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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Apr 13, 2022 13:58:30 GMT -5
Chiara was exhausted.
She’d pulled so many all-nighters since the others had been kidnapped. Sometimes training, but mostly in the library. Dragging her stinging eyes over repetitive lines of text in the hope of finding something, anything, within those pages that might help. Adding to her exhaustion, her danger senses had been going haywire ever since the kidnapping - which was to be expected. It felt like danger was everywhere, even for the group in Venice. It was like a fizzing in her veins, trying desperately to warn her of something urgent but she couldn’t do anything about it and the helplessness and constant anxiety was exhausting.
This mission was something she’d been dreading, for so many reasons. She was afraid of failing. She was afraid to know what they might find at the exiled base, after her danger sense had been so strong. She was afraid it was a trap, for the daughter of a conman always saw where there were opportunities for lies and deceit.
She was afraid of working alongside Luka, after their argument. Chiara rarely raised her voice or got angry, after all. She’d pushed Luka away when she’d only really been acting out of concern and a desire to help. Luka would never show it, but Chiara worried that she’d hurt her. It might be awkward working alongside her, and while she didn’t get the sense that Luka was vindictive she couldn’t help but be concerned that after what had happened they might not be able to trust one another with their lives the way they should in these situations.
But she shoved all of these worries, all of these concerns, to one corner of her tired and aching mind. There were far bigger things to be concerned about. This mission was about far more than her, after all, and she needed to act like it. Even Lucien and Luka had the maturity to put their own feelings aside in order to focus on their friends.
So the Champion of Heimdallr stood in the portal room, the meeting with the rest of the mission group over. They were making their final preparations to leave.
Chiara was ready; wearing sturdy, dark clothing. Boots carefully tied as tight as she dared. Hair tied back to keep it out of her way, and a hair tie on her wrist because she knew that undoubtedly at some point either she would need a spare or one of the others would need one. Her sword at her waist.
The long sleeves of her shirt hid the ugly, mangled scars left by Fenrir on one of her upper arms. She hated to look at it, and she would not subject others to it. She remembered little of receiving it, but she did remember Fenrir’s hot breath and the irony smell of her own blood. Mostly in her dreams, which recalled it better than her waking hours.
Luka had saved her life that night, and though Chiara had never said so, she was eternally grateful for that.
She looked nervously towards the portal. This was going to be a rough night, that much she knew even now. It would have been difficult even if they were down one person — she couldn’t figure out for the life of her why Lane had just vanished like that, but that wasn’t a concern for right that moment. She’d think about that when she could lay to rest other fears, ones about their kidnapped friends. Until she knew a way forward.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Apr 15, 2022 16:40:19 GMT -5
FLASHBACK The loss of Alice had torn everything apart.
Ever since she’d been chosen as a champion, Gwen had relied somewhat on Atticus. Being an Ascendant was terrifying, but he made it seem less scary. He was a point of constancy for her, someone she could always go to if she needed it. He had taken care of her in the same way as an older brother might take care of a younger sister.
But after Alice died, she suspected that Atticus no longer felt the strength or the will to be an older brother to anybody.
The breaking point had been reached, though Gwen had seen the threads beginning to fray under the tension long ago. Atticus had come to the conclusion that the remaining Ascendants simply could not continue as they were. If they did, they would die like the others before them. He was probably right.
So when he and the others had left the Pantheon, Gwen had followed. She feared this plan he had; the hatred of the gods she could see growing in him was also growing in herself, but not as strongly yet. It seemed to have overtaken Atticus, pushing the very breath out of his body as it filled every cell. No, she feared what would happen if they pursued this plan, but she followed Atticus out of loyalty. After all, it was him she had fought alongside and trusted with her life, not the gods.
It had been a long journey since they had left the Pantheon. They were invariably tired and cold, and hope waned some days more than they would want to admit. After all, when the gods were against you it was difficult to see how to move forward.
It was in the shadows of one still, quiet night that Gwen revealed these fears to Atticus.
“Can’t sleep?” Atti had asked, seating himself next to Gwen in the dim light.
Gwen had originally shaken her head before realising he might not be able to see enough to have registered that movement, so she made some vague sound of dissent to indicate that she indeed could not sleep. Normally she might have made some joking sarcastic comment like ‘no, I’m actually asleep right now’ or something similar. But in recent days Gwen never felt like joking around so much. Everything felt so serious now.
“Atti, please don’t forget how dangerous they are,” Gwen began, the young teenager looking at the older boy earnestly ”the gods.”
Nemesis’ threats when Gwen left her still rung in her ears, and she feared what the gods might do to the young exiled. She didn’t want Atticus to lose sight of that in his anger. After all, Nemesis was the punisher of humans who thought they could be a match for the gods. The destroyer of arrogant mortals. Gwen knew better than anyone the risk they were taking.
“I know how dangerous they are. That’s why we’re here.” was Atticus’ answer, and it came so readily she knew he must have thought about this.
She felt a reassuring pressure as Atticus laid a hand on her shoulder.
“Have faith, Gwenny. We’ve come this far, after all.” the boy continued.
Gwen wanted to have faith. How badly she wanted to have faith. She trusted Atticus with everything she had; after all, if she didn’t she wouldn’t have followed him this far.
But it wasn’t him that she didn’t have faith in. It was the gods.
“But if we lost so many fighting for them, how long before we lose someone now that they’re against us? We’ve been lucky to get this far but when that luck inevitably runs out, where will we be left?” she questioned, concerned.
Gwen had never doubted Atticus’ leadership before. Indeed, it wasn’t so much that she doubted his ability to lead; she didn’t think anyone could do a better job than him. But what she doubted was whether there was any future for them now. Whether they could ever get the ending they wanted.
“Have we started down a path that we can’t turn back from?” added the girl.
Were their deaths written in stone now? Had the die been cast, the Rubicon crossed? Was all they could hope for a Pyrrhic victory?
With what little light was available, she could see Atticus shake his head slightly, and she caught a slight sigh.
“I think we did that a long time ago.”
Those words were not comforting, but she knew he was right. They’d been sent down this road the moment they first began to doubt. Maybe there was no turning back but perhaps that was the fault of the gods, not them.
“We’ve lost too much, Gwen, and they broke us. Our new mission is to destroy them so nobody else has to suffer like we did.” as Atticus continued to speak, Gwen swore she could hear his voice thicken as he spoke of what they’d been through. She knew he was thinking about Alice. It hurt her every day, the losses they’d suffered, and she could only imagine how badly his sister’s death was hurting Atticus.
“I believe in that mission. Now, get some sleep, nena. Let me go on with some peace of mind.” instructed the older boy gently.
Gwen nodded, and Atticus stood and departed, but Gwen watched him move away with some concern.
She would follow him to the ends of the earth, but her fear was that she was doing exactly that. What if they were journeying towards their own destruction? What if they had written their own deaths? What if they could never get the ending they wanted? What if the justice Atticus craved for those they had lost was simply unattainable?
The girl worried that the anger would overtake Atticus, that it would become about destroying the gods or gaining power for himself rather than protecting others from the guides. And she, also infected by that bitterness and anger, feared the same might happen to her. If they lost sight of what they were really doing this for then it was all for nothing.
How many people would have to die before they were through? What lessons would they learn, paid for with blood?
Was relying on wit and anger alone enough to keep them alive?
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Apr 24, 2022 16:06:25 GMT -5
FUTURE WRITING - NOT CANON Chiara did not enjoy her little conversations with Gwen. Ever since the takeover of the Pantheon, the champion of Ceto seemed to have taken a particular interest in her. She didn’t understand why at all, apart from the little comment Gwen had made about the two of them being similar.
Chiara had shut herself away in the library, as she always did when times were hard. Gwen had, unfortunately, joined her. Perched on a table while Chiara tried her best to ignore her and read a book.
”It must hurt, Ravana landing on her feet every time like that while you’re stuck here. You act like you don’t care but I don’t believe for a second that you’re not at least a little bitter.”
Ah, good. Gwen was pouring the poison in her ear once again.
Chiara frowned, shaking her head lightly
”I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she answered, but the words tasted like lies in her mouth
”You almost get your arm torn off, you spend your life in this goddamn library reading the most boring books I’ve ever seen in my life, you give up your freedom for theirs. But the leaders get all the lifelines, all the glory. That doesn’t bug you at all?”
Chiara didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. She didn’t believe what Gwen said. After all, none of the leaders were safe. None of them had gone through this without getting hurt in some way or another. For God’s sake, Chiara had seen Luka in that state after their first mission to retrieve the others after the kidnapping. Lucien with arrows through his hands, unconscious. River, broken and hurt after Laurie’s kidnapping.
Who knew where Lucien was at that moment? Luka? River? They weren’t with them, but for all she knew they could be dead.
She didn’t feel bitter. They carried a burden she did not. She might not get credit all the time for what she did but she was not a leader. She did not carry what seemed a burden too heavy for any of them to bear.
Or at least, she didn’t think she felt bitter.
”Do you never get bored of trying to toy with me? Surely by now you must know it won’t work.” Chiara asked
No response from Gwen, so Chiara let out a sigh before speaking up again.
”Why do you do this?”
She was referring, of course, to the exiled’s fight against the gods. She couldn’t imagine how they could ever think they could succeed. She knew it was personal, but still. It seemed so fruitless, and she wondered how they hadn’t given up the fight before now.
Gwen responded so matter-of-factly that it took her aback.
”Because they made us soldiers and called us heroes. Our friends died and they told us it was worth it, but we just couldn’t see it yet. Because, Chiara, we were victims and they made us villains.”
She’d spoken with such gravity that the words seemed to fall through the very floor rather than lingering in the air. Throwing up dust as they did. The silence afterwards was palpable, heavy. Like the air was crushing her lungs.
”So damn the people caught in the crossfire, right?” Chiara asked pointedly, sitting back in her chair ”Lane? She’s dead too.”
Lane’s death was still ingrained in Chiara’s mind. The girl’s body. The blood everywhere. The funeral.
She had been so bright, so exuberant. And the silence and the brokenness she had left in her wake had shaken eberyone.
But Lane wasn’t the only one in the crossfire. They all were. Laurie had been totally destroyed, as had River, and they were only now rebuilding. And that was to say nothing of all the others too.
Gwen made a humming noise, hopping down from the table.
”Maybe if you all thought like that too, things wouldn’t be like this. Perhaps you should try it.” was Gwen’s reply.
The brunette walked past her, heading for the exit, pausing only to whisper in Chiara’s ear as she passed.
”After all, we’re winning.”
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on May 2, 2022 17:02:13 GMT -5
FUTURE WRITING - NOT NECESSARILY CANON A camera flickered to life, wobbling a little before it took in a seated figure, bathed in a warm and cosy light from lamps and a fire flickering in a hearth. The figure was setting back on a couch, rifling through bits of paper.
”It’s the night before the Gellis-Bevin wedding and what’s one of our grooms up to?” questioned a voice behind the camera
Laurie looked up in surprise, having not noticed the camera, before flashing a good-natured smile and rolling his eyes.
“I printed out the vendor details and I’m just going through it. Name, arrival time, phone number.” the man explained.
Much of the things to do with the wedding had been done by the Ascendants themselves; the rings forged by Sanna, for example. But some things still required vendors, though much of the wedding organising had been done with the help of the team. Dillon had been all to happy to offer some services helping with the wedding planing as well as agreeing to officiate. The vendors still helped to make things happen.
“Huh, I didn’t know you could read.” the disembodied feminine voice behind the camera remarked jokingly.
“Piss off, Luka,” Laurie said in reply, his smile hinting at a joke in return.
“So Mr Party isn’t having a bachelor party? No one wild night before you settle down?” probed Luka
Laurie scoffed at that.
“With you guys? Please,” the man jested.
Luka made a noise of mock offence, the camera panning to reveal the other occupant of the room. A young woman with dark hair was talking in hushed and rapid French down the phone to someone, the hand on her hip screaming out her frustration with the caller to anyone who glanced at her.
“I’m sure she’d be offended too if she was listening to that,” Luka commented jokingly.
Laurie let out a soft and affectionate chuckle, eyes flicking over to his sister, oblivious as she spoke down the phone. She was arguing with Laurie’s parents, who were infuriated about Denise being part of the wedding and not them. Laurie had chosen not to invite them. He felt he didn’t want to keep them in his life much (if at all) anymore, particularly since they seemed to wish to support his acting career now that it seemed to be going somewhere.
They didn’t know a thing about him being an Ascendant partly because he didn’t trust them but mostly to keep them safe. Denise was in on the secret but only because she hadn’t left him a lot of choice. He’d tried to lie but she always knew when he wasn’t being truthful. Besides, he’d asked Dillon in the European Pantheon to keep an eye on her. She was under Ascendant protection. Still, sometimes he wished she didn’t know, for her own safety; Ascendant protection could only do so much.
“I’m sure she would.” Laurie murmured warmly
There was a moment of silence before Luka spoke up again, her voice with the tone of one considering something.
“I like your sister.” Luka seemed to have decided, her voice thoughtful.
Laurie raised an eyebrow, looking at the camera — or rather, the young woman behind it.
“I thought you two might get on.” he responded knowingly.
The two girls both had fiery spirits and more confidence than Laurie could hope to possess. He seemed confident, but most of it was fake. The confidence of Luka and Denise seemed so much stronger and more solid.
”But no, no party tonight,” Laurie continued with a soft, contented smile ”I’ve had enough of those by now. I’d much rather spend time with you guys that I’ll remember.”
He didn’t need parties and drinking anymore. That stuff had gone beyond just enjoying some fun and become a crutch for when he was unhappy. That wasn’t healthy. No, the only thing he wanted or needed right now was to enjoy some time with the people he loved. And he’d much rather do that without being hungover on his wedding day.
”Who are you and what did you do with Laurie Bevin?” Luka joked, speaking in a mock interrogative tone.
Laurie had a ready, easy answer to that one.
”I’m already metamorphosing into a new and improved version; Laurie Gellis-Bevin.”
Luka could be heard laughing then from behind the camera.
”Shut up, you bloody softie.” Luka responded
After that, the footage faded to black as their laughter rang, Laurie sticking his tongue out at the camera.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on May 9, 2022 17:31:35 GMT -5
FUTURE WRITING - NOT NECESSARILY CANON PANTHEON ARCHIVES FOLDER: LCNFRX_APOLLO FILE: LF_AP_111320.MP4 … TRANSCRIPT ACCESSED
SYSTEM: Voice recognition activated. Please state your access code.
FAIRFAX: LF482.
SYSTEM: Welcome, Lucien Fairfax. Please state your request.
FAIRFAX: Begin recording
SYSTEM: System recording.
FAIRFAX: I don’t why the hell I’m doing a recording, but I guess it just feels like nothing can go right. Everything we touch seems to turn to shit and I’m running out of ideas, so I need to get my thoughts out somewhere before I fall apart.
FAIRFAX: The mission went horrifically badly, which really we should’ve expected by now. Luka was hurt, alongside some of the others. I healed them but they still needed to rest so Luka’s out of action. Which has meant it’s just been me and Cleo.
FAIRFAX: We’ve been pulling all-nighters trying to figure out what the hell to do, given that we’re the only leaders currently in action, what with Dillon and Irene still f-ing around in Venice, Naida kidnapped, and River…well…
FAIRFAX: I never thought Cleo and I’d be able to get on; we never have. But we both want the same thing, I guess, which makes it easier. Arguing feels like wasting time we don’t have right now, so we have to make more of an effort to get along so we can fix everything. I’m still ashamed of my part in creating this whole shitty mess.
FAIRFAX: I can see the pressure on Cleo now. I didn’t, before. And look, while I know they’d never let me live it down if they heard me say it, I think I respect them a little. Don’t get me wrong, there’s a lot I don’t forgive them for. We’ve all been given more to carry than we should, but that isn’t an excuse to treat people badly. Still, they’re trying their best for everyone.
FAIRFAX: They’re fighting for us with everything they’ve got, and I can’t ignore that. They try hard to pretend their emotions don’t come into play but I saw them watching over the others, and fussing over me when they thought I’d been healing too much. Underneath it all, as surprised as I am to say so, might just be someone who actually cares.
FAIRFAX: I just want everyone back and I don’t know how we’re going to do it. I can’t see any way we can possibly take on the exiled right now and win. But we have to figure something out if we want our friends to live. No pressure.
FAIRFAX: Anyway, that’s enough of this. Let’s end the recording so I can update the system with the info from the mission and the medical reports.
——— END OF TRANSCRIPT ———
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Demisexual
Leo
Surviving off Thai tea and Miguel O'hara
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Post by Leo on May 19, 2022 22:57:17 GMT -5
( ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨) He wouldn’t lie he was enjoying himself. After having kidnapped the goody-two-shoes kids and planted a seed of doubt in Laurie’s mind, Ripley was having a great time watching them be torn apart piece by piece. Seeing how they unraveled from a few words here, and a couple well placed kicks to their friends. They’ll break eventually. In the meantime, he watched Laurie fight with his patron from a distance. Shouting at seemingly nothing or the wall or the floor. Trying to be quiet when Ripley was near or pretending to be asleep. He listened as every argument distanced himself from his god and only brought him closer to him. And he was there for him when he needed comfort or someone to talk to. He’d taken it slow at first. Offering his hand to him if he wanted to hold it to eventually holding him in his arms offering warm words of comfort and soft kisses on his forehead. And of course, he eventually started doing it more and more in public. Almost unable to keep the grin off his face every time he saw Atticus become uncomfortable with every gesture of affection. Squirming with jealously and avoiding them to keep his sanity. He should have made his move faster then. But as days passed, Ripley would keep focusing more on his pet project and stopped looking for Atti’s signs of jealousy. And it was one of those days when he was laying in his bed with Laurie nearby when he got a text message from Gwen. When he read it he simply smiled and chuckled to himself quietly. “I’m in danger.”And the day came when she was now slamming the door both open and closed and screaming her friends' names in full fury. Ripley was in the kitchen watching and waiting as Atticus lead her there. Probably trying to hide what they’d done from her. He should know better than that by now. “Princess! Welcome home!” Ripley called to her when he caught her eye. He was making some sort of drink. It smelled sweet and comforting and there was a mug for all three of them. Hot chocolate made to the specific likes and tastes of all of them. A peace offering. Ripley lifted his own mug and gestured to the pink sunburnt areas on Gwen. His smile turned devilish as she walked toward him and he thought about slapping the spots on her shoulders for a moment. But, he’d hold off on doing that. “Got some color on you. The trip went well I take it?”
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on May 20, 2022 1:20:18 GMT -5
Putting my current starters together just to make life easier x I know they might have gotten lost in the writing Lucien Lucien had said a rather difficult goodbye to Luka before she left to join the others waiting to begin the mission. It was by no means easy to see her go, despite her attempts to reassure him (or was it herself, too?) that everything would be alright. Nobody in the Pantheon understood him quite as well as Luka did, and that was despite the brotherly relationship that had been developing between him and River — or at least, that had been developing before everything happened. He didn’t know what he would do if anything happened to Luka or any of the others.
It didn’t make it easier that he was to be left on his own with Cleo. The two of them had no great history of getting along together, and that was putting it extremely mildly.
He cast a brief glance at them. They’d never seen eye to eye from the moment they’d met. For them, Lucien was a nuisance. Someone who was immature and not suited to being a leader. Someone who ran his mouth a little too much. For him, they were sanctimonious, condescending. They made all too real the very fear Lucien had in himself that he wasn’t capable of being a leader.
