WBs[]
RP[]
Minka: See, most of the time, Minka did regret taking up her dad on his offer. He meant well, but that didn't stop her from feeling spiteful. Call it daddy issues. Call it whatever the hell you want. She didn't have the privilege of mulling it over when she has three submissions due by Friday. While she had gotten the satisfaction of making Hades set up her finances and enrollment in Columbia U, she was now reaping the struggle of online classes. "Rich people," she muttered darkly. More than a few of her Gucci toting classmates had been ignorant in the video chats. Her professors? They weren't too bad, she'd give them that. And she was learning. Though she more than itched to send a skeleton after a classmate or two, for the sake of spooking them. No sense of boundaries, at all. Before the town had been destroyed, she used to set up her study spot in one of the shops. "Fucking coo-coo champions," she grated out. A nymph a few feet away said something about language.
She refrained from rolling her eyes. Antagonizing allies, no matter how infuriating, was not a good move. Besides, most people who didn't try to wring your neck were passable company. She cradled her iPad on her lap, the assistant AI a Heph kid had installed guiding her through one earbud. At night, this spot in the forest wasn't the friendliest looking place. Day introduced it as a good place to study. It was far enough from camp that the noise was a faint thrum, but not so far that she'd have to be unsheathing her daggers every half hour. Not being one to leave things at a chance, she sprinkled a new circle of graveyard dirt ten meters away every other time she came here. It was every other time because the nymphs had complained about the ungodly smell, and being counselor meant she'd learned to keep the peace. No need to drag her half siblings into her mess.
Miller: He's a grown ass man. That does not mean he behaves as such. Miller still eats sugar cubes in the same panicked fashion someone who chews tabaco may, and he's still probably one of the most unhelpful Counsellors on camp. If anything, he's been a bit of a lost boy at camp. Never leaving has led him to never change. Not really, not at the core. The son of Hermes is still a sucker for competition. Currently, he's racing one of his cabin mates all across the camp to see who can make it to the stable, Big house, forest, kill a monster, and make it back to the cabin first, without getting caught. He's done everything, and is juggling all his items of "proof" in hand. A vase, some horse hair, a few leaves, and a scale from one of those snake ladies. It's this exact juggling and racing nature that makes him pop up near Minka while shadow traveling.
As is his nature, he trips. Even with the modifications to his leg that make him better at not falling, there are just some gimmicks he can't unlearn. The objects go tumbling everywhere, minus the leaf, which he catches in his mouth as it slowly descended to the ground. Miller glances at Minka. "Oh hewwo," he says as best he can, leaf in mouth. Of course, this nerd is studying. She's one of the reasons he ended up enrolling in free community college, even if he never actually goes to class. Whoops. His clothes are easily soiled from the ground, but gym wear isn't quite fashionable anyways. "Fanshy seeing you here."
Minka: While she was "used" to Miller's antics after all the years, one couldn't get used to them. Who knew what went on in that head of his? Minka nudged the vase with her foot. By some miracle, it hadn't smashed into bits and had rolled towards her. She'd sprung to her feet, knife in hand, the moment she sensed movement, but Miller's voice proved that it had been unnecessary. He could've been a mimic, if it weren't for how this was so utterly him. Her gaze settled onto his nose. She slid her iPad into its bag on her back and sheathed her knife in one motion. Eh, she'd needed a break anyway. "You're lucky the nymphs are besotted with you. They hate littering." The dracanae scale shot into her extended hand, as if magnetized. She frowned upon recognizing the feel of it. "Not going to ask. Don't want to know. Why didn't you bring a bag?"
Miller: Miller squirms in the dirt, making his clothes even dirtier. It feels kind of nice. "Besotted? What book's that from?" He hops up on one foot (the one without the brace), jumping in place comedically while smiling. Of course, he looks a little nuts, but the shot of expresso pre race is still coursing through his blood. He shakes the dirt out of his hair. "WEW. Bringing a bag is for losers going grocery shopping." In almost a blink of an eye, he's managed to bend over and pick up the objects. minus the scale, of course. Hermes quickness plus a ton of squats will do that for you. He notes Minka has the scale. "Oooh, scaley. Throw here?" With his hands full, he sticks out the leg tucked under his butt, stretching it out as if saying hey, throw the scale here and ill kick it up into y very full arms! "Need to drop these off real quick before I can mess with you a little more." He punctuates the statement with a wink.
Minka: The precision with which she tossed the scale was astounding. Its trajectory should place it right in Miller's kicking range. Five years had done naught in finding a comfort zone for Minka - if anything, they'd pushed her out of it. Her eyesight failed to be an impediment for most actions. "Not a book. Some Erotiad in my biology class." She reached for the device strapped to her wrist underneath her right sleeve absentmindedly. Well, almost absentmindedly. ADHD or not, she hated moving without purpose. Maybe it was a Hades kid thing to make everyone a little more alert when they so much as wiggled their toe. Of course, that wasn't pure paranoia. She snorted out loud at his passing remark and cocked an eyebrow. He had probably added a terrible, cringeworthy wink to it. Nymphs had such weird taste in men.
