#love me a nerd with glasses dedicated to their work *shakes fist*

[random-writes-blog]

What you are chapter 2

tw: Biblical references, vore Mention, questionable (not unsymp) Virgil

Remus woke up in a room he didn't know, but his memories returned to him quickly. The screaming, the crying, Patton comforting him. His stomach moaned at him in irritation. He probably missed dinner...

"DECEIT!" Oh shit, he promised he'd make it back by morning! His shout was loud enough to be noticed by Patton who knocked on the door.

“Remus, sweetie? Are you okay?" His voice was like lace, soft, and gently tickling at his skin. Filled with a genuine concern that, if he were being honest, unnerved him.

"YEAH, I'M ALRIGHT!" He shouted at the door, "Just changing." The lie made Remus realizes he probably should do that. He moved to change into new clothes, and looked to see what the Lights had to offer him.

The dramatic outfit was just Roman's dyed a tasteful grayish with a grass-green sash. And the casual outfit didn't have a hint of sexual appeal or even an uncensored curse word! Some were slightly edgy, one with a cartoon zombie eating someone's brains was almost there, but none of them hit the mark for things he would wear. He sniffed them and found they smelled like sweet lavender. Disgusting.

"Don't take too long kiddo or your breakfast will get cold!"

He sniffed his own shirt, his own odor hadn't completely masked the usual trash smell. He'd be fine- wait breakfast?! He cracked open the door, "I'm really not that hungry and I really should be getting back home to Deceit and Rage, who I'm sure are PISSED about me being gone."

Patton looked up at him with big, sad eyes, "But I worked so hard on it! It was made from scratch with all my love!"

Remus looked away, fuck this is hard, he'd never really turned anyone down for anything. It was strange being on this side of the situation, but he knew he had to do it. "Being here, it's been great, really, like a thousand orgasms into Keanu Reeves kind of great, but I really have to go." Patton looked like he was on the brink of tears and Remus could feel guilt welling up in his chest. Fuck, "Since you worked so hard on those pancakes, maybe you could make a doggie bag for me to bring back?"

Patton immediately perked up, "Are you done changing?"

Remus looked himself over one last time, making sure he didn't forget anything before saying yes. Shirt, pants, panties, 10 slap bracelets, kazoo, everything was there. "Yes."

"I can't just leave without seeing your face a one more time, come to the kitchen with me?"

Remus hesitated, it wouldn't take that long to get to the kitchen right? It wasn't like he was staying there to eat, it wouldn't hurt to just walk down to the kitchen with him. His stomach twisted and ached and he wasn't sure whether it was because of his hunger or a general sense of unease. He opened the door and stepped out, "Sounds like a plan!"

Patton's face scrunched up when he saw Remus's full body, "Oh."

Remus huffed, "You're making that face."

"What face? I'm not making a face!"

Remus rolled his eyes, "You lie more often then Deceit, that's your, 'Remus stop telling Thomas to kill his family!' Face." he wrapped his arms around himself, "The face you make when I'm doing something wrong."

Patton put his hands on Remus's shoulder, rubbing it gently, "Why are you still wearing your old clothes? Don't you like what I made for you?"

Remus hesitated, the truth would hurt Patton's feelings, he blinked at his own thought. Since when had he cared about hurting anyone's feelings? "They look like elephant crap and smell like it too! "

Patton looked away from him, "It took me a long time to come up with something I thought you might like you know.

Well now he felt bad, shit. "Sorry I just-"

Patton shook his head, "No, no it's fine, just crushed my self-esteam why don't you!" He gave a small laugh, " Why did I even bother with any of this. "

Remus felt his stomach drop, here Patton was trying his best to try to make him feel comfortable back in the light. And he was so dedicated to his own thoughts and feelings that he wasn't even giving him a real chance. "I can change if you'd prefer it." His voice was soft and gentle, like he was talking to a child, even though Patton was older than him.

Patton looked at him with the biggest grin, "You would?"

He starts moving back towards the door to the room Patton had made for him and picks up the zombie shirt. He wonders if he could put a few choice holes into the jeans, he grins and rocks slightly thinking about cutting them near the croach area. Or, he giggled to himself, is it ass out Wednesday yet? Or better yet both! He remembered though, how utterly devstated Patton was just from saying he didn't like the clothes. If he outright changed them?

He ignored the gentle buzz of his hands, it's alright babies. You'll be able to do something soon enough. He knew he'd have to let out a lot of steam back on his side of the imagination after this to stop himself from feeling miserable, but it was just another few minutes.

The look on Patton's face when he leaves his room, the ohhs and ahhs and cheering are enough to convince him that this was indeed worth the slight aesthetic change as they walked into the kitchen together.

Logan sat at the breakfast table reading a newspaper, in front of him a steaming hot pancake with a small slab of butter melted on it. Virgil sat to his left, his leg shaking slightly with a similar breakfast though slathered with syrup and Roman sat to his across from Logan, druming his fingers on the table and humming to himself boredly. There were two empty seats with plates, one next to Roman and one at the head of the table.

