they say it should fade with time, and he thinks they are wrong. they say he will adjust and acclimate to the world at large, that the air won’t sting his lungs and that he won’t find himself discharging electricity at such a rate that it would make a generator blush, and he thinks they are wrong. acclimate, they say, take deep breaths, they say, adjust.
adjust is said as a command. his steps fall in line. this is how they’ve learned to ease him: speak to him not as a wayward soul, not as someone who was - all of a few weeks ago - frothing at the mouth and screaming until his throat bled at anyone unfortunate enough to enter his quarters, but as a soldier. give him orders and they will be followed to the letter. he is indebted to time, and in this a horrible irony has been brought into the world.
zeus killed kronos once, and now his son idles by the sides of an old sarcophagus. his eyes trace the old stone like a tiger’s would the outline of their kennel-keeper. he would eat the old man if he could.
castellan is the reason he’s here. he knows despairingly little about the man, but he knows enough to form judgment ahead of their first meeting. a child of hermes. no doubt he’s inherited his father’s good senses and mischievous charm. verso bites back a sneer and pushes his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, pulling a chair to take a seat beside the sarcophagus as though to sit beside an aged relative on their deathbed.
he looks the part of a wayward grandchild. his hair has been only recently cut, and horribly at that; he did not allow any of kronos’ ilk to approach him with anything sharp, and so he took scissors to the mane of wild black himself, only cutting enough to make himself presentable ( to fellow beasts, maybe ). his clothes are loaners from other demigods: a graphic t-shirt with some band or other on it, a pair of jeans, combat boots. a dented flask is passed between his hands, rendered unusable by tartarus ( they’ve said they can fix it; he’s threatened to maul them if they try to take it ). he twists the collection of silver rings around his fingers when fiddling with the flask loses its charm.
when the rings grow boring, he rolls lightning over his knuckles. ozone coils about his person like a dangerous and charged shawl, unseen yet suffocating to all his ghosts.
❝ they better let me drink after this, ❞ verso murmurs, casting a glance to his grandfather’s remains. kronos offers nothing back. verso expects this, yet still finds some part of himself disappointed.
bzzzt. bzzzt. the sound of an electric current pulses through the sky, signaling to new york that they were in for a rough one, on this particularly dreary day. to the average eye, it seemed like the weather decided to just take a turn for the worse. not unusual, what with global warming, and a bad winter long behind them. warm summer days often meant a bad front of rain would follow, eventually, after all.
but thalia grace was not someone with an average eye. even her name carries power — so much of it, that she struggles to remember what to do with it, when reminded. and thankfully, over the last few years, no one has. no one, until now.
she finds herself at the foot of camp half — blood, drowning at that incessant buzzing. bzzzt. like a fly, or a bee, but she knows better than to say that aloud. it’s her father, his rage striking like clockwork, reminding her to hurry it up. it makes her scowl deepen, already painted on her face due to how wet she was. god of the sky, and yet, he couldn’t grant them the damn ability to stay dry.
minor complaints are muttered, as they walk by what was once their home — their tree, hand passing it and pressing into the bark firmly. to thank it, for what it did (and she does mean the tree. not her father.). it brings memories back that they have long since locked away, that she shoves down as they’re reminded, yet again, by a clap of thunder that sounds like their name. scolded, like a child.
oh, how they loathe this camp.
wet, and angry; they barely notice the eery quietness that surrounds the camp. the only sounds, her complaints, and her father’s wraith. unusual, for camp halfblood. when they do notice, they’ve made their way down the hill, and have the big house in their sights, before the vision before them seems to settle in.
at first, she thinks it’s a prank.
a really fucking unfunny one, at that. whoever did this couldn’t even get him to look right. he’s gauntly, and stiff, and honestly looks like she could knock it over with one good shove. their gaze scans past it, easily, since it’s simply not real. the real luke just .. had a way to him. always made them want to stare, even at the worst time. they see chiron, and gods, the worst camp director of all time, staring between her, and this .. thing. this abomination.
are they stupid? they should’ve killed it. is that why her father called her here? is this a punishment? sure, she’s been off the rails a little, but isn’t it artemis who should be dealing with her?
and then it moves.
and suddenly, these hypotheticals stop being so fun to consider.
when they realize what is really happening before them, they freeze. it wasn’t like this, before. sure, he had look sick. had looked … well, broken. but he at least looked like him. their stomach churns, contents threatening to spill as they continue to stare, horrified.
@titnvssl said: "i’m really not in the mood for a lecture." / the hunger games: catching fire prompts
❝ listen, i'm not trying to lecture you. ❞ gods forbid. she's not the sort of sour-faced and stiff upper-lip individual to deign to give a lecture. certainly not her style. ❝ it's more like...advice. ❞ yes, not a lecture but sternly-worded advice which is totally and completely different! she may be on the outside looking in when it comes to operations on the andromeda but that shouldn't preclude her from stating her opinion when the need arises. after all, much to her deep regret, this is kind of a group effort here and if she sees something going sideways, isn't it in her own interest to say it? for the sake of chasing after her own objectives, she needs this particular team project to succeed.