Miller: Miller does the thing, kicking the scale into the pile on his arms. "Biology? Figures you'd find one there. Uno Momento por favor." The spanish has a distinct u.s. accent to it. He hops into the shadows, gone. About thirty second passes before he pops back in, this time landing on his hands as he cartwheels into the realm outside of shadows. "WEW I don't think he liked me beating him." He finishes the cartwheel with a leap of punctuation, before casually leaning against a tree. A harumph sounds off, and he quits leaning on the tree. "Sorry ms's." The counsellor tips an invisible hat towards the tree. "What's up Minty Colander? How's that fancy college of yours treating you?" Unable to keep still, he pulls a pen from his back pocket and begins to do tricks and flips with it.
Minka: In the half minute he's gone, she's busy trying to commit her newest class schedule to memory. Too many have had their days and times changed. Gods, they'd even added weekend classes. She was going to have to reschedule a training session with one of the newer kids. This whole arrangement is really screwing up her camp routine. She senses Miller's arrival before he speaks from the air displacement and his breathing. "I want to send a ghoul or two to destroy its servers," she responded bluntly. With the barest movement of her wrist. she's slid one of her hidden, smaller daggers into her grasp and tests the edge with a finger. A pinprick of blood swelled. "You haven't gone to a single class for weeks." It isn't a question. Like that, her air of stillness breaks and she motions the dagger back into its hiding place. The blade catches hold of some of the sunlight that had made it through the thick foliage, and for a moment her eyes seem to glow with it. Apollo's curse is as flashy as it was when it first descended on her.
Miller: The demigod has hopped so many times that the sweat is really starting to build on his brow. He blinks as a few droplets try to make their way into his eye. "Now that's an idea. When are we gonna do it?" He claps his hands together, rubbing them with a little too much intent. The sound of his palms come off a bit metallic, what with the pen being in the middle. "Ghouls are kind of dull, but, I do have a cute army of foxes at my disposal." As he's saying this, a cute little fox comes trotting from the forest, nuzzling Miller before heeling at Minka's feet. "What does the fox say?" A small laugh escapes his lips. No ring ding ding ding ding d-d-ding comes out of the poor fox's mouth. Miller easily ignores her statement on his classes- much like he avoids the classes.
Minka: She has no idea how he got the fox to run inside of her circle of graveyard dirt. Animals generally hate anything to do with the realm down under. Their pet options over at the cabin were limited, since critters scatter at their presence. Necromancy and cute balls of fluff don't go together. She hasn't touched a breathing animal ever since she left Artemis' company. "You'd risk them chewing through wires and getting hurt." Her posture stiffens at the approach of the fox. She looks helplessly awkward all of a sudden, her face twisted with uncertainty. "Hello, meatball. What did he bribe you with to come here?" she asks the fox. The metallic sound of Miller's pen matches how bizarre this is in her head. "If he spends less time harassing you with that song, he might actually remember to go to class."
Miller: "Hey, I'm not bribing him with anyt-" zip! The fox runs out, suddenly unmotivated at the high risk, low reward scenario. That, and Miller's grip on the poor fox is only so strong. He scratches his head. "Comeback buddy! I didn't mean it!" The fox stops in its tracks, coming back slowly, then stops again. It watches the two with apprehension. This distance is nice, it seems to say. "Look at that. If he didn't like my song, he wouldn't have come back." Miller clears his throat. "Don't know if you've noticed, but I'm an amazing singer." The fox shakes his head in disagreement. "Did I ever tell you about the time I ended up in a Broadway musical on accident and had to fake my way through the production?" He dodges the classroom comment once more, a real ninja at anti school
Minka: "No." Amusement is pronounced dead by her facial muscles, but a glint in her eyes provides some hope for resurrection. She trades an unreadable look with the spectating fox - why do we put up with him? I dunno. She cards a hand through her loose hair idly — she's started letting it down since the start of quarantine. It's a strange sensation on her neck that's grown used to its buns and ponytails. During one past summer, a stubbornly short length and hair clips (at the insistence of one of her sisters). Her other hand edges towards one of her back pockets. She's sure she has a rubber band there somewhere. "Shame. Don't you have a music theory class? Maybe rekindle that fire." Oh, he's not shimmying out of this topic so easily.
Miller: Miller taps his chin with the pen. "hMMMM," he looks up at the sky, as if trying to remember. "You know what? I think it was only in theory. Haven't seen the real thing." He smiles brightly. "Actually, I prefer the kind of theory where we plan a cool heist on your school and turn their systems into spaghetti. That's my kind of jam, for the magic man." He throws the pen high into the air, loops his other arm under his leg, and catches it from that position. The fox snorts in amusement. That's why he hangs out with him. "I'm itching to do anything, anything at all."