"Hi everyone! So, the surprise actually didn't go as planned," Patton said , he played with his fingers as the other three stared at him and Remus. Remus posed, sticking out his tongue, "take a picture it'll last longer."

Virgil was the first one to speak, "What's /he/ doing here?"

Patton sighed, "I thought it'd be nice to have a family dinner together -"

Virgil growled, "He is NOT a part of the family."

Remus giggled and blew a kiss, " Love you too Virge. "Virgil looked 5 seconds from choking him.

Roman stood up challanging Virgil, "Even if he's not your family he sure as hell is mine! "He gave Remus a warm, princely smile, "and I'm glad to have him with us."

Logan adjusted his glasses, "I will say this was a surprise, Virgil had made 3 unexpected appearences in Thomas's life before you even considered bringing him to family breakfast. ( Virgil balled and unballed his hands into fists) And even then you made sure to discuss the idea with us and him before hand-"

"It doesn't matter anyway, because Remus said he has better things to do and better people to be around then us." Patton said, his tone remained chipper but there was an edge to it and the general words he was saying made Rem us bristle a bit. face

Roman looked crestfallen when he heard that, his eyes lowering and his smile fading, the exact opposite of Virgil's satisfied triumphic smirk. Logan's face was different then both, curious, analytical.

"I didn't mean it like that! Shitpoopyshitshit FUCK!" His head was summing as he searched for how to explai what was actually going on, " Better words stop hiding like a mouse in a burrow 5 seconds from being VORED by a snake " (Virgil pushed his food away at that, seeming to lose his apphetite.) "- wait snake, DECEIT! Yes, Deceit's probably lonely all alone accept for Rage of course but he barely leaves his room except to eat so yeah, I have to go back!" He was panting by the end of his speal.

Only for it to be immediately dismissed.

"Either way he's decided not to join us for family dinner." Patton started putting the pancake into a heated plastic bag.

Logan shrugged, "His reasons are understandable and I believe it was too early in our relationship to do this anyway. Perhaps next time we could make a proper schedual to arrange things in a way that makes everyone comfortable." Remus had never loved the nerd more for existing.

"Logan, I'm surprised that you for not being willing to accept Remus if he did decide to eat with us!"

"Reschedualing for the sake of making sure everyone's aware, feels secure," he nods at Virgil who was looking more and more anxious by the second , "and has the time is far from being unwilling to accept Remus and I don't appreciate how you figuratively minced my words to draw that faulty conclusion."

"What would it look like to literally mince someone's words?" Remus mused. He nudged Roman, "Hey, hey Ro, Ro, say something so I can try-"

" ENOUGH! " Virgil sounded his voice compounding on itself, powerful enough to shake the plates. His breathing is shallow, "All I wanted was a nice CALM breakfast and now everyone's fighting because of YOU!" He pointed at Remus , "Just -Just get out, go back to where you belong and stay AWAY FROM US!"

The room was silent.

Patton handed the bag to Remus.

Remus sunk out.

---------------------

[ghost-chance]

A New Lease on Life 1: Amber or Kimber?

This chapter dedicated to Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle, authors of "Inferno," a modern fictional tribute to Dante Alighieri's Inferno. That book's totally worth a read even if you're not a major nerd—like me—even though the sequel sucked.

Trigger warnings:   Language, suggestive language, panic attacks, insensitive remarks.

Suggested Listening: The Rasmus, "No Fear"

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    1: Amber or Kimber?

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New York City, January 27th, 2016

The first thing Amber noticed was cold; the second was muffled noises almost like speech, followed by a stabbing ache right above her eyes. After all, she'd received a blow to the head…hadn't she? Details weren't coming to her in that state halfway between sleep and wakefulness. As the throbbing in her head smoothed out, she scoured her memory for answers—answers she couldn't find in the blur that her past had become. Only one thing stood out among the blank space in her history….

She was dead. How she knew this, she wasn't completely sure, but as the headache faded away, fractured memories slowly filled its place. Willsdale—the storm of the century—the school where she'd worked, torn and trashed by EF-5 level winds. Her eyes flew open in fear, searching for any sign of light or life. Blinded by a sudden light, she cringed into the foul smelling heap she lay on. The voices around her grew louder and less muted, then suddenly ceased all together.

Where was she? What happened? How had she found herself in the situation she was in—what was the situation, even? She had no answers—not even the strength to lift her head. Out of the blue, she felt a presence beside her…warm, gentle arms drew her closer and wrapped her in a cocoon of scratchy warmth. This, she could get used to, she mused weakly as she turned to nuzzle into the warm shoulder propping her up.

But nothing good ever lasts…as though summoned by her comfort and calm, a demon she knew too well manifested with a grinding roar. The slow trickle of memories became a torrential downpour—horrifying images flooded her delirious mind. Somewhere in the distance, someone was screaming, screaming as though they were being slowly gutted. The world turned sideways and crossways as the warmth surrounding her fell away; again, she fell to the fetid ground wishing the screaming would stop, wishing the memories would cease. Someone shut it all off, she cried soundlessly, her vocal chords inexplicably stilled.

