#altruprism

MAYBE  HE  MISSED  THE  MEMO. 

it  wouldn’t  surprise  verso  too  terribly  bad  if  this  were  the  case;  demigods  are  busy  people,  after  all.  they  can’t  sit  idle.  like  sharks,  if  they  stop  moving,  a  good  quarter  of  them  will  die.  the  rest  will  stop  to  mourn  their  siblings,  then  they’ll  die  too.  verso  knows  this  from  hard-lived  experience:  it’s  carved  into  the  back  of  his  skull,  written  down  his  spine  in  lichtenberg  scars — if  you’re  not  moving,  you’re  already  dead.  

so,  the  memo  being  missed  isn’t  surprising.  he’s  busy.  he  also,  coincidentally,  doesn’t  typically  keep  up  with  poseidon’s  ilk  unless  circumstances  would  demand  it.  jackson  (  the  boy  savior,  the  rat  bastard,  the  most  optimistic  sixteen  year  old  verso  has  ever  had  the  displeasure  of  glaring  at  from  across  the  way  )  isn’t  his  favorite  cousin  to  talk  to  by  any  stretch  of  the  imagination,  nor  is  his  uncle  particularly  chatty  with  him  most  days.  granted,  the  latter  reason  is  what  makes  poseidon’s  check-ins  so  easy,  and  as  such  verso  isn’t  inclined  to  complain,  but…

case  and  point:  he  missed  the  memo  about  poseidon’s  other  son  being  in  camp.  

he  knows  of  tyson  exclusively  by  word  of  mouth  and  a  few  stray  glances,  but  he  knows  enough.  cyclops.  apparently  has  a  heart  of  gold.  any  harm  done  to  him  is  effectively  asking  not  only  jackson,  but  poseidon  himself  to  come  down  on  someone  with  divine  fury.  if  he  weren’t  trying  to  better  his  habitual  envy  towards  those  with  present  parents,  verso  would  be  seething  with  jealousy  over  his  own  (  probably  false  )  assumptions.  

the  son  of  zeus  expects  nothing.  well,  okay.  he  expects  to  be  left  alone  while  he  sharpens  his  blades  near  the  sound’s  beach,  just  close  enough  to  where  the  breeze  wafting  off  from  the  water  can  help  him  deal  with  the  scorching  summer  heat.  

footsteps  catch  his  attention.  one  after  another,  steady,  rhythmic,  heavy.  verso  doesn’t  look  at  the  newcomer;  he  tips  his  blades  just  enough  to  catch  a  one-eyed  reflection  looking  back  at  him.  he  has  to  swallow  a  sound  of  disgust.  he’s  seen  more  than  enough  cyclopes  for  one  live,  yet  the  singular  eye  still  weirds  him  out.  he  doesn’t  jump.  barely  even  reacts  until  his  eyes  trail  down  to  what  the  reflection’s  holding.  his  brows  furrow  and,  wordlessly,  he  points  his  blade  to  a  nearby  stone.  flat  enough  to  set  a  glass  on,  or  for  the  younger  demigod  to  make  a  seat  out  of.  

it  takes  him  an  uncomfortable  few  moments  to  find  his  words.  the  silence  is  filled  by  the  lapping  waves  of  the  sound  and,  distantly,  the  chatter  of  fellow  campers.  his  voice  lacks hostility  but  rich  with  skepticism —

❝   who  told  you  to  bring  that  to  me  ??  ❞    

𝑻𝒀𝑺𝑶𝑵 ( @altruprism ) said, SENDER   brings   RECEIVER   a glass of water without being asked. (from Tyson! he’s helping o-) ) // here, accepting !!

@altruprism (bianca) asked: ”Happy Birthday.” Bianca holds her paper creation with no small amount of embarrassment. The taped edges are obvious, the popsicles sticks are crooked, and it barely looks like a cake. Maybe Byan can set it on fire and get some actual joy out of it that way. “Sorry it looks weird, I should’ve just drawn something.”

ㅤㅤ" are you kiddin'? "ㅤwith a laugh, byan takes the gift from bianca's hands and leans in for a closer look. yeah, it's a little janky, but that's the kind of thing they love most about handmade gifts! something perfect would be boring.

ㅤㅤ" i love it! 'sides, i can tell it's a cake, which is really all'at matters, right? i like that it's a little weird lookin', gives it character. "ㅤflashing a grin, they lower the paper craft and tug bianca in against their chest for an appreciative hug.ㅤ" thanks, bi. i really do love it. now— "ㅤpulling away only slightly, byan wiggles their eyebrows playfully.ㅤ" how d'ya feel 'bout comin' with me for some birthday boba? 'n maybe a bit'a shoppin', too? s'more fun with someone else anyway. "

𝑺𝑨𝑳𝑳𝒀 ( @altruprism ) sent a prayer: ”no honor among thieves, and even less among gods.” ( here ; accepting )

HE  LAUGHS.  he  must.  there  is  no  other  way  to  respond  to  the  statement;  for  a  beat,  all  the  deity  can  do  is  throw  his  head  back  and  cackle  ‘gainst  the  godly  porcelain.  the  force  of  their  howl  pushes  their  back  to  arch  like  a  readied  bow  pointed  towards  the  heaven,  trails  of  gold-tipped  caramel  nearly  touching  the  ground  behind  him.  

with  little  warning,  its  body  rights  itself.  the  arrow  is  fired,  the  heavens  pierced  -  its  posture  whips  in  the  opposite  direction,  breaching  the  mortal’s  personal  space  for  all  of  a  precious  beat  before  pulling  itself  back.  every  motion  causes  something  hidden  ‘neath  floral  festival  robes  to  creak.  