Despite their mutual concern for the others, there had still not yet been a moment where the two weren’t at odds. Lucien found himself worried that their shared desire to keep the others safe and common goal to that effect would not be enough to prevent them from squabbling in their usual fashion. But they would have to try, for there were more important things. In that moment, despite the differences the two of them had always had (a breach which had widened into what had seemed an unbreachable chasm), they had to be united.
He was terrified, really. Petrified that something would happen like it had before. That people would get hurt and he wouldn’t be able to help, or worse. The memories of that Hallowe’en still haunted him just as much as they did anyone else, and the guilt had not left him. As the healer, he bore a responsibility. One he did not want and had not asked for, but one that if neglected put those he cared about at great risk.
He had been selfish by leaving that night, and he would not do it again.
Lucien might not like the burden and responsibilities put on him, but he could not run from them. Not after what River and the others had suffered. Not when there were so few Ascendants left. Not when the leaders were fragmented. Not when his friends were at risk.
Not when he was the healer.
He truly regretted what had happened with River and the others and he wanted to make it right. He would do whatever he could to do so. It might not set things right with River and it might not help the others but at least it would go some way to easing his guilt and doing some good to balance out the damage he had done, however unintentional.
So he had given no room for argument when he’d informed Cleo that he was staying to monitor the mission. He would go to the infirmary the instant he was needed but not a second earlier.
He would not leave again.
So now he sat perched on a chair, turning his eyes from his companion to train them on the screen. He was listening desperately for any communication from the group on the mission. He bit his lip nervously, noting absently that his pulse was hammering with quite some speed and force. He didn’t realise that his fingers were doing their nervous tapping silently against his thigh, dancing as they always did when he was nervous as if he was playing his guitar.
He hoped, prayed, for any news from his friends.
Chiara Chiara was exhausted.
She’d pulled so many all-nighters since the others had been kidnapped. Sometimes training, but mostly in the library. Dragging her stinging eyes over repetitive lines of text in the hope of finding something, anything, within those pages that might help. Adding to her exhaustion, her danger senses had been going haywire ever since the kidnapping - which was to be expected. It felt like danger was everywhere, even for the group in Venice. It was like a fizzing in her veins, trying desperately to warn her of something urgent but she couldn’t do anything about it and the helplessness and constant anxiety was exhausting.
This mission was something she’d been dreading, for so many reasons. She was afraid of failing. She was afraid to know what they might find at the exiled base, after her danger sense had been so strong. She was afraid it was a trap, for the daughter of a conman always saw where there were opportunities for lies and deceit.
She was afraid of working alongside Luka, after their argument. Chiara rarely raised her voice or got angry, after all. She’d pushed Luka away when she’d only really been acting out of concern and a desire to help. Luka would never show it, but Chiara worried that she’d hurt her. It might be awkward working alongside her, and while she didn’t get the sense that Luka was vindictive she couldn’t help but be concerned that after what had happened they might not be able to trust one another with their lives the way they should in these situations.
But she shoved all of these worries, all of these concerns, to one corner of her tired and aching mind. There were far bigger things to be concerned about. This mission was about far more than her, after all, and she needed to act like it. Even Lucien and Luka had the maturity to put their own feelings aside in order to focus on their friends.
So the Champion of Heimdallr stood in the portal room, the meeting with the rest of the mission group over. They were making their final preparations to leave.
Chiara was ready; wearing sturdy, dark clothing. Boots carefully tied as tight as she dared. Hair tied back to keep it out of her way, and a hair tie on her wrist because she knew that undoubtedly at some point either she would need a spare or one of the others would need one. Her sword at her waist.
The long sleeves of her shirt hid the ugly, mangled scars left by Fenrir on one of her upper arms. She hated to look at it, and she would not subject others to it. She remembered little of receiving it, but she did remember Fenrir’s hot breath and the irony smell of her own blood. Mostly in her dreams, which recalled it better than her waking hours.
Luka had saved her life that night, and though Chiara had never said so, she was eternally grateful for that.
She looked nervously towards the portal. This was going to be a rough night, that much she knew even now. It would have been difficult even if they were down one person — she couldn’t figure out for the life of her why Lane had just vanished like that, but that wasn’t a concern for right that moment. She’d think about that when she could lay to rest other fears, ones about their kidnapped friends. Until she knew a way forward.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on May 20, 2022 3:13:53 GMT -5
While she’d been admonishing Atticus for his role in events while she had been gone, the older exiled had been leading Gwen into the kitchen. The kitchen, where Ripley seemed to have been hiding.
He was calling her Princess, as always. It was a nickname she didn’t hate hut honestly at that moment she was fighting off the temptation to wipe the smile off Ripley’s face with a frying pan - and Atticus’s face, too, for that matter.
Ripley was asking how the trip went, to which she folded her arms and regarded him with little amusement. She wasn’t happy with either boy.
”Lad være. It would have been better if the two of you hadn’t decided to turn the place into a cute little Ascendant B&B while I was gone.” was her response, looking accusingly between both boys ”I mean, what the hell were you thinking?”
Still, she eyed up the two mugs of hot chocolate, one for her and one for Atticus. Made just the way each of them liked it; Gwen always put a little salt in to bring out the flavour, for example. Though she had a sweet tooth, she didn’t like her chocolate overly sweet. In general she was more of a dark chocolate kind of girl. It seemed Ripley had taken that into consideration and made her a hot chocolate that was rich but not too sweet.
So she took it, holding it in her hands as she continued to talk to the boys. It wasn’t lost on her that the hot chocolate was a peace offering and a distraction - not to mention that it made sure her hands weren’t free so she couldn’t kill them both.
”I didn’t think I’d need to spell out your stupidity for you but here goes. One prisoner with powers is hard enough to keep control of, let alone half a dozen. They could destroy us from the inside out and that’s before the ones that are left launch a rescue mission. The three in Venice are down but they’re not out of the picture. It’s only a matter of time before they go back and there are more of them to contend with.”
The Ascendants were down some leaders, but they might not be for long. She couldn’t begin to explain how astronomically stupid this plan was. Brilliant if it worked, but otherwise unspeakably dumb. She’d been in support of the idea of kidnapping, but not this many people. And certainly not without more careful planning and thought as to how to go about it all.
Frustrated but ever more tempted by the smell of the drink, she took a sip of the hot chocolate. It was undeniable that it was excellent, though she had to do her best to maintain her expression just so she couldn’t give Ripley the satisfaction of thinking he’d succeeded in changing her mind.
”If this weren’t so good I’d throw it at you both.” she grumbled ”But I’m still angry.”
She was definitely still angry. The hot chocolate was annoyingly putting her in a better mood, but she was most certainly still not pleased.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on May 21, 2022 18:27:19 GMT -5
FLASH FORWARD- NOT NECESSARILY CANON Lucien remembered being woken from his bed, pulled as he stumbled and blinked sleep out of his eyes to his feet. He remembered panicked words that he didn’t really take into his sleep-clouded brain. But he understood that there was urgency, that his healing was needed for something.
He remembered being led into the Pantheon hallway, bare feet on cool floors. Hair messy from sleep as the teenager blinked away the heaviness weighing on his eyes.
It was only when he saw the shape on the floor that he broke out into a run, releasing himself from the grip of the one who’d woken him.
The body was still, lying unmoving and huddled in a pool of dark blood. Lucien fell to his knees at the side of the feminine shape, taking a shaky breath as he reached out to touch her, carefully rolling her over onto her back.
The ends of Lane’s bright hair were sticky with blood, her eyes staring without seeing. The air carried that irony scent of blood, so strong it stung Lucien’s nose. Her skin was ashen and pale, already beginning to turn waxy and cool.
She was wearing her pyjamas, Lucien noted with a sinking in his heart. She’d been ready for bed just like any other night. But the bright stain of blood around her stomach told of the wound she’d received there, the thing she’d curled herself around as if to protect it
Lucien let out a choked sound as he took in the form of his friend, breath shuddering as he looked over her frame. He didn’t need to, but pointlessly he reached out his hand to feel her cold wrist. There was no stirring of a pulse under there, no warmth of life. But her fingers were coated with chipped nail polish, no doubt originally applied by Guinevere or another of the others.
He pressed his lips together to hold in a sob, looking back to the expectant ascendants. They who looked at him with that desperate hope. In denial that Lane was past being saved.
And he shook his head.
“There’s nothing I can do for her.” he said, his voice choked almost to a whisper.
He looked back at the body before him, feeling such a strong pang of guilt. If he had been there he could have saved her. If he had gotten there sooner or been around when she was injured she might have lived.
Nobody was supposed to die on his watch.
And as he took in the body of Lane Sherwin, the seventeen-year-old learned a lesson he would never forget as long as he lived. Death was not noble. There was no blaze of glory. No glamour or triumph. There was no beauty or power, nothing admirable in it. There was no mythical hero’s death.
No. Death was pathetic, at the end of it all, and without glory. Not romantic but all harsh reality and all too pitiable.
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Demisexual
Leo
Surviving off Thai tea and Miguel O'hara
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Post by Leo on May 24, 2022 20:20:54 GMT -5
“Again.”
Jason was leaned over, hands on his knees and breathing heavily. He pushed the blindfold from his eyes and wiped away the sweat with the back of his arm. His entire body was shaking from exhaustion. Sweat dripped off of him as if he had just crawled out of a pool. He was tired and it showed vividly. “Are you serious?” Jason asked breathlessly.
River was standing to the side, leaning on his spear and watching Jason with a stone-cold gaze. Compared to the younger boy, River seemed like the pinnacle of strength. Not shaking like Jason was but he was sweating. He wasn’t one to not work on himself while he was training someone else too. “Yes,” he answered simply “You wanted to learn how to fight. Unless you want to quit?”
Jason sighed heavily and hung his head at the confirmation. He took a couple of moments to breathe before standing and slipping the blindfold over his eyes, signaling that he was ready.
They’d been going at this for hours. Every night since Jason had asked to be trained. They started with proper punching techniques. Didn’t need to be blind to learn that part, in fact, it was easier to learn if he could see. Go figure. Then they moved on to moving in the space while blinded. River insisted that Jason shouldn’t ever purposely blind himself beforehand. That would give him a disadvantage. “You should always go into a battle with your sight if you can. Be aware of what the space looks like” River had explained. Instead, Jason was allowed a quick look at his surroundings before being blindfolded and expected to memorize his surroundings. It took some trial and error, walking the space of the training mat without falling off of it turned to jogging around the space, then eventually sprinting full laps. It got easy until River started tossing in objects to block his path. Jason still had bruises from tripping on a sudden object and falling on his face. But, that too he eventually learned how to identify where an object was. But it wasn’t perfect.
Now he had to learn how to fight an opponent blindfolded with just his hands. No spellcasting yet.
And while the automation wouldn’t kill him nor seriously hurt him on purpose, Jason felt like they were about to grab him and snap his spine. He just felt useless without his magic but he couldn’t use it on both principles that his teacher told him not to and that he’d end up actually blind anyway. And he couldn’t always rely on his magic in battle if it was going to hinder him in the long run.
Jason dodged attack after attack and even dared to land a couple of his own. Though he still didn’t have the force to knock the automation back. It only reacted for a moment before retaliating in its attack. And with its attack, a punch was landed on Jason’s jaw sending him spiraling down to the mat in a tired heap.
“Again.” River barked once the boy had a few moments to catch his breath.
“Can I take a break?” Jason asked panting and sitting on his heels, letting his head fall back to look up at the ceiling and its bright lights. Not that he could see it at that moment.
River shifted so he wasn’t leaning on his spear anymore and tapped the small of Jason’s back with the pommel. “No. Again.”
Jason smacked the pommel away from him and ripped his blindfold off. He glared angrily at the ginger now in his sight and threw the piece of cloth down onto the mat. “River come on!” Jason insisted. He was so tired. He just wanted a break to drink water and open his eyes. He wanted to either sit or lay down for a moment so he didn’t feel like he was going to collapse.
“At what point do you think they will give you a break, Jason?” River asked darkly. He poked the pommel into the boy’s chest sending him toppling over to the side and staring incredulously at Ares’ champion. River took a step closer and pushed the spear pommel into his chest again with each question he asked next. “When you ask for it? When you drop your weapon or suddenly can’t see?”
Jason was quiet as River came at him. Fear settled in his stomach as he was pushed in his chest and back down to his elbows. Even when no more words or attacks came, Jason just stared up at him wide-eyed. Looking at River’s annoyed expression mixed with something else and the wounds he was still suffering from. The bandages around his throat and around his hand held most of his attention. “No…” he muttered at last. He knew they wouldn’t hold back at winning. He’d seen how they attacked. He’d seen who had attacked them.
River’s brow furrowed and he straightened up to take a few steps backward. “Then stop asking.”
“Sorry…” Jason muttered again, completely deflated as he stood and wiped the sweat from his face.
“Temper, temper.”
“You shut up” River hissed under his breath. He was half surprised Ares had spoken. It had been a while since the god had spoken in his ear and of course, it was to chastise him. He wasn’t having it. But, then neither was Ares it seemed.
“You should stop pushing your soldiers so hard,” Was all he said in response. Enough to make River bristle again. He opened his mouth to snap back louder, not caring whether Jason heard him and stared or not. But, he stopped himself when he realized what words he was about to say.
He’s not a soldier. He’s a kid.
“Fine. Go get some water,” River grumbled to Jason and went to drink his own. He sat down and took a moment to think of what he was going to have Jason run through next. Probably something less taxing on the body.
Jason in the meantime crawled over to where his water bottle was and took gulps of water like he hadn’t had any since his birth. He pulled the towel he had brought from the bench it was sitting on and let it lay on his face as he lay on the ground. Completely exhausted and wanted nothing more than to pass out and fall asleep right then and there. But, he couldn’t and he wouldn’t.
“Jason when was the last time you slept?” Thoth hummed quietly. He sounded concerned, which wasn’t unusual since the god had accidentally cursed his ascendant, but this was different. This was a different concern for his well-being.
“Yesterday,” Jason answered matter of factly.
Thoth’s disappointment could be felt even before he spoke. “I believe what you think was yesterday was actually two days ago. Between researching with Heimdallr's chosen and training with Ares'chosen you've been going at a nonstop pace. You need more than a break you need to sleep, child.”
Jason shook his head and pulled the towel off his face. He stared up at the ceiling, glanced that the now still automation he had been fighting moments ago, then glanced over to River who was drawing on a whiteboard and muttering to himself. Or maybe to Ares it was hard to tell. “I need to help get my friends back,” the boy insisted. He dragged the towel across his neck and over his arms trying his best to feel less sticky.
“And how will you do that when you die from exhaustion?”
“The nighttime gives me energy-“
“Temporarily.”
Jason paused in his argument at that. Part of him agreed that he was tired. That he logically should get some sleep so he can think clearer. But the other part of him worried that if he did that he’d fall behind and be considered helpless again. He was scared he’d let his friends down, both the ones with him and the ones that needed their help in strange territory.
Once again he looked at River and sighed heavily. “If River can do it then so can I.”
Thoth was growing agitated with his champion. A growing rage that this child wasn’t doing enough to take care of himself so he could help the others. He was blinded by guilt. All of the children were. “Have you looked at him? Really looked at him? He is suffering just the same as you. Maybe even more so. You aren’t blind.” They both paused at that statement and both almost seemed to laugh. Easing the tension of their argument. Then the scripture god continued. “At least not right now. But, I know you’ve noticed how he still isolates himself from the other children and is constantly rubbing at his wounds.”
And it was true. Even now, he saw River holding his hand close to is chest, massaging it and wincing every time he tried to use it. Or rubbing at his bandages and fiddling with his nose. He’d never gotten treatment from Lucien. He’d kept away from everyone and was trying to heal on his own but it was taking longer than it probably should have been. He could have been healed by now but instead, he was continuing to suffer.
He was forcing himself to suffer.
Getting up, Jason made his way to River and pointed at the hand that River was cradling. “Does it still hurt?” he asked quietly.
River didn’t look at Jason. He just kept holding his hand and looking at the whiteboard where he’d drawn pictures and simple words. Strategies it looked like, but Jason couldn’t really tell. “Yes…” He finally answered quietly. He looked disappointed that he had admitted it and quickly shoved his hands into his sweatpant's pockets. He winced when he took a quick swallow and Jason’s gaze went to the other boy’s throat. Angry and still very raw.
“A lot?”
River opened his mouth the answer then thought better of whatever he was about to say. He closed his mouth instead and shrugged. Glancing at his trainee River gave him a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “It’ll heal,” was all he answered as he started to turn away.
“You hold a lot of guilt,” Jason said suddenly as he reached out and grabbed River’s shoulder. River didn’t bother turning around but he did tense which made Jason lift his hand from the boy’s shoulder, scared he either hurt him or done something to offend him. But, he continued anyway. “And anger but we knew that already...”
Still facing away from Thoth’s champion, River scoffed and shrugged again. “Yeah well, we all feel guilty after what happened…”
“You keep downplaying your own pain. Why do-“
Whirling around on Jason with his face contorting into disgust and annoyance, River stepped into the boy’s space daring him to continue asking so many questions. “What are you prying for? Is this a therapy session?”
“Well if it will help you to stop feeling responsible for what happened then yes. Someone has to help your stubborn ass.” Jason spat back, stepping forward instead of away this time.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on May 30, 2022 17:04:00 GMT -5
FLASH FORWARD - NOT NECESSARILY CANON Laurie wouldn’t say he’d been waiting for this moment. In a way he’d sort of been dreading it. While he’d been desperate to be released from the house arrest he’d been put under as a precaution after his return until his trial was concluded, he hadn’t thought about what would come afterwards.
And here he was. Face-to-face once again with the person who’d been the source of so much pain for him. The person who had put the scars on his skin that would forever be visible there - not that he cared about the exiled man seeing them. No, he wanted him to see what he’d done, whether he was proud of it or not. This was the man whose very presence had put fear into Laurie’s heart. His touch, his voice, everything about him. And yes, he couldn’t shake that feeling. The rush of cold dread in his blood, the jolt of panic the second he’d seen him. But now he could tell himself he was safe. He could tell himself that he wasn’t the same person Ripley had taken advantage of all that time ago. He’d grown so much stronger now.
That was what gave him the courage to meet Ripley’s gaze.
“I don’t want or expect an apology from you,” he began “I don’t need that insult.”
Not only did he think this was far beyond an apology, but he also knew Ripley would never give one. If he did, he would never mean it. And Laurie didn’t need to be insulted by any more lies.
“I pity you, truthfully,” Laurie continued as he stepped closer, voice low but having a conviction that gave it power “because I spent the longest time thinking and thinking about why you did what you did. The only answer I could come up with is that you wanted a punching bag.”
He knew now that none of what Ripley had done was about Laurie. It was about him. Supposedly it wasn’t personal. But Laurie of all people knew that it was personal. Pain was personal, suffering was personal. Abuse was personal.
“See, I’m like you. I’m afraid of not being in control.” Laurie explained smoothly “the difference between us is that I only want to control myself. I only take my pain out on myself. You just have this blind anger and fear - I can see that in you - and do you want to know something?”
Laurie’s need for control was why he’d smoked with the exiled. Because at least then he could control his self-destruction. It was why he drank - he could control his pain, he could control his perception of the world, he could numb himself. He could be loud and fun and confident.
Ripley’s need for control was something so much darker. It was more primal, more destructive, something else entirely.
“Playing with people won’t give you any of the things you fear you don’t have.” Laurie finished as he took another step closer “it won’t give you love, it won’t give you control. Treating people like puppets won’t give you anything real. It won’t help that part of you that’s scared of getting close to people, it won’t help that part of you that’s yearning for attention. All it’ll do is destroy your chances of feeling anything but a bitter shadow of happiness.”