A pinprick pain sprang to life, quickly becoming a spreading fire. On the heels of the fire, murky fog rolled in, choking out the life replaying before her sightless eyes. She struggled to get her head above water, struggled to breathe. A soft, gentle touch brushed from her brow to her temple then trailed along the line of her cheekbone. Sometime between the beginning of the caress and the whispering that followed, Amber's distorted world was swallowed up by a black void.

New York City, April's loft, January 28th, 2016

"I'm not so sure of this, Casey," a soft voice murmured nearby. Amber twitched at the sound, disoriented and bewildered. She'd died—she remembered now, remembered being in another place—a place of endless nothing set to the sound of a clock's incessant ticking. Limbo, she wondered wearily? "We should've taken her to the hospital—she could be dangerously sick!"

"Hon, ya know we can't," a deeper voice replied. "If she wakes up an' starts jabberin' about giant turtles, it'll be trouble for da guys!"

'Giant turtles?' Amber thought groggily. 'Great, out'a the'afterlife an' into the nut house. At least it's warm, here…an' it smells nice, too.' She burrowed deeper under the scratchy knit afghan with a contented sigh, relishing the sweet fragrance of spiced cider. Later she'd question how she could be alive when she was sure she'd died but for now, she was too comfy to care, even with a splitting headache.

"Hey, she's waking up!" the first voice hissed; damn, no rest for the wicked. "Miss, you okay? You need anything?" Reluctantly, Amber pried open her eyes, fumbling blindly for her glasses; a blurry hand passed them to her and she affixed them to her face, working her way to a sitting position. A woman with dark curly hair hovered before her with a steaming mug of cider and a concerned expression. As Amber finally trudged the rest of the way to life, she reached to scratch her left knee…and found bare skin. Startled awake by the absent clothing, she glanced down at herself in dismay.

Not only were her surprisingly toned legs nearly bare, most of her was bare! The skirt she'd woken in barely qualified as 'mini,' the skimpy top was cut so low her suddenly larger and firmer breasts seemed about to pop out, she was clearly not wearing a bra, and the clunky black boots she wore seemed more for looks than use. The fact that she had somehow lost almost a quarter of her body weight was shoved firmly into a vacant corner of her mind to be dealt with when she wasn't practically naked. Her cheeks flamed bright red as she yanked the afghan up to cover herself up to the chin. "Miss?" April asked in confusion.

"Please tell me I'm not a hooker!" Amber blurted desperately.

"What?" Casey gaped. Undeterred, Amber rambled on in disgust and panic.

"This's so not me—I'm barin' more than I'm wearin'! There should not be a fuckin' draft there, an' I'd never be caught dead wearin' a screw-me skirt. Granted, I like the hoochie boots an' my boobs finally match my ass, but for the love of Mike I'm practic'ly naked!" When she finally realized everything she'd said, she cringed. "Eheh…Sorry…brain-to-mouth filter malfunction."

"I'll say," Casey grinned; April shot him a dirty look, but he just shrugged. "So what's ya name, Miss Not-a-hookuh?"

"Amber," she replied nervously. "Amber O'Brien. An' Y'all?" The other two blinked at the blatant twang in her voice. Was it really so odd, she wondered? The vast majority of her hometown spoke with a much thicker twang than she did, so how could they be so surprised by it?

"I'm April O'Neil," the other woman replied politely as she handed Amber the mug of cider. "This is my boyfriend, Casey Jones." It took a moment for the facts to sink in.

'You're kiddin' me, right?' Amber thought sarcastically. 'What're the odds that I'd die an' wake up in the middle of a movie set?' Instead of acknowledging the elephant in the room, she asked, "Train conductor or Grateful Dead?" Their response was a blank stare. "Sorry. So…uh…how'd I wind up here? Did y'all knock me out'a that jar in the vestibule—or were the jars in Limbo?" She frowned down at the cider searching her scattered memories.

"What jar?" April was at a loss. "Some…friends of ours found you in an abandoned subway station. You were freezing to death. Do you not remember that?" Amber searched her memories, then shook her head with a confused frown.

"No, my memory's…kinda blurry," she admitted. "I remember…a storm…a bad one, worse than I'd ever…" Unbeknownst to her, her words became more and more frantic and stammered, her eyes grew wild, and she started shaking violently. Amber never noticed any of it; next thing she knew, she found herself on the floor in the corner curled in a tiny ball with April petting her hair. "…Wha…What happened?" she asked groggily. The pity in April's eyes annoyed her, but she needed answers.

"Do you have a history of panic attacks?" the reporter asked gently.

"No…I've got a pretty bad phobia so I've had anxiety attacks, but it's never anythin' serious. Why?"

"Well, now you do. Come on, let's get you into something more…covering." As Amber hoisted herself to her feet, her top dipped lower than before, revealing a flash of purple and black. Startled by the sight, Amber never noticed the shocked gasps of her hosts; she was too busy staring in dismay at the coiled purple dragon tattoo nestled in her cleavage.

"We got here as soon as we could," Leo apologized as he climbed over the windowsill. Donatello followed right behind, silently hanging his trench coat on the rack next to Leo's overcoat. "Has she made any progress?" April's worried, tight-lipped frown concerned him, and Casey's frustrated pacing wasn't reassuring either.

