as above so below

jack  watched  the  throw  land,  his  gaze  flicking  from  the  axe  to  him—lingering  a  moment  on  the  handkerchief,  the  careful  way  he  brushed  himself  off  like  the  whole  thing  might  stain  him.  nothing new, really. there  was  a  faint  exhale  through  his  nose,  something  quieter  than  amusement.  “relaxing,  is  it.”

he  stepped  forward  without  hurry,  the  kind  of  movement  that  didn’t  waste  anything.  his  fingers  closed  around  an  axe,  testing  the  weight  once,  familiar,  before  he  spoke  again.  “you  ain’t  wrong.  there’s  better  ways  to  spend  the  time.”  a  pause,  brief,  considered.  “winning’s  one  of  ’em.”

the  first  throw  left  his  hand  clean,  unremarkable  in  the  way  it  moved, until  it  struck,  solid  and  precise,  just  off  the  other  mark.  jack  didn’t  react  to  it,  didn’t  look  impressed.  he  just  tilted  his  head  slightly,  like  he  was  checking  a  measurement.

“three  throws.  tightest  grouping  wins.”

he  reached  for  another,  turning  it  once  in  his  hand.  “or  don’t,”  he  added,  voice  even.  his  gaze  flicked  over  the  suit  again,  quick,  assessing.  “don't  look  like  your  kind  of  thing.” the  second  axe  followed,  faster  this  time,  biting  in  close  enough  to  splinter  the  wood  between  the  hits.  jack  glanced  back  at  him  then,  expression  steady,  unreadable.  not  challenging—just  certain.

“your  call.”

reminded him of home, of men he grew up around. worked with, under, and later on, men who worked for him.

"must it always be a competition?" he drawled slowly, letting him take the axe with a grip that was firmer than his own, more certain. the kind of grip that cut through in one go.

he raised an eyebrow as he was assessed in return in a way he had seldom been in a long time. maybe when he first arrived in camp. he had never minded a man's eyes on him, much less one like jack--it certainly didn't bother him now. he snorted, shaking his head as he hid his hands in the coats of his jacket.

"what is this, dick measuring?" he watched him, knowing he was certain and proud of his performance. of his tight grouping, predictable. "must i prove to daddy i am man enough?" he moved closer, brushing past jack to grip the axe with just as firm a grip.

"it would be really humiliating for you, if i won," he almost smirked as he stood next to him, somewhere between teasing and asking for his acknowledgement as he patted his chest. touch warm and lingering, like back in the farm. "wonder if i should demand something..."

old men... playing games like this. well, he did feel rather young still. one look to the target, one look back towards jack, safely away--the thud came a second later, a grin, right above jack's mark. a wipe of his hand and a raised eyebrow as he used magic to drag the axe back to him.

˙ ˖ ✶ Kevan

"No, Kevan, I do not doubt your skill," Rory mumbled, but his gaze had never left the pages of his book as he sat on a stump. At most times, he could always be found with his head in a book, entirely enamored by whatever story he had in front of him. It was hard to shake Rory, from this habit. He'd rather live in between the pages than be reminded of his transgressions every time his gaze met another demigod's. His life had not been simple, that much was certain.

"What would you suggest then, because as far as I'm concerned this chapter is getting to be extremely interesting," Rory gushed before flipping to the next page. "Still, if you'd like me to look at your pretty face instead, I could always do that."

"I'm still surprised I was even asked to be here, considering how some of the others still feel about me," Rory shrugged, but he wasn't concerned with that as much; he knew he deserved their ire.

"If you want to read all day, the cabin is a perfectly fine for that." Still, it was nice to be out, enjoying a little sunlight before he had to go deal with this or that.