He knew Ripley probably didn’t care about what Laurie was saying, and even if he did he wouldn’t show it. But Laurie didn’t care either. He had words to say, and he knew if Ripley didn’t care about them now one day he would. When everything had crumbled around him and he only had this to reflect on.
Laurie took a deep breath, trying to keep himself as calm as possible. Ripley preyed on emotions, even anger. Laurie would not give him a way in, a vulnerability for him to work at. He already knew enough of Laurie’s weaknesses, after all.
“You’re nothing but a frightened child who wants to be a god because he’s terrified by his own powerlessness. You will never be a god, and I’ll tell you why. I’m going to be alright. I have people who know and love me, and are willing to try again despite what I did. My life is going to work out just fine, and one day what you did will be a distant memory. You’ll never be immortal, Ripley, and none of the hateful things you did will last. They’re fading already.”
Laurie was done with his words now, looking over the boy in front of him one last time. He was preparing himself to end all of this. It would take a lot of time for him to move past what Ripley had done, but he was prepared to make the first step. With these words he was showing Ripley that he was letting his feelings about what Ripley had done to him go. He was getting closure so he could start to move on.
“You don’t hold any power over me anymore - you never did, except in our heads.” Laurie said finally “enjoy this while it lasts, Ripley. Because this path you’re on does not lead to godhood.”
It led to nothing, Laurie told himself. He couldn’t be completely sure, of course, and was speaking with confidence he didn’t really have. But he needed to show Ripley that he didn’t believe for a second that anything but destruction was coming to him.
Things for Laurie would be different, though. And of that the boy was very sure. He had good people around him, people who really cared. People who knew him and trusted him because he was real and wasn’t afraid to be vulnerable with them. Because he didn’t toy with or manipulate his friends.
Because he really did have love in his life.
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Post by 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨 on Jun 1, 2022 23:01:02 GMT -5
To be honest, and contrary to popular belief, Luka tried to be honest, she felt bad. She felt bad for ever letting Laurie out of her sights. She felt bad for not pushing River and Cleo and Naida to let her go with them that night. She felt bad for blaming River.
He was her friend, just like Laurie was...is, and she blamed him. She snapped at him and blamed him and said he should have stayed, even though if he did he could have died.
A lot felt like it was crashing down. Things hadn’t been perfect since coming, never even close. Once Luka revealed who she was the chosen of, some people just...looked at her different. She could see it, in the glares, in the words, the distrust. Like she was a timebomb, waiting to explode. Just waiting for her to turn her back on them.
Some had voted her in as leader, she didn’t know who, but they were likely the ones who did trust her. Who didn’t let that perception effect how they saw her. But some, those who protested her as a leader, those who protested her even being there, they would never trust her. They never listened.
But regardless, it was better here than it had been before. Here, it didn’t matter that her only twisted bit of family came in someone who didn’t even want her. Here, people did want her. People reached out, begrudgingly or not, and she finally had a taste of what it was like to have people.
To laugh with others, to make fun of Laurie’s ridiculous crush with others, to sing with others at midnight amongst the stars, to hug someone and know they cared.
”It’s not your fault,” she hadn’t heard that voice in a while, and rarely was it said in such a tone, soft and kind, but Loki continued onwards, ”It’s a temporary hiatus. Pretty soon your whole band of misfits is gonna be back together and you can stop moping and get back to having fun, yeah?”
”Yeah,” she agreed, smiling a bit, because things were gonna change. After this mission, they’d get everyone back. It was a stepping stone, a small step to getting it figured out, and then they would get them back. Then River wouldn’t be sad anymore, and he’d see that it was all okay and maybe he’d stop being alone. Maybe he’d see that it tho wasn’t his fault, because he was right, and she should have been there. She should have been there for him, and even before that mission she wasn’t. She wanted her perfect paradise, her family, and ignore the issues. She distanced herself from them, because she didn’t want to get involved in the drama, and in the process she lost both of them.
She stood with the others, final preparations being made as a portal looked before them. The portal room could make portals to pretty much any location they wanted, due to the magic map thing it connected to. The technology in the Pantheon was...unbelievable, honestly. They had tracked down where they suspected the Exiles may be, due to the tracking system with the keys. Laurie’s key was out there, and had moved from that abandoned factory to wherever the Exiles likely were. That’s where they were to go.
Luka, like the others, donned dark clothing, complete with a hood to throw on should she need to snoop around a bit. She had a knife in a sheath, her umbrella, and a small first aid kit complete with isopropyl alcohol, ointment, bandages, and gauze. She packed light, but with enough supplies to help someone if they had to. Plus, you never knew what may come in useful.
To be honest, she was worried about some things. The original plan was made with everyone’s powers and personalities in mind. Ariella had strength and was easily one of the nicest people. Theodore was caring behind all of his faux narcissism, and his power was truly marvelous, he could make things happen with just his words, Luka liked to call that Charm. Chiara could sense bad things, could alert them of if something was wrong. Luka herself was leading it, and specialized in being stealthy, though she doubted her powers would really come in handy, flames were emotionally caused and hard to control, and the whole animal shifting was very emotionally based too. Then there was Lane, Lane had super speed.
If Lane was there, she’d check the perimeters and that such, they did collect base layouts, find out what they could, and they would leave. But Lane wasn’t there. Lane was gone.
Cleo had almost called off the mission, but they couldn’t wait any longer. They’d have to deal with Lane later, if she too was taken, going tonight would still be best. They could locate her, at least.
Still, missing someone felt like a bad omen, like things were going to go wrong before they had begun. But paranoia was more of Chiara’s thing, and Luka, while feeling bad about things wasn’t about to succumb to a little bit of anxiety.
”Well, enough chit chat, rattle your dags, my good friends, we got a date with the Exiled base and it would be a real bummer to miss it,” despite her teasing words and use of her Native slang, Luka herself was a bit nervous, but they had to get going. The mission couldn’t wait forever, Laurie, Naida, Echo, Daniel, and Pascal couldn’t wait forever.
Facing the portal and flipping the communicator piece in her ear on, she tapped it a few times, to annoy Cleo and Lucien a bit, and let off a small laugh as she did so, ”I’ve got to keep you losers awake somehow,” she commented, hearing an annoyed grunt from Cleo, which only made her grin more, ”come now, Lester, don’t get all grumpy on me now, you’re gonna hear my voice for new few hours, aren’t you lucky?”
”Yeah, sure, lucky, let’s call it that. Focus on the mission, Ravana.”
Luka clicked her tongue, looking over at her group, ”Yeah, yeah, got it. Thanks for the advice, Mx. Stick in the mud,” she then addressed the group, ”welp, unless on of you need a last minute piss we’re going to go ahead and step into the light. Capiche?”
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jun 2, 2022 4:15:21 GMT -5
Lucien didn’t know if he and Cleo were going to be able to get along that night. They never had before, and he didn’t know if he could take one of Cleo’s judgemental looks with how stressed he was at that moment.
All he could do was trust that their mutual goal and their shared fear would make allies of them, at least for a little while.
Things were different without River. Lucien missed him and wanted more than anything to apologise for his part in the other boy’s pain but he didn’t know how to go about any of it. He didn’t want to say anything that would make River feel worse, nor did he want to intrude on time River might want to spend dealing with his own thoughts and feelings following the kidnapping.
He knew he’d have to get over his nerves about it at some point, because eventually he was going to have to make some kind of love to repair the rift. But at that moment he didn’t know where to start.
Either way, at that moment there were more urgent considerations, of which he was reminded when there came the sudden and uncomfortable sound of Luka tapping her earpiece, causing a displeased Cleo to grunt at the painful sound.
Luka was laughing and joking around with Cleo, though Lucien stayed silent during the exchange. Normally he would love to joke around, even when he was scared. He’d done so before. But he didn’t feel capable of it in that moment. It was like a part of his brain had switched off, just to keep him from utterly falling apart. The boy was left feeling like a spectator, just watching as things happened around him. Watching as his hand reached out without him being aware of having decided to do so, moving one of the sheets of paper with a map of the exiled base that lay on the table.
It was several numb moments before Lucien said anything at all.
”Be careful, Lukes. Don’t take any stupid risks, got it?” the boy said to his friend.
He knew what Luka was like. He was the same. Sometimes took risks they probably shouldn’t take. But they couldn’t do that now. They had people relying on them, and they could not afford for this to go wrong in any way. They could not let anyone else get hurt.
For Lucien’s part, he was refusing to repeat the mistakes that had gotten them to where they were. He didn’t believe he was cut out to be a leader, not in the slightest, but for the moment that was what he was. He would not walk away at this dangerous and critical moment, where he was most needed. He had to stay. At least until everybody was safe.
He owed his friends that.
He looked to Cleo, trying to read in that inscrutable (at least in his eyes) person what they were feeling. They seemed nervous, though of course they showed it differently from Lucien just as anyone displayed nerves in their own way. They were excellent at hiding their feelings if they felt it was for the good of the group, which was what made it so difficult to get a handle on how they were feeling. But Lucien was getting better at telling the longer he knew Cleo.
”Luka’s got a first-aid kit, and the infirmary is all set up should anything happen.” Lucien said to Cleo, in some kind of lame attempt at reassurance. The thing was that he had no comfort to give, and they both knew that. This mission was risky and it was entirely possible something might happen.
All he could do was remind them how much the group had prepared.
What he didn’t tell Cleo was that if he was needed urgently, he would go to the group without hesitation. His bow and quiver of arrows were propped against the wall near the door, and even though Cleo wouldn’t approve he was prepared to join the group if his healing abilities were needed desperately. He wouldn’t let anyone die out there, not if he could help it.
_______________ Chiara felt little prepared for what they were about to face. Her danger abilities had been plaguing her since that Halloween, though she was unsure exactly what she was detecting. Danger to the kidnapped kids? Danger to the kids in Venice? Danger to the mission group?
Or, the extra fun secret third option, all three.
Her nerves were high, and that was without having to deal with Luka after the little fight they’d had. Chiara hadn’t been taking care of herself, she knew that and she knew Luka had been right in that, but she had cared far more about making sure the others were alright. About doing whatever she could to help.
The lack of Lane was troubling, too. It played on her mind. Why had the girl gone missing? Where was she? Was she in danger? Chiara didn’t have the answers to any of those questions. And she didn’t like uncertainty; especially not in the kind of dangerous situations she and her friends frequently faced.
Luka was addressing the group, then, checking everyone was prepared to go. Chiara was most certainly not prepared to go, but she didn’t see herself feeling any more prepared in the near future. Time was of the essence, and ready or not the group would have to go.
She laid her hand on the hilt of her sword, partly so she could be prepared to draw it at a moment’s notice and partly so she could hold onto something and have something else to focus on. Anything at all.
Just to ignore the churning feeling in her stomach.
”Ready. We need to be on our guard the moment we get through there. The danger I’m picking up is more than likely on the other side of that portal and we have to prepare for the possibility that the whole thing is a trap.” she explained
It might not be. For all she knew it was in Venice and they may not even be the ones in danger. But the chances of that were slim and she knew it.
Danger was on the other side of that portal; the question was whether it was going to come for them.
After all, it seemed almost too easy. After so long of the exiled base being so well hidden, and suddenly they knew where it was. Had the exiled deliberately kept Laurie’s key to lure the Ascendants?
With the group prepared to leave, Chiara followed along as they one by one disappeared through the portal. The falling sensation was all too familiar by now, and Chiara was grateful for the fact that by now she was beginning to get the hang of easy landings; it wasn’t entirely graceful, but she did not lose her footing.
Blinking in dim light, the hair in her ponytail stirred by a cool breeze, the blonde took in the scene before them.
They were finally outside the Exiled base.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jun 5, 2022 18:19:06 GMT -5
FLASH FORWARD- NOT CANON
Hey Lukes,
You’re probably never going to read this, and I’ll bet if you knew I was writing it you’d tell me I was being a total idiot. You’d be right. Because I’m sure you’ll never need to read it, and I’m writing this whole thing for nothing. I’m being stupid and paranoid, I guess.
You were probably pretty freaked out by the conversation we had the other day, when we met and I was saying all that stuff about wanting you to promise you’d look out for my Pantheon if anything were to happen and all that. I know you’ll want answers. All I can say is I’ve just had a weird unsettled feeling recently, and Apollo’s been acting all strange and I don’t like it. I don’t have any proof of anything, and I know you’d just tell me what a dumbass I’m being for worrying about probably absolutely nothing, but it feels like something bad is going to happen. I’m getting neurotic in my middle age, I guess. My head’s. saying that everything sane and logical points to me freaking out over nothing.
But I’ve seen too much to take that chance, Lukes.
So I’m writing this just in case something were to happen. If you’re reading this, it more than likely means I’m dead. Which I guess isn’t a surprise. We both know that being an Ascendant is just fighting until your luck eventually runs out. It’s just a bit of a bitch that I didn’t outlive you so I could have bragging rights.
Anyway, look, I just wanted you to know that I really care about you. We’ve been through our shit over the years and definitely tried to kill one another once or twice but I couldn’t imagine my life without you. You always understood me without me ever having to say anything, and you always had my back without my ever having had to ask. You were like a sister to me.
And I hope you know that you and the others saved me. I never realised just how unhappy I was before I met you. I’m not very good at putting it into words, but you and the others made me feel like someone worthy of being cared about, and you taught me how to be vulnerable and trust people.
Luka, you fought my corner when not even I would. Sometimes when I didn’t even really deserve to have someone backing me up. You’re like a sister to me.
What I mean is that you mean the world to me. I’m sorry I left, I’m sorry I’m not there. I hope to god there’s nothing in these weird feelings I’ve been having and I’m wrong but I can’t ignore it.
There are some things I need to ask of you, though. Please take care of my Pantheon. I love those kids, though don’t tell them I said that, and they need someone. I trust you completely. And please look out for the others, and for Claudia. Make sure they’re safe for me.
But more importantly, be strong, Luka. I trust you with the things and people I love. I know some people judge you, even though they know you too little but I want you to have faith in yourself. You deserve to be a leader — that’s something I struggled with too for so many years, believing I deserved that role. But you do. And you deserve family. I want you to ignore the doubts, and remind yourself that you belong here, and you belong with us.
You’re smart, you’re resourceful, you’re strong and I’ve never once seen you give up even on tiny stupid bets, never mind anything actually important. And you care so much, even though you’d claim you don’t. I know cause I try to pretend I don’t care too.
I’m sure you’re about ready to puke with all this cheesy sentimental stuff, but I mean it all. If you ever doubt yourself again I will make it my mission to haunt you and irritate the shit out of you for the rest of your life.
Thank you for always listening to me and being my ally and partner in crime. Thank you for being one of the people who helped me not feel so alone. You meant more to me than I ever told you, but I hope you knew anyway.
I love you, Lukes.
- Lucien
PS. Please make sure they don’t butcher my funeral. I know they’ll choose shitty music if you don’t stop them and I might be dead but I have standards.’
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jun 13, 2022 8:09:03 GMT -5
PANTHEON PERSONNEL FILE Anker, Gudrun Lærke
[EXILED] Name: Gudrun 'Gunna/Gwen' Lærke Anker Sex: Female Date of birth: 07/01/2002 Birthplace: Esbjerg, Denmark City of Residence: Aarhus, Denmark Status: Exiled
Guide: Nemesis (Greek Daemones) originally, now Ceto (Greek Primordial) Key: Dagger (Nemesis) originally, now a circlet (Ceto)
Hair colour: Brown Eye colour: Hazel Height: 5’6” Weight: 125 lbs Identifiable markings: Both ears are pierced. Scarring from various battles and fights, including a distinctive one on the left ring finger. Nevus flammeus nuchae (stork bite) birthmark on the back of her neck, generally hidden by the hair.
Languages: Danish (native language), English (fluent - school and self-teaching), Spanish - Puerto Rican dialect (limited proficiency) Powers: As champion of Nemesis, Anker had abilities related to luck and fortune, as well as gaining increased strength when fuelled by anger or vengeance. Now, as champion of Ceto, her powers include the ability to assume a monster form as well as some level of ability to create storms (particularly when close to water.) Preferred weapon: Sword or dagger Special skills: Strategy, leadership, organisation
OTHER NOTES: Born Gudrun Holdensen in Esbjerg, Denmark, she was subsequently adopted by Rikke Nielsen and Jacob Anker, who reside in Aarhus. She became known by the affectionate pet name Gunna. As an Ascendant she had no major leadership role within the initial wave but following the defection of the survivors of this Wave 0 of Ascendants (including Fell, Embry and Morgan) to become the group now known as the Exiled she became one of the group's leaders. She now occupies the position of third-in-command, following Fell and Gates. Also known as the Gamma.
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HIGHEST CLEARANCE LEVEL REQUIRED - CLASSIFIED SECTION
SECTION 1: EMERGENCY ELIMINATION PROCEDURE
Anker, following her exile, is now officially judged to be a serious threat to not only the Pantheon and the Ascendants of subsequent waves, but also any civilians unfortunate enough to cross her path. She has caused significant harm and is expected to continue to do so in order to achieve the goals of vengeance and power which she shares with her new guide. Anker is too hostile to the Ascendants at this point for any expectation of peaceful resolution to be reasonable and therefore, due to the level of danger which she presents to any who oppose her, it is expected that her destruction will be the only method by which she can be effectively neutralised, and any Ascendant who faces her should be prepared to pursue this course of action if opportunity permits and the situation necessitates it.
For an Ascendant seeking to neutralise Anker, the following procedures should be followed:
- Anker should, if possible, be fought as far from water as possible, as proximity to it offers her a significant advantage. Alternatively, select an opponent who shares the quality of being stronger around water in order to neutralise Anker's advantage.
- Again, if possible, any and all action should be taken in order to prevent Anker from being able to activate her monster form. She is a significantly stronger opponent in this form, therefore attempting to keep her in her human form will improve the ease by which she might be dispatched.
- When in monster form, attacks should be concentrated on the crystal located on her forehead; attacks here appear to be more effective.
- One must be wary of her increased strength in monster form, as well as her skin which becomes more armoured in this form.
- Face Anker when she is alone if you are able, as the other two exiled leaders are protective of her.
- If possible, always have a healer on hand as she has the potential to create particularly dangerous or unpleasant injuries.
- Long-ranged attacks are more effective against Anker as they prevent less of a risk to the Ascendant attacking
- Because of the risk Anker poses and her vengeful nature, her dispatch must be unambiguous - it must be confirmed beyond doubt that she is deceased
- Anker is a good strategist and a leader, therefore to underestimate her is a grave mistake which must be avoided.
The preceding procedure may be used at any point in which Anker presents a threat to the lives of Ascendants or civilians. Because of her exiled status and the risk she poses, the use of this procedure does not require the support of the leaders. However, if the procedure is misused or done in a way that causes unnecessary harm or suffering, the leaders may investigate and determine an appropriate response. The undertaking of these procedure must be done with the safety of Ascendants and civilians as a priority, and therefore if to neutralise Anker would put anyone at risk it should not be done.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jun 20, 2022 18:31:35 GMT -5
FLASH FORWARD - NOT NECESSARILY CANON ”You still have time to change your mind, Laurent.”
Laurie was alone in the exiled base, breath coming hot and shallow as he paced across the room, pushing a hand through his curls. He’d resolved to do what Ripley had asked him to, to speak to Styx about reversing the deal which Dionysus had made to restrict Laurie’s abilities.
Said guide was, predictably, not ecstatic about the idea.