"Ya know anythin' about dis chick?" Casey muttered, shooting a glare at April's bedroom door; not long after the tattoo's discovery April had ushered their stunned guest to bed with a mug of tea, a pair of sweats, and a teeshirt big enough to double as a dress.

"We told you everything we knew, Casey," Don replied. "Too little clothing, no sign of substance abuse, hypothermic and possibly homeless, and nearly had a heart attack right in front of us. Why?"

"She's a dragon!" Casey spat, slamming his fist into the nearest wall.

"Casey!" April scolded. "Cool it!" Even as he shook off flecks of dried paint, he growled under his breath.

"You brought us a fuckin' Purple Dragon, Leo, an' she's clearly off her rocker! She—"

"Wait, back up," Donnie interrupted. "Why do you think she's a Purple Dragon? We didn't see a tattoo!" April blushed and avoided his eyes.

"Ya didn't look down her shirt—it's between her jugs." Leo cringed.

"Y-You're joking, right?" he stammered hopefully. "Please tell me you're joking." Casey shook his head with a dark scowl. "Great. —Donnie, where're you going?" His brother was already trudging down the hall, medkit in hand and a determined pinch to his eyes.

"Gang or not, she needs help," he answered firmly. "We don't know her story and we don't know her, and until we do, I, for one, reserve judgment." Without another word, he slipped through the door. Light from the hallway guided him to the bed and the lump curled up on the very edge of the mattress. The hair strewn messily over April's lumpy pillow was red as fruit punch, but now that it was brushed out and down out of the ridiculous updo from before, warm brown roots shone through—it was definitely dyed, and from the looks of it, with Kool-Aid.

Donnie paused hesitantly in the doorway, studying the sleeping woman. She was curled up in a ball but he recalled her figure with striking clarity. So many women were obsessed with being thin, looking thin, and feeling thin, and hid their bodies under too-large clothing if they weren't thin enough for their liking. This woman wasn't thin—quite the contrary, she was voluptuous, with soft, wide hips, a well-rounded rear, a generous bust, and from the looks of it, some extra softness around her ribs, hips, and thighs. Popular culture would have deemed her weight and body type a flaw, but he'd always admired curves; to him, she was lovely. Lovely, he thought sadly, and very much out of reach. It didn't bear thinking about, he reminded himself; he had a job to do, and more likely than not she'd scream if she ever saw him. They always screamed, really.

Don was pleased to find she'd made progress. Her body temperature had risen to a healthy 98.4, her blood pressure and heart rate were normalized, and the color had returned to her skin. Better yet she was breathing normally and he couldn't detect any wheezing, so she probably hadn't developed pneumonia from the conditions she'd been found in. Confident that she'd make a full recovery he slid his goggles back up over his forehead and brushed her hair away from her neck to seek out her pulse.

A sudden spike in the pulse fluttering against his fingertips drew a concerned frown, then a soft gasp tore him from his thoughts. Slowly, warily, he met her eyes—moss green eyes wide open in astonishment and set off by a blindingly red blush. He swallowed noisily, counting down the seconds to her inevitable freak-out.

'Holy Mama Mary,' Amber thought as the tall turtle's hazel eyes met hers. 'If this is Heaven…' "—I must'a been a Sainte!" she finished under her breath.

"Pardon?" Don asked dubiously, releasing her neck. Amber flushed.

"S-Sorry. Brain-to-mouth filter malfunction, jus' ignore it." Pulling the comforter almost up to her chin she dragged her glasses back over her eyes, cautiously looking him over. "Am I…dead?"

"Nope; you gave it your best shot, though," he replied with a cheeky smile. "Unless something changes, you should make a full recovery. So, what's your name?" She blinked several times, scrunched up her eyes and squinted at him, sat up with the blanket pooling around her, then pinched herself on the cheek…hard.

"Ow!" she yelped, yanking her fingers away from the throbbing flesh. "Nope, not dreamin'. Ya mind…?" Donnie was completely nonplussed but shrugged; without another word, she reached one hand out and poked him squarely in the shoulder. He stared back, clearly questioning her sanity. "A'right, Willis," she announced to the room in general, searching every corner she could see. "Ya win. I won't post that video if ya call off yer buddy. Shame really, it was a hoot."

"Video?" Don asked dubiously. Amber smirked.

"Aaron got shite-faced on Scotch whisky an' tried to milk a bull; it disagreed. Now come on out, Willis, this's getting' annoyin'!"

"Of course," Casey grumbled from the doorway. "Now I recognize ya—dat fake accent threw me off. Donnie? Dis's Kimber Bryant; she hangs out with dat little dweeb Daron Williams."

"Daron Williams?! Kimber Bryant?!" she repeated shrilly. "My name's Amber! Amber O'Brien, an' I've always talked like this! The heck're you smokin'?"

"Quit wit' da lyin' a'ready!" Casey snapped. "Raph an' I busted yer ass 'nuff times fer me ta know ya, 'specially with dat tattoo'a yers!"

