  a  table  like  he  hadn’t  just  spent  an  entire  battle  dragging  demigods  back  from  the  brink.  Raúl  had  clocked  him  during  the  event—efficient,  unshaken,  steady.  The  kind  of  healer  who  didn’t  hesitate  when  things  got  bloody.  Raúl  took  a  few  steps  in  and  offered  a  quiet,  respectful  smile.

“Didn’t  get  the  chance  to  say  it  earlier,”  he  said,  voice  low  and  warm.  “But  you  held  the  line  like  a  champion  out  there. How are you holding up?”

[scalesworn]

@samsonofapollo location: between cabins

The  worst  of  the  dust  had  settled.

Cian  moved  through  the  aftermath  like  someone  checking  for  the  living—quiet-footed,  eyes  sharp  but  worn  at  the  edges.  His  shirt  was  still  torn  at  the  shoulder  where  a  blow  had  split  the  seam  clean  open,  the  bruising  underneath  blooming  angry  and  purple.  He  carried  himself  upright,  though—out  of  respect,  mostly,  for  the  body  that  had  been  knocked  flat  too  many  times  in  too  short  a  span.

He’d  taken  hits  harder  than  he'd  expected.  More  of  them  than  he  wanted  to  admit.  And  each  time,  it  had  been  Samson  who’d  pulled  him  back.  A  whisper  of  light.  A  warmth  at  his  ribs.  A  thread  of  breath  that  hadn’t  been  there  a  moment  before.

He  shoul've  been  on  his  way  to  the  infirmary,  get  himself  checked  over.  Could  demigods  have  concussions?  But  something  else  drove  him  through  camp  right  now.  Duty.  Do  what's  right.  Offer  gratitude  when  it's  owed.  He  found  the  younger  demigod  eventually, 

“Hey.”  Cian’s  voice  was  soft,  but  it  carried.  That  particular  kind  of  quiet  that  makes  people  turn.  He  approached  with  careful  purpose,  not  rushed,  but  not  hesitant  either.  There  was  dirt  on  his  face  and  blood  crusted  at  his  knuckles—some  his,  some  definitely  alien—but  his  eyes  were  clear  and  steady.

“I  was  lookin’  for  you,”  he  said  plainly,  standing  just  close  enough  that  he  didn’t  have  to  raise  his  voice.  “Figured  if  I  waited  ‘til  later,  I’d  talk  myself  out  of  it.”  A  beat,  then  a  crooked  smile,  small  but  honest.  “You  kept  me  alive  back  there.  More  than  once.”  He  exhaled,  not  quite  a  laugh,  more  a  release  of  something  built  up  behind  his  ribs.

“I  felt  it,  every  time.  That  little  pull,  like  someone  reminding  me  I  wasn’t  done  yet.  Wasn’t  alone  either.”  His  gaze  dropped  briefly—humble,  never  embarrassed—and  then  found  Samson’s  again.  “Just  wanted  you  to  know  I’m  grateful.  Properly.”

His  hands  hovered  like  he  wanted  to  reach  out  but  hadn’t  decided  how  yet.  “So  if  there’s  ever  anything  you  need—just  say.  Doesn’t  have  to  be  dramatic.  Just…  if  you  want  a  fire  built,  or  company  over  breakfast.  Or  someone  to  stand  at  your  side  next  time.”  He  shrugged,  the  gesture  small,  a  little  lopsided.  “I’ll  be  there.  You  earned  that.”

Then,  quieter..  “And  I’d  like  to  be.”

[lovelorngus]

For: Samson @samsonofapollo Location: Campgrounds

"Okay, so, I'm going to need you to tell me exactly what your favourite food based treat is. I can usually at least make an educated guess at a lot of peoples but considering how much work you were putting in during that training uh. I'd rather not risk getting it wrong." Did he have his phone open so he could actually take note of it? Absolutely. While his relationship with all things cooking could be rocky at times, provoke questions of how much he actually enjoyed it versus how much was just... Forced in to his hands over the years, it didn't change a pretty simple fact.

It was probably the only way he'd figured out of showing his appreciation that even remotely leaned in to mother's domain without feeling like he was cheating somehow. Charms and seduction and all things messy were not in his wheelhouse and he was more than keen to stick to just... Hey, good job, have snack.

"And, no, there isn't an option to avoid answering. I will make the most disarmingly awkward face you've ever seen and you'll feel compelled to tell me regardless. Son of Aphrodite stuff, clearly."

Gus could at least say it now, without feeling like he was just stumbling his way through it.