”You know that isn’t true even if I wanted to.” came the reply, tinged with an anxious agitation.
The boy knew his guide could sense the conflict and uncertainty still plaguing him about this decision, and was doing anything in the rather expansive scope of his power to try and exploit that vacillation to get him to choose a different path. But Laurie couldn’t. He was in too deep now, and could do nothing but dig himself even deeper.
”If this is about that boy, that-“
Dionysus, usually able to find a hundred words where ten would do, suddenly could not find any word vitriolic enough to express his distaste for Ripley. He was lost for suitable adjectives, but Laurie put him out of his misery.
”Of course it’s about him.” Laurie answered, stopping his pacing to lean against a wall ”I promised him, so it’s going to happen. And maybe he’d have nicer things to say about you if you’d be in my corner a little more.”
Dionysus, Ripley had told Laurie, seemed so paranoid. He clearly didn’t like Ripley and was trying to come between Laurie and him, he had said. He was scared of Laurie becoming too powerful, too much for Dionysus to control. Scared that he would help take down the gods and usurp him.
”I am in your corner, but he isn’t. If he were you wouldn’t be so afraid of making him unhappy.” Dionysus countered.
Okay, so yes, Laurie was a little scared of displeasing Ripley. It didn’t tend to end well when he did - but Laurie always deserved it, or so he felt. He hadn’t been careful enough.
But Ripley had also told him how exciting it would be if he managed to circumvent Dionysus’ deal. Laurie could prove his commitment to the exiled; one had to be all in when it came to the exiled, or all out. There could be no in-between and right now Laurie didn’t like the alternative. Ripley also said it was Laurie’s chance to prove his commitment to him, to show how much he cared. To prove he really was with him now and had left the Ascendants behind.
”You don’t have to listen to him, we can figure something else out-“ the god was urging.
”No we can’t!” Laurie shot back ”We don’t do anything. I’m the one on the line here, not you, isn’t that the whole point? Besides, there’s nothing to figure out.”
The boy’s voice became thick, as he tried and failed to swallow the growing lump in his throat.
”I’m on my own out here - you know as well as I do nobody’s coming to help. If you wanted a hero you chose the wrong guy because I’m not. You’re not the one down here, I am, and your mother may have been a mortal but you don’t know shit about what it’s actually like to be one. So you’ll forgive me if I do what I need to so I can survive.” he continued, voice growing firmer as he appeared to become more determined and decided on his choice.
He had no other option, not if it was just him on his own. Nobody was coming to save him and the others. So all he could do was stay alive and protect himself and he couldn’t see how he could do so if he refused to help the exiled in the way he’d told Ripley he would. He didn’t have the luxury the others did of not having been caught in Ripley’s plans. He was too deeply ensnared for it to be safe to back out now.
”No, I don’t know what if it’s like to be a mortal. But I know about my powers, Laurent, far better than you do. Powers affecting the mind are not to be trifled with. They’re a more deadly weapon than you could ever imagine. You have to understand what you’re doing here, what you’re giving them. What you’re turning against your friends.“
Despite the desperation in Dionysus’ voice, Laurie was bent on his choice and would not relent. He demonstrated this with a strong silence.
Dionysus was only proving Ripley right. Clearly he was jealous of how powerful Laurie would become without the limitations that had been imposed on him. Clearly he was afraid of what would happen if Laurie became something he could not control.
”If you do this, I cannot stand behind you any longer.” Dionysus’ threat was calm and level, though with an edge telling of the pain it caused the god to say it. Still, the lack of any over-brimming emotion told Laurie that these words were meant seriously, and had obviously been something to which Dionysus had given thought before their exchange.
Laurie, though, reacted with equal calm. Pursing his lips slightly in consideration, he shook his head after a moment as if to prove how unbothered he was by his guide’s words.
”Fine, withdraw your support and your powers if you want. I didn’t uphold my side of our deal by respecting the powers’ conditions. You’d have every right.”
He was calling Dionysus’ bluff, for he knew the god would not do that. Without his powers, Laurie would be of no practical use to the exiled, and the exiled were not exactly known for keeping anything around that did not benefit them. They also weren’t known for their mercy to those who backed down on agreements, and he’d told Ripley he would do this.
Laurie knew that Dionysus might not support his champion’s decisions, but he also would not condemn him to whatever unpleasant fate the exiled had in store.
As suspected, Dionysus fell silent and said nothing. Laurie scoffed.
”That’s what I thought.”
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jul 3, 2022 11:43:39 GMT -5
FLASH FORWARD - NOT NECESSARILY CANON There was perhaps but one part of Laurie's time with the exiled for which he could be grateful, or from which he could claim to be deriving any kind of advantage. For all their rather copious and reprehensible faults, it could be denied not even by Laurie that they had far greater success in the area of training than did the Ascendants. The exiled saw results, plain and simple. They were not hampered by any of the qualities of caring, restraint or sympathy which by turns protected the Ascendants and hindered them in reaching their greatest potential. The exiled did not hold such pretensions to a preoccupation with welfare, and while it was not particularly enjoyable to experience, in some ways Laurie preferred it. It felt more honest, less hypocritical. Laurie saw the way the Ascendants hurt one another in the name of caring or protecting. They were as bad as the gods.
Though the exiled were brutal instructors and their methods of training strenuous and unyielding, moreso in his case as a former Ascendant, Laurie could not argue them to be unsuccessful. He gave credit where credit was due most of the time. Besides, he knew what it was about; the exiled relied on one another with their lives in much the same way the Ascendants did. They could have no weak links and therefore Laurie would need to be trained; it also offered the additional happy benefit of allowing them to ensure that Laurie was truly serious in his newly cemented commitment to the exiled. His deal with Styx might have gone some of the way towards satisfying them on this point, but they needed more. This was the ideal opportunity.
The leaders were the worst training partners. Particularly strong and particularly ruthless, all three. Atticus especially strong and powerful, and made vicious with jealousy. Ripley, who knew better than any of the exiled how to get into Laurie's head. Who knew every habit, every idiosyncrasy. Every weakness. Ripley was always complete and expert in his infliction of pain, physical or otherwise. Gwen, who was not disposed to be moved by sentimentality even when it came to her friends, much less Laurie. She was unfeeling, and though it was not her wont to be deliberately cruel and cause Laurie pain superfluous to their purpose, she was hard and cold in every aspect to the effect that Laurie would have almost preferred some kind of display of feeling, even Atticus' bitter anger or Ripley's sadistic delight.
Almost.
This latter of the three leaders stood opposite Laurie, the duo circling the training mat. She held a sword in hand, Laurie his staff, both tense in the expectation of sudden movement from the other.
"Alright, Bevin, let's see what you've got." Gwen began, twirling the sword once in her grip just to be as much of an insufferable show-off as possible, "I'm going to come at you and you're going to stop me hitting you, got it? Drop your staff; I want to see powers only."
Laurie took no pleasure in agreeing to the arrangement, but as he didn't have much of a choice he discarded his staff at the side of the training mat in a silent display of his assent. After returning to stand opposite Gwen, a nod was exchanged to indicate that both were prepared.
As she had promised, she moved to swing at Laurie with the weapon. Trying to ignore the flash of the moving sword, he fixed his gaze on Gwen, trying to summon up his powers to his control. They'd been trying to enhance his powers lately, to make him more powerful. To see if he had abilities he did not yet know about, to see if his current powers could be expanded and extended now that he was free from Dionysus' restrictions. How far could they be pushed? Most recently they'd been trying to see if Laurie could use his powers without eye-contact or if he could move and protect himself while locked onto a target.
Unfortunately, that day Laurie was less then impressive, as he soon felt the sword hit his side. A blunted training sword, granted, though not without pain enough to remind Laurie that he would certainly have a bad wound had the weapon been sharp. By the time he was able to respond, having been focusing on Gwen as he had, the girl had the blade at his neck. She was fast, he'd noticed that before. Her movements fluid and expert. Granted, her monster form was terrifying, but Laurie himself thought that the young Dane was not given enough credit for her raw skills in hand-to-hand combat.
"Pathetic," she spat contemptuously, lip curling as she lowered the blade and stepped back "Again. And concentrate this time."
"I'm doing my best," Laurie muttered as he too stepped back, rolling his shoulders as he prepared for a fresh attack from Gwen.
He would never know how she'd managed to hear those quietly uttered words, but she had, and she regarded him, the coolness in her gaze becoming a downright tundral chill.
"And your best would see you dead in a real fight." was the young woman's reply "I need you to get it into whatever braincells are still alive in there that the Ascendants aren't going to spare your life. You're with us now, and they will kill you. And I can guarantee you that none of us are risking ourselves to keep your useless ass alive. Do you understand?"
"Yeah, yeah, you're not here to baby me, and if it were up to you you would've fed me to Fenrir ages ago. I know. Don't worry, Anker, I wasn't in danger of thinking you liked me or anything."
Gwen seemed less than amused but simply lifted her sword once again and moved into position in preparation to launch another attack against the champion of Dionysus.
"Easy, Stockholm. Anyone would think you were starting to backchat, and you know how much Ripley hates that."
The use of this nickname Gwen had taken to giving Laurie recently in reference to his attachment to Ripley (shortened, though she was equally likely to use the full phrase), as well as her little insults, had clearly been targeted with the intention of goading Laurie.
And goad they did, for as Gwen came at him a second time, Laurie's mind was not clouded by his anger but in fact gained a new sharpened clarity. He was able to focus on Gwen in his anger towards her better than he had before.
A ringing sounded in his ears, a side-effect of the use of his powers which Laurie had gradually become more able to ignore over the course of his training with the exiled, and he was first aware of the sound of the sword clattering to the ground before the blade could touch him. Gwen doubled over, hands to her ears, but for some reason Laurie could not stop. He could feel a burning in him, a blazing anger, and he didn't even feel truly aware of what he was doing or hear her pained cry until he was suddenly aware that Gwen had dropped to her knees. His own mind was reeling as he stopped, so he could only imagine what Gwen's was doing.
She looked up at him, removing her hands from her ears but not yet rising to her feet. There was still no softness in her gaze, but he could see some kind of interest in it. Laurie had of course practised causing confusion as part of his abilities but had not yet produced an effect quite that strong.
"Shut up," was all he said, voice serious and low. He did not often carry real threat in his tone, but he felt it that time.
He knew how dangerous powers of the mind were. He knew what he brought to these people, he knew what they were using him for. Laurie did not know whether, if Ripley found out, he would be punished for his behaviour with Gwen or praised for his growth of his powers by a Ripley rather more amused than angry by Laurie's response to the girl's teasing. But what he did certainly know was that he needed to show them that he was not to be trifled with. He might be very much under Ripley's control but he could handle himself.
If they wanted him to know this was not a game, Laurie would show them he was not playing.
He turned to walk away, and as he disappeared from view, Gwen simply smiled.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jul 10, 2022 13:49:01 GMT -5
FLASH FORWARD - NOT NECESSARILY CANON Laurie’s footsteps and even his very breath seemed to echo as he paced in an empty room. His trial was ongoing, but the leaders had adjourned to take a small break, and likely to digest the events of the trial so far.
Laurie had already begun to give his testimony, but was not yet finished. Not that he anticipated that he had much more to say. On the contrary, he had a lot he was not willing to speak about. That was part of the reason, though not the main reason, that he had chosen to spend his time defending Luka rather than trying to defend his own actions. He didn’t think them defensible, being more inclined than ever these days to think as harshly of himself as he was able. Perhaps sacrificing truth in the process.
He didn’t turn around when he heard the door open behind him; it would be one of the other Ascendants who had been watching the trial entering to take their seat once again. The leaders would likely not be returning for quite a while yet. Laurie didn’t stop his pacing on account of this new entrant.
“Luka’s a big girl, you know; she can fight her own battles. You should focus on your own.”
The voice was familiar. A feminine voice that was quiet, but had a strange quality of making you listen. Mainly because its speaker did not like to bandy about meaningless words. When she spoke it was because she had something important to say, and generally she did not say anything she did not feel wholly confident in.
He finally stopped his pacing and turned to lay eyes on the speaker, greeted by blonde hair and those intelligent, evaluating blue eyes.
Chiara.
”I can handle this on my own,” was all the Champion of Dionysus said in response
“I didn’t say you couldn’t. I just meant I think it’d be best for you if-”
Laurie scoffed then, the venomous sound ringing around the room as if a thousand Lauries were bitterly laughing at the girl’s advice.
“Great, another person who apparently knows what’s best for me,” Laurie answered sarcastically “I don’t know what it is about me that makes everybody else think they know what I need better than I do, but I tell you one thing, I’m getting goddamn sick of it.”
Chiara didn’t make her reply, which was just as well because Laurie hadn’t yet quelled the sudden rising of rage within him. Another torrent of words would need to come bubbling up before he could be satisfied, and bubble up they did.
“My relationship with River was essentially ended for me without me even being in the room, mainly thanks to Cleo. A decision made about my relationship and my happiness by people who didn’t have any business or any right involving themselves. Ripley thought he knew who and what I should be. Dionysus thought I should be following the path he’d chosen for me.”
As he spoke, he approached a little closer to Chiara, breathing quickening as his hands formed fists at his side.
However, he now lifted one of those hands to point accusatorily at Chiara. As if it were somehow her he was angry with. He wasn’t. He was just being angry around her.
“When are people going to realise that they don’t just get to decide for me? I know people think I’m stupid but don’t forget I’m speaking a second language that I taught myself and I don’t exactly think I’m doing it badly. Why is it such a crazy idea that maybe, just maybe, I’m intelligent enough to make decisions for myself?”
Chiara didn’t respond to his angry tirade and his rhetorical questions, evidently deciding it would be better to weather the storm and let it pass. Indeed, to her credit, she was handling it well. She didn’t even seem to flicker in the face of Laurie’s rage, simply regarding him evenly.
He met her gaze, now almost toe-to-toe with the Heimdallr champion.
”Let me handle this my own way. I promise you’ll have every chance to say ‘I told you so’ later.” were Laurie’s low words, spoken clearly and firmly so as to leave no room for argument or doubt as to his feelings on the issue.
With that he turned, leaving Chiara to take her seat as he went to take his, prepared somewhat now for the return of the leaders. As prepared, anyway, as he could be.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jul 18, 2022 11:38:01 GMT -5
FUTURE WRITING - NOT NECESSARILY CANON ”Hey, Princess” came a singsong voice
“Shut up,”
Lucien’s words, though his voice held a note of amusement, were said without a moment of hesitation. His fingers did not pause for even a second in their gentle strumming if the guitar in his grip.
He sat on his bed in his room, the door of which room Luka had just pushed open to enter with camera in hand despite Lucien’s order for her to ‘go away’ when she knocked.
“Aww, come on, Your Highness,” teased Luka’s voice from behind the camera.
Lucien did stop strumming then and looked up, Luka zooming in on his unamused face as he quirked an eyebrow.
“If you’re not careful this guitar will become Exhibit A in my trial for murder,” he joked “What do you want?”
Luka did not reply for a while, pausing just until Lucien appeared to grow irritated, opening his mouth to speak. It was at that point she interrupted him.
“Nothing.” she answered with an air of triumph, having successfully annoyed her friend. A sibling-like task the two seemed to dutifully engage in at least once a day. Lucien irritating her, and she him.
With that, she left and made a point of leaving the door open, giggling from halfway down the hallway at Lucien declaring her an ‘asshole’ and shutting the door behind her.
———-
”That’s what you’re wearing to River and Laurie’s wedding?”
Luka asked the teasing question, the camera focusing on Lucien as he did up the top button of his collar. He didn’t normally wear suits, and it appeared Luka had chosen to capture this rarity.
Lucien clicked his fingers and sighed, joking in response ”Damn, I knew I should have gone for the zebra-patterned jumpsuit”
Luka laughed, declaring “I hope you’re prepared to put your money where your mouth is, Princess, because I for one would pay to see you in that”
By this point the man, looking in the mirror, was working on his cufflinks. His hair, slightly longer than it had been when he was younger, was tied carefully back from his face. He carried no bow with him that day, but the weapon featured in a subtle way on his cufflinks. A small reminder, and in Lucien’s mind almost like a protective amulet. An expression of a hope that the Ascendants would not need their weapons that day.
His lyre pin, though, was fixed firmly on his suit. He never went anywhere without his key, it gave him comfort after everything they had been through to know it was there.
”Here, let me help.”
The camera wobbled as it was put down on a nearby table, Luka approaching to adjust Lucien’s jacket. She looked over him with an evaluating eye, giving a nod that suggested that she was satisfied.
”You look good,” Luka apparently decided, tone warm and genuine.
For that, she earned a smile from Lucien.
”So do you, Lukes,”
He grabbed his friend’s hand, made her do a little twirl, and let her turn around to face her again. The man looked like for all the world like a proud brother.
”Yeah,” he continued, teasing now ”You’ll do, I guess.”
Luka elbowed him, laughing, and then Lucien glanced outside. The wedding would be starting soon, and Luka had already said she’d dash over to help River with his final preparations. Lucien had to get his music set-up sorted so that it was ready for after the ceremony. He would probably not see his friend again until Laurie and River were walking down the aisle.
“Want to give the poor musician a dance since he’ll be too busy with the music to embarrass himself on the dance floor today?”
Luka rolled her eyes ”Well, when you put it like that.”
And they did, slow dancing to no music, laughing when one stepped on the other’s toes or when one of them made a dumb face to distract the other.
Two friends whose bond had deepened over years into something sibling like. And Lucien could not be happier that he had found a brother in River, and a sister in Luka.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jul 26, 2022 14:20:48 GMT -5
NOT CANON, JUST RANDOM WRITING A figure was before a throne. Horns rose from dark hair, eyes lowered in the ever-youthful face as the young man rose to his feet before the seated god..
“I had heard tell you were seeking aid from the other gods and had dearly hoped to find it mere rumour, as is so often the case with gossip among the idle gods of Olympus. You must be desperate, to come to me.” Zeus said, coolly regarding his son.
“All I ask is for assistance in intervening for the kidnapped champions,” urged the younger man.
”And I cannot grant it,” the elder’s reply.
Zeus’s response was calm and without compassion or pity. Immediate and decisive.
”Why not? I ask only of you what has been asked before by many gods.”
”A title to which your blood affords you only half a claim.”
Dionysus’ voice hardened at that challenge to his divinity.
“And to which my deeds afford me full.”
He had earned his godhood, not simply through his immortal blood but through his actions. Through his suffering at the hands of Hera, though his journey to the Underworld.
He had persisted through growing up on earth without his mother and with the heavy knowledge of who his father was, through madness inflicted by Hera, through journeys to the Underworld, through becoming a god and through the man subsequent instances of his godhood being questioned.
“You forget too easily. When gods intervene with the doings of mortals, things are always left worse than if we had not, no matter how benevolent our intentions. I recall the blood spilt at Troy as if it were yesterday. Blood spilt because every god begged at my knees for me to favour one side or another, one hero or another and if I refused, disobeyed me and acted alone. It will not be borne again.”
Dionysus frowned at his father’s explanation, unable as some of his more sober siblings (like Athena or Apollo) to school his expression and hold his tongue with his father. He wore his thoughts plainly in his face.
“We are talking about lives here, Father. Lives which were in the first place put at risk due to our intervention. Feel you no responsibility for them?” Dionysus challenged, appealing to the other god with disbelieving shock at his lack of thought for their champions.
“I understand your unique empathy for the mortals; your connection with them is only to be expected. But if you had been raised on Olympus you would understand why it is that gods should take care with their favour of mortals.”