"Casey," Donatello warned lowly. "Back off, you're not helping." He turned to the green-eyed woman again, troubled by the confusion in her eyes. Poor thing...she really didn't know who she was? "Amnesia, maybe? What's the last thing you remember?"

She only got out one word—storms—before losing her grip on reality. Right before his eyes she paled and shrunk into herself; her eyes grew wide, her breath sped to gasps and pants, and an endless stream of garbled words fell from her lips. Realizing what was happening, Don dug a bottle of homemade smelling salts* from his kit and waved it under her nose, monitoring her pulse with his other hand. Finally, her glazed-over eyes focused fearfully on his, her voice stilled, and her breathing regulated. "I—"

"It's alright," he soothed as he drew back again. "Whatever happened isn't exactly ready to come to light, apparently. Maybe just some questions? Simple yes or no answers, perhaps?" Though she was only growing more and more confused, she nodded, following him to the living room again, the comforter draped around her like a fluffy yellow cloak. April put on the kettle for tea while the rest settled in the living room.

"Kimber Bryant?" Leo asked bluntly.

"No," she replied seriously. "Amber O'Brien. I was born to Douglas O'Brien and Ginny Devon in Willsdale, Missouri, I graduated Willsdale High in May '94, an' I spent the last several years workin' for the school district as a night janitor at Willsdale High. "

"Do you know where you are?" Donnie suddenly asked. "Do you know what city you're in?" Her face fell.

"They said I was found in a subway station, right?" she asked hesitantly. "The only subway I've ever been in served sandwiches, an' had a gas station attached. So clearly I'm somehow not in Willsdale anymore." A violent shiver wracked her shoulders and she burrowed further into the blanket. "Wherever I am now, it's pretty dang cold fer May even with 2011's freaky weather."

Leo and Donnie exchanged a wary glance. "Miss O'Brien?" Donnie said softly, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. "You're in New York City; it's January 27th, 2016."

NOTES

*Smelling salts CAN be used for panic attacks, but should be used VERY SPARINGLY and only in conjunction with other coping skills. If you just use salts—or other 'wake up' devices like sour candies or fireball jawbreakers, for example—and never get to the root of the problem, never work on what has given you panic attacks, they become a crutch and can eventually worsen your troubles. I've never used them myself, so I can't recommend salts. I CAN recommend breathing exercises, fireballs and Altoids, and meditation.

Panic attacks CAN be beaten, and you CAN get PTSD under control enough to live a fulfilling life. Don't give up—you're stronger than you give yourself credit for.

[jflashandclash]

Attrition of Peace

Thirty-Nine: Ajax

Important Questions for Ethics and How the Universe Works

  “So, do you think Reyna is deflowering Axel or do you think she’s giving him a fast pass to visit Luke?” Jack asked when one of the Romans took Connor into their barracks.

Pax wanted to follow after Connor, but the look the Roman gave him was clear: come near me or mine and I’ll scoop your eyes out with a ½ teaspoon. At least, that’s the specific fraction for the cooking utensil that Pax interpreted through his skilled glare-reading.

And, despite all the wanting-Axel-to-bang-his-not-girlfriend going on, Pax was still terrified of her overtly dedicated followers that wanted to kill him.

Calex and Kahale were stationed a few yards away, outside the tent, to make sure no one bothered Axel and Reyna. They gave each other a worried glance at a clatter and snarl from inside. The light inside dimmed and twisted turquoise; Pax knew Axel was using magic. Fear magic: good for mood lighting. 

Calex and Kahale looked really nervous about their decision.

If Pax was closer, he would have assured them, it’s okay. They just flirt weird.    

Alabaster sighed as he and Lou Ellen walked over from the caution tape. He’d been dragging the dead from the strawberry field while Kally helped fix up the wounds Phobetor had given Lou Ellen in prior bouts.

“Your interest in everyone’s sex life is disturbing,” Alabaster told Jack, wiping the blood off his hands with a Wet One sanitizer wipe.

Alabaster was pale—well, he always looked like he took tanning advice from an empousa—but he was paler than normal. Pax could tell from the way Alabaster’s fingers shook that he was taking this as well as a blender to the face. None of the Romans were jeering at them anymore, but their wariness and suspicion were noticeable. And Pax was waiting for someone to make a comment to Alabaster that would lead Pax and Kally to kicking the Tartarus out of that person.

Pax wanted to give Alabaster a hug; he could tell the child of magic needed encouragement. But he also knew how much a hug would humiliate Alabaster. He would never want to show weakness in front of the Romans.

Unlike Pax, who had been sobbing over Connor. Now that his friend from Cabin Eleven was gone, he turned his attention to Matthias. The Nord was muttering in his sleep, his teeth chattering. Pax took the Peace, Love, and Reese’s Sticks flag they’d made and draped it over the mechanic’s body. He couldn’t read lettering, but Kally had assured him that’s what she wrote after all his pestering and guilting.

As Lou Ellen came even with them, her green eyes widened with glee. “Wooh—a talking head. How did you guys pull this one off? A combo of using a healer of Apollo and some good ol’ fashion necromancy?”

           Alabaster went to shake his head, but paused. He glanced over to where Kally was putting Clovis’ arm in a sling. The child of Hynos was out cold in a sleeping bag, probably high-fiving his dad in the dream world.