The crops were coming along great, he heard. He tried not to think of how his family suffered for what nymphs and demigods did so very easily in their little haven.

what: disgruntled, icy french canadian fighting many demons including his useless phone. where: just outside the cabins

"tabarnak!!!"

the expletive is said with as much force as possible, as monty throws his phone roughly into the ground, a little gust of wind carrying it further than it would've gone otherwise. he doesn't even care. it's become exceedingly clear that they weren't joking when they said no outside technology works on the island.

monty just wants some semblance of normalcy, something to hold onto from his life outside. he wanted to check on his team and see how they're doing, maybe call a friend or teammate. 

he sighs and goes to retrieve the phone after a few seconds of stewing in his feelings, only to see that it's completely frozen. 

“such a piece of shit,” he grumbles as he tosses it back in his pocket, only then noticing that someone had witnessed that entire ordeal as he fought with his phone and ultimately lost. 

he flushes in embarrassment, feeling caught and exposed, before settling on anger instead and rolling his eyes with a disgruntled sound. 

“câlisse! i am not a performer, or a circus clown for you to watch!"  

checking in on the business once in a while, leaving for quick trips and dealing with the worst of it when monsters followed his footsteps. it was a never-ending cycle, at this point.

He rose though, eyes wandering about the space as if taking it in – glass still held precariously in hand as he ruminated over the memories attached to Kevan’s aforementioned peers. “I can’t be too critical of them, I made a fair bit of money off your peers – and you too – of course… Sorry I was never really one to be kept, but it’s not as though I was ever short on work.” Ciro sauntered closer, stopping just in front of Kevan, the older man did love his photographs – and Ciro enjoyed a pose, a candid. 

With a bit of an exhale, he leaned forward and placed his glass on the table beside him before he moved forward – lifting one thigh and then the other as he descended to settle neatly across Kevan’s lap. “I believe only things with a signal are… interrupted, maybe the next time we leave the island we can find you something that’s a bit more… analogue?” Ciro mused, arms slung over Kevan’s shoulders as he penned him in in some regard, “I’d say you’re overdue for a more… robust collection, wouldn’t you?”

"Really?" He never meant to presume he'd own him, but it was interesting to see that was where his mind went. As if he himself might be confused for the art he helped curate, "I assure I never had any intention of caging any birds, much less one such as yourself--" he clicked his tongue, let his hand run across the other's leg now that he was close. "I never liked the idea of clipping wings, living things are ever more beautiful when not constrained..." he was not a man such as his dear stepfather, to seduce and trap into his own darkness.

Even if maybe at times that could happen anyway.

"I believe you are right, as usual," He whispered against his ear, making the other comfortable over his lap. Letting him feel the cock pressing against the fly of his pants. "But for now I'll save that view for my eyes only, if you don't mind..." His hands found the buttons of Ciro's shirt, undoing it as his lips met neck. He was too gentle to leave marks for now, but he claimed the skin anyway, running lips and teeth and tongue across it before he finally met Ciro's lips with his own while his hands dipped beneath fabric to rub at his naked skin. He would stretch him on his bed and lick every inch yet, but that could wait.

“Rich.” Ciro replied glibly at first, “Most art collectors don’t know the difference between a real or a fake, or something that needs to be restored and something that is better left in place to preserve its integrity.” The son of Athena wasn’t all performance, sex, and fighting – though he was all three of those things – there just wasn’t much reason, function, or purpose into leaning into his history until the odd moments where it became relevant. Kevan was among the very few that required more than a few brain cells to interact with – it was appreciated. “Not you though… You knew what you were talking about, it was refreshing.”

He drifted closer, refilling both their glasses with a smile and a raised eyebrow. "You're not wrong," He nodded, eyes lingering on Ciro, "on any of those assessments."

"I had who to take after," He did not often talk of his mother. The human one, the one that bled and prayed for him but things like this brought her too close to hide. "I know how most of my…" a frown, "peers, see art. The money that goes in, out, in… but we have a fondness for beauty, for effort, for tragedy."

"You brought me plenty of the first two," He had no doubt Ciro was touched by tragedy, like the rest of them but he wasn't unkind to mention it. "I would've kept you around, if you know, we hadn't found our way here instead."

Daniel Gillies as ELIJAH MIKAELSON