Dionysus narrowed his eyes. “I know what it is to not have the favour of the gods.”
He was referencing the very reason why he had not, to paraphrase his father, been raised as his siblings before him had been. Hera.
He had spent his childhood escaping the wrath of Hera, having been taken as an infant by Hermes to new guardians to raise him several times after Hera found and attempted to destroy him. He had known what it was to be struck by Hera’s madness, alleviated only by his grandmother Rhea’s kindness. And he had faced struggles alone to become a protector of men and to earn his godhood. He had fought for his godhood and against those who would not recognise it. He understood what it was, certainly, to receive kindnesses from other gods. But he also had felt the wrath of gods like Hera.
“Dionysus, I will discuss this no longer. For us to directly intervene would put us in greater conflict with the gods supporting the exiled. We risk more bloodshed among the mortals and an all-out war amongst the gods. If you have any consideration for yourself, you will ask no more.” Zeus’ threat was calm on the surface, but Dionysus could feel the hardness beneath it.
Still, though he knew the answer, he could not help but question.
“Why?”
Zeus simply fixed him with his bright gaze. The air seemed to grow charged, as if in the moment before a lightning strike. It was as if the hairs on Dionysus’ skin suddenly stood up
“Because the godhood you so jealously protect will not save you from me.”
Dionysus exhaled sharply, but said nothing. He simply stood and defiantly met his father’s gaze for several tense moments before tersely bowing his head to the king of the gods.
And he turned on his heel and left the sight of his father.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Aug 1, 2022 18:05:57 GMT -5
FLASH FORWARD- NOT CANON Lucien recalled all too well the words Cleo had said to him and Luka on that Halloween night when it all went wrong.
"You can stay out of the way…Or, if you want to act like leaders, you'll finally get your chance. Given the lack of them we now have."
He remembered them emphasising that his and Luka’s status as leaders was shaky and in question. He remembered them saying that it was for Luka and Lucien to change their mind via their handling of the consequences that had followed their mistakes that Halloween.
And Lucien could at least say that he’d done his part in helping bring the others back. But it hadn’t made him feel better about any part of what he’d done. And it didn’t make him feel like he was more suited to be a leader.
He hadn’t convinced himself that he was worthy to be a leader, let alone Cleo.
But he stood before them now in the leaders’ meeting room. The very room he’d spent hours upon hours in with the others working to get the others back. The room of sleepless nights, of trying to hold himself together with whatever he had left so that he didn’t break down or show the cracks from the pressure. This was a room into which his feelings were not supposed to enter. They should be left beyond the threshold. Because it was the room where he was supposed to be a leader, to be the one the others could rely on. People needed him, and there was no room for himself as an individual in that; he was needed as an entity, as a leader, not a person.
Nevertheless, his feelings had followed him in. Usually of inadequacy, doubt, angry, fear and guilt.
He took a deep breath, resisting the urge to stick his hands on his pockets to steady and anchor himself, as he prepared to speak.
“You told me on that Halloween that you were giving Luka and I a chance and that we had to change your mind. Thing is, I didn’t even have my own mind made up, but I do now.” he began steadily.
He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment, before opening them again and continuing.
“At first, I really did care about changing your mind. We might not have ever gotten on, but I couldn’t help myself from wanting to win your approval. I know better now than to try to change your opinions of me, and I don’t give a shit anymore.”
He always had cared more than he let on about what people thought of him. He acted like he didn’t, but he did. He’d never say so, of course. If people didn’t think he cared, they couldn’t disappoint him and he couldn’t disappoint them. He couldn’t be vulnerable. He could shrug it off when they let him down.
It didn’t matter.
“We agree that I should’ve never been a leader. I never wanted it, I never asked for it, and I’m tired. Tired of being thought of both as an adult who should be able to deal with the pressure of being a leader and a child who can’t be trusted. I can’t be the person everybody needs me to be. And I doubt anyone could be the person you need me to be.”
People had never expected much of him, until now. He was simultaneously overestimated and underestimated. Too much expected of him and too little. He was exhausted by it, and by constantly feeling that he was letting people down. That he wasn’t enough.
“I’m fed up of being used. I’m an irresponsible child when you need someone to blame and a mature leader when you need me to bear the burden. I’m going to save you the trouble of making up your mind about which I am and make this easy for you.”
He looked at Cleo, someone that was an ally but not a friend to him. They’d grown a little closer when they worked together, for a period the only two remaining leaders. But still he didn’t think he could live up to what the others expected of him. He didn’t think he had it in him to be a leader.
He’d made up for his mistakes, and perhaps it was easier for him now to walk away before he could make more.
The suffering, pain and death that had fallen on his friends recently had been painful to bear for all of them. And Lucien had felt such tearing guilt, because as a leader he felt responsible for all of it in at least a small way. Maybe it was cowardly, but he didn’t want to bear that burden anymore.
Not when he was already so afraid with it all anyway.
”I’m out.”
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Aug 9, 2022 17:15:49 GMT -5
FLASH FORWARD- NOT CANON Luka had hurt Lucien beyond anything he could express.
Leaving without a proper goodbye, without telling him where she was going. Did she care about him so little that she could just walk away without a word? It would not have been so easy for him to leave her, certainly not without a goodbye. Perhaps he had overestimated their friendship. Perhaps for Luka it was merely a thing that got her through the leaders meetings, a little bit of entertainment. Somebody else to stick up their middle finger at Cleo with her.
To him it had been more, but when had that ever stopped someone from leaving before?
Not only had she just left, she’d joined the very people who were hurting the Ascendants. The very people who would see him dead if he gave them half a chance. He’d seen her with them, with the wolf who had almost torn off Chiara’s arm and almost killed Luka.
With the girl who had almost crushed the very air out of Lucien’s lungs. He remembered the ribs bruising, threatening to crack. She had almost killed him. Would have, if River had not saved him.
How could she turn against them so completely? How could she betray them? He thought he had known her better. At first he’d wanted to think it wasn’t true, that she was just playing a part. But as good at playing such games as Luka was, he couldn’t imagine that she would be able to hurt her friends in the process of double-crossing the exiled. Because he had seen the softness in her, peeking through once or twice from within the trickster.
Cleo might have thought Luka capable of such a complete betrayal, such lack of feeling toward her friends, but Lucien did not. At least not without her warning him, her closest friend, first. Giving some word that it wasn’t real. Telling him some hint of her plan before she left. He would have tried to stop her if she had, granted, but he doubted he would have succeeded. Luka’s will was every bit as strong as is, if not stronger. No, if she had been genuine in her relationships with Lucien and the others, he did not think she could do such a thing.
The only remaining explanation had been that he had been thoroughly wrong about her, and she was with the exiled of her own will.
So without her, an anger has grown in his heart towards her. The worst kind of anger, for it came from a place of deepest pain. A hot anger. Not hard, flinty and cold but seething and bright. Not unchanging and constant and cool, but volatile. Burning deeper within him, writing and changing as it burrowed.
He had just begun, with time, to begin to get used to that feeling. To be able to process it.
But then she returned.
They’d had a rather explosive argument upon her return and from that point had not spoken again. Lucien’s wounds had been opened too deeply and he had hurt Luka more than he at that time realised. He supposed Luka was not the kind of person, after such an argument, to then choose to reinitiate conversation. To reach out. Because why would she open herself up to more criticism and more attacks?
And Lucien too, was too proud and too hurt to reach out. It was, then, quite some time before the two teenagers spoke again.
He was in the training room, practicing as he so often did with his bow and arrow. He sometimes tried to improve his proficiency with other weapons so that he was at least decent as handling something other than his bow, but it was to his favoured weapon he always found himself returning.
He inhaled as he drew the bowstring back, feeling the aching tension in his muscles from many hours of training as the string came to rest almost touching the corner of his mouth. The bowstring then sang as he released it, sending the arrow with a thud to the target.
He had lowered the bow and was just about to step forward to retrieve it when he heard the door behind him open and shut smoothly. He turned slightly, glancing back only to be met with a familiar curly-haired figure.
Lucien said nothing, merely turned sharply away and stepping with more purpose than ever toward the target, snatching the arrow from the target with perhaps a lower regard for safety than he would usually show and stowing it in his quiver. That done, he began to head toward the door, not so much as looking at the girl as he made to leave.
“We still have to live together, you know.” Luka pointed out, her voice stopping Lucien in his tracks “There’s only so long you can keep avoiding me like this.”
Lucien huffed, shooting the champion of Loki a glare.
”Try me.”
He made to leave again, and would have if Luka hadn’t spoken up once again.
”I can’t understand for the life of me why you could think I would have ever joined the exiled with the intention of betraying you all. Do you not know me at all?”
Lucien whirled on her then.
”I’m asking myself the same question.” he snapped ”The truth is I don’t know you. Because I never thought you’d just up and leave without a word to me. I thought we were closer than that. But clearly I’ve been giving you way too much credit.”
Luka looked down, giving a bitter laugh, before meeting Lucien’s gaze again and tilting her head.
“You know what?” she began hotly “I could usually deal with you being an utter arse, but not like this.”
”Like what?”
”You pretending as if your life didn’t get so much better without me around!” Luka’s shouted these words, her voice wobbling with emotion, eyes beginning to shine with tears.
Lucien was stunned into silence, giving Luka a chance to collect herself a little after her outburst before continuing.
”Your sister came back, you got your girlfriend… Stop pretending like you needed me.”
Lucien shook his head, incredulous.
”My life was not better without you, Luka. I thought you knew that, I thought we both understood what we meant to one another. It broke me when you left. I’d thought you might have at least said something to me.”
When she left without a word to him, he could assume it was either because she didn’t care or because she knew he’d want to come and she didn’t want to put him in danger. The second option was insulting in itself, because Lucien knew Luka was aware of how sick he was of being wrapped in cotton wool because he was the healer.
And she hadn’t left him much choice but to believe the worst in her.
”And for the record, my sister showing up isn’t something I was pleased about. We don’t get along, which is bad enough, but now my sister is in danger like I am and my mom doesn’t have anyone to take care of her. So don’t assume how I’m feeling, or how good you think my life is. You went through shit out there, I know, but don’t forget for a second the shit we went through here when you walked away. I f-ing needed you.”
Lucien had struggled more deeply than he’d wanted to say when Luka left. She’d always understood him, and he didn’t know what to do without her. She had always cared for him.
Turning now before Luka could say anything, Lucien turned once again and really did leave, Luka’s gaze burning into his back until the door closed behind him.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Aug 15, 2022 14:49:33 GMT -5
FLASH FORWARD - NOT CANON Laurie had taken himself away to the training room in the exiled base, where he found himself practising with a sword. An unusual thing for him, given it wasn’t his normal weapon, but Gwen had been destroying him when it came to their practices and he intended to at least show some improvement with the sword.
The thing felt strange in his hands; as if it wasn’t balance right, or it didn’t fit his grip. He was no swordsman. He wasn’t terrible, but he was far less suited to it than most other weapons he practiced with. He wasn’t embarrassed to say so.
Really the reason he’d secluded himself was to keep his distance from Ripley. He had by now come accustomed to reading all of Ripley’s moods from the slightest signs. The tread of his footstep approaching down the halls, the tone of his voice, the slightest change in his facial expressions. And when Ripley was in a volatile mood, Laurie tended to keep his distance from him when he could - not too obviously, for to look like he was avoiding Ripley would simply make him angrier. Instead he busied himself with tasks whenever he could, did anything he could to keep himself out of the way without looking suspicious.
It reminded him so much of when he was a child. The time one day when Denise had grabbed both his hands in hers when he was about twelve and she was fifteen and looked at him with a kind of intensity in her eyes that he’d never seen in her before or since. She’d been about to go away for a few days on a trip with her school, the first time the two siblings had been separated overnight.
“Give papa his space if he gets in one of his moods, okay? Don’t bother him too much. You know which mood I mean, don’t you? - good, okay. Promise me?”
He’d promised her, her seriousness has unnerved him too much for him not to. And indeed he’d kept his word. For he knew even at that age how to read all the signs that his father was drunk. Usually it would put him in a good mood, but he’d be unpredictable. It could turn in a matter of moments and it took Laurie a few more years to be able to read the signals of that change. Instead at that age he’d simply kept his distance the moment he saw any sign of his father’s drunkenness.
His father never hurt any of them when he was drunk - certainly not intentionally, though an older Laurie did get a cut on his finger when trying to wrestle a bottle from his father’s hand. But he did plenty of showboating, shouting loudly and throwing bottles around and cursing if provoked.
At least, as far as he knew, none of them had ever gotten hurt. When his father had gotten into a bad mood, Denise would always just send Laurie up to do his homework or something to keep him out of the way. Sometimes she’d take him out for ice cream afterwards - to get them out of the house, Laurie realised now as he did not then.
Now he thought about that grip she’d had of his hands when she’d made him promise. The way she’d held his hands so tightly - the warmth in her palms for her hands had always been so warm. The way she’d run her thumbs over the back of his hand in a firm but reassuring way. As if it would impress upon him her words but also let him know it would be okay.
If she knew what he was going through, she’d want to kill Ripley for hurting him. But she’d also want him to stay safe. He was beyond her help - or, he was beginning to think, anybody’s - so all he could do was protect himself as best he could.
She’d make him promise.
”Hiding from your boyfriend?”
Laurie recognised that voice.
He still didn’t understand why Luka had come out there, abandoning the others. He’d thought at first it was maybe to help them, but doubt had crept in. She seemed to play the part too well. And that was coming from him, who had learned very well how to play the part Ripley wanted him to play. How to get around the traps in his words, when he was just waiting for something to punish him for. So now he wasn’t sure, now a part of him felt that maybe Luka was really with them.
”What’s it to you?” he shot back, a little too harshly, a little too defensive and sharp. He bristled; she’d hit a nerve.
He’d stopped training then, the blows he’d been making to try to improve his speed. He wasn’t slow, but so many of the exiled he trained with had an advantage in speed. No, he slipped the sword back into its scabbard, then, but did not meet the girl’s gaze as Luka continued to speak.
”Nothing,” was her even reply ”but I’m surprised you don’t hear how stupid it sounds that you have to do that.”
Laurie did not reply, but did turn and meet Luka’s eyes to let her know that he was at least listening. He didn’t like this conversation, but he was listening.
”Why are you choosing to keep pretending this is okay?” she pushed, though it did not sound gentle. She sounded angry, and Laurie could not tell if it was on his behalf or not. If she was angry for him, or with him.
Laurie exhaled through his nose, sighing a frustrated and pained sigh.
”Because if I pretend, then I can be something better than this,” said the boy shakily ”Less broken. If I pretend, then I get to be the person I was trying to be. The person who was trying to choose to be happy, to take control. Not the pathetic idiot who gave up everything he was the moment he was shown fake kindness.”
Sure, maybe it had never been right to let himself fall for Ripley, who was doing so much harm to his friends, even if he had been kind to him at first. But he’d learned terrible things about the gods, and about his friends. Some of them lies, some true. And in the end all he’d wanted was to be in control of his own falling apart. All he’d wanted was to be able to choose for himself to heal and move on and get on with his life.
In his quest to take control, he’d given it up. He had lost everything, and gained only pain in the process. Pain, and a better understanding of what an utter fool he was and had always been. How naive, how easy to manipulate. How stupid, how trusting. How cowardly, how selfish.
His voice began to sound more pained and more defeated, until finally his words simply fell flat and tired.
”As long as I keep pretending, the others are safe.”
Luka shook her head, and he once again couldn’t tell if she was just plain disappointed, or if she was trying somehow to somehow appeal to him. To entreat him to listen.
”You can’t keep lying to yourself. You’ve chosen to stay, but you can choose to walk away.”
Laurie’s response to this was ready, waiting on the tip of his tongue.
”It’s easy to say you would choose differently when you’re not in my place.”
He offered no more explanation than that, for indeed even he found it difficult to truly defend himself. He hated himself too much, thanks to Ripley’s manipulations. He believed himself truly weak, truly stupid, truly spineless. He could give no more than that, could bring himself to say no more.
But he was trying to keep everyone around him safe, for Ripley would use them against him if he could. And he knew it was not so easy for him to just walk away, now. By the time he’d seen Ripley for what it was, it was too late. He was trapped, and once there it was not such an easy thing to leave. No matter how much he might want it.
It would take years for him to understand that none of it was his fault. Not the abuse, certainly, but also the fact that he had not left. For years he’d blamed himself for staying. But the fact was that he had a choice in theory, but not in practice. To choose to leave would be to put his friends at risk. That was not a choice that was viable to Laurie.
And he knew that if he had left, Ripley would not have left it at that. He would have pursued Laurie to the ends of the earth, and all the worse for him when he did find him. No, to leave he would have had to have been sure that the other Ascendants would take him back in. That was something he could not be so sure of, even if he had his key to get back. Ripley had done everything he could to convince him that the others would think of him as being with the exiled, that he was as good as one of them now as far as his friends were concerned. They’d never accept him back now he was one of the enemy.
Laurie would spend many years learning more and more about himself and what he’d gone through, and eventually he would come to be proud of himself for being put in a situation where everything he was and loved was at risk and coming out of it alive, even if broken.
And though in that moment he was pushing her away and refusing to listen to her, his escape from that place would in the end be all down to Luka. Luka, who would then suffer so badly for her attempts to protect her friends
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Aug 20, 2022 5:15:35 GMT -5
FLASH FORWARD- NOT CANON Lucien was desperate.
He and the others had escaped from the hunters, but had done so with barely their their lives. Whatever few possessions they’d left with in their escape from the pantheon’s fall and thus had taken from them by the hunters were long gone. They would probably not see those things again for as long as they lived.
So they had left the hunters’ base with nothing, really. No keys, no phones, no money, no food, no weapons. Well, aside from whatever the occasional thing they’d been able to pick up on the way out of the base.
The young leader didn’t exactly feel great that he’d led his friends in an escape that had been so little prepared and ill-executed. He’d never claimed to be a strategist, and frankly neither had Apollo (that was Athena’s thing), and so he couldn’t help but feel that he’d fallen short. Still, there had been little time for him to dwell on that guilt during daylight hours. During those hours he had to try to help lead the group toward some kind of help or safety - and avoid any exiled, hunter or even monster who might want to harm them. No, it was during the hours where it was his turn to keep watch at night that he played over in his head how he might have done it better.
Their only hope, he’d realised, was to try and find the others who escaped. With the Pantheon likely still under exiled control, it wasn’t worth the risk to try to go back there yet. Luckily for them, the loss of their keys which might have helped them reach their friends was also protecting them from any attempts by the exiled to track them. For now, they had to travel undetected and hope to find other escapees from the Pantheon’s fall.
The difficulty was knowing where they’d be. The ascendants were from scattered places around the world, after all, and as such they had nowhere but the Pantheon in common. Nowhere but…
It hadn’t taken long for Lucien to realise. Where would he make a beeline for if he were lost? If he needed somewhere remote and protected to make camp? If he were hoping to find a spot that could function as a point where any ascendants scattered by the Pantheon’s fall could reunite?
The campsite.
He’d been a fool to not realise more quickly. Any of the more intelligent ascendants - Jason, Luka, Chiara - would have known instantly. It was the only place that all the ascendants knew and had been to aside from the Pantheon. Of course, there was no guarantee anyone had gone there; they might be journeying toward the Pantheon or out seeking the others like he and his group were. But it was worth a try.
So that was the idea, long shot as it was, which he’d proposed to the others. If any of the others who had fled the Pantheon had survived, they had a chance of finding them there. Having no better recourse, this course of action was the one they had settled on.