           Kally noticed them, blushed, and gave a tiny wave. Then her brow furrowed in confusion, probably because of the uncomfortable curiosity in Alabaster’s gaze. After seeing a few of his obsessive experiments, Pax figured she’d get used to his absent-minded mania.

           Though, Pax wasn’t sure if Alabaster’s interest involved the desire to replicate Jack’s condition—was that considered a condition? Or more a change in life style?—or if Alabaster wanted to end it, for the good of humanity and to end the irritation of being the caretaker of a virile and incessantly talking head.

           “Ah, children of Hecate,” Jack cooed, “Never bothered by the severed limbs of necromancy. Just my interest in their sex life.”

           Probably the latter.

           Pax, for one, was happy to have Jack back.

           He glanced over to Lou Ellen. When Pax had first gotten to camp, he’d been so busy terrorizing people with Cabin Eleven and gathering supplies to defeat Santiago (and doing Eris’ evil bidding) that he didn’t pay much attention to the Hecate cabin counselor. She had curling brunette hair and green eyes, as stunning as Alabaster’s and Lamia’s.

           Then, something clicked. “Didn’t you say something about Hecate’s babes up there?” Pax asked.

           “Yea,” she said, bending her middle and ring finger to her thumb to make the rock on symbol. “Bitches and witches.”

           A sharp pain shot through Pax’s forehead.

           He, Jack, Alabaster, and Lou Ellen all cried in pain.

           “Someone altered our memories,” Alabaster hissed, clutching his head.

           “Are you okay?!”

           When Pax managed to blink away his tears, he found Kally touching his shoulder in concern. There were blood flecks on her glasses and the sweater he and Axel loaned her was stained red at the cuff. It looked like Kally had given him permission to draw on her face, between the red-rims around her eyes, and the dark circles surrounding them. Though, Pax would have added a sunflower drawing to balance out the darkness.

           There was a Roman with Kally, one with lighter, leather armor, and a white packet with a caduceus symbol.

           Were these the only two healers here other than Jack? Did that mean… did that mean Kally was sorting through fifty percent of the dead and injured campers?

           Pax thought about the little factory line of corpses that Alabaster and Lou Ellen dragged over. Sure. They’d been on adventures and she watched Joey get incinerated in flames, but…

           “Have you seen a dead body before? Or had to pronounce someone no-longer-functional?” Pax asked. She hadn’t been on the side of the house with Will or… “This doesn’t count.” Pax gestured to where he’d pinned Jack’s hair to his utility belt.

           Kally tightened her grip on his shoulder.

           Pax had so many people he needed to give hugs to today.

           Before he could wrap his arms around her, the Roman medic took a step towards them. Kally released Pax’s arm and moved away to give the Roman room.

           “I can’t believe they let you heal the head of the Hermes barracks,” he snapped at Pax’s beltline.

           “Cabin,” Kally corrected softly.

           “Kleptocracy,” Pax suggested.[1]

           Despite his clear irritation with the Roman, Alabaster glanced at Pax in surprise.

           Pax waggled his eyebrows at Alabaster in the best I-know-smart-words-too-and-I-know-you-find-smart-words-hot expression he could make.

           “This is Ric Bardking—” Kally started to introduce.

           Jack rolled his eyes. “Pft, better than you could have healed him. Ajax explained the severity of the situation and why it was dire—that Connor Stoll needed to live.”

           Pax nodded. “He needs to take care of my chinchilla.”

           “You don’t belong here, abomination,” the Roman hissed at Pax’s beltline.

           Pax needed a way to remind himself that people were talking to Jack and not Pax’s family jewels, especially since “abomination” was definitely not one of his nicknames for them. Maybe he should hold Jack up for people to talk to him? Would that seem too… threatening? What if Jack started making faces that Pax couldn’t see?

           “What’s the matter, Ol’ Sissy? Are we too dark for your rating system?” Jack’s gargling, metal-clank of a cackle screeched their ears. “Does the honesty of our situations and character make you uncomfortable?” If Jack had hands or a heart, Pax knew Jack would put a hand to his heart and stare off in the distance. “Are we not a good enough conduit for social justice? Are—are you one of my siblings?”

           The influx in Jack’s voice changed. It trembled with eerie excitement.

           Kally went pale.

           Pax’s eyes glanced down to the Roman’s tattoo. Bardking’s sleeves were rolled up, to avoid a full blood soaking. From what Pax could tell, above the medical gloves, there was a symbol of a harp above two bars.

           He felt a knot tie in his stomach.

           “Tell me,” Jack sang softly, “Little brother—”

           “Flash,” Alabaster snarled, hovering his fingers over the collar rune on his sleeve. But the matching tattoo around Jack’s neck was only half there—the circle had been broken where his skin had been hacked. And a broken magic circle���as any fantasy nerd should know—wouldn’t work.

           Jack started to sing, “Have you ever danced with the devil—MMPH!”

           Pax pulled his sleeve over his fist and shoved it into Jack’s mouth.

           Jack grunted and gave muffled, indignant wails.