❝ i just think you could do with a healthy sense of perspective. ❞ khione's least favorite daughter muses aloud with a dismissive flourish of beringed fingertips. ❝ i just feel like you're kinda missing the forest for the trees. you and kronos both seem to be fixated on taking down camp as a means to an end and while i don't disagree that the endless campfire songs and kumbaya spirit is insanely annoying, i don't think it would hurt to consider shifting our focus elsewhere.❞ perhaps her perspective is just diametrically different in that she bears little ill-will towards fellow demigods, even those that support the gods. if kids want to partake in the gung-ho spirit of camp half-blood, let them have at it! and surely antagonizing chiron's campers will have the opposite effect by making campers feel like they have to side with the gods?
tersely-given counsel is ultimately brushed aside with a dry, humorless smile, ❝ just my two cents but then again, what do i know? decisions like that are obviously above my pay grade.❞
LUKE ( @titnvssl ) said, “stop looking at me like that.”
here / accepting
𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 to study about luke castellan, and too little time (ironic considering their mutual benefactor). would that the gods had placed castellan into a museum and made his body of stone instead of scarred skin; he would be remarked on by artisans and scholars for decades. thesis papers would be written about the way his lips curl into that blasted smile, and passionate debates would be held in regards to the symbolism of the way he stands with hermes’ head in his hands. he would be under so many eyes, and none of them would matter.
verso’s gaze narrows. something like CONTEMPT peeks out from behind shaggy black hairs (he hasn’t cut his hair for the past few days, not since the initial trim; he does not like the way his hands shake when holding anything sharp).
❛ there is a girl on the deck, ❜ verso wants to say, ❛ she has auburn hair and likes pegasi, and i think she’s a daughter of apollo. she SNORTS when she laughs. it’s the worst sound in the world. she is going to die for you. she won’t live enough to voice her DISSATISFACTION to apollo’s face. have you had someone die for you before ?? how many funeral pyres do you have to your name ?? ❜
❛ i am so TIRED of looking at you, ❜ verso wants to say, ❛ but your face is everywhere. i can’t escape it. i want to understand why you are the way you are so BADLY that it drives me to drink. if i rip open your ribs and curl up beside your heart, will i understand you better ?? let me spend the night in your chest, castellan. let me know you the way WOUNDS know WOUNDS. ❜
❛ your care is not INFINITE, ❜ verso wants to say. ❛ sooner or later, you’ll learn to loathe me. i’ll make it easy for you. it won’t hurt me any. i’m being optimistic about all of this, really. my rage has nowhere else to go. zeus was never happy with what he got, but i’ll be satisfied with this. can you tell my grandfather that i’m better than my father ?? i will be kronos’ most loyal soldier, but i’ll never be his favorite. i fucking hate you. i need you to tolerate me. i want you to give me something to maul already, i’m so goddamn hungry. ❜
verso sachs, betrayer of gods and men and all things GOOD, flicks the ashes of his cigarette into the tray and tears his gaze away from luke. the window to their little conference room draws his attention; the deck of the andromeda is well populated today, and the sky is made clear by a show of good-will from zeus’ once-runt. his xiphos rattle, impatient by his side.
❝ like WHAT ?? ❞ grumbles the eldest of zeus, venom rich on the tip of his tongue. sleeplessness has made him irritable; exhaustion makes his thoughts wander, and rarely ever to anything good. ❝ i'm only looking at you like a LEADER. isn't that what you WANT ?? ❞
🌩️ ⁰¹⠀(⠀…⠀) ⠀ send 🚬 to share a cigarette with my muse!
handing the vessel of kronos a cigarette while standing on the porch of the big house is not something thalia would’ve had on her bingo board in the year 2026. really, she would have never had thought this would happened, nevermind had this on a bingo board, but what do you know? the gods loved to fuck with them. the long drag he takes from the cigarette causes furrow to form between her brows, annoyance drifting onto her face like he was nothing more than an ant invading her personal space.
“give it back, jackass. this isn’t ‘give luke a cigarette’ day.” honestly, if thalia had it their way, he wouldn’t be getting a single hit off of her hard earned cig, but alas. she’s stuck with him. it’s like she’s the dog on the least, instead of him. if chiron or mr. d see her without him, for even the briefest of seconds, they ask too many questions about his wearabouts and it just pisses her off. in their defense, it has already tried to escape more than she could count on one hand. unfortunately, the concern is valid.
“you’ve got three seconds to hand it back, castellan, or i swear to hades, i’ll rip it right out of your grubby fuckin’ fingers.”