It had not been an easy journey; long and difficult. They had to scrape together money to travel, to eat, and the distance was not insignificant. He was not ashamed to say that at times he’d been so tempted to let go of any pretence of hope. Even Apollo’s entreaties that he not give up fell on deaf ears sometimes, like when one is pelted by rain but already too soaked for it to make any difference. But there was nowhere to turn back to. No safety to retreat to. There was nothing to do but try to forge ahead and hope it led to something better.
But finally, after an arduous journey, they’d arrived.
Lucien pushed branches out of his face as he forged between the trees. The skin was already covered in tiny nicks and scratches from when he had not been so careful, and branded and thorns had torn at him. His legs felt weak, to the extent that he was not even really sure how they were holding him up.
He wasn’t in his usual clothes, instead wearing that with which they’d been provided by the hunters. After their journey those clothes were dirty, undoubtedly smelled a little, and had little tears in one or two places. They stuck to his back, which was clammy with sweat. His hair was plastered to his head, with sweat and probably some dirt or grime. Since he and the others had escaped the hunters, they hadn’t been able to have a change of clothes or a shower, and it had been even longer since they’d had proper night’s sleep. Or at least, he hadn’t slept properly at all since they’d been taken by the hunters. He felt like a walking corpse, and he knew he probably didn’t exactly look or smell amazing either.
He was too exhausted to keep his tread light on the forest floor, each step painful and heavy. Lifting his feet felt like far too much to ask, and once or twice already he’d almost stumbled over a root. They were all tired, but they were so close. They had to keep going.
Finally, though, the trees began to thin. Then, a glimpse of the sunlight playing over the water of the lake. A little further, the view looking so familiar now.
Then, there it was.
Lucien emerged from the treeline into the dappled sunlight of a familiar clearing. And his heart kept to see that it was not empty.
Dark curls, a petite frame. Intelligent eyes which reflected campfire flames as she carefully monitored a meal she seemed to be preparing.
But her hearing had always been good, and at his approach her gaze snapped up. He watched as first wariness, then shock, disbelief, relief and finally pure joy passed over her face in quick succession, her expression lighting up as she leapt to her feet.
He stumbled toward Luka, the other teenager quickly closing the distance to wrap him in the tightest hug he’d ever been given. It spoke more than words could. He could feel the relief, her desperation. Her dark hair tickled his skin, and she smelled of the campfire she’d been sitting in front of, and the leafy forest air. She had obviously lacked a proper shower too, but he imagined the lake had made up for that somewhat, for she smelled and looked cleaner than he did. He’d never seen the clothes she was wearing, and they weren’t her usual style, so he had to imagine that she’d procured those since her escape from the Pantheon.
“You’re alive,” Luka whispered, and he could swear her voice sounded a little shaky.
“Last I checked,” Lucien joked in reply, to his own surprise finding that his own voice was more emotional-sounding than he’d thought it would be. Tight with a rush of feeling.
Luka laughed a little, and the pair released one another from their hug. She examined him with shining eyes, and Lucien’s own vision was brimming. Tears would come sooner or later for one or the other.
”Looking a little rough, there, Princess.”
That comment made him smile. A little teasing joke, but in it he could sense the concern for him. It was her way of asking if he was okay, saying she was worried.
Thank god you’re here. Are you alright, are you hurt? That’s what he could hear in her words, though they did directly not say as much.
“Sorry, didn’t realise there was a dress code.” was his response, though to reassure her he reached out after he spoke to briefly squeeze her shoulder.
I’m okay, he was saying.
Was he? Most assuredly not. He’d tried to hide how much of a shell of himself he had been with the hunters. He’d fought so hard at first, but because of it he’d only broken all the more spectacularly. Lucien hadn’t felt like himself for a while. Pain and hopelessness did that to a person after a while, and in the end he’d been stripped back to just the scared child he was.
But, he told himself, now he and the others were out. They were safe, for the moment, and he’d been reunited with Luka. Even if he wasn’t okay, he was closer to okay than he had been in a long time.
Lucien finally took in the campsite. The campfire was well established, the ground around it littered with a dark dust of charcoal. Luka had made a makeshift shelter, and it seemed she’d been able to put a meal together out of things from the forest and supplies she’d pulled together in her way. Everything seemed… temporary but less makeshift than he would expect. As if she’d had time to build this place up properly.
“How long have you been here?” Lucien asked Luka hesitantly, finding her eyes again.
Luka got that expression she got when she was going to be evasive, and she stepped away from him a little abruptly. The girl turned to the campfire, sitting and returning her attention to the food.
“I don’t want to talk about that,” she said with finality, looking into the flames rather than at the food, and Lucien knew that he wasn’t getting a direct answer to that question.
But he already knew. He could piece it together. She’d spent some time trying to find those who were missing, which was how she’d gotten hold of the spare clothes and some other supplies. Then she must have had the same thought as Lucien and travelled to the campsite in the hopes that, if she was patient, the others might too. He didn’t know how long she’d been waiting, but it had clearly been quite long enough.
Lucien approached a little cautiously, not wanting to upset Luka further, and took a seat beside her - a little stiffly, but he gave a relieved sound as the pain in his legs was instantly eased. He looked between Luka and the food, before bumping her shoulder in that friendly way he’d always done, ”Any chance any of that’s going free?”
Luka looked across at him, smiled, and everything suddenly felt okay.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Aug 25, 2022 12:25:12 GMT -5
FUTURE WRITING -- NOT CANON (Just messing around and testing some stuff) Lucien was the first to admit that he had been angry with Laurie. He’d been angry with him, with Luka. With the gods, maybe. Laurie had hurt the people he’d considered his friends, and for Lucien that kind of behaviour was not something he could easily forgive or look past.
He’d been glad Laurie had been under house arrest and had kept mostly to his room; it kept them from crossing paths too often and having to endure an interaction. With all the stress and pressure he’d been under and how prone he was to lashing out, he had a feeling that Laurie’s separation from the rest of the ascendants had been the only thing stopping Lucien from doing something he would later regret.
But the trial had been just earlier that day. Laurie had been careful not to say too much, though Lucien suspected that whatever it was he was hiding was also known by River and maybe Cleo - though they too said nothing. Lucien couldn’t glean much, with Laurie clearly not wanting to talk about some aspect of his life with the exiled. Lucien did not blame him- Laurie had the right to not talk about it and Lucien would respect that. What the champion of Apollo could figure out was that he’d suffered at the hands of Ripley in some way. After that the evidence that Laurie was still struggling in some way was staring him in the face.
And there was one aspect of that struggle with which he could help.
He’d approached Laurie’s room, that little door with the golden wine cup and the bunch of grapes. Representing Dionysus. He could tell Laurie was inside; light spilled from beneath the door in a weak beam fanning out into the hallway, and though the room was soundproofed he was just close enough to hear the music which played constantly from the jukebox through the door.
Besides, he didn’t really leave his room these days.
Lucien raised a fist to give an insistent knock on the door, only to hear a shout from Laurie telling him to go away. Lucien wasn’t taking no for an answer, frowning and knocking more relentlessly than ever. Eventually Laurie was forced to get up.
The door pulled open to reveal a slightly taller figure. Lucien almost struggled to recognise Laurie at the moment. He’d always been a little slimmer than Lucien, a slightly lankier build, but he’d certainly lost weight. His clothes hung off him, and if Laurie hadn’t been wearing everything all long-sleeved and buttoned-up now he was sure he would have seen thinner, frailer wrists and collarbones protruding more from the olive skin. Skin that seemed a slightly more sickly hue now, probably from the cigarettes. He had the same warm brownish hazel-ish eyes, but they seemed duller, seemed to look through things rather than looking at them. He had the same dark curly hair, but it seemed more unkempt. As if he did not like to touch it to brush it anymore.
Laurie smelled of cigarette smoke but Lucien could also detect a hint of something else, something he could not place at first. It was like the tangy, irony scent of blood but it was less of that rusty scent. It almost had a stomach-turning sweetness to it, actually. Like decaying, overripe berries. This was blood, he thought, but it smelled as if not all of it was fresh.
"Lucien. What's going on?"
Laurie had looked at Lucien first with surprise, and then furrowed his brows. He’d been thoroughly caught off his guard. Understandable, Lucien thought, since even before everything had happened the two of them hadn’t spent a lot of time in one another’s company.
But Lucien had a job to do, and he looked at Laurie with an expression of firm defiance as if Laurie had already tried to stop him.
"I'm healing you," Lucien answered with assured determination.
Laurie, in sudden panic, had been so quick to try and close the door that Lucien had needed to lunge to jam his foot in the door, bracing his arm against it so Laurie could not force it shut.
"No you're not," Laurie sounded just as firm, if not more so, as he continued to try to get the door shut on the boy. The words had been spoken through gritted teeth, and with finality.
Lucien could not allow this, and he pushed himself as hard as he could against the door, trying to force it to open. He was unexpectedly strong - he supposed with all the training he’d been doing to try and cope. That, combined with the fact that Laurie’s strength was less than usual and he was in pain, meant Lucien was easily able to push the door open and force Laurie to yield enough to create a gap for him. Lucien pushed his way past. Planting his feet, the stubborn Apollo champion took a firm stand in the middle of the room so Laurie could not force him out again.
Lucien watched as Laurie simply sighed, his back still to the blond boy. There seemed to be some pain in him as he did that deep exhale, though, some twinge in his back from the way the back muscles seemed to move. It was hard to tell, though, through the fabric of the shirt. He pushed the door gently shut before turning and regarding Lucien in silence for a moment. It was a questioning, evaluating gaze. His brows furrowed. He seemed almost suspicious.
"How did you know they weren't healed yet?" Laurie’s tone had a hint of an accusatory edge, and Lucien realised he was thinking one of the others he’d told might have let slip. River or Cleo. But neither had told him anything; they’d kept silent on that matter. As they should, for it was not their thing to tell.
Lucien quirked one eyebrow, as if it were perfectly obvious.
"I'm seventeen, not stupid. You're still covering up, you're still hiding in your room, and after all the healing I've had to do, did you really think I can't recognise a person in pain when I see one?"
He’d seen too much of it, now. Pain. Pain etched itself on a person’s face. Even those who would hide it, who were hurting enough to cry out but kept their tongues. Lucien could see the way it wearied them, drew at them. Tensed their muscles, pulled the blood from their cheeks.
Laurie was silent, could have nothing to say to that.
Lucien took this silence as an opportunity, stepping forward with the intention of healing Laurie. The French boy’s eyes flashed in distrust and a bit of fear, and he stepped back rapidly only to collide with the door. He seemed to jar whatever wound was in his back, for his face contorted and he drew in a sharp breath.
Lucien simply gave Laurie a look. The other boy reluctantly closed the gap, stepping toward him. Lucien did feel bad for panicking him; he hadn’t been sensitive enough to whatever it was exactly Laurie had been through. Lucien didn’t need to know. He knew trauma when he saw it, and that was all that mattered. He’d been too quick, too threatening. So as Laurie approached he made a concerted effort to be slow and gentle as he took Laurie’s wrist in preparation to heal him.
"Don't you want to see what you're dealing with before you do this?" Laurie asked in an uncertain voice, a note of guilt as if it were somehow his fault. Lucien felt a flash of anger at that; a lot of things were Laurie’s fault, but whatever it was he’d been through was not among them. Whatever pain it was that Lucien was about to heal was not Laurie’s fault.
Lucien wished he could tell him all of that, but he wasn’t very good at comforting people and instead settled for a slightly brisk "Don't be stupid, Bevin."
it was his somewhat mangled attempt of trying to tell Laurie that it was okay, that it wasn’t his fault. That Lucien didn’t care about taking on the pain, he would do it willingly. He was sure that it was the experiences that Laurie had gone through in receiving those wounds which were the worst, and Lucien could not ease that hurt. He was taking away only the surface suffering, not that which was causing Laurie his deepest torment.
Lucien could heal a lot of things, but that kind of pain wasn’t among them. He’d tried it one night, in private. In his room. Everything had been at its worst, and it had seemed so hopeless. Lucien had been sick at heart, grieving, and afraid. His healing efforts had helped those injured from the mission, but they weren’t out of the woods. Lucien had risked all of himself that Cleo could allow him to risk, and he still wasn’t sure it had been enough to save all of their lives. He’d been left exhausted, every cell in his body feeling scorched by the healing light of his powers.
But he had not been able to rest, to calm his mind or ease his fear. Drive away the nightmares which had plagued him. So he had elected to try to use his powers one more time that day. Laying his hand against his own chest, he’d closed his eyes and concentrated like normal. But he’d felt nothing. No warmth, no golden light. Just cold.
“Peace, boy,” Apollo’s voice had been so soft, so sympathetic, almost sad “Your powers cannot give you the solace you seek.”
Lucien remembered being so angry in that moment, begging Apollo to help him and becoming furious when the god refused, saying that if he were to ease Lucien’s burden in that moment, it would have been only a temporary solution. He had been right, of course, but Lucien had argued with his guide anyway. As he always did.
The boy was brought back to the present moment as Laurie began to protest, clearly not resigned to Lucien’s determined insistence. The boy just shushed him sharply, almost startling Laurie into silence, before closing his eyes. He focused on the touch of their skin, his hand around Laurie’s wrist. The warmth there. The callouses of Lucien’s fingertips from the strings of his bow and his guitar, the patches of thickened skin on Laurie’s own hands from training. The smell from Laurie was stronger now they were close, and he could smell something more sickening than the blood that he couldn’t quite identify. He cleared his head, willing that golden light to pool within him. It did, and he instantly felt a warm and perfect calm.
Until the pain hit. Lucien had healed a lot of wounds, but this was a bad one. Laurie had so many injuries, from small cuts and burns to big gashes. On the arms, the collarbone.
He knew exactly who’d inflicted these.
When the ascendants and exiled had met, Ripley had taken every chance he got to have Laurie close to him. Practically attached to him, all the time. Hands in that hair which Laurie had allowed to grow unruly, as if not wanting to touch it after Ripley. Kisses on the cheek, but never in true affection - Lucien had felt that. It had always felt more like it was about ownership. Staking a claim. Dominance. Making a point. And, of course, causing as much hurt as possible.
Lucien had been amazed, in hindsight, that he hadn’t seen it sooner. But Laurie had played his part in the charade so well. There had only been a couple of times, now Lucien thought it back, where he’d slipped. Where he’d tensed for just a moment at Ripley’s touch, or forgot briefly to resist the urge to shy away when Ripley reached for his hair. But he supposed the actor in Laurie had allowed him to recover quickly, to smooth it over.
Lucien hadn’t known just how bad it was until feeling these injuries - and he was sure he still didn’t know the half of it. It wasn’t his to know.
But the worst wave of pain hit him in that moment. A huge gash on Laurie’s back, making Lucien twist his own. And that was when he realised what the smell had been. Laurie had clearly been trying hard to keep it clean, but it was obviously infected. Still healing.
"What did that piece of shit do to you?" Lucien groaned out, voice laced with pain.
But as soon as he said that, he wished he hadn’t. He didn’t get to ask that question, he didn’t get to pry. It was for Laurie to tell him if he was comfortable, and he didn’t want to put Laurie on the spot. He hadn’t meant it as a genuine question, more rhetorical, but he hadn’t wanted Laurie to take it that way. So he rushed to correct himself.
"You don't have to answer that."
His voice had been apologetic, his words garbled out. But Laurie put his free hand out to Lucien’s in a steadying way, patting it reassuringly. Lucien was relieved, but not half as relieved as he was when the pain faded and he could finally thing straight. He let out a breath, opening his eyes.
"Thank you, Lucien," Laurie said as Lucien let go of his wrist, stepping back. His voice was pointed, like his words held heavy meaning. This meant a lot to Laurie, Lucien could tell.
But Lucien didn’t want that praise. He cleared his throat, waving off Laurie’s thanks as if to bat them away. It felt awkward to be praised for that, somehow. But as he looked down, he felt his mouth tugging into a hint of a smile. Perhaps he didn’t hate it as much as his instincts wanted him to; he had begun to discover, since becoming a healer, that helping people felt good.
"Why didn't..." Lucien began, gesturing vaguely towards Laurie "why didn't you tell me before? I could have helped."
Was he not approachable to Laurie? Had Laurie felt embarrassed? Ashamed of what he’d been through? That thought filled Lucien with a flash of that same conviction as he’d felt earlier. He hated that Laurie felt like this about something that hadn’t been his fault.
"Because of how your powers work. I didn't want you to have to take on that pain for me, not after how much I hurt all of you."
That one took Lucien by surprise. He hadn’t expected it to be because it made Laurie feel like a burden, or because of the hurt he’d caused to the group. But it made sense, he thought. It just didn’t make Lucien feel better about it. Had his own anger towards Laurie contributed to the Dionysus champion feeling that way?
"Laurie, I was absolutely furious with you, but that doesn't mean I wanted you to be in pain." Lucien tried to be as reassuring as he could make sound "You have to stop this guilt thing. If you torture yourself like this then you're still just doing that asshole's work for him."
Lucien’s hate for Ripley was only growing by the second. What he’d done to River, to Laurie, to everyone…
"I know, but it's not that simple," Laurie explained "I wish it was, believe me."
Lucien nodded in understanding. That kind of stuff took time. He of all people knew that healing took effort.
Still, he didn’t feel the most comfortable sticking around in situations like this. He wasn’t great at heart-to-hearts or anything. So he stepped toward the door, glad that now the healing was done he could leave.
But he paused as he pulled open the door, looking over his shoulder.
"And Laurie?" began Lucien, his words strong and his gaze suddenly intense as the images of what Ripley and the exiled had done continued to swirl in his mind.
"Yeah?"
"Don't hide around in here any longer," continued the boy, gesturing with a nod to the room "get angry, Bevin. Make him pay for every ounce of pain you went through. If the gods don't hold back on revenge I don't see why we should"
If Laurie answered, Lucien did not stop to hear it. He stepped outside, pulling the door shut behind him with a click.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Aug 26, 2022 17:55:00 GMT -5
IDEK WHAT THIS IS BUT IT’S NOT CANON The great u-shaped table surrounded by its many thrones on Olympus were occupied by the gods, holding council as they regularly did.
But there was an anxious, urgent energy in the air. The room was so silent you could hear a pin if it were to drop against those shining marble floors. The air felt oppressive, tearing at skin with an electricity.
Something had the gods truly rattled.
“Argeiphontes, the Busy One. It would please the council to hear first your report” Zeus rumbled, perhaps the only god able to keep up a facade of being unperturbed aside from maybe Athena and Dionysus, “Have events progressed as we feared?”
Hermes, in any other times, would have normally been seen to have been lounging in his seat. Leaning back with his feet on the table, ankles crossed with his winged sandals on display. But this time the elfin-featured young god was ready and at attention, a little tense. The god had expected to be called upon; the only god who could enter the realm of any other god without invitation, the only one who could report on the state of things in their entirety. He all but sprang to his feet, first bowing his head in respect to his Zeus before he addressed the council of the gods.
“They have, father,” Hermes delivered the unwelcome news, eyes first on the king of the gods before roving to sweep over the whole council “They have turned against the gods, allied themselves with those who present the greatest threats to Olympus - and already become more powerful than ever they ought. It seems the death of the girl may have stirred them finally to act against us.”
Dionysus scoffed into a wineglass as he raised it to his lips, drawing the attention of the entire assembly of gods.
“And whose fault was that?” Dionysus muttered, clearly referring to Zeus even though he did not look at the elder god.