❝  i  shall  urge  thee,  my  uncle’s  partner,  to  mind  thy  tongue.  thieves  have  little  honor  indeed,  so  quick  are  they  to  steal…  but  the  gods  do  not  steal.  not  truly.  the  fates  decree  what  shall  be  ours  eons  before  it  is  yours;  thus,  ownership  is  temporary.  ❞

he  shrugs,  the  motion  exaggerated  by  the  veritable  sea  of  fabric  rolling  down  its  shoulders.  it  taps  its  feet  ‘gainst  the  ground.  

❝  i  understand  thy  anger,  but  wisen  yourself,  o’  danae,  of  where  you  point  such  a  readied  blade.  i,  certainly,  will  take  all  in  stride  !!  but  i  am  an  exception  to  the  divine,  not  the  rule.  ❞

he  pauses.  his  finger  taps  against  his  chin.  

❝  what  has  provoked  such  a  sentiment,  i  wonder  ??  i  certainly  have  not  stolen  anything  from  you.  ❞                 

I think he and moira would get along sooo well but she travels so much it’s difficult to be in a relationship w her. alas

are you minjoon's type? ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ↪ @altruprism

ㅤㅤ" wow. "ㅤdespite the lack of intonation in his voice, the surprise he feels is real. practically every single box filled. he can't even be disappointed that she doesn't enjoy video games, there's so much else about her that intrigues.

She turns away from the training dummies she's all but shredded, sword glistening in the afternoon sun, as she faces the voice of her intruder.

" Who trained you? " @altruprism asks.

" I did. " It comes out a bite, a snarl, angry and terse, and a lie. " Not like anyone else would give a shit. "

@altruprism said, How did you know my name? - bianca // meme, accepting

ᯓ☆ it  is  two  sodas  into  the  day  and,  frankly,  doesn’t  feel  like  dealing  with  KIDS  right  now.  would  that  it  was  a  kind  enough  soul  to  answer  questions  without  sarcasm,  or  to  not  wear  a  beanie  so  as  to  give  the  kids  SOMETHING  to  gawk  at  during  breaks  (it’s  horns  would  be  a  great  distraction  on  noisy  days,  a  good  reprieve  for  those  who  are  usually  in  charge  of  training).  in  a  better  life,  lavender  is  exactly  that  kind  of  person:  bowed  head,  smile,  gentle  hands  guiding  smaller  hands  to  horns  and  quietly  explaining  that  they’re  a  sign  that  SHE  is  on  their  side.  

ORPHEUS ( @altruprism ) said, ”I love how you say my name—makes it sound like poetry.”

YOU  WOULD  KILL  HIM  if  not  for  the  lack  of  a  gun  in  your  hands.  you  would  wrap  your  hands  around  this  man’s  throat  and  strangle  him  until  his  body  was  limp  and  pliant  beneath  you,  a  fake  thing  of  muscle  and  bone  that  should  have  never  been  able  to  speak.  you  would  kill  him  if  not  for  the  fact  that  murder  is  frowned  upon  and  you  would  probably  be  kicked  out  for  doing  so.  

you  cannot  frame  it  as  self-defense  either,  chase.  the  man  on  your  couch,  a  musician  you’ve  dared  to  invite  in  from  the  storm  and  found  some  kind  of  strange  solace  in,  could  not  hurt  you.  you  don’t  think  he  would.  you  think  if  the  world  collapsed  ‘round  you,  that  the  saint  in  your  room  would  sooner  throw  himself  between  you  and  every  bit  of  rubble  the  earth  had  to  spare  than  he  would  let  harm  befall  another  of  God’s  creatures.  

you  said  the  name  he  gave  you  while  asking  if  he’d  like  anything  to  drink,  and  he  says  that  in  response.  your  grip  ‘round  the  glass  briefly  turns  white-knuckled.  you’re  thankful  your  back  is  to  him  while  you  rummage  through  the  fridge.

❝  it  is,  isn’t  it  ??  greek  myth  and  all.  your  parents  must’ve  been  inspired.  ❞

you  pull  a  can  of  soda  out  from  the  fridge,  then  a  bottle  of  water.  the  water  is  healthier.  you  need  a  pick-me-up.  with  a  sigh,  you  turn  on  your  heel  and  slide  the  bottle  back  into  the  fridge,  then  crack  open  the  can  with  a  flick  of  its  tab.  you  nod  to  the  guitar  in  his  hands,  

❝  how  long  have  you  been  playing  ??  ❞

you  want  to  ask  how  long  he’s  been  wandering,  but  that’s  rude,  so  you  bite  your  tongue  instead.  

❝ i can see where percy got his relentless sense of optimism from. ❞ the young woman observes with a wry smile. she finds her son's sense of idealism and optimism to be rather infuriating, but in sally jackson, she finds the qualities a touch more admirable. after all, this is a woman who has been put through the wringer by olympus and yet, she still seems to see the world as it should be rather than as it is.

❝ i don't know if fear is an excuse. if people let their fear rule their decisions, that's a choice. ❞ fear is a sign of weakness and she's not above thinking that she's managed to master it. when was the last time that she was actually scared? if people couldn't manage their fear then clearly they weren't trying hard enough.