           There was a collective sigh from everyone except Lou Ellen. “You know, Alabaster and I could have just convinced him there was a gag in his mouth,” she said.

           “Do you wanna try and do that now?” Kally asked, looking disgusted by Pax’s predicament. After this, Pax would really need to get Jack to brush his—Pax would really need to brush Jack’s teeth for him. No one should have to have Pax’s hand in their mouth.

           “No,” Lou Ellen said cheerfully, “I’d rather see Ajax try to sanitize his hand later. I’m going to go check on Miranda and steal her nose before she wakes up.”

           Pax almost went to wave Lou Ellen off, but had to reremember his dominate hand was in Jack’s mouth. By the time he was ready to wave, she had already skipped away.

           Kally nudged Bardking’s shoulder. “Hey,” she said. Despite blushing in her attempt to be authoritarian, she tried to sound firm. “These guys are good guys.” She nodded to Alabaster and Pax. Merry would have been proud—Kally was sounding less like a doormat each day.

           “Aw, you didn’t even hesitate to nod at me, Cyclops!” Pax cheered.

           “I’m sorry,” Bardking grumbled. He took a deep breath in, like it was painful, and turned his full attention to Alabaster. “What you did for us was—”

           “I didn’t do it for you,” Alabaster cut him off. There was a hint of panic in his voice. Pax could tell Alabaster still didn’t know what to think of helping: if he should feel disgusted with himself for aiding who he did or relieved he’d saved lives.

           Either way, Bardking scowled at his response. “Regardless of your intention—”

           “Alabaster,” Kally cut into Bardking’s exquisite use of tact. She sounded rushed and nervous. “Would you be willing to go back in with Lou Ellen to pull out more campers? No one else can go in yet, and we were discussing the campers might be safer out here, under the Romans’ protection—”

           Pax could see Alabaster’s fingers go white as he clenched his Cloven Terror helm. It was one thing when Alabaster went in there out of instinct—to stop a thug from forcing his will onto others—but another when he had to make a conscious decision, especially when being asked by a hot Greek like Kally.

           Before this could degrade into a fight about gods, justice, the universe, and other boring, unimportant stuff, Pax removed his hand from Jack’s mouth, grabbed the ends of Alabaster’s sleeve, and dragged him further along the caution tape, away from Kally and Bardking.

           “Ajax!” Kally started to call.

           “Wait—I have vital intel about Phobetor that I need to give Alabaster before he goes in there—it could be the difference between the safety or destruction of the camp and its cute bunnies!” Pax called over his shoulder.

           Alabaster stumbled along without resistance. When they were a few yards from the others and it became apparent Kally and Bardking weren’t going to follow them, Alabaster reached a hand forward. Pax assumed Alabaster was going to scold Pax, so was stunned when Alabaster squeezed Pax’s hand and whispered, “Thank you, Ajax.”

           Pax felt his heart do back-flip, pull out a giant foam finger, and sprint around his ribcage in a victory lap.  

           Just as quick, Alabaster pulled his hand away.

           “He really likes monologues,” Pax blurted.

           “Excuse me?” Alabaster slowed their walking pace and raised an exhausted eyebrow at Pax. From the way his shoulders sagged, Pax could tell who needed to curl up with the weasels and Harvey after this.

           “That’s an important piece of intel about Phobetor. You can’t get that intel everywhere, you know,” Pax said. His legs were shaking. Maybe they both needed to curl up with the weasels. Pax could feel his cheeks redden, but remembered how angry Alabaster had been when Pax snuck into his room.

           “Is that why you brought me out here?” Alabaster asked. In the glare of the floodlights, those emerald Hecate eyes seemed to glow.

           Pax glanced around them. Most of the Romans were further back in the strawberry field, attending to the bodies Alabaster and Lou Ellen had pulled over. Lou Ellen was running back through the strawberry fields, presumably to retrieve more people. Ahead of them, Pax was pleased to spot an easy excuse.

           Thalia, Euna, and some blonde huntress were talking ahead. Judging from their posture, they must have just met up. It looked like the blonde huntress was giving a report. Euna waited patiently to the side, staring into the strawberry fields.

           “No,” Pax said definitively. He reached back over to take Alabaster’s sleeve again, wishing it was his hand. “I wanted to eavesdrop on Euna and Thalia’s conversation and make it look casual. Pretend we’re talking about battles or how hot Kally is or something.”

           Alabaster smiled softly and Pax felt his insides melt, like the times Pax forgot his Reese’s Sticks in the Paxmobile over summers and Axel clobbered him for the mess afterwards. He hadn’t seen Alabaster smile like that in so long.

           Pax couldn’t help Alabaster with his smart-person ethical problems with Camp Half-Blood… but… “Where’s Claymore?” he asked.

           “In my pocket—No, he’s not an action figure.”

           Pax had been about to gasp in excitement. Now, Pax’s hopes for a grumpy, middle-aged action figure (with motion-activated scathing remarks) were dashed before they could fully form. “Should you talk to Claymore about this?”