Ares, beside him, gave the wine god a gentle box to the back of the head in warning, as if to remind him of himself. Dionysus almost spilled his wine. It was not an angry gesture on Ares’ part, more of a light warning to his little brother to watch his tongue before he got himself into too much trouble. The youngest Olympian could be too loose with his words sometimes. But the more perceptive gods might have caught a slight amused smile from the war-god at his brother’s quiet words.
Zeus, though, caught the insult and levelled his gaze at Dionysus. He muttered something about hemitheoi and good-for-nothing layabout sons and perhaps something about regretting sewing up his thigh and ascensions.
“Hold your tongue, Twice-Born.” he finally warned, once he’d been done with his grumbling. Dionysus glowered briefly in response, but finally elected to return a sarcastic smile to his father.
Zeus, though, chose to ignore his son and return his attention to his other child, nodding to Hermes to dismiss him. Hermes sat back down, but even this normally laid-back and mischievous god was a little fidgety as he observed the proceedings.
“How do the council propose we address this new threat to Olympus?” Zeus began, questioning the group.
It was Artemis who spoke first, that moonlit goddess rising to make her speech, laying her bow upon the table.
“We cannot let the matter alone, this much I have seen.” she began “The monsters which they could bring to roam the earth once more if they were to ally with our enemies-“
Poseidon rumbled in agreement, though he did not rise from his seat.
“Ceto stirs in the depths. I know her presence in my realm.”
Artemis sat back down, satisfied to have a seconder, as Hermes raised his voice once more.
“And I have seen the dangers in the realm of the Lord of the Dead. Ancient things could rise there, things Olympus has forgotten how to face. I have witnessed strange beings on the earth which Olympus has never seen.” he added from his own seat.
Zeus looked briefly troubled, brows furrowing as he thought. It seemed to subside a little, though, as Athena rose to her feet. She looked unflappable, her intense eyes sliding across the face of each god.
“We cannot face them in the mortal realm. It would be irresponsible, too destructive. Too great a risk, and our duties are too great here on Olympus.”
Zeus raised an eyebrow “So what is your proposition, bright-eyed one?”
It was Dionysus who once again broke in here, though this time he did not have sarcasm on his lips.
“I believe what my dear sister refers to is obvious.” said the god, adjusting the vines around his horns as he spoke “We must fight fire with fire. More mortals. Athena means to say that we would be more useful here on Olympus, offering indirect aid. I happen to agree, provided that we guide these mortals with more responsibility than the last.”
Zeus returned his gaze, questioningly now, to Athena. The goddess bowed her head in confirmation.
“It must be mortals to lead this fight. If Olympus is to be saved it must be done on earth. We must force the plane of battle, ensure it is fought on a mortal rather than a godly scale if we are to prevent great destruction. These children seeking to destroy us are mortals with immortal allies. We must provide the same thing. Mortals are versatile, can travel both mortal and godly places. They are without our rules and restrictions. There is a reason we have always had demigods and mortal heroes. But Dionysus is right; we shall need rules, accountability, in how we treat them.”
The mention of rules earned an expression of distaste from Hermes, who had never cared for his sister’s more rigid, organisational mind. Ares didn’t seem to know whether he ought to be displeased about the rules and letting others fight for them or glad at the idea of facing the threat properly rather than letting it pass - and indeed, something about the idea of having a champion to guide and protect seemed to appeal to him more than the god would admit.
Athena looked to Dionysus as if to thank him for his support, seating herself once again as Dionysus raised his glass to her in acknowledgment.
Zeus considered this for a moment, turning his gaze to Apollo. The god had been uncharacteristically quiet up to this point. He sat with his arms on the table, fingers templed beneath his chin as he contemplated something deeply. He was so focused he didn’t see the way his twin sister’s eyes searched his face, a slight frown passing over her own visage for a moment as she observed her brother.
“Phoebus, Apollo Thearios” Zeus’s voice rang sharply, startling the healer-prophet to attention “How do you see this thing?”
Apollo looked, for the briefest moment, caught off guard. An expression of uncertainty, of vulnerability, flew across his face so quickly it could barely be caught even by the most observant watching him. Those who knew him most.
He knew his father was looking to him as a prophet. As someone who could advise whether the endeavour would succeed or not. Someone to guide their path.
”My lord father,” Apollo began, earning a muttered comment from Ares about suck-ups and golden boys “I believe this counsel wise.”
“Let the council vote, then.”
________
It was not until after the council meeting that Artemis found her brother. He sat in his palace against a column, the gold decoration of the palace reflecting shining light against his skin, one knee drawn up with his elbow resting upon it, head in his hand. His bow lay on the marble floor beside him.
Artemis, with that silent tread of hers which Apollo always complained about due to the goddess’ tendency to sneak up on people even unintentionally, approached and sat beside him.
“How many millennia must I tell you that I can always tell when you are troubled?” Artemis began, in a soft tone reserved only for her twin ”What is the matter?”
Apollo was silent for so long that the goddess did not think he would answer. But finally he did. He sounded less confident in himself than she had heard him in many years.
”I cannot see it.”
Artemis blinked. ”What?”
Apollo lifted his head, looking up as he rested the back of his head against the column.
”So much is hidden to me.” he explained ”Some the fates will not show me, others are strange prophecies for gods outside of our realm. I cannot make sense of it. I saw the destruction of the mortal realm, much blood and ichor spilled, if we fought ourselves. Yet I cannot see if this plan Athena spoke of will succeed. I cannot see how it will end, just snippets in between, and I-“
He paused, taking a deep and shaky breath as he tried to collect himself.
”I cannot see who I will choose for Champion.”
They were a blur to him. He would catch a flash of something. A dash of anger, of rebellious courage, of loyalty. A view of a city. But no face, no name.
No fate or future.
Artemis seemed to sense why this lack of knowledge disquieted him. Whether the Fates wanted to obscure something from Apollo, or maybe from the mortal he’d eventually choose, it didn’t matter. Apollo did not like being in the dark, being unsure or without a path. Without his knowledge. Certainty was a comfort to him, as arrogant as he might act sometimes.
The goddess laid a hand on her brother’s arm.
”Do not agonise over it, brother. You must simply choose, and perhaps when you do the Fates will reveal the future of that hero. As for our strategy, it matters not. The Fates have determined it, known to you or no. Have a little faith, brother. I miss your old recklessness sometimes.”
Apollo simply smiled, reaching to squeeze his sister’s hand in a silent gesture of thanks and togetherness. A silent reminder that he was there, that he loved her, that he heard her and all she’d meant in her words.
GLOSSARY
Argeiphontes - ‘Slayer of Argos’, one of Hermes’ epithets Hemitheoi - ‘demigods’ Twice-Born - an epithet of Dionysus Bright-eyed one - a reference to Athena’s most common Homeric epithet, Glaukopis, meaning grey-eyed or bright-eyed Phoebus - one of Apollo’s epithets Thearios - ‘of the oracle’, another of Apollo’s epithets
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Aug 28, 2022 18:08:27 GMT -5
FLASHBACK Gwen remembered staring at the key Nemesis had once given her, the shining dagger broken and shattered to useless shards. She was supposed to keep the thing, as a reminder of what she was fighting for. What the gods had done to her. Or rather, what she would not let them do to others.
She’d displayed it on the wall of her room, arranging each shard carefully as if the thing were artfully exploded on the wall. Shining metal catching the light as if the dagger were one large and disjointed mirror.
”You cannot be without a weapon, can you, young one?” Ceto’s voice was gentle but dangerous, like the rushing and churning of waves, in Gwen’s exhausted mind.
She was tired. Tired of the gods. Tired of fighting. But for Alice, she’d do it. For Atticus, she’d do it.
As soon as Ceto said those words, a new dagger shimmered into existence on her bedside table. Wicked and dark, the metal blade shining with an oily kind of blackness like the deepest of ocean waters. And the hilt, she noticed as she picked up the weapon, had a design on it. A face. A woman, her mouth open in either a scream or a hiss, snakes writhing from her head.
Gwen knew this woman.
“Medusa.” Ceto supplied, before her voice began to hold pain, maybe anger too? “My daughter. She was beautiful once, when she was young. A priestess of Athena. Did you know that?”
Gwen knew better than to reply to this question, which she suspected was rhetorical. She did not want to interrupt what sounded to her like grieving. Instead she traced the snakes in Medusa’s hair with one finger, the delicate raised design beneath her fingertip. Her touch was almost reverent.
“Until Poseidon decided he would not be swayed from having that which he wanted. And Athena, to whom my daughter had devoted herself, chose not to give her any comfort or a protector. Instead she punished her, cursed her. Changed her. And when she was slain by one of Zeus’ arrogant little spawn, Athena and Zeus began to bear her head on their shield. A commemoration of the great achievement.” Ceto’s voice was bitter now, angry now. Seething with a boiling, ocean-churning rage.
More silence, a quiet which Gwen could not bring herself to break. She would say nothing. Her heart tugged with sympathy at the story, her own anger on Medusa’s behalf rising within her. Like a pulling in her gut, down into the depths where Ceto lay.
“This is the gods’ justice, child. They will pay any number of mortal lives to avenge themselves of a slight against them. They are greedy, selfish. Unfeeling, cruel. They are tyrants, and they take and they kill and they mock the destruction they cause.”
Gwen did not need to be told this.
She remembered so vividly what happened to Alice. Remembered seeing the girl’s final moments, Zeus offering no aid to the child who had been chosen to pledge her life to him. Zeus did not care, that much was obvious. And the aftermath was so much worse. Not just physically having to go through yet another funeral, but watching Atticus fall apart. Watching the exhausted boy who had tried to hard to lead them despite so much death, and failure, and so much apathy from the gods, finally break. He had never been the same after that, and Gwen had followed him because she missed him. Because she wanted to help him. Because she loved him like a brother and she could not bear to see him hurting (or could not bear to be reminded that he’d had a real sister, and she was more important).
Either way, she’d seen too much of the gods’ cruelty.
”I know.” was the girl’s answer
“I have watched my children and grandchildren suffer as pawns. Cursed to satisfy Olympian whims. Killed by young heroes desperate to prove their worthiness to the gods. The Olympians live on blood and sacrifice, my dear, and of more than one kind.”
Gwen was growing agitated now, the girl sighing before addressing the goddess.
”Why do you tell me what I already know?” Gwen snapped, agitated and clearly struck by what Ceto had said to the extent she wished to lash out and end the conversation.
”I want you to understand, not just know. You are powerful now, my dear. They will fear you now, and they will hate and punish you for that. That is the way with powerful women. If you mean to take Olympus down, you must do it without mercy and pity. Without humanity. No half-hearted ideals or weak will. Do you understand me?”
Gwen nodded, because she did understand. But didn’t it seem a little counterproductive to talk of the gods being cold and unfeeling and then choose to be cold and unfeeling in order to overthrow them? Gwen didn’t know what to make of that. Ceto seemed to read that thought.
”There is no destroying ruthlessness with mercy, my dear. The Olympians do not fear mortals - what they do fear, though, are monsters.”
If Olympus wanted a monster, the young Gwen supposed, that could easily be arranged.
She could swear she felt Ceto smile.
(DISCLAIMER: The version of the Medusa myth used here is a later, Roman version)
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Aug 30, 2022 18:37:59 GMT -5
FLASH FORWARD- NOT CANON Lucien sat on the bare bed in his cell in the hunters’ base, the thin mattress supporting his frame with little comfort. He sat with his back resting against the wall, eyes staring in an unfocused way in the direction of the door.
His entire body felt exhausted. He’d overstretched his powers in the course of the testing that day; they’d pushed him, trying to find his limits. Trying to force the boundaries. His hair around his hairline was still plastered to his skin from when he’d been pale, clammy and sweaty because of the pain. The skin beneath his nose felt tight with the dried blood staining it, for his limbs felt too weak and heavy for him even to lift a hand to wipe the remains of the nosebleed away.
A bit of his old sarcastic self returned for a moment, as he thought to himself that he was surprised they hadn’t tried to scoop that blood into a test-tube. God knew they’d taken plenty of blood from him already. He was really starting to appreciate just how much blood the human body had.
He had that familiar feeling when his powers had been taken too far and had damaged his body. As if every cell in his body were burned and fried; as if it was all his body could do not to fly apart into millions of particles of ash. His power felt too big for his body, like it could not be contained and would break out. It was meant for Apollo, not him.
The boy had resolved to try to put his mind to an escape plan that night, but that was looking impossible now. His mind could focus on nothing; it was foggy, and unfocused. He could feel a rise of annoyance at himself for neglecting the escape plan goal. His friends needed him, and he wasn’t doing enough. But he didn’t have the energy to focus on that feeling for a single second more, much less care. He let the feeling pass.
Instead, he allowed his painful eyelids to grow heavy. His blinking became slower, until finally the world fell into darkness and the bone-weary boy was overtaken by a slumber.
——-
“But you agree I’m ahead?”
Lucien’s retort seemed to echo within his own mind. His voice was breathless, every inhale painful as he tried to draw air into his winded lungs. He’d hit the ground hard. He was raised up on his elbows.
He was smirking. How stupid, how arrogant it seemed now to him. How full of pointless bravado.
His blue eyes were carefully averted from the eyes of the figure before him, for he knew her powers. So he could only see her shadow as it fell against the floor. But he’d gotten a look at her, so he knew what stood before him. A young girl, with white hair and disconcerting red eyes. Eyes that were terrifying not because of their unnatural hue and inhuman way of regarding you, but because they seemed too mature for the girl. Too ancient. They had seem too much, and as far as Lucien was concerned they seemed old enough to belong to a god. Whatever this girl was, she held more years than she should.
Seizing a chance in the hope it might open an opportunity for him to stand, the boy chanced a quick glance at the girl so he could aim before making a desperate kick at her. Anything to get her out of his way a bit.
It did seem to send the girl off-balance, he noted as he looked away from her eyes again and caught the unstable movement of her legs. Then she hit the ground, and Lucien made to stand. He was tensing, about to wobble to his feet or, if he could not, crawl instead. He needed to grab his bow.
But she was too quick; her shadow skittered closer as she crawled over and just before Lucien’s fingers could close around the weapon, she had it out of his grasp. She was smiling; he caught the flash of slightly pointed teeth. Styx rose to her feet, toeing the bow further out of Lucien’s reach. The boy’s outstretched hand touched only the cold floor.
Time seemed to slow down as he looked up slightly, watching as drop of blood trickled down Styx’s injured arm, dripping from the pale skin. The scarlet was bright against the floor as it hit the ground.
“No, kid.” Styx was saying in a voice that was far too… empty and cold for all the youth he could hear in it. And the stupid part of his brain was focusing on wondering who this little girl was to be calling Lucien ‘kid’ given her apparent younger age. “It was a warning.”
He caught the flash of an arrow, knew she was going to be aiming it at him. At that moment he realised it didn’t matter what he did. He couldn’t outspeed her. So if he moved, she’d hurt him anyway. And he was weaponless, and had no offensive powers. He could rush her, but he didn’t see it going well.
Was this it?
It couldn’t be, there had to be something…
“But since you’re so eager, let’s just get to the point.” she spoke like this was a game. Like this wasn’t serious. But at the same time, with so much menace in her tone.
Lucien could still see the bow. He still had arrows, if he could just reach the thing, then maybe he-
The approach of her footsteps, and then he felt a sudden, blinding pain in his leg.
The boy screamed, screwing his eyes shut and throwing his head back. He couldn’t get his breath, and they came fast and shallow. Like panting. Breath seethed through gritted teeth as he made pained sounds in his throat. He’d never felt anything like this before.
He looked down at his leg, at the hot, dark blood spilling from the wound. The air was suddenly scented with iron and rust, the tangy smell of blood. Lucien’s vision swam, his focus hazy. His body was filling with adrenaline, a rush of fear and panic as his pulse thrummed and pounded as his neck.
Styx seemed deliberately to take her time now. She was savouring it, taking her time. Letting Lucien get his breath.
He was just starting to get the hang of coping with the pain when she spoke next. He’d calmed himself, so that his breaths were slower and more even despite the fact that they shuddered as he inhaled.
"I did say I'd give you the arrows back, didn't I?" she was saying, and he could hear that wicked grin in her voice. Could feel her eyes trained on his face as if wanting to drink in the pain etched in the expression.
”Hurt me all you want, asshole,” Lucien managed to bite out, in a mix of fury and fear and pain and simple defiance ”It won’t make me afraid of you.”
He fixed his gaze once more on his bow, his only hope. Her shadow began to approach it, and Lucien gave a pained sound of protest from within his throat. Probably something closer to a whimper than he’d ever want to admit, for how tough he’d been trying to act. He made one more slightly pathetic attempt at grabbing the bow, only to watch Styx’s fingers closing upon it as she lifted it up.
She was approaching again, and Lucien tried to drag himself back, leaving a trail of hot and sticky blood in his wake as he exhaled sharply through his nose with the effort of the movement.
But he caught from the corner of his eye the way Styx had an arrow aimed at his head. At that, she stopped moving. He was out of time. No time for a plan to try to save his life, even if she did continue to toy with her prey this way.
She chuckled, and he risked looking directly at her this time. She wouldn’t try to use her powers on him in that moment. She had him exactly where she wanted him.
“You know, that's all people do, they leave you behind." Mocking, her tone filled with pity she did not feel.
Her gaze flicked over to River for a moment, as he rushed to Laurie’s aid. Lucien’s followed her, the boy swallowing. She knew exactly how deeply her words cut him. His jaw set, the boy blinking stinging eyes rapidly. His father had left him, his mother had mainly let Elara raise herself and Lucien. And those who were there didn’t see him. Elara didn’t see her brother for the person he really was, because of the trouble he’d always caused her.
And here was the perfect evidence, as Lucien watched River brush hair away from Laurie’s face. His expression lit from within when he looked at Laurie, his eyes softened instantly. Lucien felt a twist of anger in his gut that River had left him alone, because why did River of all people have to start proving himself to be just like everyone else? Lucien hadn’t ever wanted to trust or respect him in the first place - now in that moment he wished he’d stuck to mistrust.
His gaze moved back to Styx’s and their eyes met again, Lucien looking up at the face of this girl who would have him dead. She stared down the arrow at him, a glint in her eyes she couldn’t read.
For a long moment there was silence. Lucien could hear his heart in his ears and he prayed she’d let her fingers pull back from the bowstring too, let it fly so this pain could be over. Because in that moment death seemed almost peaceful in its constancy, as opposed to the unknown and frightening territories ahead of him. It seemed preferable to the screaming pain in his leg.
Then Styx said something which chilled Lucien’s blood.
"Better stay here so he can find you when he's done."
Lucien could swear his heart stopped for a moment, as if still expecting death, when Styx lowered her aim. Quick as a flash, before he even knew what she had aimed at, an arrow sailed between the knuckles of his hand. He was pinned down.
He screamed even louder now, voice raw in his throat. A fresh wave of pain, worse than the last. He would’ve ground his teeth to dust if he could’ve.
And as Styx left him to fading vision and spilling pools of dark blood, all sense left Lucien. His head fuzzy and thoughts tangled or leaving his head like a mist. If he were sensible, he never would’ve tried to pull the arrow from his leg; the arrow stopping even heavier blood flow.
Not that it made much difference, for unconsciousness fell over the boy abyway.
____
And here he was alone again, separated from the others as he was within the hunters’ base.
Still, Styx’s words echoed within him. They never left him. Followed by the words of others. Cleo, reminding him so eloquently that he was just an irresponsible child with daddy issues. Or telling him he was falling as a leader.