Minka: An alarming smile yanks at her empty expression. It's strange, forced, and out of practice. "Anything? Attend class." She doesn't keep the victory out of her tone. Her face smooths over; her cheeks already ache from those few seconds. "I could really go for some spaghetti right now. Any idea if there's a chance of that happening?" Quarantine has done a number on their food choices too. She's among those who are sick of barbecue. His actions don't go fully unnoticed. She tenses momentarily when the pen is in the air. Her body itches to ah, what was the word? Yeet it.
Miller: "Aw you smiled. Didn't know I could do that for you." He winks. The extra words after her class mention leaves him optimal room to ignore it. "Spaghetti for mi amore? Of course. Where would you like to eat? On top the eiffel tower? In Hades? I have found the food down there is particularly spicy. Although... Cerberus eats the best there. Lucky." He snaps his fingers. "But before we go, I also need to grab my caney-cane. Just in case we meet some cute beasties."
Minka: She shakes her head at his expected deflection, and makes an ear-piercing sound with her throat. The closest sound to compare it with would be a hellhound being burnt to a crisp. "Down there, they'd be damned to try and get near. That's my turf." She inclines her head to her bag. "Pack supplies and rendezvous in"—she places her left hand over her right wrist to check—"five?"
Miller: The demigod is semi dressed well- you can tell he tried, he put on a blue blazer, at least. He completely gave up, however, with everything else. His graphic t-shirt, ripped washed jeans, and trodden vans all scream basic. It's fine, it's not like Minka can normally see him anyways. He's got his cute little bow stick- something he's decorated with stolen stickers from different journals he's certainly never read, but thought looked cute. At least he doesn't reek of sweat now. On his back, he carries a supply of ambrosia, drachma, and an assortment of daggers. Miller taps the floor of the room. "Abra cadabra, alakazam, open up you son of a bitch." bloop! He teleports himself into the land of Hades.
Minka: "You look like one of those frat boys who do a keg stand but give themselves a concussion getting down. The bo is alright." Minka drops from one of the shadowy tendrils that are, frankly, more than abundant in this place. The Styx burbles to the side, and the voices of the damned are already within hearing range. Her bow and quiver are slung across her back; her own pack is similarly stocked, but her hunting knives are sheathed by her sides. She's dressed in all out Underworld gear: black. One could've sworn something was trapped in the sleeve of her jacket. There isn't anything ornamental on them. Her high waisted trousers don't use any metal, but instead are cinched together with- is that bone? From what creature, it's unclear. Whatever is holding the material together isn't mass produced, that's for sure. You could mistake the horizontal pearly needle that serves as the buttons of her top to be the only accessory for a few minutes before it sinks in that it's Stygian iron. That isn't the strangest thing. Her eyes have lost the misty sheen it always has under the light. They're a bright, jade green. She surveys their landing critically. "Nice, we didn't end up near Charon. He gripes about visitors a lot. We don't pay him enough."
Miller: A bead of sweat drips down his face. Part excitement, part hell heat. "Charon is a lovely chap. Sometimes we play poker when he's looking to make a buck." As an offhanded comment, he adds, "don't think I've seen him since me and Cass skedaddled in and out." He surveys the area, trying to make out any familiar features. "Got the pasta, but it's a little cold. Recon we could heat it over the the burning souls of the damned in the P.E. class?" That's what he now calls the field of punishment. Same difference, right? The counselor scourges throw his pack, pulling out his expertly made chef boyardee spaghetti, carefully placed inside a metal container. To heat it, or whatever. The metal makes it look extra fancy anyways. Miller blinks a few times. some of the humidity messing with his vision. "Your dad probably has some real open pores."
Minka: "Backtrack there. Cass as in my newest sibling?" Minka doesn't mean to sound authoritative. People get used to her monotone. Whenever it shifts away from that, people who don't know her very well assume she wants to gut them alive. She would do something about that if it didn't require drastic change. Brooding mode on, she says nothing that will allow Miller to dodge the question. Her nostrils flare at the spaghetti. She hasn't smelled pasta in months. For the death of her, all that time at Columbia U did naught for her cooking skills. Her course doesn't have a cooking class. Damn shame, too. Silently, she takes the container and steps a couple of feet back. A fissure erupts in front of her and she positions the spaghetti right above the path of a hellfire burp. It heats up instantly. It's good foresight she wore her gloves to this outing, otherwise the spaghetti would've been the newest step to her dad's skincare routine.
Miller: Miller claps loudly, another sound to mingle with bursts of silence and blips of screams. "Bravo, bravo. I love when my friends become magicians too." He punctuates the statement with a wink. Miller isn't intentionally avoiding the question- he's just hungry. A tall guy like him has to eat at least once every three hours. He pulls out a few forks from his throw pack, and an extra plate. "Share Minka share. My stomach is pulling a Cerberus. Underworld flips, you know?"