           They slowed to a shuffle, and Pax remembered following Alabaster around Camp Othrys when they were collecting samples off of monsters for Alabaster’s hexes. Pax had crafted many carrying bags so he could always keep one hand free to hold Alabaster’s sleeve. Alabaster’s freckled face would crunch with calculation, the same way it did now, as he used his spare hand to review a list of ingredients he needed.

           “Probably. He hates being locked away as a Mist card for too long anyway,” Alabaster mused.

           Despite their slow pace, they were almost to the two huntresses and the daughter of Demeter.  

           Pax puffed up and popped his cheeks. He was normally so good at blurting stuff he wasn’t supposed to. Now that he really needed to, all he could think about was that time Morpheus decided to teach everyone how to disco and was sad half the dancers were asleep by the end.

           All he wanted to do was explain Lamia. To tell Alabaster about the time he’d accidentally—for once actually accidentally—eavesdropped on Jack and Luke’s conversation when he went to ask Jack for advice.

           “She’ll try to kill Alabaster when Ajax tells her that he didn’t mean this as some creepy courtship.”

           “We can’t have the two most powerful children of Hecate fighting over a Mayan brat, Jack.”

           “My boys will only dally for whom their hearts and loins yearn. Ajax is thirteen. He’s too young for that crazy monster bitch. And, Alabaster is a big kid. He can take care of himself.”

           “Not if any children of Hecate side with Lamia. Besides, have you forgotten Ajax’s current situation? Starting a war between two useful resources certainly sounds like something a double crossing spy would do.”

           Pax had hated it. He hated it when Lamia dressed him in children’s clothing that were four thousand years out of mode and when she called him Demetrius or Altheia. The names of her dead children. Something… something about it reminded him of Santiago shoving him into that horrible burgundy dress shirt and slicking back his hair.

           He’d especially hated the look on Alabaster’s face when Alabaster blasted him out of the laboratory on hearing everything. Well, he hated being blasted. Being blasted hurt.

           Maybe, had he told Alabaster then, Alabaster would have stayed. Maybe the Battle of Mount Othrys wouldn’t have been such a disaster. Maybe Alabaster wouldn’t have let Flynn—

           “Do you remember that time Morpheus tried to teach Axel how to disco?” Pax blurted. More than his legs were shaking now. He could imagine the next iteration of man that the gods would make. Not out of wood or clay. Jell-O people.

           “What?” Alabaster asked with a quiet laugh. “I’m not sure water from the Lethe River could cleanse that from my mind, but that’s not what you were going to say.”

           Pax puffed up his cheeks and popped them again. Alabaster ought to write a Care Guide for the Annoying Pax for Kally with how well this boy could read him. Not that it would matter soon.

They’d stopped walking.

           Pax enlaced his fingers with Alabaster’s. “We’re still friends, right?” Pax asked.

           Alabaster pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “You’re as annoying, ill-timed, and tactless as ever,” he muttered. Alabaster sidestepped closer to him, so the Romans couldn’t see their hands. Pax held his breath, thinking maybe he could find some loop in the laws of physics to keep Alabaster’s arm pressed against his shoulder forever.

He could feel Alabaster’s reluctance to speak. “Jack told me everything when I found him.” He nodded to Pax’s belt.

           By now, Pax could tune out Jack’s humming and had completely forgotten there was another person with them. Considering how loud Jack usually was, his surrogate father’s tune was quiet; Pax almost couldn’t recognize Can You Feel the Love Tonight?

           “But, Jack’s mind was also even worse after Tartarus. And he’d say or do anything for you and Axel…”

           Jack made a, “Mm-hm,” of affirmation before continuing to hum.

           “Ah,” was all Pax could say.

           “I didn’t know if what he said was true until I saw you. And even then… I’m still pissed at you for not telling me.” Alabaster’s grip became uncomfortably tight on Pax’s hand. “I would have never thought you were Rome’s spy had you told me. It made me think—if you could keep Lamia from me—what else could you lie about.”[2]

           Pax wanted to give Jack a hug, though that might be kinda… gross currently. He’d made stuff way easier for the two of them. Pax felt his eyes water when Alabaster relaxed his grip. What he really wanted to do was give Alabaster a hug. He didn’t hate him! That fact alone was enough to warrant a party, complete with moon bounce.

           “But yea, we’re still friends.” Alabaster’s gaze narrowed as he clarified, “Just friends… Now let go of my hand.”

           Pax grinned at him. “No.”

           Alabaster touched the fire rune on his sleeve.

           “You never had time to recharge it,” Pax teased, “I checked.”

           Alabaster’s eyes widened, staring over Pax’s shoulder. “Ajax.”

           “Witch Boy, I’m the master of diversion. Do you really think I’ll fall for—”

           “Phobetor is back.”

           And, judging by the way Alabaster gestured, was standing right behind Pax.

           “Cho…” Pax grumbled.

 Thank you for reading! :D I hope everyone is having an awesome winter break and fantastic holidays if you’re celebrating!

Footnotes:

[1] Rule by thieves.

[2] Ajax made a natural scapegoat for Rome’s actual spy, since he pretty much lives to act dodgy. More about this and why people suspected him in book 5! Shameless plug! Stay tuned!