He did not know what he was. Or rather, who he was. Was he a worthy person of the responsibilities and duties he held as leader? Was he just a failure? Could he ever be more than this screw-up he felt like he was?
Did people really just leave him behind? Luka had left him, even if it was to protect the others. He’d never say it, but even after all was forgiven it still hurt him that she hadn’t said so much as a word to him before she’d left. River had left him in that fight, even though he understood why he’d done it and didn’t hold it against him. He’d seen people he cared about leave, he’d seen himself helpless as others got hurt.
The worst part was that they hadn’t ever liked to risk him on missions after the Styx thing. He was the healer and they needed him alive. So did they want to protect him for himself, or because he was the only one with healing powers? Who was he to them?
Who was he to himself? Could he really expect others to have faith in him when he didn’t really seem to have a whole lot of faith in himself?
He didn’t know.
But in that moment, after so many days with the hunters that even Apollo had run out of weak encouragement to give Lucien, he really did feel rather abandoned.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Sept 1, 2022 8:39:01 GMT -5
FLASH FORWARD- NOT CANON Lucien was out of the leaders' room before the last of the Ascendants on the mission had even gotten through the portal. They were injured, and they needed him.
There was not a moment to lose.
His feet pounded against the floors as he ran through familiar corridors, routes he now knew so well he didn’t even need to think about where he was going. His feet just took him where he knew he needed to go. Which was all well and good, because he felt distant in his own head. It was like it wasn’t even him in his body.
All his mind could think of were the screams of pain he’d just heard, running through his head with an echo as if they still rung in the air.
He stopped only to grab extra supplies for the infirmary; if he wasn’t able to fully heal everyone tonight, they needed at least to do something to help. Besides, he couldn’t heal everything and his powers weren’t always the only thing needed to help a person heal.
Before long he reached the infirmary, just in time to be greeted with the scene of the carnage. He could smell the blood the moment he stepped in the room, his eyes widening as he took in the image of his friends on the infirmary beds. Cleo was already there, rushing between the beds to do what they could to help those who were hurt. The last time he’d seen fear and concern like that in Cleo’s eyes, it had been directed at him. A flash of it in their gaze when he had awoken in the infirmary after being injured by Styx. Only very brief, soon replaced by a flicker of relief before they had settled into their usual measured expression.
Lucien had caught from the corner of his eye the figure of Luka in the farthest bed. Though he wanted to help her first, he pushed away that initial instinct. Part of him wasn’t ready to deal with her being hurt.
So he put his hand on Cleo’s shoulder to let him know he was there to take over. They looked over their shoulder, caught Lucien’s eyes, and seemed to nod in recognition before stepping back. Lucien stepped forward, going from one injured ascendant to the other.
Chiara was not too injured, but the battle had still done a number on her. She was in pain, though at least she’d come out of this battle conscious. That was better than her last fight. Her eyes were screwed shut, the girl clutching a painful and bloody injury on her leg as she let out pained, hissing breaths. She had a smudge of blood at her hairline, where she must have used her bloody hands to brush stray locks of hair from her barely-holding-on ponytail from her face.
Lucien laid his hand on the girl, closing his eyes as he tried to focus. He already felt heavy and fuzzy, having already healed the other injured beforehand. It took him a moment to clear his mind, to prepare it for what he needed of iy. But eventually that feeling of a warm golden light came, the power spreading through him and filling his body with that healing sunshine.
His breath hitched before he even felt the pain, for he knew what was coming. But there it was, the hot, sharp stabbing in his leg. He braced his other arm against the bed until the pain subsided, though it took a moment longer before he trusted himself enough to open his eyes.
When he did, he felt a weight lifting from him to see Chiara no longer bleeding or in pain. She offered him a shaky smile, a breathless thank you. Lucien just nodded, taking a step back only to suddenly find his legs buckling beneath him. He felt more drained, heavier than ever. That burning feeling was rushing through his body now, that feeling as if he might disintegrate on the spot. As if some force might pull every atom of his body apart.
His vision was cloudy suddenly, and the floor seemed to sway for a moment. Instantly he was aware of hands grabbing him, Cleo having rushed to his side to support him so he didn’t go down. They let go once he was steady, but he was still aware of their presence near him. They did not retreat, he suspected because they were concerned he might fall again.
“Lucien, maybe you should-“ Cleo was starting to say, and Lucien could hear the uneasiness in their voice. They were trying to be gentle, as if trying to coax him.
“No.” he cut them off before they could complete their thought. He could not rest yet. His powers could last a little longer. He could last a little longer.
For there was still one injured from the mission to heal. The one he was most eager to help but also the one whose pain he dreaded most to lay eyes on.
He let his eyes at last fall on the final bed.
She was in a bad way. Barely conscious, her breathing shallow and laboured. She was pale, her clammy skin marred with blood and grime and sweat. Her eyes were open but sometimes the lids would flutter and close for a moment. Lucien didn’t know how much she was aware of. Regardless, it was worse than he’d ever thought.
"Luka," the word came out in a breath, a fearful exhale carrying the name.
He rushed to her side as quickly as his uneven step and swimming head would allow, all but crashing to her side. The blond leaned over the girl, eyes searching her face in concern as he gripped her hand. Her hand was cold and slick with sweat, but he didn't care.
"You get such a funny little frown when you're worried." Luka's voice was strained, a little hoarse. Lower than it would normally be. But Lucien observed that she seemed ore aware than he'd assumed and, more than that, she still seemed to have her sense of humour. That was an encouraging sign.
He would forever admire her ability to tease him even when she was... no, it wasn't as bad as it looked. It couldn't be. He wouldn't allow himself to think that he might lose her. It wasn't an idea he was willing to entertain. No, this wasn't too bad.
Regardless, he had to heal her quickly.
He couldn't help but smile at the girl's teasing, replying with an affectionate 'shut up', but soon turned his attention to the injuries. He reached out his other hand to lay it on Luka's shoulder. He'd half been expecting a hand around his wrist to stop him, for she'd never let her heal him before, but no physical protest came. That caused a twist of dread in his stomach, his worry for the girl deepening now.
But Luka knew what he was about to do, and she looked at him with concern of her own.
"Luci, no." she pleaded, voice scratching painfully in her throat.
"I'm not taking no for an answer this time." Lucien was determined
Cleo chimed in now, seeming to agree with Luka on something for the first time ever. If it had been any other situation, Lucien would have recorded it for posterity.
"We have supplies, we can make Luka stable for now. You could rest for a bit, if you overstretch yourself..." they were trying so very hard to reason with him, Lucien could see that, but reason did not hold any importance for him in that moment. The last thing he cared about was what was sensible or reasonable. He did not care about moderation of his powers, about the consequences of overstretching them. All he cared about was the girl in front of him.
He shook his head resolutely, not taking his eyes away from Luka.
"I know the risks." he murmured, and it was all he could do to keep his voice from cracking "I'm not resting, not yet. Lukes, losing you is not an option, okay?"
Luka didn't have the strength to reply, but she regarded him for a moment with a slight wariness, as if considering whether to be stubborn and continue to refuse letting him heal her. That was okay, Lucien was prepared to be just as stubborn. In the end, though, Luka nodded and closed her eyes, groaning as apparently a new wave of pain washed over her body.
Lucien didn't need telling twice; he was already filled with fear for his friend. So at the first sign of her assent he closed his eyes and tried to focus. Clear his mind. He waited, expecting that golden feeling to flow through him as it always did
But nothing.
His heart began to beat faster as he stared into the blackness behind his eyelids. He'd been afraid before, but this was panic now.
"Come on," he muttered, but his voice was shaking "Come on, please not now."
He tried to focus more heavily, but his chest just felt horribly empty aside from his heart. It felt like it was throwing itself against his ribcage.
Luka was hurt, he could not lose her. He could not let her be in pain. He couldn't imagine the idea of being without his best friend, of being unable to help her in this moment.
"Lucien?" he was vaguely aware of Cleo's voice behind.
Sometimes it took longer if he was exhausted and had depleted his powers but it had never not worked. Why wasn't she healing? Why weren't his powers working? What was he missing?
"Please, Apollo." he whispered "Please don't do this to me. Help me."
His breath was so fast now, too fast. He felt the pressure of a hand on his shoulder.
"Lucien, you need to breathe." it was Cleo, and they sounded stern but in a concerned-parent way rather than an angry way.
And it was like Apollo had answered the prayer with a realisation. Luka meant too much to him, and he was too afraid for her. It meant he couldn't get the focus needed, the calm needed to allow his body to use the power properly.
So he tried one last time to clear his mind, to slow his racing breath and his thudding heart, to quell the rush in his ears and the cacophony in his head.
And then, there it was.
A rush of relief accompanied that golden wave of his healing power, so much so that the pain that came afterwards was almost bearable.
His breathing was ragged by the time he was done, his lungs feeling singed and he didn't know if it was because he had screamed or part of that burning feeling he got when he overstretched his powers. He opened his eyes, only for the whole world to rock hazily.
Cleo's hand moved from his shoulder to his arm, catching him to support him once again.
"You have to stop," Cleo was firm now, not trying to convince him anymore "You've done everything you can. You need to rest."
He remembered Apollo telling him once to be careful with his powers. They were meant for an immortal, not a human, and it could destroy him if he pushed himself too far.
Perhaps he should concede that he needed to rest.
"Let me rest here, make sure everyone's okay" speaking, moving was like trying to get through treacle.
"No," Cleo insisted "Your room"
If you asked Lucien later (and people did), he'd say he had no idea how Cleo managed to get him from the infirmary all the way to his room. He had been conscious, but he hadn't been exactly helping. He'd maybe been supporting 10% of his own body weight. He was pretty sure he'd heard some grumblings from Cleo somewhere halfway up the staircase.
Either way, the door to his room was already open. With Cleo's support, he had stumbled over to the bed and all but collapsed onto it, still in leather jacket and all. The last thing he saw before closing his eyes was the sky through the twilight, the deep night beginning to lighten as the first greys signalling the approach of dawn began to stain the sky.
The last thing he felt was a blanket being laid over him - a surprisingly soft and gentle gesture from Cleo - and the last thing he heard, the soft click of the door closing behind the Ma'at champion.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Sept 2, 2022 13:20:57 GMT -5
Chapter 1: I get kidnapped by weird kids LUKA
Note: this fic uses settings and characters from the Percy Jackson series, which is trademarked by Rick Riordan If you’re reading this, do so with caution. If something in these pages speaks to you, you might be one of us - and if you’re one of us, you’re better off not knowing. Trust me. You can end this story right now, walk away, and continue believing that the strange things that might have happened in your life were only a coincidence.
For those less sensible of you who are still here, let’s go on. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.
It all started one June day. Well, actually it started earlier because I’ve had weird things happening around me my whole life - scratch that, my life had been a series of weird events. But this is my story and I’m starting it on the day I met the two strangest people I’ve ever met. Which was saying a lot.
I was fifteen years old, and I’d run away maybe six months prior. I didn’t like to talk about why. But ever since then I’d been moving around the country - and I had to because, whenever I stayed somewhere for more than a few days, things started to happen. Things started to find me. I had the cuts and scars to prove it.
Those attacks had started maybe three or four years ago, though, and I’d learned to defend myself. Grabbing any weapon I could find, and attacking using… well, I didn’t talk about that either. But I was also good at making things. Makeshift weapons, traps, you name it. The latter were especially useful when you were on your own.
My latest city was Chicago. I’d found a little place I called my own, in a little sidestreet nobody ever seemed to go into. I wasn’t too far from a little restaurant down the street, and sometimes when the nicer manager was working they’d sneak me food from the kitchen. The stuff that they’d have to throw because it was close to going off - but more than good enough for me.
I’d managed to make myself quite a nice little makeshift home, a shelter constructed which used sheets of plastic to keep the rain off me. Mostly, anyway. There were even some solar powered outdoor lights to make the place a little more homey.
I’d lived there for about a month, which was a record for me.
I had rigged the place with as many traps as I could make. I used whatever was around me - you’d be amazed what people threw away. They kept away anyone - and anything - I didn’t want coming into my space.
I was just settling down for the evening, the sky glowing with all those colours of sunset, when I heard voices and footsteps approaching from down the main street. I assumed they would just pass by my alleyway, but I caught some of their conversation anyway.
“- sorry to call you when you were on a visit home, but you’re one of the only campers with a cellphone and I was out of drachmae for an Iris message. Plus you know Chicago.” one masculine voice was saying
An Iris message? Drachmae? What the hell was this kid talking about?
“‘Sokay,” another masculine voice replied, though it sounded like he was grumbling. His voice was clear as a bell, like a crisp musical note, even when he wasn’t putting any effort into enunciating. He hadn’t even bothered to separate the words ‘it’s’ and ‘okay’.
But then he continued, the voices growing clearer as they approached “Let’s just get this sorted and get to camp. So you said you found one?”
“Yeah, and a strong one too. I thought it was better to call you than Chiron, since you were so close.”
“And you didn’t find them in the school?”
“No, there are none there, but I saw her every day on the walk home. Could smell her.”
The voices were getting closer, I noticed with a jolt. I could hear their footsteps now. I hid in my little shelter, because I had a strange feeling they were coming my way.
“Alright, well let’s deal with this,” the second boy was saying, and I could tell they were in the alleyway now, “we’ll just-“
The boy was cut off as I heard the unmistakeable sound of one of my tripwires being triggered and something heavy flying through the air. I peeked around from the plastic of my shelter just in time to see one of my traps sending a dustbin lid to which I’d attached some pretty wicked spikes swinging towards the boys.
The boy who’d just been speaking was fast, fortunately for him, because he was able to jump back and pull the other boy back with him to avoid the swinging trap. Otherwise there would have been a less than pleasant sight awaiting me a few moments later. He had strong reflexes, that much I could say for him. But that was only the first of several traps I had rigged.
I rushed out, brandishing my only available weapon - I may or may not have taken some inspiration from a few too many zombie apocalypse movies because I had put some more of those pretty sharp nails into a baseball bat.
“Get out of here!” I screamed in as intimidating a voice as I could possibly muster.
I didn’t take any chances with defending myself or my home anymore. I’d been attacked too many times. My chest rose and fell rapidly, and my eyes felt so wide it was like they were going to bulge out of my sockets. I felt more like a frightened rabbit than a threat to these boys.
Speaking of the boys, the one with the fast reflexes and the pleasant voice was about my age. He was quite tall and had an athletic build, but in a lean kind of way rather than a bulky way. Like he was built for agility, not strength. He had sideswept blond hair down to maybe about his jaw in length and blue eyes. He was dressed in dark colours, with a faded dark band t-shirt over dark jeans and beneath a black leather jacket. The only piece of colour on him was a necklace around his neck consisting of a leather cord and several clay beads painted in different colours; each had a different design on it but I was too far away to decipher them. I counted three beads. He’d look fairly normal if it weren’t for a big raised slash of a scar which started below his clavicle and disappeared behind his shirt and jacket.
The other boy looked maybe a couple of years older, around 17, but he was around the same height as the blond and he was of a slighter build. He had wavy brown hair stuffed under a beanie and greyish green eyes. He was wearing jeans and a dark olive-green hoodie, but peeking out from beneath said hoodie was an orange t-shirt with a design in black that was too obscured by the hoodie for me to be able to make it out properly. He looked significantly friendlier than the other boy, and I recognised him. He was always part of a group of kids I saw walking home from school this way on an evening.
Both boys looked surprised, having recovered from being surprised by the trap only for me to jump out at them the way I had. The blond boy was reaching with one hand to a bow I suddenly noticed was at his back - a bow which I noticed seemed to have another one of those necklaces tied to the bottom, beads swaying from it. On this necklace I counted only two beads - which looked the same as two on the boy’s necklace - and what looked like a little silver bow charm. But he held out another hand in my direction seemingly to placate me, as if telling me he didn’t want to fight.
“Woah,” he said “no need to bash our brains out.”
“Don’t come any closer, monsters!” I warned, though my voice shook a little “I’ve got more traps all around this alley.”
I’d seen monsters before. They looked like people, they acted friendly, but they weren’t. Not ever. I’d been hurt too many times to let these two even get close to me.
The brunet boy shook his head, “We’re not monsters.”
The blond jumped in there, moving his hand away from the bow as if to prove they were there in peace “We’re here to help you; we fight them too.”
I looked between the two boys separately, narrowing my eyes sceptically. I’d learned over the years that monsters could be real convincing when they wanted to be. So even though part of me was relieved that these boys didn’t seem to think I was crazy to be talking about monsters, I didn’t think I could believe them.
“Really?” I asked warily
The blond nodded, “Yeah, and that little bat isn’t going to help you.”
I was about to protest that it would do just fine to bash his brains in, thank you very much. But then I watched as he reached for a scabbard at his waist, and drew out a dagger. It was bronze, I thought - though I hadn’t a clue how I knew that - and it seemed to give off a faint golden light.
“You need a real weapon.” he said.
“Lu-” the brunet started to say, and for a second I started as if he were saying my name, but the blond shot him a glance which silenced him pretty quickly.
Now, I’m not normally one to be taken in by shiny things. But this thing did look nice. So I approached cautiously, bat still raised so I could still cave his head in if I needed to. I kept my eyes on both boys as I moved closer. I didn’t need to keep my eye on my traps. Not only did I know from memory where they were, but their locations always seemed to reveal themselves to me. Even in the dark, I could almost sense where the trigger mechanisms were.
But I got right up to him, and he didn’t make any move. Just turned the dagger so the hilt was toward me and let me take it. As soon as my hands closed around it, something just felt right. This felt like the kind of weapon I was supposed to have. The weight felt solid. Its grip wasn’t quite right for me, but it would certainly do for the moment, I thought as I tested it in my hand.
The boys waited patiently while I examined the weapon, but it was the blond who spoke next. When I looked up to meet his gaze, they had a knowing look in them.
“Feels good, right?” he asked “Celestial bronze.”
“Celestial bronze?” I echoed, gaze flickering back down to the dagger.
“One of the only things that can kill monsters,” the brunet explained.
A weapon like this could solve all my problems… and it seemed somehow that I really could trust these boys. I’d never before met anyone who seemed to acknowledge the existence of monsters. They didn’t think I was crazy - more than that, they agreed with me. And they hadn’t tried to kill me yet, which meant there was a pretty reasonably chance they weren’t monsters themselves.
But they were strange; the blond carried a bow and arrow, and had carried a dagger. The brunet had what looked like a set of reed pipes hanging from a loop on his belt. And they’d been talking about monsters, and a camp, and Iris messages, and drachmae - and now celstial bronze.
I looked between the two, discarding my bat in favour of the dagger but looking at the boys with distrust.
“What’s your name?” asked the brunet gently
“Luka.” I answered, so harshly it was almost like I was accusing them of something, before I questioned “Who are you?”
“I’m Lucien,” the blond said “and this is Dillon. But that’s not important. We need to get you to camp.”
That was at least the third time I’d heard one of them mention a camp. What was this place?
“Camp?” I felt stupid, echoing everything they were saying like this. I was normally way more articulate. Kind of a smart mouth, if anything.
Lucien rolled his eyes, clearly losing patience with having to explain everything. I thought for a moment that with his looks, he could look like the embodiment of sunshine himself if he ever smiled - and maybe lightened up his wardrobe a little. Dillon jumped in at that point.
“It’s the only place safe for people like you and Lucien.”
My eyes snapped back to Lucien then.
“And what exactly are ‘people like us?’” was my next question, which was at least more than just repeating the phrase. Clearly my intelligence was improving somewhat.
Lucien just sighed, grabbing my wrist despite my protests.
“No time, we’ll explain on the way.”
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